Library of Congress Subject Headings, 24th edition, 2001

Languages Used:

• English

LC Subject Headings:

• Abolitionists -- United States -- Biography.
  
• Society of Friends.
  
• Slavery -- North Carolina -- History -- 19th century.
  
• Antislavery movements -- United States -- History -- 19th century.
  
• Slavery and the church -- Society of Friends.
  
• Coffin, Levi, 1798-1877.
  
• Dillingham, Richard, d. 1850.
  
• Fairbank, Calvin, 1816-1898.
  
• Quaker abolitionists -- United States -- Biography.
  
• Quakers -- United States -- Biography.
  
• Underground railroad -- Indiana.
  
• Underground railroad -- Ohio.
  
• Fugitive slaves -- United States -- History -- 19th century.
  
• Slavery -- Ohio -- History -- 19th century.
  
• Slavery -- Indiana -- History -- 19th century.
  

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[Spine Image]

Yours Truly Levi Coffin

Yours Truly Catharine Coffin

[Title Page Image]

[Title Page Verso Image]

REMINISCENCES
OF
LEVI COFFIN,
The Reputed President of the Underground Railroad;
BEING
A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE LABORS OF A LIFETIME IN BEHALF
OF THE SLAVE, WITH THE STORIES OF NUMEROUS
FUGITIVES, WHO GAINED THEIR FREEDOM
THROUGH HIS INSTRUMENTALITY, AND
MANY OTHER INCIDENTS.

SECOND EDITION--WITH APPENDIX.

CINCINNATI:
ROBERT CLARKE & CO.
1880.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, by
LEVI COFFIN,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C.

PREFACE.

        I HAVE been solicited for many years to write a history of my anti-slavery labors and underground railroad experiences, and although I had kept a diary the most of my life, it was without any prospect of ever putting it into book-form. I had no desire to appear before the public as an author, having no claim to literary merit. What I had done I believed was simply a Christian duty and not for the purpose of being seen of men, or for notoriety, which I have never sought. But I was continually urged by my friends to engage in the work, believing that it would be interesting to the rising generation; but being so fully occupied with other duties, I seemed to find no time that I could devote to this work, so that it was put off from year to year. I also often received letters from different parts of the country, desiring me to write the history of my life and labors in the anti-slavery cause, reminding me that the most of my co-laborers had passed away, and that I must soon follow, and that these stirring anti-slavery times in which I lived and labored were a part of the history of our country, which should not be lost. But still I deferred it until now, in the seventy-eighth year of my age. And although I feel the infirmities of that period of life fast gathering around me, I have gathered up my diaries, and other documents that had been preserved, and have written a book. In my own plain, simple

style, I have endeavored to tell the stories without any exaggeration. Errors no doubt will appear, which I trust the indulgent reader will pardon, in consideration of my advanced age and feebleness. It is here proper also to acknowledge the valuable services of a kind friend, for aid received in preparing these pages for the press. I regret that I have been obliged to leave out many interesting stories and thrilling incidents, on account of swelling the size and cost of the book beyond what was agreed upon with the publishers. Among the stories omitted is the account of the long imprisonment and sufferings of Calvin Fairbank, of Massachusetts, in the Kentucky penitentiary, for aiding fugitives, and of Richard Dillingham, of Ohio, who suffered and died in the penitentiary at Nashville, Tennessee, for a similar offense.

        Some time ago I requested my dear old friend and co-laborer in the cause of the slave, Dr. Wm. Henry Brisbane, to write a few introductory words for my book, which I here introduce as part of the preface:

        My very dear old friend has requested me to write some introductory words, or preface, for his book; and I can not do justice to my own most affectionate feelings toward him and his amiable wife, dear "Aunt Katy," without complying with his request and accepting the honor thus conferred upon me.

        I have in my possession a picture, executed by Mr. Ball, a colored man from Virginia. The central figure is a native of South Carolina, a representative of the old planter class of that State, who manumitted his slaves many years before the Emancipation Proclamation of President Lincoln. On each hand sits with him a friend and Christian brother--the one, a sedate, benevolent-looking Quaker, a native of North Carolina, and a faithful representative of that class known as Orthodox Friends; the other, with a countenance full of humor and amiable mischief, a native of Rhode Island, and a true representative of the old Roger Williams class of Soul-Liberty Baptists. The cause of the slave brought into a most intimate and happy friendship these three men of diverse origin, training, habits of life, temperament, disposition and other personal characteristics. For many years they labored and suffered

together for those in bonds as bound with them. In Christian love they bowed themselves before their Heavenly Father and prayed together for the oppressed race; with a faith that knew no wavering they worked in fraternal union for the enfranchisement of their despised colored brethren, and shared together the odium attached to the name of abolitionist, and finally they rejoiced together and gave thanks to God for the glorious results of those years of persevering effort. The youngest of these has gone to his reward in heaven, and those who knew Edward Harwood can not wonder that the other two loved him with a love that was more than a brother's. The oldest--the placid, the benevolent, the kind-hearted and devoted friend of the slave, and of all mankind--Levi Coffin, still lives to give, for the benefit of humanity, the reminiscences of his experiences, so full of interesting incidents and touching pathos. The other survivor thanks God with all his heart that his dear brother has been spared to leave this valuable record as a legacy to his thousands of friends, white and black, in this our beloved country, redeemed from the curse of slavery with the atoning blood of many a battle-field.

        And now, with no more fugitives to hide, and no clanking chains to disturb our peaceful old age, I subscribe myself,

Fraternally and lovingly his,

WM. HENRY BRISBANE.

        Trusting that this volume will accomplish something toward the eradication of the spirit of caste, which still exists in our land--though, in the providence of God, slavery itself has been removed--and in the acceptance and practice of that command, which reads: "Love thy neighbor as thyself," I now commend it to the reader.

LEVI COFFIN.

CONTENTS.

• INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.

  • Genealogy . . . 3-11

• CHAPTER I.

  • Conversion to Abolitionism--Incidents of the Cruelties of Slavery--First Efforts on Behalf of the Slaves--Stephen, the Kidnapped Negro--The Captured Slave--Services of Vestal Coffin--The Story of Ede--The White Slave . . . 12-31

• CHAPTER II.

  • The Story of Jack Barnes--My Journey with a Slave-owner--A Mission Full of Anxiety--The Story of Sam--I Turn Slave-hunter--Narrow Escape from Arrest--Penalty of Aiding a Slave--Fate of Poor Sam . . . 32-68

• CHAPTER III.

  • Teaching Slaves to Read--Sabbath-School Work--Agitation of the Anti-Slavery Cause--Manumission Societies--Trip to Indiana--Incidents on the Way--The Early Settlements of Indiana--I Engage in School Labors--Organization of the first Sabbath-School in Western Indiana--A Visit to Illinois--Lost on the Prairie--Springfield, Illinois, Fifty Years Ago--Conclusion of School Labors in Indiana--Return to North Carolina--Short Trip to Virginia . . . 69-102

• CHAPTER IV.

  • Marriage--Removal to Indiana--I Locate at Newport and Engage in Mercantile Business--Underground Railroad Work--Difficulties and Dangers of the Work--Trip to North Carolina--Heart-rending Scene at a Slave Auction--Temperance Work at Newport . . . 103-138

  ---

  Page vi

• CHAPTER V.

  • Newport Stories--The Cunning Slave--Robert Burrel--Eliza Harris--Sam, the Eloquent Slave--Prejudice Against Color--Aunt Rachel--A Slave-hunter Outwitted--Seventeen Fugitives . . . 139-177

• CHAPTER VI.

  • Newport Stories Continued--Seventeen Fugitives--Two Slave Girls from Maryland--Anecdote of a Visit to Cincinnati--Story of Louis Talbert John White . . . 178-222

• CHAPTER VII.

  • Discussion of the Anti-Slavery Subject--Anti-Slavery Societies and Lecturers--Opposition to the Movement--Separation of Friends of Indiana Yearly Meeting--Action which Caused the Separation--Reunion--The Committee from London Yearly Meeting--Interviews with the Committee--Last Interview with William Forster--Visit to Canada in 1844--Meetings with Fugitives--Their Stories--A Special Providence--Aunt Susie's Dream--The Story of Jackson--A Mother Rescues her Children . . . 223-264

• CHAPTER VIII.

  • Free Labor--Testimony of John Woolman and Others--My Convictions--Free-Labor Societies of New York and Philadelphia--Our Organization in the West--Removal to Cincinnati--Free-Labor Business--Southern Cotton Produced by Free Labor--Incidents of a Southern Trip--Interviews with Slaveholders . . . 265-296

• CHAPTER IX.

  • Underground Railroad Work in Cincinnati--A Reminiscence--The Fugitive Cook Girl--A Company of Twenty-eight Fugitives--Aunt Betsey--Jack and Lucy--Assessments on Underground Railroad Stock--A Pro-Slavery Man Silenced--The Story of June . . . 297-334

  ---

  Page vii

• CHAPTER X.

  • Cincinnati Stories Continued--The Rag Baby--The Vice-President's Slave--The Disguised Slave--Wolves in Sheep's Clothing--Sally, the Slave Mother--Louis and Ellen--The Michigan Raid . . . 335-373

• CHAPTER XI.

  • Cincinnati Stories Continued--John Wilson and Eliza--Uncle Tom--Rose, the White Slave--Story of Jim and his Friend in a Tight Box . . . 374-418

• CHAPTER XII.

  • Louisa Picquet, the Octoroon--John Fairfield, the Southern Abolitionist--John and Mary--Narrow Escapes of Fugitives . . . 419-461

• CHAPTER XIII.

  • A Pro-Slavery Man Turns Abolitionist--Fourteen Fugitives Cross on the Ice--Slave Children Placed in our Charge--The Case of William Thompson . . . 462-489

• CHAPTER XIV.

  • Major Phillips--A Slaveholder's Colored Family--My Trip with the Major down the River--Incidents of the Journey--Discussions with Slaveholders--Insights into Southern Social Life--A Whipping on Board a Boat . . . 490-523

• CHAPTER XV.

  • The Mob Spirit in Cincinnati--Destruction of the Philanthropist Press in 1836--Demonstration of Pro-Slavery Feeling in 1841--A Disgraceful Riot-The Scanlan Mob . . . 524-541

• CHAPTER XVI.

  • Trials Under the Fugitive Slave Law--The Wash. McQuerry Case--The Services of John Jolliffe--Escape from a Court Room--The Rosetta Case--Margaret Garner--The Story of a Hat . . . 542-574

  ---

  Page viii

• CHAPTER XVII.

  • An U. G. R. R. Depot--The Purchase of Slaves by their Relatives--Other Services for the Colored People--The Case of Connelly--Sambo in a Tight Box . . . 575-593

• CHAPTER XVIII.

  • Last Work on the U. G. R. R.--The Prince of Wales--Beginning of the War--Kirby Smith's Threatened Raid--Rescue of a Slave Girl by Two Union Soldiers--The Kentucky Policy and Col. Utley's Action . . . 594-618

• CHAPTER XIX.

  • Work Among the Freedmen-Visit to Cairo--Destitution and Suffering of the Colored People--Efforts in Their Behalf--Organization of Relief Societies . . . 619-650

• CHAPTER XX.

  • Mission to England--Labors in Behalf of the Freedmen--Incidents of the Work--Contributions from all Classes of Society--Public Meetings . . . 651-712

• APPENDIX.

  • 1. Memoir of Richard Dillingham . . . 713-718
  • 2. Memoir of Calvin Fairbank . . . 719-726
  • 3. Death and Funeral of the Author . . . 726-732

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
GENEALOGY.

        THE following brief sketch of the Coffin family is gathered from the first number of the American Historical Record, published at Philadelphia, and from private records copied from those kept at Nantucket. The earliest account of the name we have dates back to 1066. In that year Sir Richard Coffin, knight, accompanied William the Conqueror from Normandy to England, and the manor of Alwington, in the county of Devonshire, was assigned to him. The authorities respecting the county of Devonshire make honorable mention of Sir Elias Coffin, knight of Clist and Ingarby, in the days of King John; of Sir Richard Coffin, of Alwington, in the time of Henry II.; of Sir Jeffrey Coffin and Combe Coffin, under Henry III., and of other knights, descendants of these, until the time of Henry VIII., when we find Sir William Coffin, sheriff of Devonshire, highly preferred at Court, and one of eighteen assistants chosen by the king to accompany him to a tournament in France, in 1519. He was also high steward of the manor and liberties of Standon, in Hertford. By his will he bequeathed his horses and hawks to the king, and devised the manor of East Higgington, Devonshire, to his nephew, Sir Richard Coffin, of Portledge. His monument in

Standon Church is mentioned in Weever's "Funeral Monuments," at page 534.

        Nicholas Coffin, of Butler's parish, in Devonshire, died in 1603. His will, which was proved at Totness, in Devonshire, November 3, 1603, mentions his wife and five children, viz: Peter, Nicholas, Tristram, John and Anne. Peter married Joanna Thimber, and died in 1627, leaving four daughters and two sons. One of these sons was the famous Tristram Coffin--or Coffyn, as he spelled it--the ancestor of the numerous families of that name in this country. Nearly all his descendants are enabled, by means of the accurate genealogical records in existence, to trace their lineage back to him, although nearly two centuries have elapsed since his death. He was born at Brixton, near Plymouth, in the county of Devonshire, England, in the year 1605. He married Dionis Stevens, and in 1642 came to New England, bringing with him his wife and five children, his mother and his two sisters. He first settled at Salisbury, Massachusetts, where he lived a number of years, and in 1660 removed, with his family, and settled upon the island of Nantucket. He was one of a company of nine who first purchased Nantucket from the Indians, which fact appears in a conveyance from the Sachems, Wanackmamack, and Nickanoose. Prior to this purchase from the natives, the English title to the greater portion of the island had been obtained from Thomas Mayhew, who held the same under a conveyance from Lord Stirling. Tristram Coffin and his sons at one time owned about one-fourth of Nantucket, and the whole of the little island

adjacent to it on the west, called Tuckernuck, containing one thousand acres, which was purchased of the old sachem, Potconet. He appears to have been a leading spirit among the first settlers, and was frequently selected by the inhabitants to transact important public business.

        The children of Tristram Coffin were Peter, Tristram, Elizabeth, James, John and Stephen. We trace our line of the family from John. He married Deborah Austin; their son Samuel married Miriam Gardner; their son William married Priscilla Paddock; their son Levi married Prudence Williams. These last were my parents, and this places me in the fifth generation from the first Tristram Coffin, of Nantucket. The different branches of Tristram Coffin's family have increased and scattered, until there are representatives in nearly every part of the United States.

        The island of Nantucket being small, and its soil not very productive, a large number of people could not be supported thereon, and as the population increased, a number of the men engaged in the whale fishery and other maritime pursuits, in order to gain a livelihood. Others turned their attention to other parts of the country, and were induced to remove and settle elsewhere, with a view to better their condition, as to providing for their children, etc. A while before the Revolutionary War a considerable colony of Friends removed and settled at New Garden, in Guilford County, North Carolina, which was then a newly settled country. My grandfather, William Coffin, was among those who thus emigrated. His removal

took place in the year 1773. My grandparents, William and Priscilla Coffin, had ten children--eight sons and two daughters--all of whom lived to have families of their own. They settled at New Garden, North Carolina, and were all members of the religious Society of Friends. My father, Levi Coffin, was the youngest of eight sons and next to the youngest child. He was born on the island of Nantucket, 10th month, 10th, 1763, and was about ten years old when the family moved to North Carolina. My grandfather Coffin lived to be eighty-three, and my grandmother eighty-one years old. Both died in the year 1803, at the place where they first settled in North Carolina. I remember them well, though I was young at the time of their death. Both were valuable elders in the religious Society of Friends, and were highly esteemed in the community. Their house had long been a resort and a place of entertainment for Friends who came into the neighborhood to attend religious meetings, and for traveling ministers. They lived on a farm, a short distance from New Garden Meeting-House. My father was brought up as a farmer, but managed to get a fair education, considering the limited advantages at that day, and, when a young man, engaged during the winter season in teaching school in the neighborhood. After the marriage of my parents, they settled on a farm in the neighborhood of New Garden, and I was brought up as a farmer, until I reached my twenty-first year. My parents had seven children. I was the only son and next to the youngest child. I could not well be spared from the farm to attend school,

and the most of my education I obtained at home. My father took pains to instruct me and my sisters during his hours of leisure from out-door work, so that I kept about even with my associates in the neighborhood who had better opportunities for gaining an education, and during the short intervals that I attended school, I was classed with them, and often stood at the head of my class. But our schools then were very inferior, compared with those at the present. I thirsted for a better education, and as soon as I was of age I sought a better school than we had in our neighborhood.

        I remained there one session, then engaged as assistant teacher during the winter session, and the following winter attended another good school. I then taught, at intervals, for several years. In the year 1816 my sister Sarah died. She was in her twentieth year and two years my senior. This was a heavy stroke upon me. She was a kind and affectionate sister, and we had been inseparable companions in our childhood. Although she died rejoicing in her dear Redeemer, with a bright and glorious prospect before her, I could not for a long time be resigned sufficiently to say concerning her loss, "Thy will, O Lord, not mine, be done." My older sisters were married, and I and my youngest sister Priscilla were all that were left at home with our parents. Priscilla was three years my junior. She was a sweet and attractive child, and we were warmly attached to each other. When she was about twelve years old she was converted, and at the age of fifteen she appeared in public testimony. She appeared to have

a remarkable gift in the ministry, and her words impressed all who heard her and touched the hearts of many. Her mission and labors for several years seemed to be mostly confined to family circles and to social gatherings of young people. On such occasions she was frequently prompted to speak in a most remarkable manner, and her words seemed to have great effect on her young associates and others who heard her. For some years after her first appearance in the ministry, she spoke but seldom in public assemblies, but when she did, it was to the edification of her hearers. A few years afterward she was recorded as a minister of the religious Society of Friends.

        In the spring of 1825 my parents and sister moved to the State of Indiana, where my married sisters had all located. I was then engaged in teaching, but expected soon to follow with my own little family, which I did the next year. My sister Priscilla married a short time before I removed to Indiana. My parents were now left alone, and being old and feeble, I took charge of them and located them near me, in the village of Newport. My father died in 1833, in his seventieth year. We then took my mother into our house and cared for her until the close of her life. She died in 1845, in her eighty-eighth year.

        My mother's family, the Williamses, were of Welsh extraction. I have understood that my great-grandfather, George Williams, came from Wales to America, and settled in Prince George County, Maryland. My grandfather, Richard Williams, married Prudence Bales, and their oldest two children were born

in Maryland. Afterward they emigrated to North Carolina and settled in Guilford County, about the year 1752. They located near the place where the old New Garden Meeting-House now stands, and where the yearly meeting of the religious Society of Friends has been held for many years. At the time of their removal to that neighborhood, it was thinly settled, but it grew in time to be a large and prosperous settlement, the members of which were mostly Friends. My grandparents had many hardships to encounter and privations to undergo, such as the first settlers of a new country always have to experience. When the stock of provisions which they had brought with them gave out, they had to go to an older settlement, about fifty miles distant, to get a new supply. The first winter they cleared a small piece of land, and in the spring planted corn and garden seed. Provisions again became scant, and they had to live on roasting-ears and vegetables till the corn ripened, being entirely deprived of bread. As soon as the corn was ripe enough to shell, they dried it by spreading it on the ground in the sun, and then took it on horseback to a mill about thirty miles distant, on Cane Creek, now in Chatham County. My grandfather Williams donated the ground on which New Garden Meeting-House was built, besides several acres of land, covered with timber sufficient for all building purposes. The battle of Guilford Court-House, fought about the close of the Revolutionary War, commenced near New Garden Meeting-House and continued along the old Salisbury road, a distance of about

three miles, to Martinsville, the old Guilford Court-House, near where the main battle was fought. A number of soldiers were killed near the meeting-house and along the road, and were buried by the roadside and in the Friends' burying ground near the meeting-house. I have often seen their graves. After the battle the meeting-house was used as a hospital for the wounded soldiers, and my grandfather Williams' house was occupied by the wounded British officers. My grandfather Coffin's house was used by the American officers as a hospital for their sick and wounded. The two farms joined, and the headquarters of the different forces were thus in close proximity.

        The small-pox broke out among the British officers, and my grandfather Williams caught the disease from them and died. My grandmother was left with twelve children, five sons and seven daughters. She was sister to Thomas Bales, who is said to have been the first white emigrant that settled in Ohio. At his death he was buried in a coffin dug out of a log, there being no dressed timber available and no saw-mill within hundreds of miles. His descendants are quite numerous in the Western States. My grandmother remained a widow for the rest of her life. She lived to a good old age, and died respected by all who knew her. She was an elder in the religious Society of Friends for many years, and was highly esteemed as a "Mother in Israel." The date of her death and her age are not in my possession, but I can remember her well. Most of her children lived

to a good old age, and, with the exception of one son, all had large families, so that my connections, on my mother's side, as well as on my father's, are quite numerous.

        Both my parents and grandparents were opposed to slavery, and none of either of the families ever owned slaves; and all were friends of the oppressed, so I claim that I inherited my anti-slavery principles.

CHAPTER I.

        CONVERSION TO ABOLITIONISM--INCIDENTS OF THE CRUELTIES OF SLAVERY--FIRST EFFORTS ON BEHALF OF THE SLAVES--STEPHEN, THE KIDNAPPED NEGRO--THE CAPTURED SLAVE--SERVICES OF VESTAL COFFIN--THE STORY OF EDE--THE WHITE SLAVE.

        I DATE my conversion to Abolitionism from an incident which occurred when I was about seven years old. It made a deep and lasting impression on my mind, and created that horror of the cruelties of slavery which has been the motive of so many actions of my life. At the time of which I speak, Virginia and Maryland were the principal slave-rearing States, and to a great extent supplied the Southern market. Free negroes in Pennsylvania were frequently kidnapped or decoyed into these States, then hurried away to Georgia, Alabama, or Louisiana, and sold. The gangs were handcuffed and chained together, and driven by a man on horseback, who flourished a long whip, such as is used in driving cattle, and goaded the reluctant and weary when their feet lagged on the long journey. One day I was by the roadside where my father was chopping wood, when I saw such a gang approaching along the new Salisbury road. The coffle of

slaves came first, chained in couples on each side of a long chain which extended between them; the driver was some distance behind, with the wagon of supplies. My father addressed the slaves pleasantly, and then asked: "Well, boys, why do they chain you?" One of the men, whose countenance betrayed unusual intelligence and whose expression denoted the deepest sadness, replied: "They have taken us away from our wives and children, and they chain us lest we should make our escape and go back to them." My childish sympathy and interest were aroused, and when the dejected procession had passed on, I turned to my father and asked many questions concerning them, why they were taken away from their families, etc. In simple words, suited to my comprehension, my father explained to me the meaning of slavery, and, as I listened, the thought arose in my mind--"How terribly we should feel if father were taken away from us."

        This was the first awakening of that sympathy with the oppressed, which, together with a strong hatred of oppression and injustice in every form, were the motives that influenced my whole after-life. Another incident of my boyhood is indelibly engraved on my mind. I accompanied my father one spring to the famous shad fishery at the narrows of the Yadkin River, a spot of wild and romantic scenery, where the stream breaks through a spur of the mountains and goes foaming and dashing down its rocky bed in a succession of rapids. Every spring, when the shad ascended the river, many people resorted to the place to obtain fish. They

brought with them a variety of merchandise, saddlery, crockery-ware, etc., and remained in camp some time, buying and selling. The fishery was owned by two brothers named Crump. They were slaveholders, and sometimes allowed their slaves the privilege of fishing after night and disposing of the fish thus obtained, on their own account. A slave, who had availed himself of this privilege, disposed of the fish he caught to my father. Next morning he came to the place where we were preparing breakfast, and entered into conversation with my father, speaking of the fish he had sold him, and asking if he would take more on the same terms. Noticing this, and thinking it a piece of presuming familiarity and impertinence, on the part of the negro, a young man, nephew of the Crumps, seized a fagot from the fire and struck the negro a furious blow across the head, baring the skull, covering his back and breast with blood, and his head with fire; swearing at the same time that he would allow no such impudence from niggers. My father protested against the act, and I was so deeply moved that I left my breakfast untasted, and going off by myself gave vent to my feelings in sobs and tears.

        A few such instances of "man's inhumanity to man" intensified my hatred of slavery, and inspired me to devote myself to the cause of the helpless and oppressed, and enter upon that line of humane effort, which I pursued for more than fifty years. I would still be engaged in it had not Abraham Lincoln broken up the business by proclamation in 1863

STEPHEN, THE KIDNAPPED NEGRO.

        The first opportunity for aiding a slave occurred when I was about fifteen years old. It was a custom in North Carolina, at that time, to make a "frolic" of any special work, like corn husking, log-rolling, etc. The neighbors would assemble at the place appointed, and with willing hearts and busy hands soon complete the work. Then followed the supper and the merry-making, and the night was in
                         "The wee sma' hours ayant the twal,"
before the lights were out and the company gone.

        At a gathering of this kind, a corn husking at Dr. Caldwell's, I was present. The neighbors assembled about dark, bringing their slaves with them. The negroes were assigned a place at one end of the heap, the white people took their place at the other, and all went to work, enlivening their labor with songs and merry talk.

        A slave-dealer, named Stephen Holland, had arrived in the neighborhood a short time before, with a coffle of slaves, on his way to the South, and as this was his place of residence, he stopped for a few days before proceeding on his journey. He brought with him his band of slaves to help his neighbor husk corn, and I was much interested in them. When the white people went in to supper I remained behind to talk with the strange negroes, and see if I could render them any service. In conversation I learned that one of the negroes, named Stephen, was free born, but had been kidnapped and

sold into slavery. Till he became of age he had been indentured to Edward Lloyd, a Friend, living near Philadelphia. When his apprenticeship was ended, he had been hired by a man to help drive a flock of sheep to Baltimore. After reaching that place he had been seized one night as he was asleep in the negro house of a tavern, gagged and bound, then placed in a close carriage, and driven rapidly across the line into Virginia, where he was confined the next night in a cellar. He had then been sold for a small sum to Holland, who was taking him to the Southern market, where he expected to realize a large sum from his sale. I became deeply interested in his story, and began to think how I could help him to regain his freedom. Remembering Dr. Caldwell's Tom, a trusty negro, whom I knew well, I imparted to him my wishes, and desired him, if it could be arranged, to bring Stephen to my father's the next night. They came about midnight, and my father wrote down the particulars of Stephen's case, and took the address of the Lloyds. The next day he wrote to them, giving an account of Stephen and his whereabouts. In two weeks from that time, Hugh Lloyd, a brother of Edward Lloyd, arrived by stage in Greensboro. Procuring conveyance, he came to my father's, and there learned that Stephen had been taken southward by the slave-dealer Holland. Next day being regular meeting-day at the Friends Meeting-House, at New Garden, the case was laid before the men after meeting, and two of them, Dr. George Swain

and Henry Macy, volunteered to accompany Hugh Lloyd in search of Stephen.

        A sum of money was made up for the expenses of their journey, and Lloyd was furnished with a horse and saddle and the necessary equipments. The party found Stephen in Georgia, where he had been sold by Holland, who had gone farther South. A suit was instituted to gain possession of him, but the laws of that State required proof, in such instances, that the mother had been free, and Hugh Lloyd was too young to give this proof. So the matter was referred to the next term of court, security being given by Stephen's master that he should be produced when wanted. Lloyd returned North, and sent affidavits and free papers giving proof in the case, and in six months Stephen was liberated and returned home. The man who had hired him to drive the sheep to Baltimore had, in the meantime, been arrested on the charge of kidnapping, but as Stephen was the only prosecuting witness, the suit could not go on while he was absent. The man's friends took him out of jail on a writ of habeas corpus and gave bond for his appearance at court, but he preferred forfeiting his bond to standing the trial, and fled the country before Stephen returned.

THE CAPTURED SLAVE.

        But I was not always so fortunate as to be able to render assistance to the objects of my sympathy. Sometimes I witnessed scenes of cruelty and injustice and had to stand passively by. The following

is an instance of that kind: I had been sent one day on an errand to a place in the neighborhood, called Clemen's Store, and was returning home along the Salem road, when I met a party of movers, with wagons, teams, slaves and household goods, on their way to another State. After passing them I came to a blacksmith's shop, in front of which were several men, talking and smoking, in idle chat, and proceeding on my way I met a negro man trudging along slowly on foot, carrying a bundle. He inquired of me regarding the party of movers; asked how far they were ahead, etc. I told him "About half a mile," and as he passed on, the thought occurred to me that this man was probably a runaway slave who was following the party of movers. I had heard of instances when families were separated--the wife and children being taken by their owners to another part of the country--of the husband and father following the party of emigrants, keeping a short distance behind the train of wagons during the day, and creeping up to the camp at night, close enough for his wife to see him and bring him food. A few days afterward I learned that this man had been stopped and questioned by the party of men at the blacksmith's shop, that he had produced a pass, but they being satisfied that it was a forgery had lodged him in jail at Greensboro, and sent word to his master concerning him. A week or two afterward I was sent to a blacksmith's shop, at Greensboro, to get some work done. The slave's master had, that very day, arrived and taken possession of him, and brought him to the blacksmith's shop

to get some irons put on him before starting back to his home. While a chain was being riveted around the negro's neck, and handcuffs fastened on his wrists, his master upbraided him for having run away. He asked:

        "Wer'n't you well treated?"

        "Yes, massa."

        "Then what made you run away?"

        "My wife and children were taken away from me, massa, and I think as much of them as you do of yours, or any white man does of his. Their massa tried to buy me too, but you would not sell me, so when I saw them go away, I followed." The mere recital of his words can convey little idea of the pitiful and pathetic manner in which they were uttered; his whole frame trembled, and the glance of piteous, despairing appeal he turned upon his master would have melted any heart less hard than stone.

        The master said, "I've always treated you well, trusting you with my keys, and treating you more like a confidential servant than a slave, but now you shall know what slavery is. Just wait till I get you back home!" He then tried to make the negro tell where he had got his pass, who wrote it for him, etc., but he refused to betray the person who had befriended him. The master threatened him with the severest punishment, but he persisted in his refusal. Then torture was tried, in order to force the name from him. Laying the slave's fettered hand on the blacksmith's anvil, the master struck it with a hammer until the blood settled under the finger nails. The negro winced under each cruel blow, but said not

a word. As I stood by and watched this scene, my heart swelled with indignation, and I longed to rescue the slave and punish the master. I was not converted to peace principles then, and I felt like fighting for the slave. One end of the chain, riveted to the negro's neck, was made fast to the axle of his master's buggy, then the master sprang in and drove off at a sweeping trot, compelling the slave to run at full speed or fall and be dragged by his neck. I watched them till they disappeared in the distance, and as long as I could see them, the slave was running.

FUGITIVES IN CONCEALMENT.

        Runaway slaves used frequently to conceal themselves in the woods and thickets in the vicinity of New Garden, waiting opportunities to make their escape to the North, and I generally learned their places of concealment and rendered them all the service in my power. My father, in common with other farmers in that part of the country, allowed his hogs to run in the woods, and I often went out to feed them. My sack of corn generally contained supplies of bacon and corn bread for the slaves, and many a time I sat in the thickets with them as they hungrily devoured my bounty, and listened to the stories they told of hard masters and cruel treatment, or spoke in language, simple and rude, yet glowing with native eloquence, of the glorious hope of freedom which animated their spirits in the darkest hours, and sustained them under the sting of the lash.

        These outlying slaves knew where I lived, and,

when reduced to extremity of want or danger, often came to my room, in the silence and darkness of night, to obtain food or assistance. In my efforts to aid these fugitives I had a zealous co-worker in my friend and cousin, Vestal Coffin, who was then, and continued to the time of his death--a few years later--a stanch friend to the slave.

        Vestal was several years older than I, was married and had the care of a family, but, in the busiest season of work, could find time to co-operate with me in all my endeavors to aid runaway slaves. We often met at night in a thicket where a fugitive was concealed, to counsel in regard to his prospects and lay plans for getting him safely started to the North. We employed General Hamilton's Sol, a gray-haired, trusty old negro, to examine every coffle of slaves to which he could gain access, and ascertain if there were any kidnapped negroes among them. When such a case was discovered, Sol would manage to bring the person, by night, to some rendezvous appointed, in the pine thickets or the depths of the woods, and there Vestal and I would meet them and have an interview. There was always a risk in holding such meetings, for the law in the South inflicted heavy penalties on any one who should aid or abet a fugitive slave in escaping, and the patrollers, or mounted officers, frequently passed along the road near our place of concealment. When information had been obtained from kidnapped negroes regarding the circumstances of their capture, Vestal Coffin wrote to their friends, and in many cases succeeded in getting them liberated. In this way a negro man of family and means, who

had been abducted from Pennsylvania and taken to New Orleans and sold, was finally restored to his friends. Obtaining through Vestal Coffin a knowledge of his whereabouts, they brought suit against his owners and gained his liberty.

SERVICES OF VESTAL COFFIN.

        Another negro was kidnapped from Delaware, and brought to Guilford County, North Carolina, by a man named John Thompson. Learning the particulars of his case, Vestal Coffin went to Hillsboro, a neighboring town, and obtained a writ, which he placed in the hands of the sheriff to be served on Thompson, requiring him to produce the negro in court, for investigation regarding the unlawfulness of his being held in bondage. Thompson, disregarding the writ, sent the negro South, and sold him. Vestal Coffin went back and procured another writ, causing Thompson to be arrested on charge of kidnapping, and thrown into prison till the negro should be produced. This proceeding greatly enraged Thompson, but he was obliged to send for the negro, who was delivered to the charge of Vestal Coffin. When the case went into court, Thompson secured the best lawyers, but Vestal Coffin had right on his side, and finally triumphed. As the poet says:

                         "Thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just."

        The case was delayed nearly a year, and in that time Vestal Coffin procured affidavits and other documents establishing the negro's freedom, and he was

set at liberty. These are some of the results of the consultations held by night in the pine thickets.

EDE.

        As I was always interested in the work and ready to engage in it, I found opportunities to be of service to the slaves in various ways. The following is an account of one of my efforts in this line:

        Dr. Caldwell, whose name has been mentioned before, was one of our near neighbors. He was a learned clergyman and physician, founded a college--said to be the first in North Carolina--and numbered among his pupils many of the prominent men of that State. His son Samuel was a Presbyterian minister, and was located in the southwestern part of the State, in charge of a church there. At one time, when on a visit to his relatives in Guilford County, he told his father that his wife very much needed a good house servant, and, after some deliberation, the old Doctor concluded to make him a present of one.

        The question thus was, Which one of the negro women should it be?

        The mistress was a humane Christian lady, and did not like the idea of separating husband and wife, but all the negro women that were grown had husbands, and the girls were too young to fill the place, so it was finally decided that a woman named Ede should go. She was strong and healthy, and in the prime of life, and would be the most suitable. She had four children, three of whom were to be left behind; the youngest, being a babe a few months old, was to go

with its mother. To satisfy the scruples of his wife against separating husband and wife, the old Doctor told her that Ede's husband--who belonged to another master--was a trifling negro, and that his master would probably sell him before long; that slave marriage was not legal; and that perhaps Ede would soon get a better man for a husband.

        When Ede learned that she was to go and live with her young master, more than a hundred miles distant from her husband and children, she was filled with grief and dismay, and studied how she might avert the threatened calamity.

        The night before the time fixed for her start to her new home, she decided to flee to the thickets and hide herself for a week or two, hoping that in this time her master and mistress would change their mind about sending her away, and consent to let her remain. Preparing a little store of provisions, and taking her baby in her arms, she fled to the woods, and found a hiding place in a dense thicket, about a mile from my father's house. As it was some distance from the road, she ventured to kindle a little fire by the side of a log, for the weather was cool and chilly, and both she and her child suffered from the cold. She made a bed of leaves, by the side of a large log, and sheltered herself as well as she could from the wind. She had remained in this hiding place for several days and nights, when her child became ill, from cold and exposure. Filled with fresh anguish at the sight of its sufferings, and unable to alleviate them, she determined to leave her place of concealment. Her little stock of provisions had by

this time given out, and she was beginning to suffer with hunger. She was acquainted with my father's family, and knew us to be friends to the fugitive, and resolved to apply to us for help. She made her way to our house, at night, and was kindly received, though we knew we laid ourselves liable to a heavy penalty by harboring a fugitive slave. A hot supper was prepared for her, and then we heard her story, and consulted together in regard to what should be done. Father was liable to fine and imprisonment if she was discovered at our house, yet we could not turn her away. The dictates of humanity came in opposition to the law of the land, and we ignored the law. My mother said, "The child is sick, and may die before morning; we can not turn them from our doors." My father said he would risk the penalty, and Ede was given a comfortable resting place for the night. My mother did all that she could for the sick child. She spent the night trying to relieve its sufferings, and, at daylight, had the satisfaction of seeing it free from pain and in a quiet sleep.

        When morning came, the question arose, What should be done with Ede? We could not turn her out in the cold with her sick child, to return to her hiding place in the woods, and she begged us not to send her back to her master's. As she repeated her sad story, the tears streamed down her cheeks, and she said she would rather die than be separated from her family.

        I volunteered to go and plead her case with her master and mistress, as I was acquainted with them, and thought I could persuade them not to send her

away. I also hoped to save my father from the penalty he had incurred by harboring a fugitive. Leaving Ede and the child at my father's, I made my way to the mansion of the aristocratic gentleman of the old school. I felt some misgivings as to the success of my mission when I entered the house, and was at first embarrassed when I was shown into the room where the Doctor was sitting. He received me kindly, as was his custom, and entered into conversation. Among the solid qualities of his character was a rich vein of humor, and he always made himself attractive to young people, entertaining them with some droll story, or puzzling them with knotty questions. He inquired about our school at New Garden, where Jeremiah Hubbard, a well-known Quaker preacher, was then teaching, and said, "You ought to pay Mr. Hubbard double price for your tuition, for I hear that he has taught his pupils the art of courting, beside the common branches of a school education. I hear that two of his pupils have made known their intentions of marriage, or given in meeting, as you call it. How do you suppose those young Quakers feel now that they are half married?"

        "Like they intended to be wholly married soon, I suppose," I replied.

        He continued, "Now, we Presbyterians do up such business sooner than you Quakers do"--and was going on in this strain when his wife entered the room. My diffidence had vanished by this time, and I longed for an opportunity to introduce the subject which occupied my thoughts. After the mistress of

the house had greeted me and taken her seat, I said that I had come to speak with them on an important matter, and inquired if their slave woman Ede had run away.

        The Doctor replied, "Yes, she ran off several days ago, to keep from going home with our son Sam, I suppose. She needs a good flogging for her foolishness--she would have a good home at his house. Do you know where she is hiding?"

        I related the incident of her coming to our house and what had been done for her, and then pleaded her case with all the earnestness and eloquence I was master of, quoting all the texts of Scripture bearing on the case that I could remember, and bringing the matter home to ourselves, putting ourselves in her place, etc. I soon saw that I had touched the old lady's feelings. She said she thanked my mother for taking such good care of the sick child, and that she had very reluctantly given her consent for Ede to be separated from her family. I told them that Ede said she wished to come home if they would let her stay, but that she had rather die than be sent away from her husband and children. The old Doctor had listened attentively to my pleading, but had made no reply. I now asked him if my father had done right in taking in Ede and her child in violation of the law, thus laying himself liable to a heavy penalty, if he was disposed to prosecute.

        He replied, "Your father has done right; I shall not trouble him, and I thank your mother for her kindness to the sick child. As for you, you have done your part very well. Why, Mr. Coffin, you

would make a pretty good preacher; if you will come to me I will give you lessons in theology without charge."

        I thanked him for his offer, but said I had not come to talk about theology that morning; I wanted to know what word I should carry back to poor Ede, who was waiting at our house, in anxious suspense.

        He said, "Well, this is no doubt your first sermon, and you would be disappointed and might give up preaching if you are not successful; you may tell Ede to come home, and I will not send her away."

        I took my leave, and went home rejoicing. I gave an account of my visit and the success that had attended my efforts, and Ede shouted for joy. In the middle of the day, when it was warm and sunny, she started home, carrying her child, which my mother had wrapped comfortably in a small blanket.

        The Doctor kept his word, and she was allowed to remain at home with her family.

THE WHITE SLAVE.

        In the following story I was no way concerned, but the incidents came under my observation, and I can well remember the feelings of deepest sympathy and indignation which it aroused in our neighborhood at the time of its occurrence. It shows one of the cruelest phases of slavery, and gives one of the many instances in which the deepest suffering was inflicted on those who merited it by no act of their own, but received the curse by inheritance.

        A slaveholder, living in Virginia, owned a beautiful slave woman, who was almost white. She

became the mother of a child, a little boy, in whose veins ran the blood of her master, and the closest observer could not detect in its appearance any trace of African descent. He grew to be two or three years of age, a most beautiful child and the idol of his mother's heart, when the master concluded, for family reasons, to send him away. He placed him in the care of a friend living in Guilford County, North Carolina, and made an agreement that he should receive a common-school education, and at a suitable age be taught some useful trade. Years passed; the child grew to manhood, and having received a good common-school education, and learned the shoemaker's trade, he married an estimable young white woman, and had a family of five or six children. He had not the slightest knowledge of the taint of African blood in his veins, and no one in the neighborhood knew that he was the son of an octoroon slave woman. He made a comfortable living for his family, was a good citizen, a member of the Methodist Church, and was much respected by all who knew him. In course of time his father, the Virginian slaveholder, died, and when the executors came to settle up the estate, they remembered the little white boy, the son of the slave woman, and knowing that by law--such law!--he belonged to the estate, and must be by this time a valuable piece of property, they resolved to gain possession of him. After much inquiry and search they learned of his whereabouts, and the heir of the estate, accompanied by an administrator, went to Guilford County, North Carolina, to claim his half-brother

as a slave. Without making themselves known to him, they sold him to a negro trader, and gave a bill of sale, preferring to have a sum in ready money, instead of a servant who might prove very valuable, but who would, without doubt, give them a great deal of trouble. He had been free all his life, and they knew he would not readily yield to the yoke of bondage. All this time the victim was entirely unconscious of the cruel fate in store for him.

        His wife had been prostrated by a fever then prevalent in the neighborhood, and he had waited upon her and watched by her bedside, until he was worn out with exhaustion and loss of sleep. Several neighbor women coming in one evening to watch with the invalid, he surrendered her to their care, and retired to seek the rest he so much needed. That night the slave-dealer came with a gang of ruffians, burst into the house and seized their victim as he lay asleep, bound him, after heroic struggles on his part, and dragged him away. When he demanded the cause of his seizure, they showed him the bill of sale they had received, and informed him that he was a slave. In this rude, heartless manner the intelligence that he belonged to the African race was first imparted to him, and the crushing weight of his cruel destiny came upon him when totally unprepared. His captors hurried him out of the neighborhood, and took him toward the Southern slave markets. To get him black enough to sell without question, they washed his face in tan ooze, and kept him tied in the sun, and to complete his

resemblance to a mulatto, they cut his hair short and seared it with a hot iron to make it curly. He was sold in Georgia or Alabama, to a hard master, by whom he was cruelly treated.

        Several months afterward he succeeded in escaping, and made his way back to Guilford County, North Carolina. Here he learned that his wife had died a few days after his capture, the shock of that calamity having hastened her death, and that his children were scattered among the neighbors. His master, thinking that he would return to his old home, came in pursuit of him with hounds, and chased him through the thickets and swamps. He evaded the dogs by wading in a mill-pond, and climbing a tree, where he remained all night. Next day he made his way to the house of Stanton White (afterward my father-in-law), where he remained several days. Dr. George Swain, a man of much influence in the community, had an interview with him, and, hearing the particulars of his seizure, said he thought the proceedings were illegal. He held a consultation with several lawyers, and instituted proceedings in his behalf. But the unfortunate victim of man's cruelty did not live to regain his freedom. He had been exposed and worried so much, trailed by dogs and forced to lie in swamps and thickets, that his health was broken down and he died before the next term of court.

CHAPTER II.

        THE STORY OF JACK BARNES--MY JOURNEY WITH A SLAVE-OWNER--A MISSION FULL OF ANXIETY--THE STORY OF SAM--I TURN SLAVE-HUNTER--NARROW ESCAPE FROM ARREST--PENALTY OF AIDING A SLAVE--FATE OF POOR SAM.

        I NOW come to the relation of an occurrence in which, strange as it may seem, I turned slave-hunter. A gentleman by the name of Barnes, who lived in the eastern part of the State, had a body servant named Jack, to whom he was much attached.

        Barnes was a bachelor, with no direct heirs, and being in ill-health, he made his will, in which, as was allowed by a provision of the law, he bequeathed to Jack his freedom for faithfulness and meritorious conduct, also a considerable portion of his estate. At his death, distant relatives flocked to the scene, seized upon the property and entered suit to contest the will. Jack knew very well that from Southern courts of justice he could expect no favor; so procuring a copy of the will, and a certificate of good conduct, signed by several leading white men of the place, who were friendly to him, he sought a more secure place in which to await the decision of the court. He had heard of a settlement of Quakers at

New Garden, near Greensboro, Guilford County, who were opposed to slavery and friendly to colored people. He obtained directions to aid him in finding this place, and left home privately, that it might not be known where he was if the case should go against him. He reached New Garden safely, was introduced to me, and I took him to my father's house.

        Jack remained in our neighborhood for some time, employed on the farms of my father, of Vestal Coffin, and others, and proved himself to be an industrious and faithful servant. He won the esteem and sympathy of all who knew him and his story, by his steady habits, intelligent character and manly deportment. He came to New Garden in the fall of 1821, and in the following March received the news that the case in court had been decided against him. The property that had been willed to him was turned over to the relatives of his master, and he was consigned again to slavery. The judge decided that Barnes was not in his right mind at the time he made the will; this was apparent from the nature of the will. The heirs took possession of the property, but where was Jack, the able-bodied valuable servant, who also belonged to them? He was not to be found, and they advertised in the papers, offering one hundred dollars reward to any one who would secure him till they could get hold of him, or give information that would lead to his discovery.

        This advertisement appeared in the paper published at Greensboro, and when Jack saw it he was greatly alarmed. The questions which occupied his

mind and with which he greeted his friends were, "What shall I do? can I get to a free State, or any place, where I can enjoy liberty in safety?"

        It was decided that for the present he must be concealed, and he was secreted among his friends, part of the time at our house, and part at the house of Vestal Coffin. A council was held by Jack's friends to devise some plan to get him to a free State. Bethuel Coffin, my uncle, who lived a few miles distant, was then preparing to go to Indiana, on a visit to his children and relatives who had settled there. He would be accompanied by his son Elisha, then living in Randolph County, and by his daughter Mary. They intended to make the journey in a two-horse wagon, taking with them provisions and cooking utensils, and camp out on the way. This was the usual mode of traveling in those days. The road they proposed to take was called the Kanawha road. It was the nearest route, but led through a mountainous wilderness, most of the way. Crossing Dan River, it led by way of Patrick Court-House, Virginia, to Maberry's Gap, in the Blue Ridge mountains, thence across Clinch mountain, by way of Pack's ferry on New River, thence across White Oak mountain to the falls of the Kanawha, and down that river to the Ohio, crossing at Gallipolis.

        This was thought to be a safe route for Jack to travel, as it was very thinly inhabited, and it was decided that my cousin Vestal and I should go to see our uncle, and learn if he was willing to incur the risk and take Jack with him to Indiana. He said

he was willing, and all the arrangements were made, and the time for starting fixed. The night after they started, Vestal Coffin took Jack, on horseback, to Dan River, about twenty miles distant, where they camped the first night, and where the fugitive joined them.

        Here we will leave his story for a time, and turn to the trials and persecutions of another slave, named Sam, who lived in the neighborhood of New Garden. Osborne, his master, who might have represented the character of Legree in "Uncle Tom's Cabin," took particular delight in whipping and abusing poor Sam, till he was compelled to take to the thickets or the premises of his friends for safety. Even the slave-holders in the neighborhood sympathized with him. After living in this manner for several months, and finding no opportunity to escape to the North, Sam went to Robert Thompson, a slave-dealer, and asked him to buy him. He was willing to take the chance of getting a better master, even if he was sold to the rice swamps of the far South. Thompson went to Osborne, and offered him six hundred dollars for Sam, "as he ran," taking the chances of his capture.

        Osborne replied, "I'll not take less than $999.99 for him until I have caught him; then, after I have settled with him, you may have him for $550."

        Thompson swore at Osborne, and told him he hoped he would never get Sam, then returned home, and giving Sam a pair of good pantaloons, told him to clear himself and never let his master get possession of him again.

        A few days after my uncle had started on his

journey to the West, Osborne was out looking for his slave. Meeting a man whom he knew, who was returning from a journey near the mountains, Osborne asked him if he had met any movers on that road accompanied by a negro.

        "Yes," was the reply; "I met an old Quaker man with a two-horse wagon, who said he was going to Indiana, and there was a negro man walking a short distance behind the wagon."

        He described the negro, and Osborne said, with an oath:

        "That's my nigger Sam, I'm sure. The rascal has been lying out for several months, and I heard that he got the papers of some free nigger, and said he intended to follow the first movers he could meet with going to the West. It is old Mr. Coffin and his son Elisha; I know them. I suppose that rascal Sam has met with them somewhere on the road, and made them believe he is a free man, and is now traveling with them. I think they are both gentlemen and would not steal my nigger. Well, I will follow them and get that rascal Sam."

        As I was returning from Fourth-day meeting at New Garden, the third day after my uncle started, I met a man who had heard this conversation between Osborne and the traveler, and who informed me that Osborne had gone directly home, got a fresh horse and started in pursuit that very morning. I hastened home and told my father the story. We decided that something must be done immediately. We knew that if Osborne should come up with the party and find that the negro was not his Sam, but

Jack Barnes, he would capture him all the same, for he knew that Jack had been in the neighborhood, and that a reward was offered. He would recognize Jack by the description in the advertisement, and would secure him, and bring him back for the sake of the one hundred dollars reward. It was decided that I should go at once to my Cousin Vestal, a man several years older than I was, and a faithful worker in the cause of liberty, and see if he could not suggest a plan by which Jack might be saved. I laid the matter before Vestal, who felt, as we did, that something must be done, and that quickly, to rescue Jack from Osborne's clutches. We came to the conclusion, that the only thing to be done was for some person to start at once on a good traveling horse, and go far enough ahead of Osborne to warn Jack of his danger. Vestal was so situated that he could not go, but he accompanied me to his brother Elihu's, to see what arrangements could be made there. We laid the matter before him, knowing that he would be a suitable person to go, but he could not leave his business then. He insisted that I should undertake the trip, and Vestal uniting with him, I decided to go, though I was young and had never been on such a responsible journey before.

        Elihu offered me his fine traveling mare and all the necessary equipments. I told him I had no money with me and no overcoat--was entirely unprepared for traveling, as I had no such prospect in view when I left home. But they agreed to furnish everything needful, and to inform my parents of my mission, that they might not be uneasy at my

long absence. Elihu had the horse brought out and freshly shod, and prepared a wallet of oats that I might feed it when necessary during the night. His wife prepared some provisions for me to eat on the journey, which were placed in the saddle-bags. I put on Elihu's warm overcoat, and with enough money in my pocket to take me to the Ohio River and back, I felt fully equipped. I ate my supper, mounted my beautiful traveling mare, and started, between sunset and dark. There was no moon, but the night was clear and the stars shone brightly. The first ten miles of the way was familiar to me, and I had directions as far as Dan River ford; beyond that, all was new and strange. I traveled at a steady but moderate pace the first twenty miles, and reached the ford about midnight. Dan River at this place is a wide, shallow stream, with a swift current, perfectly safe to cross if one is acquainted with the ford. There were piles of stones placed at intervals across it, to guide the traveler, but it was difficult to see them by starlight, and when I got to the middle of the river I lost sight of them. I thought I had got into deep water and that my mare was swimming--I seemed to go so swiftly and easily--but I soon discovered it was my head that was swimming, and that the animal was standing still. I had involuntarily checked her by my tight hold on the reins. Casting my eye across the river I pushed ahead, and in a few moments was below the ford and in deep water. My animal swam out with me nicely, but I got a good wetting. Reaching the opposite shore, I alighted, and pulling off my shoes, wrung the water from my

stockings and pantaloons as well as I could. I then rubbed the limbs of the mare, and after giving her some oats on a smooth stone, and partaking of some food from my store in the saddle-bags, I mounted again, and set off at greater speed. Now and then I drew rein in front of a house by the wayside, and calling somebody out of bed, inquired the road to Patrick Court-House. After receiving directions, I rode on before the people had time to question me. Just at daybreak I came to a loghouse with a tavern sign. Calling the man out, I inquired about the road and found I had traveled forty-seven miles. The man told me if I would stop an hour or two, I would have company on my journey, a gentleman who had stopped with him that night and was going the same road, adding:

        "He is in pursuit of some movers who have one of his negroes with them."

        I made some excuse and pushed on. I knew that it was Osborne and that I was now ahead of him, but the next thought was--can I keep ahead of him? I was satisfied that I could not; I had traveled all night and my animal was tired, while his had rested through the night and would be fresh for the journey. I had taken good care of my mare, giving her a light feed of oats several times during the night and rubbing her legs frequently; she seemed in good condition, but I did not think it would be possible to push ahead and reach my uncle's wagon before Osborne overtook me.

        Many anxious thoughts passed through my excited mind, and finally I fixed on a plan. I would

stop at the next tavern, which was a few miles ahead, feed my mare, get breakfast and rest a few hours, thus allowing Osborne to overtake me. I knew him by sight but did not think he knew me, as we had never had any acquaintance. I intended to travel awhile in his company and find out his plans, then make an excuse for taking another road, and fall back while he went on, then pass him in the night when he was at some tavern. Public houses were scarce in that poor and thinly settled part of Virginia, and private houses would not take in travelers, because the law of the State did not allow them to charge for entertainment without obtaining license. It was half past eight o'clock when I halted at the next tavern, and called for breakfast, and food for my horse. About nine o'clock Osborne rode up and stopped for the same purpose. It was the custom then, in traveling on horseback, to make an early start, and stop about nine o'clock for breakfast.

        Osborne went to the bar and called for liquor and invited me to drink with him--though I was a stranger to him--but I declined. After breakfast he inquired which way I was traveling. I told him that I was going west, would cross the mountain at Maberry's Gap, then take the left-hand road, leading to Burk's Forks. At that place my Uncle Samuel Stanley had a stock farm where he kept a number of cattle through the winter, allowing them to fatten on the range during the summer. I said:

        "Last fall I went over there and helped my Cousin Jessie Stanley drive a drove of beef cattle home to Guilford County, then we crossed the

mountain at Bell Spur, but I thought I would cross this time at Maberry's Gap."

        Osborne inquired: "Is your name Stanley?"

        "No, it is Coffin."

        "Are you any relation to old Mr. Bethuel Coffin?"

        "Yes, he is my uncle."

        "Well, I am in pursuit of him."

        "What is the matter?"

        "Why, he has one of my niggers with him, taking him to Indiana, I suppose."

        "How is that?" I asked, assuming great surprise; "how did he get the negro? I saw him start and there was none with him then."

        "Oh, I don't think he stole the nigger," said Osborne; then he went on to relate the story that has been told before, how he supposed his negro had got free papers, and imposed on my uncle.

        Osborne now supposed my only business was the journey to Burk's Fork; I had certainly deceived him, but told no untruth. He had taken several drinks, and now became very jovial and familiar with me, expressing great satisfaction that I was going the same road; it was lonesome traveling through that rough, thinly settled country, and he was glad to have my company. His pocket-bottle was filled with whisky; then our horses were brought to the door, and we started off together. As we traveled along he talked and joked in great good humor, but I hardly heard what he said, for my mind was still full of plans and anxious thoughts. He had frequent recourse to his whisky bottle, and

pressed me to drink; I turned it up to my mouth several times, but took care that no liquor passed down my throat. I wanted to encourage his drinking and keep my own head clear, thinking that if he became stupefied with liquor I could more easily gain ground upon him, reach the camp that night before him, and warn poor Jack of his danger.

        Osborne communicated all his plans to me, saying that he did not intend to go upon them in the day-time, but to keep back, when he came near them, till they had camped for the night; then he would gather a company of armed men, surround the camp and take Sam, dead or alive, shooting him down if he attempted to escape. He said:

        "See here, young man, I want you to go with me, and help capture the nigger; I will pay you well. If it proves not to be Sam, I think I know who it is. There was a nigger man working about last winter in the Quaker settlement, who was willed free by a crazy master, but the heirs broke the will and have advertised for him, offering a hundred dollars reward to any one who will secure him and give them notice. His name is Jack Barnes, and he is so well described in the advertisement I think I would know him. If it is not my nigger with your uncle, it must be that fellow, and I will land him in Greenboro jail, sure. If you will go along and help me I will divide the reward with you; that will be fifty dollars apiece, and will pay us well these hard times."

        I made several excuses: said it would consume too much time, my business was urgent, etc.

        "Now, see here, my good fellow," continued Osborne, "you will lose nothing. I will return with you through the Burk's Fork settlement, and spend a day or two there, giving you time to do your business. Come, what do you say?"

        I still made excuses, though I had fully made up my mind to go with him, having come, by this time, to the conclusion that my first plan would not do. Osborne had inquired of every person we met in regard to the party of movers, asking how far they were ahead and if there was a negro man with them. The answer to the last question was always "Yes;" then Osborne would ask them to describe the man, and when they did, he would exclaim, with an oath, "That's my nigger, sure."

        He made similar inquiries at every house, and the statements he received confirmed him in the belief that the fugitive was his slave. Jack answered the description of Sam pretty well in regard to personal appearance. All this made it plainer to me that my original plan would not do: if I were to get ahead of Osborne, overtake my uncle and get Jack out of the way before Osborne came upon them, and try to keep him out of the way, Osborne, on coming to the wagon and not finding the negro, could easily prove that he had been with the party at the last camping place, and might harass and perhaps detain my uncle. Then it would be difficult for me to keep Jack secure in the mountains till Osborne gave up the search and returned home, and then try to place him with my uncle again. This arrangement, therefore, was abandoned, and I resolved to travel on with Osborne

till we reached the movers, hoping that the influence of the liquor, which he had partaken of freely during the day, or some other influence, would aid me in effecting Jack's escape. We were now nearing the top of the Blue Ridge, and in the afternoon passed the spot where my uncle had camped the night before. A short distance beyond the mountain ridge was the road that led to Burk's Forks. When we reached it, I halted and allowed Osborne to renew his urgent solicitations and offers of money. Finally, and in an apparently reluctant manner, I agreed to keep him company, just to oblige him, he thought--and we went on together. By this time we were seemingly much attached to each other. Osborne's pocket bottle had been refilled, at my expense, and to gain still further his favor, I exerted myself to entertain him, telling him stories and recounting jokes that kept him constantly laughing. It is needless to say that this gayety was all assumed on my part, for I was still weighed down with the heavy responsibility of my mission. Toward nightfall we learned that the wagon was only twelve or fifteen miles ahead of us. I was anxious to press on and accomplish our work that night, pleading the urgency of my business at Burk's Forks. Osborne, on the contrary, wished to stop for the night at the first house that afforded entertainment. I said, "Let us stop and get our horses fed, allow them to rest an hour or two and take some refreshment ourselves, then press on and finish our work to-night."

        "No," said Osborne, "that will not do. I want to collect a company of eight or ten men, well armed,

to surround the camp, and it is too late to rally them to-night."

        We stopped at a little log-house, where a sign indicated entertainment for man and beast, and called for refreshments. I was now getting into a part of the country I had seen before, Montgomery County, Virginia. I had spent two weeks in that county the previous fall, collecting cattle, as I had told Osborne. I knew that one Squire Howells kept a tavern on that road, not far ahead; that he owned no slaves, and was a popular man among the mountaineers. I inquired the distance to his house, and was informed that it was eight miles. I also learned that my uncle's party had passed a few hours before, and would probably camp near Squire Howells', as it was a favorable spot, on account of water, etc.

        I now renewed my persuasions to induce Osborne to go on; told him that the poor cabin where we then were afforded little accommodation or comfort; that if we went on to Squire Howells' we would be near the camp, and as that neighborhood was more thickly settled, we could collect the men he wanted and accomplish our work without spending another day. He finally yielded, and called for our horses. He invited me to drink with him at the bar, and I sipped the liquor lightly, wishing to promote his drinking. It was now dark, but the stars shone brightly, and we made our way along the road without difficulty.

        We arrived at Squire Howells' tavern before the inmates had gone to bed. Riding up to the gate, we hallooed, and the landlord came out. Osborne

inquired if a two-horse wagon with movers had passed that evening, and where they would be likely to camp. Howells replied, "They passed this evening; bought some horse feed of me, and inquired for a good camping place. I directed them to the Six-Mile Branch, as we call it, a stream about six miles from here, where they would find good water and every accommodation for camping."

        "Was there a nigger with them?" asked Osborne.

        "Yes," answered Howells, and gave his description.

        "That's my nigger," said Osborne; "and I am after him, bound to have him, dead or alive. I want you to raise a company of men and help me capture him. I will pay you well for it."

        "I don't much like that kind of business," said Howells.

        "Oh, I'll make you like it," added Osborne; "I have plenty of money."

        A glow of hope and comfort warmed my heart. I liked Howells' expression, and thought perhaps he might aid me if I could enlist his sympathy for the fugitive. I dismounted and said: "Well, we will have our horses fed, get some refreshment, and talk the matter over." Howells invited us to walk into the house while he and his son took our horses to the stable. I told Osborne to go in and I would go to the stable to give directions about feeding our horses. I was all excitement, for I felt that the crisis was near. Now was the time to act, if I succeeded in saving Jack. It would be difficult to describe my feelings, my intense anxiety. I had traveled one

hundred and twenty miles without sleep or rest, yet I felt no symptoms of sleepiness or fatigue. After giving directions to the young man about feeding our horses, I took Squire Howells to one side and ventured to make a confidant of him. I told him that Osborne and I were from the same county in North Carolina, and that I fell in company with him that morning as I was traveling in this direction on business; that Osborne was in pursuit of my uncle--the man with the wagon, who was going to Indiana--believing that he had one of his negroes with him. I gave him Osborne's story, about hearing that his slave had got hold of free papers; then pictured Osborne's character. I said that the master was a cruel tyrant, and that the slave was a faithful servant who ran away on account of the inhuman treatment he received, and lay out in the woods and thickets for several months. Osborne bore such a character for cruelty in the neighborhood, that even the slaveholders would not aid him in capturing his negro. After relating this, I went on to say that I did not believe the negro with my uncle was Osborne's slave, but another fugitive, and then gave the story of Jack Barnes. I said that before reaching the road, on top of the mountain, leading to Burk's Fork settlement, which I had intended to take, Osborne had insisted on my coming with him to help him capture his slave, and feeling pretty certain that the negro in question was not his Sam, but Jack Barnes, I had come on hoping to be of use in another way. Jack, in my opinion, was entitled to his freedom, having been willed free by

his master, and if this were he, I would have nothing to do with recapturing him. But if it proved to be Osborne's negro, I would do what I could in aiding the master to recover his property. I did not tell Howells all I knew; I did not tell him that Sam, Osborne's slave, was lying in the hay-mow in my father's barn when I left home, nor that I knew to a certainty that the negro with my uncle was Jack Barnes.

        Howells said at once: "If it is the negro you describe, he ought to be free; I would not detain him a moment, but would much rather help him on his way."

        I told him Osborne's plan was to raise a company of armed men, surround the camp and take the fugitive, dead or alive. If it proved to be Jack Barnes, Osborne would drag him back to slavery for the sake of the reward offered.

        I said: "I hope you will go with us, and help me in my efforts to save Jack from such a fate."

        He replied: "Since hearing your statement I have concluded to go with you. In regard to the other part, it will depend entirely on the class of men Osborne gets to go with him. However, I think I can manage that. I will take my son for one, and send for one of my near neighbors, and we will pick up a few more on the way."

        Some relief came to my overburdened mind, and I felt quite hopeful. We went into the house and found Osborne dancing in the bar-room; he had been drinking, and was quite jubilant over the prospect

of soon having his negro secured with the handcuffs and rope he had in his saddle-bags.

        I told him that Squire Howells had agreed to go with us, and would collect a company of men to surround the camp.

        "How many do you want?" asked Howells.

        "A half dozen or more, beside Mr. Coffin and myself, and all must be armed, for if the rascal attempts to escape, I want him shot down. I would much rather kill him than let him get away; he has been too much trouble to me already. I will give Mr. Coffin one of my pistols; he says he has none."

        Howells' neighbor came, bringing his gun, Howells and his son took their guns, and mounting our horses we started for the camp, six miles distant. It was now about midnight. As we traveled on, Howells called at several houses a little off the road, leaving us in the road till he returned. He thus gained time to talk with the men and give them the right side of the story. Three more joined us, increasing our party to eight. All were armed but myself; I declined accepting a pistol from Osborne, telling him I did not believe in killing folks. We were now getting very near the Six-Mile Branch, and my heart throbbed with intense excitement. A few minutes more would decide it all. We soon espied the camp-fire and retreated a little way to hold a consultation, and settle the plan of operation.

        Howells struck a match and looked at his watch; it was near daylight. Now was my time, and I nerved myself to the effort, feeling that I needed the eloquence of the most gifted orator to aid me

in making the appeal in behalf of poor Jack. I told the men that before we formed our plan of attack, I had something to say to them, and then went on to state: "If the negro in camp with my uncle is Osborne's Sam, I will do all I can to secure him, but I am inclined to think it is another man, a negro who was willed free by his master for his meritorious conduct." Then I gave the circumstances of the will case, and described Jack's character in glowing terms, adding the testimony of the recommendation signed by the leading white citizens of his own neighborhood. I said that Jack had worked in our settlement all winter, but since learning the news that the will had been broken and he was consigned to slavery, he had disappeared, and I presumed he was with my uncle trying to make his way to a free State. If this is the man we find in camp, I further said, I will have nothing to do with capturing him.

        Howells said: "Mr. Coffin appears to act from principle, and I think he will find us men of principle too. If it should be the negro described, he ought to be free, and I would much rather aid him on his way to liberty than detain him."

        The rest of Howells' company joined with him, and Osborne seeing them all agreed, turned clever fellow too, and said if it were not his negro he would have nothing to do with him. But he still thought it would prove to be Sam. I now told them I had another proposition to make:

        "If we were to surround the camp and break in suddenly upon the sleepers, it would be a great

shock and alarm to them. They would find themselves attacked by armed men, and seeing me in the midst would be greatly bewildered. The fright might prove an injury to the young lady, my cousin, who is with her father. As it is now near daybreak, I propose that we wait till daylight, when I will go up to the camp alone, leaving you concealed in the woods and thick underbrush. I will introduce myself to my uncle and give him privately to understand what is going on, and if the negro with them is Sam, I will make some excuse in his hearing, pass on a little way, then take a circuit through the bushes, and return to you. Then we will hitch our horses here, slip up through the thick bushes, and, surrounding the camp, pounce upon Sam and secure him. But if I find that it is Jack, I will soon ride back in sight of you and give a signal for you to come up to camp."

        All agreed to this but Osborne, who objected to the plan, fearing he should lose his negro. I argued the matter with him and told him if his negro escaped by that plan, I would obligate myself to pay for him. The rest thought this was a fair offer, and Osborne, seeing they were against him, finally submitted. When daylight had fully appeared, I rode up to camp. They were greatly surprised at my unexpected appearance in the wild mountain regions of Virginia at such an hour. I hastily informed them of my errand. Jack was much alarmed and wanted to flee to the bushes, but I assured them there was no danger and induced him to remain where he was. I then rode back in sight of the company and gave

them the signal to come forward. They advanced to the camp, presenting a formidable appearance with their guns, enough to strike terror to poor Jack's heart. My uncle and cousin knew Osborne and shook hands with him heartily. There was a general greeting for the rest of the party, then my uncle got out a jug of old peach brandy from his wagon, and passed the contents freely around. We all drank, and had a hearty laugh, which made the woods and rocks around us ring and echo. The morning was clear and bright, the load of care was off my heart, and I was jubilant.

        But poor Jack did not partake of our merriment. He still feared danger, and thought that the party of armed men had come to take him back to slavery. When brought face to face with him, Osborne acknowledged that it was not his negro, but said, "He looks a d----sight like that rascal Sam."

        After some time spent in talking, joking, and partaking of my uncle's good peach brandy, I told Osborne that I would stay and breakfast with my uncle's party and see them off. He might return to the tavern with friend Howells and get breakfast and have his horse fed, and I would join him there.

        This gave me an opportunity to explain matters more fully to my uncle's party, and to remove Jack's doubts and fears. He expressed heartfelt thanks to me for my efforts in his behalf, and I felt repaid for my long fatiguing journey and intense mental anxiety. I spent an hour or two with them, then bade them good-by, wishing that they might have

a safe and pleasant journey, and land Jack in Indiana, beyond the reach of the cruel task-master.

        I now turned my face homeward. The excitement was over, the anxiety was gone. In looking back over the work of the past few days, I felt that the hand of God was in it. He had blessed my efforts; he had guided my steps; he had strengthened my judgment. My heart was full of thankfulness to my Heavenly Father for his great mercy and favor; my eyes filled with tears, and I wept for joy. Then, as I rode along slowly through the thick woods, I reflected on what I should do next. Osborne was waiting for me at Squire Howells' tavern, and I must soon join him. I did not want his company on the homeward journey, but knew not how to get rid of it. He had promised to accompany me to Burk's Fork, where he understood I had business. That would be ten or fifteen miles out of our way, but I saw no other way to make my story good and keep him blinded in regard to my real mission. While pondering on this dilemma, I arrived at Howells', and soon saw a way out of my difficulties. In that State, magistrates had certain days to attend to law business, and this was one of Squire Howells' days. Several men had already come, on law business, and as Osborne and I were talking about our route, I saw a man whom I knew ride up and dismount from his horse. He lived in Burk's Fork settlement, near my Uncle Stanley's farm. I had had some acquaintance with him the previous fall, and when I went out and met him, he recognized me. I told Osborne to have his horse got out and we would be off; meanwhile

I took this man apart and entered into conversation with him. I asked him all the questions I could think of about my uncle's cattle, and his grass farm and the man who lived on it, inquiring if he gave proper attention to the cattle out on the range, salting them frequently to keep them tame and gentle, etc., etc.

        I then went to Osborne and told him that I had been quite fortunate; I had met a man right from Burk's Fork, a reliable person to whom I committed my business, and now we were saved the time and trouble of going out of the way--we could go directly home. This seemed to please him, and it was certainly a relief to me. He got his bottle filled at the bar, then we mounted our horses and set our faces homeward. My fleet mare kept up wonderfully; she traveled well, though for two days and nights she had had little rest. As for myself, I was exceedingly weary; the sharp tension of mind and body was relaxed, and I felt the need of sleep and rest. When night overtook us, we were in a poor, thinly settled region, and though we asked for entertainment at all the private houses--some of them mere huts--which we passed, we were not taken in, and had to travel till eleven o'clock before we reached a tavern. We had our horses put up and called for supper, and it was after midnight when we got to bed. I felt worn out and fell into a hard sleep; arising in the morning but little refreshed. After an early breakfast, we started again, and pursued our journey together very pleasantly. The next day we arrived at home, and Osborne and I parted on good

terms; he lived eight or ten miles from my father's.

        I was warmly greeted by my parents and friends; they had felt anxious about me and were elated with my success. The night after my return Sam slept in the hay-mow of my father's barn. I carried victuals to him and told him the story of my journey with his master. He evinced his emotion during the recital by various exclamations in a subdued tone. We dared not speak aloud, not knowing who might be lurking around in the dark, watching for him or some other fugitive.

        About two weeks afterward, Osborne came to my father's house to get me to go with him to hunt his negro. He said he thought Sam was skulking about in that neighborhood, probably hiding during the day in the thickets between our house and old Dr. Caldwell's. He thought Dr. Caldwell's negroes fed him, for he heard that runaways often lay in those thickets and were fed by those d----d niggers. My father reproved him for using profane language, and he replied:

        "It's enough to make anybody swear. I have lost time and money looking after that rascal. I can hear of his skulking around Dr. Caldwell's nigger huts, but can't find him. I have got acquainted with your son, Mr. Coffin, and think him a fine young fellow; I had rather trust him than anybody in this neighborhood. I don't know the woods among these thickets, and want him to go with me."

        I said I would go, as I was well acquainted with all the paths and byways through the woods, having

often traversed them when hunting for deer and wild turkeys, or looking after our out hogs. Father then invited Osborne to eat dinner with us and have his horse fed. He accepted the invitation, and my father was very social and friendly with him, but reproved him if he used profane language, as he frequently did in common conversation. After dinner I got out my horse and his, and we started off slave-hunting. Rather novel business for me, I thought, but I guess I knew what I was about. Old Dr. Caldwell lived a mile and a half east of my father's place. The space between the two farms was densely overgrown with small trees, shrubs and vines--the large timber having been destroyed by fire some years before. These thickets were the resort of wild game of different kinds, and formed also good hiding-places for fugitive slaves. In some of these, near Dr. Caldwell's, Osborne supposed Sam to be lurking, but I knew that he was then sitting in a thicket, half a mile northeast of my father's, weaving baskets. Caldwell's slaves were frequently permitted to go to the neighbors after night to sell the baskets which they had woven during spare hours, and in this way they disposed of Sam's baskets for him. Only that morning I had taken him some victuals when I went to feed some of our out hogs that ranged in that direction. I guided Osborne toward the southeast, to a dense thicket not far from Dr. Caldwell's. Dismounting from our horses, we hunted through this thoroughly, and followed a spring branch to its source in another thicket looking for tracks made by Sam's feet when he came to

get water. We then searched in neighboring thickets but found no trace of Sam. I guided Osborne farther to the south all the time, widening the distance between him and the object of his search. Quite discouraged at finding no track of Sam, Osborne finally gave up the hunt, and we rode out of the bushes into the Greensboro road. Osborne offered to pay me for my time and trouble, but I refused to take anything; then he thanked me for my services and we parted. I reached home about sunset, feeling that I should be well satisfied if that was my last slave hunt. Osborne afterward remarked to some one that there was not a man in that neighborhood worth a d--n to help him hunt his negro, except young Levi Coffin.

        About this time one of our neighbors, named David Grose--a man respected by all who knew him--sold his farm, and prepared to move with his family to the State of Indiana. Vestal Coffin and I held frequent consultations about Sam, knowing that he was liable to be captured so long as he remained in the neighborhood, and we thought this was a good opportunity to get him to a free State, if David Grose was willing to assume the risk. We knew Grose to be a kind-hearted, benevolent man, of anti-slavery sentiments, but whether he would be willing to undertake anything so hazardous was a question to be decided. We concluded to go to his house and lay the matter before him. He seemed deeply interested in Sam's case, and said he would consult his wife and consider the subject. Having never seen Sam, he expressed a desire to see and

talk with him, and ascertain if he was a bright, shrewd fellow, who could be relied on to act up to arrangements, and carry out plans for traveling, etc. Vestal and I agreed to bring Sam to Grose's house between twelve and one o'clock on a night appointed. It was unsafe to come at an earlier hour, for there might be persons passing about who would betray us. It was death, by the law of North Carolina, to steal negroes, and a heavy penalty to feed or harbor a runaway slave. At the time appointed, and on several subsequent nights, we accompanied Sam to Grose's house and held conferences in a private room, maturing our plans and fixing the time for starting. One night we narrowly escaped being detected by the patrol, a body of armed men who acted as watchmen or mounted police. They acted chiefly in the interest of the slaveholders, arresting all slaves they found out at night without passes from their masters, and administering to them severe whippings, and keeping a sharp look-out for fugitives.

        On the occasion referred to, Vestal and I, in company with Sam, were going along the main road, about twelve o'clock at night, on our way to Grose's house. Suddenly hearing the sound of horses' feet coming toward us, we sprang out of the road and threw ourselves down behind a large log in the woods. We had no time to get further away, and lay close to the ground, hoping to escape detection, while our hearts throbbed with excitement, and the sound of horses' feet came nearer and nearer. When the party passed us, we heard the riders talking, and

learned from their conversation that they were the patrol. They were talking about capturing runaway slaves, telling of their exploits in that business, and boasting of how many niggers they had whipped. Their conversation was plentifully interlarded with oaths. I well remember the thoughts that passed through my mind as I lay behind that log. I felt that I could fully realize the sensation of the poor hunted fugitive as he lay in woods or thickets, trembling lest any sound that greeted his ear should prove to be the step of a pursuer, come to drag him back to cruel bondage. I could appreciate the anxiety and distress that filled his mind as he wandered about in search of food, perhaps bearing on his back, in marks that were bleeding and sore, the cruel cuts of his master's lash. I could realize vividly his forlorn situation, exposed to the rain and cold and obliged to suffer from hunger, unless he could steal food or find some person who would venture to violate the laws of the land and give him something to eat, and allow him to seek shelter in the hay-mow of his barn. When the patrol had passed, and we heard the sound of their horses' feet dying away in the distance, we arose from our hiding-place, speaking to each other in whispers, and slipped silently through the woods in the darkness. Finally, we ventured to return to the road, and hearing no sound of horseman or foot traveler, we resumed our journey, stepping as lightly as we could. We approached David Grose's house cautiously, not knowing what enemy might be lying in wait. The dog, which was fast in his kennel, gave a short bark, but soon

became quiet, and we passed around to the kitchen, where David was waiting for us.

        The windows were darkened, and a dim light was burning inside. David admitted us, and we soon completed the arrangement for Sam to accompany him to Indiana. He had a large wagon, drawn by four horses, and intended to take what was called the Kentucky road, crossing the Blue Ridge at Ward's Gap, crossing New River near Wythe Court-House, Virginia, thence by way of Abingdon, crossing Cumberland River near Knoxville, thence over the Cumberland mountains and through Kentucky to Cincinnati, Ohio. He agreed to take the bundle of clothing we had prepared for Sam, in his wagon; Sam was to travel at night, and come up to the camp each morning before daylight to get his breakfast and enough provisions to last him through the day, while hiding in the bushes. The road was rough, and led over hills and mountains the greater part of the way, and the movers would not be able to make more than twenty miles a day; so Sam could easily keep up with them.

        Where the road forked, Grose was to leave a green bush or some other sign in the road he had taken, in order to guide Sam, and when he approached rivers that must be crossed by ferries, he would camp near the bank and wait for Sam to come up, then conceal him in the wagon, and thus convey him to the other side.

        Matters were now all arranged, and understood by both parties. Our conference closed, and as it was

near daylight we hurried away, Vestal and I to our separate homes, Sam to our hay-mow.

        Some shrewd young men, not over-conscientious about violating the slave laws of the State, believing that every man was entitled to liberty who had not forfeited that God-given right by crime, managed to get hold of free papers belonging to a free colored man in the neighborhood, and copied them, counterfeiting the names of the signers as well as they could, not stopping to consider the severe penalty attached to such violations of the law. It was so managed that the papers were given to Sam by a slave, and he was instructed not to use them unless he should get into a tight place--even then they might not save him.

        The night after Grose and his family started on their journey, we sent Sam on horseback, with a trusty young man, to my Uncle Samuel Stanley's, about ten miles on his route. According to arrangements, previously made, he was to remain there that night and the next day, then, on the following night, overtake the movers.

        But next day, my cousin, Jesse Stanley, being about to start on a short business journey to the west, concluded to give Sam a lift by taking him to drive his carriage as far as he traveled on Sam's road. He thought that he would incur no risk, as Sam was now out of the neighborhood where he was known. But it was a daring venture, and afterward involved my cousin in trouble, for, while traveling the main road, they met a man living near Greensboro, who was returning from Salem, Stokes County, to his home.

He did not know my cousin, but recognized Sam at once, though he did not speak. We will refer to this again.

        Sam overtook the movers that night and traveled on, as arranged, lying by in the daytime and pursuing his journey at night. He got along all right for more than a week, having in this time crossed the Blue Ridge, and traveled some distance in Virginia. One morning he came up to the party, then camped on the Abingdon road, some distance beyond Wythe Court-House, but still in Wythe County. He got his supply of food as usual, then retired some distance from the road to find a safe hiding-place among the hills. He remained in a dense thicket during the day, and at night attempted to make his way into the main road. But he heard wolves howling near him, and suddenly found himself surrounded by a hungry pack, their eyes glaring like balls of fire in the darkness. He had no weapon but a pocket-knife, and that was useless against such enemies. Seizing a club, he beat his way through them and reached a by-road, but was so frightened and bewildered that he knew not which way to turn to reach the main road. Running as fast as he could to escape the wolves, he heard dogs barking, and guided by the sound, made his way to a cabin. It was inhabited by the class of people known down South as poor white trash. He ventured in and inquired the way to the main road, saying he belonged to a party of movers, going to Tennessee, who had camped a few miles ahead on the Abingdon road. He said he had been sent back to look for something left behind, and had

lost his way. The people seemed friendly and invited him, saying that they would send for one of the neighbors to go with him and show him the way. Sam suspected no danger and came into the cabin, to rest from his hasty run and his fright. In a short time the boy who had been sent to the neighbors returned, accompanied by two men. Poor Sam now saw that he was in a trap. There was but one door to the cabin, and the men stood in that, looking at him fiercely and questioning him closely. They accused him of being a runaway slave, which he denied, but could produce no free papers to prove his assertion--the papers furnished him being with his bundle of clothes in the wagon. The men seized him and tied him fast, believing him to be a runaway slave, and hoping no doubt to receive a large reward for capturing so valuable a piece of property. Next day he was taken back to Wythe Court-House and put in jail, no camp of movers being discovered in the neighborhood where he was captured.

        In slave States every negro was regarded as a slave unless he could produce evidence that he was free, and when one was captured and it could not be ascertained who his master was, he was advertised in the county newspapers. A full description of him was given, and if no owner applied for him within the time fixed by law, he was sold to the highest bidder; part of the money being used to pay jail fees and other expenses, the rest going into the county treasury. Sam would not give his master's name, still claiming that he was free, and he was advertised. The advertisement was copied in the Greensboro

Patriot, and Osborne saw it. Believing the person described to be his slave Sam, he went to Wythe Court-House, Virginia, and claimed him. He put poor Sam in irons and started homeward, but never brought him back to Guilford County. The story he told afterward was that he had returned by way of Salisbury, North Carolina, and there sold Sam to a slave-trader. We only had Osborne's statement for this, and some thought that he was wicked and revengeful enough to have whipped poor Sam to death in some wild spot in the Virginia mountains; others thought, however, that even his desire for revenge would not lead him to sacrifice so valuable a piece of property. At any rate, that is the last we ever heard of poor Sam.

        Some time after Osborne returned from Virginia, he learned that Sam had been seen driving my Cousin Jesse Stanley's carriage, just before he started for the Northwest. After getting all the necessary evidence, he set about procuring a writ to arrest Stanley for negro stealing. This crime, it will be remembered, was punishable by death according to the laws of that State. I received intelligence of Osborne's intentions while at my school. I was then teaching near Deep River Meeting-House, about eight miles from my home. During the week I boarded with a family near by, riding home at the last of the week. The news reached me about noon one day, and I immediately adjourned my school till the next week, telling my pupils that special business claimed my attention.

        I kept my horse at my boarding-place, and it

did not take long for me to saddle and bridle it, mount, and be off. My Uncle Samuel Stanley lived ten miles away, near the western line of Guilford County. I made the distance in a short time, and informed my uncle's family of the threatened danger. They were of course greatly alarmed, and immediately began to ask what should be done. My Cousin Jesse was about my own age, and we were much attached to each other, seeming more like brothers than cousins. I entered fully into the feelings of the family, and advised Jesse to flee from the State at once. It was decided that he should go to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, where he had relatives. The distance was fully six hundred miles, and there was no public conveyance by the route he must go. He must travel on horseback and start immediately; there was no time for deliberate preparation or leave-taking. He needed a new coat and hat, and as I happened to have on a good coat and a new hat, I exchanged with him. We fitted him out as well as we could on such short notice, and his horse was brought to the door. I agreed to travel with him that night, for company, and see him safely out of the State.

        We started about sunset and traveled a by-way till dark--then came out into the main road. We made good progress and soon got out of Guilford County, and into Rockingham County, which bordered on Virginia. I continued with him until we crossed into Virginia, then bade him good-by and returned to my father's house, much fatigued with

my journey, but rejoiced to know that my cousin was safe from the clutches of the law.

        He arrived safely in Philadelphia, where he soon engaged in teaching. He continued in that profession about twelve years, marrying in the meantime an excellent woman with whom he lived happily. After an absence of nearly twenty years he paid a visit to his friends in North Carolina, but heard nothing of Osborne's writ for negro stealing. I might relate here that after my cousin left the country, Osborne searched for evidence that might implicate others for harboring his slave. He finally learned that Sam had been seen at Abel Stanley's, Jesse's uncle. Abel at that time had sold his farm, intending to move to Indiana. Hearing that Osborne was preparing to have him arrested, he fled from the State, leaving his family to complete the arrangements for moving and join him in Indiana. The rest of us, who were more deeply involved in the crime of harboring and feeding the fugitive slave, than either of the Stanleys, escaped detection, and were never troubled by Osborne.

        In the fall of 1822, the year after David Grose had left North Carolina, I accompanied my brother-in-law, Benjamin White, and his family to Indiana. We traveled the same road that David Grose had traveled, camping out every night as was the custom of movers at that day. While passing through Wythe County, Virgina, we camped near the place where Sam had been taken, and there learned all the particulars of his being chased by wolves, his capture and imprisonment. When we reached Richmond,

Indiana--near which place my brother-in-law located for the winter--I inquired for Jack Barnes and learned that he lived at Milton, about fifteen miles to the west. Having relatives at that place, I went there, in a few days, traveling on horseback. As I rode into the village, almost the first man I saw was Jack Barnes. As soon as he recognized me, he hastened to me and clasped me in his arms, uttering exclamations of joy and gratitude that attracted the passers-passerbyby. A little crowd of people gathered, and Jack told them that I had saved him from slavery, that if it had not been for me, he would have been dragged back to prison and perhaps sold to the rice swamps of Georgia, or the cotton fields of Alabama, where his only allowance of food would have been a peck of corn a week. When his first excitement was over, he wanted to give me some money, to repay me for my trouble and exertion on his behalf. I told him that I was amply repaid and would not receive a cent. Jack had got employment at good wages, had been industrious and frugal, and had accumulated property. Milton was a new place then; Jack had bought a lot and built the first cottage in the village. He had many friends in the place, and it would have been a difficult task for Osborne, Barnes' heirs, or anybody else, to have captured Jack and taken him away from Milton.

        Early in the following spring, I went to Terre Haute, Vigo County, to enter land for my brother-in-law, and finding that David Grose had settled in that county, several miles below, I went to visit

him, receiving a warm welcome. He still had Sam's bundle of clothing, but had not heard a word about him since the morning he left their camp in Wythe County, Virginia, to hunt a place of concealment during the day among the thickets. On the follow-lowing morning, when he did not join them as usual, they felt much anxiety about him, fearing that he had got lost or been captured, or that some accident had befallen him. They still hoped that he might overtake them the following night, but when the next night came and no Sam appeared, they gave him up. Since locating in Indiana they had seen no person from North Carolina, of whom they could inquire, and until I arrived they were in the dark regarding the fate of poor Sam.

CHAPTER III.

        TEACHING SLAVES TO READ--SABBATH-SCHOOL WORK--AGITATION OF THE ANTI-SLAVERY CAUSE--MANU-MISSION SOCIETIES--TRIP TO INDIANA--INCIDENTS ON THE WAY--THE EARLY SETTLEMENTS OF INDIANA--I ENGAGE IN SCHOOL LABORS--ORGANIZATION OF THE FIRST SABBATH-SCHOOL IN WESTERN INDIANA--A VISIT TO ILLINOIS--LOST ON THE PRAIRIE--SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS, FIFTY YEARS AGO--CONCLUSION OF SCHOOL LABORS IN INDIANA--RETURN TO NORTH CAROLINA--SHORT TRIP TO VIRGINIA.

        IN the summer of 1821, my cousin, Vestal Coffin, suggested to me that we should organize a Sabbath-school for the colored people, and endeavor to obtain the consent of the slaveholders in the neighborhood to teach their slaves to read. We knew that the Caldwell family--the old doctor, and two or three of his sons who lived on their own plantations--and a few other slaveholders, were lenient and would have no objection to our teaching their slaves to read the the Bible. I heartily united with my cousin in this project, and we visited the Caldwells, the Dokes, and a few other slaveholders, and obtained the desired permission. It was arranged that

the slaves should come one Sabbath afternoon to the brick school-house, near New Garden Meeting-House. They collected at the time appointed, wondering at the new and unexpected privilege which had been accorded them. Among them was one of Thomas Caldwell's slaves, called Uncle Frank. He was a gray-haired old negro who had all his life been kept in ignorance, but his heart was full of love for God, and he was thankful for this opportunity of learning to read the Bible. He was quite a preacher in his way, and frequently exhorted the slaves in the neighborhood. On this occasion, he made a long and fervent prayer. He said: "I pray dat de good massa Lord will put it into de niggers' hearts to larn to read de good book. Oh, Lord, make de letters in our spellin' books big and plain, and make our eyes bright and shinin', and make our hearts big and strong for to larn. Make our minds sharp and keen; yes, Lord, as sharp as a double-edged sword, so dat we can see clean through de book. Oh, Hebbenly Fader, we tank De for makin' our massas willin' to let us come to dis school, and oh, Lord, do bress dese dear young men you has made willin' to come heah and larn us poor slave niggers to read de bressed word from de mouf of God. Oh, Lord, teach us to be good sarvents, and touch our massas' hearts and make 'em tender, so dey will not lay de whips to our bare backs, and you, great Massa, shall have all de glory and praise. Amen."

        Then the negroes broke out with one of their plantation songs or hymns, led by Uncle Frank; a

sort of prayer in rhyme, in which the same words occurred again and again.

        After this was over, we arranged them in separate classes, and began to teach them the alphabet. It was new business to them, and they were so excited with the novelty of the situation that they accomplished little that day. The next Sabbath they made better progress, and in a short time some of them had mastered the alphabet and began to spell words of two or three letters. Others, mostly adults, were dull, and hard to teach, though they tried hard. After we had continued the school every Sabbath for the most of the summer, and had been encouraged by the progress of some of our pupils, we found that we would be obliged to give it up. Some of the neighboring slaveholders, who were not friendly to our work, threatened to put the law in force against us, and visiting those who had let their slaves attend our school, told them they were guilty as well as the teachers, and that the school must be discontinued. They said that it made their slaves discontented and uneasy, and created a desire for the privileges that others had.

        Our pupils were kept at home, and we were obliged to give up our school and succumb to the influence of the slave laws. Thus ended our slave teaching.

SABBATH-SCHOOLS.

        Strange as it may seem to us now, there were then no Sabbath-schools in that part of the country, either among Friends or other religious denominations. I think it was about 1818 when a few of the young

people of our society, at New Garden, met together to consult about organizing a Sabbath-school. I was among the number, and took an active part, for it was a subject in which I was deeply interested. Our conference resulted in opening a Sabbath-school in our new brick school-house, at New Garden. With few exceptions, we had no encouragement from parents and older Friends. On the contrary, we had much opposition to contend with. The school was small at first, but increased in numbers, and was soon large and interesting. It was the first Sabbath-school that I have any knowledge of in that part of the country. My cousin, Elijah Coffin, and my sister Beulah, afterward the wife of Daniel Puckett, a noted minister among Friends, were our ablest instructors. The results of the school were very satisfactory to all engaged in it, and instilled into my heart a love for Sabbath-school work that increased as I grew in years, and has continued with me even to the present time.

        In the spring of 1822, I opened my first school, having previously served as assistant teacher.

        I continued this business for more than three years, in different neighborhoods, and assisted in organizing Sabbath-schools in various places.

        When I opened my first school, I had no prospect of continuing in the business long, for I felt that my qualifications were not sufficient for so responsible a work, but meeting with success in my school, gaining the affection of the pupils and the approbation of their parents, I felt encouraged to continue. I had a deep concern for the moral and religious welfare

of my associates, for though young in years, I had experienced a change of heart. I had an earnest desire to exercise a good influence over those of my own age, and younger, who were my companions, and felt that I would have an opportunity to do so if I continued teaching. I found no difficulty in the government of my school; I loved order and system, and after I gained the affection of my pupils, they yielded a ready and cheerful obedience to all my rules and regulations. I look back to those years as the pleasantest of my life, and regard my labors in teaching and establishing Sabbath-schools with much satisfaction. The attachments then formed between teacher and pupils have never been broken, and though more than fifty years have passed, I still meet, now and then, in different parts of the West, those who were associated with me in school, and they recur with pleasure to the days we spent together.

ANTI-SLAVERY MATTERS.

        During the time I was engaged in teaching, I was not idle in anti-slavery matters. The subject of gradual emancipation, or manumission of slaves, was agitated in various parts of the State. A paper, called the Greensboro Patriot, was started at Greensboro, edited by William Swaim, a young man of rare talent. He advocated the manumission of slaves, and though he met with a storm of opposition and was assailed by other papers, he continued his course boldly and independently. He received letters from various parts of the State full of threats and warnings. These he published in his

paper, and replied to them in editorials. Many public speakers and writers engaged in discussion with him, but they could not cope with him, and generally retired from the combat much worsted.

        Some plan of gradual manumission was the theme of general discussion at that day, but none of the advocates spoke or seemed to think of immediate and unconditional emancipation. Manumission societies were organized in different counties. The first, I believe, was organized at New Garden, Guilford County. I was a member of it, and can well remember the proceedings. We also had several State Conventions, which were largely attended, and at which addresses were delivered and speeches made, by prominent men. The various branches were represented by delegates. The first convention of this kind was held at Jamestown, in Guilford County, and William Swaim, editor of the Greensboro Patriot, took an active part in the proceedings. His cousin Moses, a lawyer of Randolph County, delivered a lengthy and able address, which was afterward printed and widely circulated. It was a strong abolition speech, and would not have been allowed a few years later. Several lenient slave-holders united with us in those meetings, and advocated plans for gradual manumission. About this time the same subject was agitated in East Tennessee, and similar societies organized in that part of the State.

        Benjamin Lundy, of that locality, started a paper, called the Genius of Universal Emancipation, which I subscribed for and read as long as it was published.

At our next convention, which was held at New Garden Meeting-House, Elihu Emory and James Jones, of East Tennessee, attended as delegates from that State. Both were active members of the Society of Friends--able men and good speakers. The last convention that I attended was held at General Gray's, in Randolph County. He was a wealthy man and owned a number of slaves, but was interested in our movement. The meeting was held in his large new barn, which was covered but not weather-boarded, and which afforded ample room for the assembly. Quite a number of slaveholders were present who favored gradual manumission and colonization. They argued that if the slaves were manumitted, they must be sent to Africa; it would not do for them to remain in this country; they must return to Africa, and this must be made a condition of their liberty. A motion was made to amend our constitution, so that the name of our organiizaton would be, "Manumission and Colonization Society." This produced a sharp debate. Many of us were opposed to making colonization a condition of freedom, believing it to be an odious plan of expatriation concocted by slaveholders, to open a drain by which they might get rid of free negroes, and thus remain in more secure possession of their slave property. They considered free negroes a dangerous element among slaves. We had no objection to free negroes going to Africa of their own will, but to compel them to go as a condition of freedom was a movement to which we were conscientiously opposed and against which we strongly contended. When

the vote was taken, the motion was carried by a small majority. We felt that the slave power had got the ascendency in our society, and that we could no longer work in it. The convention broke up in confusion, and our New Garden branch withdrew to itself, no longer co-operating with the others. Our little anti-slavery band, composed mostly of Friends, continued to meet at New Garden until the majority of the members emigrated to the West, preferring to live in a free State,

        The laws relating to slavery were constantly made more oppressive. A law was finally passed prohibiting slaves who had been set free by their masters from remaining in the State, except in exceptional cases, where they had been manumitted for meritorious conduct.

        Slavery and Quakerism could not prosper together, and many of the Friends from New Garden and other settlements moved to the West. In the summer of 1822, my brother-in-law, Benjamin White, sold his farm and prepared to move with his family to Indiana. I was anxious to accompany him and visit the Western States, a strange, new country then, where so many of my relatives and acquaintances had settled. With the consent of my parents I engaged to go with him and drive his team to the Far West, as it was then called, a distance of six hundred miles. The road we proposed to travel crossed the Blue Ridge at Ward's Gap, in Western Virginia, led through East Tennessee and Kentucky, and reached the Ohio River at Cincinnati. This was considered the best route for loaded wagons. I was then engaged

in teaching at Dover Meeting-House, about ten miles from my father's, but closed my school in August, and prepared for the journey. My brother-in-law was provided with a tent and all the necessary equipments for camping out, and stored provisions and cooking utensils in his wagon. It was a trial to part from my dear parents, and from my youngest sister Priscilla, the only child left at home.

        After taking leave of them, I set out on the journey with my brother-in-law. Every thing seemed bright and pleasant before us. The weather was fine, and the novelty of pitching our tent at night beneath the tall pines or by the roadside, and camping out, was very attractive to me. Our little party, consisting of my brother-in-law and my sister, their four children, his niece, and myself, were all in good spirits, and enjoyed to the utmost the varied and beautiful scenery of mountain, forest and stream. We seemed to breathe new life and vigor with every breath of pure mountain air, and soon accommodated ourselves to the inconveniences of travel. At night we slept soundly near our camp fire, leaving our large watch dog to guard the camp. We traveled alone until we had passed Abingdon, Virginia, when we overtook a six-horse team with two men. They had been to the lead mines, near New River, and were returning to their home in Kentucky, near Crab Orchard. They proved to be pleasant companions, and we agreed to travel together. Although Kentuckians, they were anti-slavery in sentiment, and there was perfect harmony between us on the subject.

        One morning, soon after we had left camp, three or four rough-looking men rode up hastily behind us and commanded us to stop. They said they had lost a valuable little dog, a pet, and that they believed we had it concealed in our wagon. We told them we had not seen it, and had no use for another dog, having one to each wagon. This did not seem to satisfy them, and they said they must search our wagon and see. My brother-in-law told them they were welcome to look in the wagon. They dismounted from their horses, and after my sister and her children had got out of the wagon, they crawled in and tumbled the things about. I said to my brother-in-law, "We must watch them or they will steal something," and, stepping up to the wagon, took out the rifle we used for shooting game, thinking they might take it. The Kentuckians, meanwhile, were standing by their own team, and when the ruffians had done searching our wagon, they went to search the other. We knew from the first that the story about the dog was only a pretense. We were confident that the party of men were hunting for a negro, a fugitive slave, and thought it best to let them satisfy themselves that there was none with us; otherwise they might continue to harass and molest us. But the Kentuckians were not so passive. Their wagon had nothing in it but lead and horse feed, but they were not willing to yield to the ruffians the right of search. The younger Kentuckian stood near the wagon with the lash of his heavy whip wrapped around his hand, and the butt clasped between his fingers,

prepared to strike a violent blow. He dared them to approach, and said "I would like to see one of you put your head inside my wagon. I know what sort of dogs you are hunting. It is runaway negroes you are after, and I'll venture that neither of you are able to own a negro. If I had one in my wagon you could not get him, for you have shown no authority for searching private property." The elder Kentuckian added a few sharp words, and the ruffians, not liking to encounter such resolute men, mounted their horses, and rode away, cursing and swearing. We did not see them again, and were not further molested. The next night we camped near the house of a Methodist minister. Having occasion to go to the house on an errand, I met the gentleman and entered into conversation with him. He was pleasant and sociable in his manner and gave me much information concerning that locality. I saw no slaves about the house, and introduced the subject of slavery. I found that he was opposed to it. I related our adventure with the party of men, and he said that we were not the first movers who had been molested. A gang of ruffians, moved by the prospect of the large reward generally offered in such cases, frequently stopped emigrant wagons and searched them for runaway negroes. Not long before, a negro had been found secreted in a mover's wagon, on his way to a free State, and had been captured.

        We met with no accident or detention on our journey, yet we were five weeks on the way. Such a rate of progress seems exceedingly slow and tedious

in this day of railroads. We camped out all the way, with the exception of one or two stormy nights. During our travel through the mountains, I frequently took my rifle and made excursions in the woods in search of game. I succeeded in killing several wild turkeys, which made a pleasant addition to our stock of provisions. In one of these rambles in search of game, I wandered some distance from the road, but not out of hearing of the wagons ahead. I was making my way through the thick underbrush, with my gun on my shoulder, when I discovered something moving in the bushes not far away. I halted to ascertain what it was, and it soon made its way into an open space and stood in full view. It was a large black bear, the largest I had ever seen. It turned its head toward the noise of the wagons, and thus did not discover me. I lowered my gun and took aim, not stopping to think what the consequence would be if I did not kill it, though I knew that a wounded and enraged bear was a dangerous enemy. The ball penetrated its body but did not kill it. It gave a cry of pain, then whirled around on its hind feet and made for me. I turned and ran as fast as I could, calling the dogs. They had heard the noise and came yelping toward me. The bear was close behind when they came in sight, but when it saw them, it turned and plunged into a thicket. The dogs pursued and soon reached it. A short but fierce combat ensued, in which the bear defended itself well. The dogs received so many hard blows and scratches that they soon retired from the conflict and came running back. The

teams had stopped on hearing the noise of the affray, and the men came to see what was going on. I reloaded my gun and we attempted to pursue the bear, but the dogs had been demoralized in the fight and we could not induce them to trail it through the thickets. We hunted for it among the bushes for nearly an hour, but were obliged to give it up. This was my first and last experience in bear hunting.

        After reaching our destination, in Wayne County, Indiana, I spent several weeks in visiting relatives, then engaged in teaching, near Richmond. My school-house was near the spot where Earlham College now stands. Several pupils, from Richmond, attended during the winter. After the close of the term, in early spring, I went to Terre Haute, on the Wabash River, on business. There was then a small settlement of Friends on White Lick, about twenty miles southwest of Indianapolis, where the town of Mooresville now stands. That part of the country was then a wilderness, covered with heavy timber. My brother-in-law, Benjamin White, and a few other Friends entered tracts of government land in that vicinity, and they are now dotted with thriving towns and villages, and the Western Yearly Meeting of Friends is held in their midst. This was in the spring of 1823. Indianapolis, the metropolis of the State, was then a new town with few houses. The country between it and Richmond was then unsettled. Where the National pike and Indiana Central Railroad now run, there were only a few paths and wagon trails cut through the bushes.

Through this wilderness I traveled alone on horse-back, seeing, no inhabitants after leaving the settlement, on the west fork of White Water, until I reached a small settlement on Blue River, about forty miles west of Richmond. Here I turned a short distance from my route in order to visit William Macy and his wife, who had been my associates and school-mates in North Carolina. They had emigrated to the West a year or two before, and settled, with a few other families from North Carolina, on Blue River. They had entered a quarter section of land, most of it rich bottom land, and had built a little cabin in the woods. When I reached the cabin, I found the door closed and saw no sign of life but some squirrels that were frisking about on the roof. I alighted and knocked at the door, but gained no response. Just then I heard the sound of chopping some distance away, and making my way to the spot I saw William at work with his ax, and his wife piling brush, while their babe sat playing on a blanket spread on the ground.

        It was a joyful meeting. My friends stopped their work and we repaired to the little cabin, which was built in the most primitive style. It had but one door, the floor was made of puncheons, or split timber, and the fireplace was constructed of the same material plastered with mud. Round poles served as joists, and had clapboards laid on them to form the loft floor. My friends seemed well contented in this humble habitation, and as a number of other families had entered land near them, they had a fair prospect of being in the midst of a thriving

and thickly settled neighborhood in the course of a few years. In the fall of 1826 I visited them again, and found them living in a good frame-house, with a large barn and other buildings, surrounded by a well cleared and valuable farm. They, in common with the other pioneers of that neighborhood, were now enjoying comfort and prosperity, the results of their own industry. They had removed from North Carolina to get away from the influences of slavery, and here breathed a free atmosphere.

        After visiting my old acquaintances in this locality, I went to the settlement on White Lick, passing through Indianapolis on the way. The Court-House was then in process of erection at that place; the State-House was not built for some time afterward. The Legislature had not then met there. A newspaper had just been started, and the editor gave me a copy. The next day, as I was riding alone through the thick woods on my way to White Lick, I took out the paper and opened it. The first thing that struck my attention was a story of a boy who was a witness in court, and was severely questioned by the opposing lawyer who wished to show that his testimony was not reliable. At last the lawyer said to the judge: "I don't think the evidence of this witness can be taken. He does not seem to be very bright or intelligent. I will ask him some questions and you can judge for yourself."

        He then said: "Boy, who made you."

        The boy scratched his head and replied: "I don't know. I guess Moses did."

        The lawyer said, triumphantly, "Now, gentlemen

of the court, you can see that what I said was true. Boy, you may stand aside."

        "Stop," said the boy; "I want to ask you some questions. Can I, judge?" He was permitted to, and said to the lawyer: "Who made you?"

        The lawyer scratched his head in imitation of the boy and said: "I don't know. I guess Aaron did."

        "Well," said the boy; "I have heard that Aaron made a calf, but I didn't know that the thing had got in here."

        The whole audience broke out into a laugh at the expense of the lawyer. When I came to the end of the story I laughed aloud, startling the echoes of the silent woods around me. I stopped my horse and looked about, to see if anybody had heard me, but saw no one but a bright-eyed squirrel peering down at me from a tree.

        I reached White Lick settlement and spent several days there looking at the land I was to enter, and selecting an eighty-acre lot for myself. I then started for Terre Haute, sixty miles distant, having no road to guide me but an Indian trail, and there being no settlement on the way, except a small one, where Greencastle now stands. I reached this place the first night and stopped at a small log cabin. It had but one room, and this was the sleeping apartment of parents, children and chance visitors. A tramper had stopped there a few days before, professing to be a hatter by trade, and proposing to put up a shop at the place. I did not like his appearance, and having considerable gold and silver in my saddle-bags, which I was carrying to the land office,

I did not wish to be in close quarters with him. He was very inquisitive in regard to my business in that part of the country, but I evaded his questions as best I could. We had to occupy the same bed, and though I was fatigued with my long journey I could not sleep. Anxiety, and a feeling of heavy responsibility for the money of others intrusted to my care, kept me wakeful and uneasy. I put my saddle-bags containing the specie under the head of the bed, and lay in such a position that my companion could not reach it without passing over me.

        No attempt at robbery was made that night, but I subsequently learned that a few days afterward, the sheriff of Dayton, Ohio, arrived there and captured this man and put him in irons; he had committed a heavy robbery in Ohio. The day after I left the cabin, I was riding through a dense forest when I encountered a terrific storm. Black clouds drifted rapidly across the sky, and heavy peals of thunder mingled with the noise of the wind in the timber. I dismounted from my frightened horse and stood holding him by the bridle, seeing no way to seek safety. It became very dark, tall trees fell crashing in every direction, and the lightning ran in streams along the prostrate timber. It was an impressive and solemn time with me, for I expected every moment to be crushed by the falling trees or struck by the lightning.

        The storm soon passed, and I was left unhurt in the midst of the ruined forest. My heart was filled with thankfulness to God for his great mercy in preserving my life. I at first thought I could not

make my way with my horse out of the forest; for the fallen trees completely obstructed the road, but I soon found that the track of the hurricane was narrow, and when I was beyond that the way was clear.

        This hindrance prevented me from reaching the settlement near Terre Haute that night, but about dark I came to a house on the edge of Otter Creek prairie, where I spent the night. Next day I arrived safely in Terre Haute, where I accomplished my business at the land office, and got rid of my gold and silver. I then went on seven miles farther, to a little settlement of Friends on Honey Creek, and stopped at Moses Hockett's for the night. I intended to go on the next morning, to another settlement, fifteen miles further down the Wabash, where a number of my acquaintances from New Garden, North Carolina, lived. But Moses Hockett informed me that next day was their monthly meeting, and persuaded me to stay and attend it. At the business meeting, I gave the clerk my certificate of membership, which had been given me by the monthly meeting at New Garden, North Carolina, when I started West. It stated that I was a member in unity with them, and recommended me to the Christian care and kind regard of Friends wherever my lot should be cast. This was a good introduction, and seemed to open my way among strangers. After meeting I had many invitations from those present, and finding that I had been engaged in teaching, they were anxious that I should open a school at their meeting-house. They assured me that I would have a large school. I could not engage to teach,

as I expected to return to Richmond after visiting my friends at Termin's Creek, so did not make any agreement. I remained over Sabbath at this place, and next day went on to the lower settlement, where I spent over a week visiting my old associates, and hunting. Deer, wild turkeys, and other game were abundant and afforded us delightful sport. Several families of the Dixes and Hunts, and my old friend David Grose, had settled here, all from Guilford County. About the time I intended to start from this place, wet weather set in. It rained incessantly for several days, and all the streams were swollen so as to be impassable. The ground was thawed and the roads were very muddy; altogether, it was a dismal prospect to a traveler. My friends dissuaded me from attempting to return to Richmond, and I concluded to wait till the streams that lay in my way could be forded. When the rain ceased, I returned to Honey Creek and agreed to open a school there, with the understanding that as soon as the roads were passable I should adjourn the school, for a week or two, and return to my brother-in-law's, near Richmond, for the purpose of getting a supply of clothing, etc. I spent a day or two riding about the neighborhood with William Durham, an elder, and the head of Honey Creek Meeting, for the purpose of getting subscribers to the school, and having obtained a sufficient number of names, I opened the school. It was soon full, and continued large until the close.

        Finding that there was a number of young people in the neighborhood who could not attend school in

the busy season, I determined to organize a Sabbath-school. There had never been one in that place, and I knew that to insure its success I must enlist the interest of the parents. To affect this object I called a meeting at the Meeting-House, one Sabbath afternoon, requesting the young people and their parents to be present, both members of Friends' Society and others. I felt the responsibility I was taking on myself, and prayed for Divine guidance and strength and wisdom. At the time appointed a large meeting convened. I spoke of my concern for those of my own age and younger, whom I saw in that beautiful prairie settlement, and my desire to do something to promote their moral and religious welfare while among them. I then proposed that we organize a Sabbath-school, to meet every Sabbath afternoon at the Meeting-House, for the object of reading and studying the Scriptures, and for mutual instruction in all that was good and elevating. I spoke of the Sabbath-schools in my native place, and their beneficial results, and, after I had aroused the interest of all, I addressed myself particularly to the parents, saying that much would depend on the encouragement they gave this undertaking and the part they took in it. If they would attend and heartily join in the proceedings, and encourage their children to come, we might be sure of an interesting and successful school. To my great joy, they united with me fully in the enterprise, and the matter was all arranged. The school opened the following Sabbath, and was well attended. It was held regularly, and increased in interest as long as I

remained in that part of the country. Members of other denominations took part with us, and all seemed to enjoy, and to be benefited by it. This was the first Sabbath-school started in that part of the country. When the roads were settled and the weather was fair and pleasant, I adjourned my school and went to Richmond, as I had arranged to do, missing but one Sabbath-school by my absence.

        About the last of May, my cousin, Allen Hiatt, of Clinton County, Ohio, visited me at Honey Creek. He was on his way to Illinois to visit his sister, the wife of Absalom Dillon, who, with several other Friends, had removed from Ohio and formed a little settlement on the Sangamon River, ten or fifteen miles from the place where Springfield, the State capital, now stands. My cousin was very anxious that I should accompany him, as his route lay across the Grand Prairie, a tract of country then entirely uninhabited, and he would find it very lonely traveling several days without company. I felt inclined to go with him, as part of my business to the West was to see the country, so I applied to the trustees for permission to adjourn my school for an indefinite period. This was granted, and I made preparations for the journey. My horse was in good plight for traveling, and when I had provided myself with a pocket compass, a good rifle, and enough provisions to last a week, I felt ready to start. Each of us took a wallet of shelled corn for our horses, and a good blanket as a preparation for camping out.

        We were told that there was an Indian trail from Fort Harrison to the forks of the Sangamon River,

where we would find a settlement and be not far from our destination; so we resolved to take this route. Fully equipped, we bade good-by to our friends one bright morning, and started out on the wide prairie. We crossed the Wabash River, at Fort Harrison, four miles above Terre Haute, and entered Illinois. We found inhabitants for several miles, then struck the Indian trail and left behind us all signs of human habitation.

        We followed the trail for two days, winding about from northwest to southwest, through the vast unbounded prairie. It led from one small grove of timber to another, which the Indians had used as camping places, and where they had erected scaffolds on which to dry their venison. On the second day the trail grew dim, and toward night it seemed to fade out entirely.

        We directed our course to a small grove of timber ahead, which we reached about dark. We prepared to camp here for the night, and were making a tent of green boughs to protect us from the heavy dew, when we were startled by seeing two men coming toward us through the high grass. They soon told their story. They had been lost on the prairie for several days, and were wandering about in search of the trail when they saw our camp-fire and directed their steps toward us. Their provisions had given out two days before, and they were suffering with hunger. We fed them sparingly that night, on account of their having fasted so long, and the next morning divided our store of provisions with them. They were trying to reach the settlement on the

Wabash, and we were able to guide them on their way by directing them to the route which we had come.

        As for ourselves, we hardly knew how to proceed. We knew not how to steer our course for the Sangamon settlement by our compass, and our Indian trail had led us out of our way and then vanished. After some anxious consultation we concluded to go straight west across the trackless prairie. We continued this course until we reached the Sangamon River, where we were again at a loss. We knew not whether to go up or down, but finally concluded that we were too far south, so we turned north and traveled the rest of the day up the river. We looked eagerly about us for some sign of habitation, but saw none, and at night camped in the edge of the timber that skirted the stream. We felt lonely and discouraged. Our stock of provisions was nearly gone and our horse feed was exhausted. The horses could subsist on grass, but what were we to do for something to eat? We now realized that we were lost, and began to forebode all kinds of disaster. To increase the discomfort of our situation, great clouds of mosquitoes surrounded and began to torment us, and the howl of wolves was heard in the distance. We hampered our horses and turned them out to graze, but the mosquitoes troubled them so much that they sought the smoke of our camp-fire for relief. We built several fires and surrounded ourselves by a cloud of smoke, preferring this discomfort to the torment of the mosquitoes. We slept but little during the night, our minds

being full of anxiety. The wolves howled almost continually, those near us seeming to answer those farther off. Sometimes we mocked them, by way of amusement; though it was rather poor amusement under the circumstances.

        In the morning we concluded to retrace our steps, feeling satisfied that we should have turned down the river instead of up. We traveled southward all day, seeing no sign of inhabitants, and at night we camped again in the timber, weary and hungry. Our situation was now indeed serious. Our provisions were entirely gone and starvation seemed to stare us in the face. We frequently saw large herds of deer feeding on the prairie, but did not succeed in killing any. We were completely lost, not knowing that our course would bring us to any settlement for hundreds of miles.

        In the morning we mounted our horses and continued our journey. This was the sixth day we had traveled without seeing any human being, except the two lost men that came to our camp. We pushed our way onward through the tall grass of the prairie, and about one o'clock in the afternoon we were suddenly cheered by the sound of a bell. We halted to listen, then made our way in the direction whence the sound came. We found a few ponies in the shade of a small grove. One of them wore a bell around its neck, and it was the tinkle of this which we had heard. We supposed they were Indian ponies, and that we were not far from a camp of Indians. We had had very little acquaintance with Indians, and under other circumstances would

have avoided meeting with them, but now we were anxious to find them. We took a circle around, looking for some track that might lead us to the camp or village, but found none. The sudden hope that had raised in our hearts died out, and we felt the peril of our situation more forcibly than ever. We traveled on down the bank of the river and had left the group of ponies several miles behind us, when we discovered smoke rising from a point of timber before us, that reached out into the prairie. We supposed this to proceed from the Indian camp we were in search of and hastened toward the place. On nearing it, we saw a small log-cabin, and when we came up to it, we discovered to our great joy that the inhabitants were white people. They were entire strangers to us, but seemed very kind and friendly. Words can not express the thankfulness that filled my heart; I was gladder to see these people than I had ever been to see my nearest friends. No one can realize our feelings who has not had a similar experience. The people welcomed us to their cabin and soon prepared for us an excellent dinner of fresh venison, warm corn-bread, wild honey, milk and butter. They told us that three families, their own and two others, had settled in that locality the year before, and had raised a very good crop in the summer, It was twenty-five miles to their nearest neighbors, near the forks of the river. The settlement they referred to was the one we had been trying to find.

        We tarried with these kind people until the next morning; then, with proper directions, we struck

our course, and reached the settlement that evening. There was no ferry-boat at the river, but we found a man, living near by, who offered to take us across in his canoe. We accepted his offer and put our saddles and saddle-bags in the canoe, compelling our horses to swim after us. I came near losing my horse in the river. He got fast in the branches of a tree that had fallen into the water, and struggled so hard to get loose that he was completely exhausted, and when he reached the bank, he was not able to rise out of the water. We kept his head above the surface by the bridle, and after a little time he gathered strength to climb the bank. After waiting awhile to give our horses rest and let them feed, we traveled on a few miles to Absalom Dillon's, the place of our destination. We found a small settlement of Friends and others who had "squatted," as it is called, on government land. They had selected their land and were waiting for it to come into market. We were kindly received by our relatives and others, at this place, and I spent several days here very pleasantly.

        One day a party of us went out on the prairie, which was dotted with beautiful flowers, and gathered a plentiful supply of delicious strawberries. Other days were spent in hunting and in riding about to look at the country. In one of our excursions we visited the place where the city of Springfield now stands. A little cluster of cabins marked the site of the present capital. All the people were "squatters" on government land, as it had not then come into market. The Dillons were preparing to

visit another place, about forty miles westward, and my cousin Allen Hiatt was inclined to go with them. They asked me to go too, but I told them that ever since I had come to the West I had heard of a better place a little farther on, and now that I had got within forty miles of it, I thought I would turn back. I was anxious to return to my school, and there was a chance of company on the way, which I did not wish to lose.

        There was a man in the neighborhood from Hamilton, Ohio, who had come out by way of Vandalia, and who wished to return by Terre Haute. We arranged to travel together, and after preparing provisions for the journey across the Grand Prairie, and bidding our friends good-by, we set out. The first night we lodged at the place twenty-five miles up the river, where Allen Hiatt and I had been so kindly entertained, and the following morning, with nothing but our compass to guide us, we started across the wide prairie. I was satisfied that if we pursued a direct eastward course that we would strike the settlement on the Wabash. We made good progress that day, and camped at night in a small grove of timber.

        Next morning Seeley, my companion, declared that our course was leading us too far to the northward, and insisted that we must bear more toward the south. I differed with him on this point. I told him that we were now south of the route that Allen Hiatt and I had traveled when going out, and if we should bear farther south, it would increase the distance, and we should miss the settlement on

the Wabash that we wished to reach. If we bore farther north we might strike the trail that I had followed for two days when going out. Seeley, how ever, still persisted in his belief. He was much older than I, and a more experienced traveler, but I could not yield to his judgment. I had the advantage of him in several particulars; the compass was mine, the gun was mine, and I had a larger stock of provisions; I could do without him better than he could do without me. Nevertheless, he seemed resolved to part company and pursue his own route, unless I would change my course. It was a serious matter to separate in this vast prairie country where there were no roads or inhabitants, nothing to break the monotony of the level green plain but occasional groves of timber. But I would not change, and my companion would not, so we parted. I steered straight east by my compass, and Seeley bore to the southward. He probably thought I would yield at last and join him, but I held on my way, and the distance between us began to widen. He grew smaller and smaller, and about nine o'clock seemed like a black speck in the distance. At ten o'clock he appeared larger and seemed to be coming toward me. At eleven o'clock he fell into my course, and when I came up to him, he said:

        "Are you sure you are right?"

        "No," I replied, "I fear I am too far south."

        We continued our course directly east until about noon, when we met an Indian on horseback. He halted, and I spoke to him, but he did not seem to understand English, and made signs that he wanted

something to eat. We all dismounted from our horses, and I gave him some bread and meat. I then asked him what tribe he belonged to, but he made no reply. I mentioned the names of several tribes, and when I said "Kickapoo," he responded at once. I found that he understood enough English to know the names of places in that part of the country. I inquired the course to Fort Harrison. He pointed straight east, and said "There Terre Haute," then a little farther south, and said "There Vincennes."

        Then he marked on the ground to indicate these places and the course, and made us understand by signs that we could not reach Fort Harrison by a straight course, for we could not cross the river. He made motions with his arms to imitate swimming, and showed us that our horses would swim and the water would come over our saddles. He then marked on the ground again, and showed us the course we must take. We must go northeast until the sun reached such a place--pointing to the sun then over our heads--when we would reach the river. We could ford it there, then we must turn southeast and travel in that direction, until the sun reached such a place in the sky. Then we must turn straight east, and would soon reach the settlement.

        We followed his directions, forded the river without difficulty, and reached the settlement near Fort Harrison the next day, after a wearisome journey of four days. During the latter part of our journey the weather was very warm, and the last night out was

one of the most uncomfortable I ever experienced. During the day we had passed through a wet, swampy district, where the water stood in pools here and there, that were knee deep to our horses. We were pushing forward in hope of reaching a grove of timber which we saw in the distance, when a black cloud rolled up from the west, and the peals of thunder sounded through the sky. It rained heavily and we were soon drenched. Darkness settled around us before we reached the grove, and in trying to make our way to it, in order to camp for the night, we got into one of those morasses I have mentioned. We thought we could pass through it, and pushed on, but the water soon became so deep we were obliged to halt. We turned and tried to make our way out, but did not succeed, and coming to a spot of dry land, in the midst of the water, we concluded to stop. One held the horses while the other looked about.

        We found that we were completely surrounded by water, and decided that we had better remain where we were during the night. After hampering our horses and turning them loose to graze, we arranged our saddles and saddle-bags on the ground and lay down. We had blankets to spread over ourselves, but we were yet wet with the rain, and were far from comfortable. The clouds passed away and the stars shone brightly in the clear sky. Being much fatigued, we soon fell asleep, but awoke about midnight chilly and shivering. We got up and exercised by walking and jumping about on our little island, and soon got warm, but we could sleep no

more during the night, having to repeat the exercise several times. When daylight came, we saw our horses some two hundred yards from us, grazing on the dry prairie. We found a narrow path by which we could reach them without wading, and gathering up our saddles and blankets, we left our camping place. We made good progress that day, and, as before stated, reached the settlement that afternoon in safety. I left my companion at Terre Haute and arrived at my home at Honey Creek that night. I received a hearty greeting from all my friends, and was very glad to get back. I felt fully satisfied with my adventures in the wild West, and did not care for any more experience of that kind. After one or two days' rest, I reopened my school, and continued it without further intermission until the last of August. Nothwithstanding the exposure I had undergone in my travels, I continued to enjoy the blessing of good health.

        Soon after the close of my school I left Honey Creek, and returned to Richmond through the southern part of the State, which had been longer settled than the central part. I went by way of Paoli, Orange County, and Salem, Washington County, where I had numerous relatives living. Two uncles--my father's elder brothers--were among the early settlers of that locality. Large settlements of Friends had grown up in these counties, and a Quarterly Meeting was established near Salem, called Blue River Quarterly Meeting. After spending about a week in visiting my uncles, Libni and Matthew Coffin, and many of my numerous

cousins, I went directly to the home of my brother-in-law, Benjamin White, near Richmond. This was my headquarters while I staid in the West, though a part of my leisure time was spent in visiting my other sisters, the wives of Daniel Puckett and Samuel Kellum, who lived about nine miles north of Richmond, in the village of Newport. The time for the Yearly Meeting of Friends was drawing near, and I wished to attend it before starting back to North Carolina. Indiana Yearly Meeting had been established but a short time, and a large house in the suburbs of Richmond had been erected to accommodate the meeting. It was called White Water Meeting-House.

        The time for the meeting to open was in the Tenth Mo., October, and this gave me several weeks in which to visit my relatives and prepare for my homeward journey. I had learned that there was a prospect of having pleasant company on my way back. My uncle, Jonathan Hockett, of Highland County, Ohio, and his son Jonathan; Aaron Betts, of the same county, and Benjamin Beeson, of Indiana, were all going on horseback to North Carolina. The time of starting was agreed upon, and after taking leave of my friends in Indiana, and visiting relatives in Clinton and Highland Counties, Ohio, I joined this party and started for North Carolina. We crossed the Ohio River at Gallipolis, then went up the Kanawha River to the Falls. We crossed New River at Pack's Ferry, and our course from that place led across Peter's mountain, across the Blue Ridge at Maberry's Gap, and thence to Guilford County,

North Carolina. I reached my father's house about the first of November, 1823. I was truly thankful to meet my dear parents and sister again, after a separation of more than a year, and they were greatly rejoiced at my restoration to them in the enjoyment of health and prosperity.

        I remained quietly at home several weeks, aiding my father in the work of the farm. Schools generally were taken up, and I saw no opening for employment as teacher that winter. In the early part of winter I was applied to by a friend of mine to go on a collecting tour for him in the mountain regions of Southwestern Virginia. It would occupy me but a few weeks. I undertook the business reluctantly, fearing the inclemency of the weather in that cold mountain region. I crossed the Blue Ridge at Good Spur Gap, and spent about two weeks traveling over portions of Grayson, Wythe, and Montgomery Counties, Virginia. Snow lay on the ground, and the weather was extremely cold. I frequently encountered heavy snow-storms, and this exposure gave me a severe cold. I was gone from home about three weeks, and soon after my return I was taken violently ill with the pleurisy. This distressing disease reduced me very low, but by the aid of a skillful physician, and the tender and careful nursing of my parents and sister, and the blessing of my Heavenly Father, I was so far restored in a few weeks as to be able to walk about a little when the weather was fair. I remained in feeble health the remainder of the winter, and was not able to engage in any heavy physical labor.

        One day, late in the winter, I was sitting in a rather dejected frame of mind, meditating on my situation and wondering what I should do, when a boy rode up to the door, and handed me a letter. I opened it and found that it was from Jesse Moore, of Deep River, near Jamestown, requesting me to take a school at that place. He wished me to engage for one year, and assured me that I would have a large school. I gladly accepted the offer, and as soon as my health permitted I opened the school. It was about eight miles from my father's, and by keeping my horse at my boarding place I had the opportunity of riding home at the close of the week. I taught here the whole year, and had a large and interesting school.

CHAPTER IV.

        MARRIAGE--REMOVAL TO INDIANA--I LOCATE AT NEWPORT AND ENGAGE IN MERCANTILE BUSINESS--UNDERGROUND RAILROAD WORK -- DIFFICULTIES AND DANGERS OF THE WORK--TRIP TO NORTH CAROLINA--HEART-RENDING SCENE AT A SLAVE AUCTION--TEMPERANCE WORK AT NEWPORT.

        ON the 28th day of tenth month, 1824, I was married to Catherine White, daughter of Stanton and Sarah White. We were brought up in the same neighborhood, and had been acquainted from childhood. She belonged to the Religious Society of Friends, and was then a member of Hopewell Monthly Meeting, to which place her father had removed a few years before, from his former residence near New Garden. We were married at Hopewell Meeting-House, after the manner and custom of Friends.

        My wedding-day was my twenty-sixth birthday; my wife was twenty-one the preceding month. Our attachment to each other was of long standing. She was an amiable and attractive young woman of lively, buoyant spirits. Her heart has ever been quick to respond to the cry of distress, and she has been an able and efficient helper to me in all my efforts on

behalf of the fugitive slaves, and a cheerful sharer in all the toils, privations and dangers which we have, in consequence, been called upon to endure.

        Soon after marriage I rented a house near my school, and here we first went to housekeeping. My school closed early in the spring, and I concluded to rest awhile from the arduous duties of teaching.

        Thinking that my health would be improved by the open-air exercise of farming, and having a very favorable offer made me of a comfortable house, without charge, in that neighborhood, and as much ground as I wished to cultivate, I prepared to engage in farming. This prospect was pleasant to us both, as my wife and I had been brought up on farms. The house was tendered us by our friend and neighbor Shields Moore, who now lives in Indiana. We went to work in good spirits and soon had a garden planted and a crop in. But my plan for farming soon came to an end.

        A new school-house had just been completed, about two miles north of Deep River Meeting-House, in a thickly settled neighborhood of Friends. This settlement was called Nazareth, and the school-house received the same name. There was a large number of young people in the neighborhood, for whose benefit the parents were anxious to establish a good school. A committee, consisting of Abel Coffin, Thaddeus Gardner, Zacharias Coffin and Peter Hunt, visited me and asked me to take the school. They added inducements by offering me a good house, free of charge, and agreeing to guarantee my

salary, but I declined the offer. I thought they had overestimated my qualifications and reputation as a teacher, and feared that I could not satisfactorily fill the place. They would not accept my answer as final, however, and said they would visit me again, giving me a week to think on the subject. I consulted with my wife and some of our neighbors, and finally agreed to accept the offer. I accordingly sold my crop, and removed to the house near the school.

        In my article of agreement, I limited my school to fifty scholars. This number was soon made up, and I employed Susanna Overman, a graduate of Greensboro Academy, as assistant.

        This was the largest and most interesting school that I ever taught. During this year I was also engaged in Sabbath-school work. We organized a large Sabbath-school at Deep River Meeting-House, the first ever established in that place. In the early part of 1826 we organized a library association at my school-house, calling it the Nazereth Library Association. We got several of the prominent men of the neighborhood interested in this work, and succeeded in getting a small, yet good collection of books with which to start our library. We then made up a considerable sum of money, and having, by the aid of Jeremiah Hubbard and others, made out a list of valuable books, we sent by Abel Coffin, who was going to Philadelphia, and purchased others. This was the beginning of what grew in time to be a large and interesting library.

        When my school closed, I made a donation of my stock and interest in the library to the association.

I was then preparing to move to the State of Indiana. The association afterward obtained a charter and became a corporate body. A year or two after my removal to the West, I received an official notification of a resolution passed by this body, thanking me for the active part I had taken in organizing the association, and for my donation to the library.

        In the early part of the ninth month, 1826, we took a final leave of North Carolina. My parents had emigrated to Indiana the previous year, and I was the last one of our family to go. My family at this time consisted of myself, my wife, and our son Jesse, about a year old. My wife's parents were not then prepared to move, but followed the next year. On our way to Indiana we had the company of my wife's cousin, Elias Jessup, and his little family.

        We made the journey in light wagons, with good teams, and had a pleasant trip. We took the shortest route, called the Kanawha road, and arrived at our destination in four weeks from the time of starting. We located at Newport, Wayne County, Indiana, where we lived for more than twenty years. This village was in the midst of a large settlement of Friends, and a Quarterly Meeting was then established at New Garden Meeting-House, about a half mile from the village. I bought property in Newport, and finding that there was a good opening there for a mercantile business, I concluded to engage in it. I went to Cincinnati and purchased a small stock of goods and opened a store. This venture was successful, and I increased my stock and

varied my assortment of goods until a large retail business was established.

        The next year I commenced cutting pork in a small way, besides carrying on my other business. This I continued to do, enlarging my operations every year, and kept it up as long as I remained in Newport,

        In the year 1836, I built an oil mill and manufactured linseed oil. Notwithstanding all this multiplicity of business, I was never too busy to engage in Underground Railroad affairs. Soon after we located at Newport, I found that we were on a line of the U. G. R. R. Fugitives often passed through that place, and generally stopped among the colored people. There was in that neighborhood a number of families of free colored people, mostly from North Carolina, who were the descendants of slaves who had been liberated by Friends many years before, and sent to free States at the expense of North Carolina Yearly Meeting. I learned that the fugitive slaves who took refuge with these people were often pursued and captured, the colored people not being very skillful in concealing them, or shrewd in making arrangements to forward them to Canada. I was pained to hear of the capture of these fugitives, and inquired of some of the Friends in our village why they did not take them in and secrete them, when they were pursued, and then aid them on their way to Canada? I found that they were afraid of the penalty of the law. I told them that I read in the Bible when I was a boy that it was right to take in the stranger and administer to those in distress, and that

I thought it was always safe to do right. The Bible, in bidding us to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, said nothing about color, and I should try to follow out the teachings of that good book. I was willing to receive and aid as many fugitives as were disposed to come to my house. I knew that my wife's feelings and sympathies regarding this matter were the same as mine, and that she was willing to do her part. It soon became known to the colored people in our neighborhood and others, that our house was a depot where the hunted and harassed fugitive journeying northward, on the Underground Railroad, could find succor and sympathy. It also became known at other depots on the various lines that converged at Newport.

        In the winter of 1826-27, fugitives began to come to our house, and as it became more widely known on different routes that the slaves fleeing from bondage would find a welcome and shelter at our house, and be forwarded safely on their journey, the number increased. Friends in the neighborhood, who had formerly stood aloof from the work, fearful of the penalty of the law, were encouraged to engage in it when they saw the fearless manner in which I acted, and the success that attended my efforts. They would contribute to clothe the fugitives, and would aid in forwarding them on their way, but were timid about sheltering them under their roof; so that part of the work devolved on us. Some seemed really glad to see the work go on, if somebody else would do it. Others doubted the propriety of it, and tried to discourage me, and dissuade

me from running such risks. They manifested great concern for my safety and pecuniary interests, telling me that such a course of action would injure my business and perhaps ruin me; that I ought to consider the welfare of my family; and warning me that my life was in danger, as there were many threats made against me by the slave-hunters and those who sympathized with them.

        After listening quietly to these counselors, I told them that I felt no condemnation for anything that I had ever done for the fugitive slaves. If by doing my duty and endeavoring to fulfill the injunctions of the Bible, I injured my business, then let my business go. As to my safety, my life was in the hands of my Divine Master, and I felt that I had his approval. I had no fear of the danger that seemed to threaten my life or my business. If I was faithful to duty, and honest and industrious, I felt that I would be preserved, and that I could make enough to support my family. At one time there came to see me a good old Friend, who was apparently very deeply concerned for my welfare. He said he was as much opposed to slavery as I was, but thought it very wrong to harbor fugitive slaves. No one there knew of what crimes they were guilty; they might have killed their masters, or committed some other atrocious deed, then those who sheltered them, and aided them in their escape from justice would indirectly be accomplices. He mentioned other objections which he wished me to consider, and then talked for some time, trying to convince me of the errors of my ways. I heard him patiently

until he had relieved his mind of the burden upon it, and then asked if he thought the Good Samaritan stopped to inquire whether the man who fell among thieves was guilty of any crime before he attempted to help him? I asked him if he were to see a stranger who had fallen into the ditch would he not help him out until satisfied that he had committed no atrocious deed? These, and many other questions which I put to him, he did not seem able to answer satisfactorily. He was so perplexed and confused that I really pitied the good old man, and advised him to go home and read his Bible thoroughly, and pray over it, and I thought his concern about my aiding fugitive slaves would be removed from his mind, and that he would feel like helping me in the work. We parted in good feeling, and he always manifested warm friendship toward me until the end of his days.

        Many of my pro-slavery customers left me for a time, my sales were diminished, and for a while my business prospects were discouraging, yet my faith was not shaken, nor my efforts for the slaves lessened. New customers soon came in to fill the places of those who had left me. New settlements were rapidly forming to the north of us, and our own was filling up with emigrants from North Carolina, and other States. My trade increased, and I enlarged my business. I was blessed in all my efforts and succeeded beyond my expectations. The Underground Railroad business increased as time advanced, and it was attended with heavy expenses, which I could not have borne had not my affairs

been prosperous. I found it necessary to keep a team and a wagon always at command, to convey the fugitive slaves on their journey. Sometimes, when we had large companies, one or two other teams and wagons were required. These journeys had to be made at night, often through deep mud and bad roads, and along by-ways that were seldom traveled. Every precaution to evade pursuit had to be used, as the hunters were often on the track, and sometimes ahead of the slaves. We had different routes for sending the fugitives to depots, ten, fifteen, or twenty miles distant, and when we heard of slave-hunters having passed on one road, we forwarded our passengers by another.

        In some instances where we learned that the pursuers were ahead of them, we sent a messenger and had the fugitives brought back to my house to remain in concealment until the bloodhounds in human shape had lost the trail and given up the pursuit.

        I soon became extensively known to the friends of the slaves, at different points on the Ohio River, where fugitives generally crossed, and to those northward of us on the various routes leading to Canada. Depots were established on the different lines of the Underground Railroad, south and north of Newport, and a perfect understanding was maintained between those who kept them. Three principal lines from the South converged at my house; one from Cincinnati, one from Madison, and one from Jeffersonville, Indiana. The roads were always in running order, the connections were good, the conductors active and zealous, and there was no

lack of passengers. Seldom a week passed without our receiving passengers by this mysterious road. We found it necessary to be always prepared to receive such company and properly care for them. We knew not what night or what hour of the night we would be roused from slumber by a gentle rap at the door. That was the signal announcing the arrival of a train of the Underground Railroad, for the locomotive did not whistle, nor make any unnecessary noise. I have often been awakened by this signal, and sprang out of bed in the dark and opened the door. Outside in the cold or rain, there would be a two-horse wagon loaded with fugitives, perhaps the greater part of them women and children. I would invite them, in a low tone, to come in, and they would follow me into the darkened house without a word, for we knew not who might be watching and listening. When they were all safely inside and the door fastened, I would cover the windows, strike a light and build a good fire. By this time my wife would be up and preparing victuals for them, and in a short time the cold and hungry fugitives would be made comfortable. I would accompany the conductor of the train to the stable, and care for the horses, that had, perhaps, been driven twenty-five or thirty miles that night, through the cold and rain. The fugitives would rest on pallets before the fire the rest of the night. Frequently, wagon-loads of passengers from the different lines have met at our house, having no previous knowledge of each other. The companies varied in number, from two or three fugitives to seventeen.

        The care of so many necessitated much work and anxiety on our part, but we assumed the burden of our own will and bore it cheerfully. It was never too cold or stormy, or the hour of night too late for my wife to rise from sleep, and provide food and comfortable lodging for the fugitives. Her sympathy for those in distress never tired, and her efforts in their behalf never abated. This work was kept up during the time we lived at Newport, a period of more than twenty years. The number of fugitives varied considerably in different years, but the annual average was more than one hundred. They generally came to us destitute of clothing, and were often barefooted. Clothing must be collected and kept on hand, if possible, and money must be raised to buy shoes, and purchase goods to make garments for women and children. The young ladies in the neighborhood organized a sewing society, and met at our house frequently, to make clothes for the fugitives.

        Sometimes when the fugitives came to us destitute, we kept them several days, until they could be provided with comfortable clothes. This depended on the circumstances of danger. If they had come a long distance and had been out several weeks or months--as was sometimes the case--and it was not probable that hunters were on their track, we thought it safe for them to remain with us until fitted for traveling through the thinly settled country to the North. Sometimes fugitives have come to our house in rags, foot-sore and toil-worn, and almost wild, having been out for several months

traveling at night, hiding in canebrakes or thickets during the day, often being lost and making little headway at night, particularly in cloudy weather, when the north star could not be seen, sometimes almost perishing for want of food, and afraid of every white person they saw, even after they came into a free State, knowing that slaves were often captured and taken back after crossing the Ohio River.

        Such as these we have kept until they were recruited in strength, provided with clothes, and able to travel. When they first came to us they were generally unwilling to tell their stories, or let us know what part of the South they came from. They would not give their names, or the names of their masters, correctly, fearing that they would be betrayed. In several instances fugitives came to our house sick from exhaustion and exposure, and lay several weeks. One case was that of a woman and her two children--little girls. Hearing that her children were to be sold away from her, she determined to take them with her and attempt to reach Canada. She had heard that Canada was a place where all were free, and that by traveling toward the north star she could reach it. She managed to get over the Ohio River with her two little girls, and then commenced her long and toilsome journey northward. Fearing to travel on the road, even at night, lest she should meet somebody, she made her way through the woods and across fields, living on fruits and green corn, when she could procure them, and sometimes suffering severely for lack of

food. Thus she wandered on, and at last reached our neighborhood. Seeing a cabin where some colored people lived she made her way to it. The people received her kindly, and at once conducted her to our house. She was so exhausted by the hardships of her long journey, and so weakened by hunger, having denied herself to feed her children, that she soon became quite sick. Her children were very tired, but soon recovered their strength, and were in good health. They had no shoes nor clothing except what they had on, and that was in tatters. Dr. Henry H. Way was called in, and faithfully attended the sick woman, until her health was restored. Then the little party were provided with good clothing and other comforts, and were sent on their way to Canada.

        Dr. Way was a warm friend to the fugitive slaves, and a hearty co-worker with me in anti-slavery matters. The number of those who were friendly to the fugitives increased in our neighborhood as time passed on. Many were willing to aid in clothing them and helping them on their way, and a few were willing to aid in secreting them, but the depot seemed to be established at my house.

        Notwithstanding the many threats of slave-hunters and the strong prejudices of pro-slavery men, I continued to prosper and gained a business influence in the community. Some of my customers, who had left me several years before on account of my anti-slavery sentiments, began to deal with me again. I had been elected a director in the Richmond branch of the State Bank, and was re-elected

annually for six or seven years, by the stockholders, to represent our district. When any one wished accommodation from the bank, much depended on the director from the district where the applicant lived. His word or influence would generally decide the matter. The remembrance of this seemed to hold a check on some of the pro-slavery men of our neighborhood. They wished to retain my friendship, and did not openly oppose my U. G. R. R. work as they might otherwise have done. My business influence no doubt operated in some degree to shield me from the attacks of the slave-hunters. These men often threatened to kill me, and at various times offered a reward for my head. I often received anonymous letters warning me that my store, pork-house, and dwelling would be burned to the ground, and one letter, mailed in Kentucky, informed me that a body of armed men were then on their way to Newport to destroy the town. The letter named the night in which the work would be accomplished, and warned me to flee from the place, for if I should be taken my life would pay for my crimes against Southern slaveholders. I had become so accustomed to threats and warnings, that this made no impression on me--struck no terror to my heart. The most of the inhabitants of our village were Friends, and their principles were those of peace and non-resistance. They were not alarmed at the threat to destroy the town, and on the night appointed retired to their beds as usual and slept peacefully. We placed no sentinels to give warning of danger, and had no extra company at

our house to guard our lives. We retired to rest at the usual hour, and were not disturbed during the night. In the morning the buildings were all there--there was no smell of fire, no sign of the terrible destruction threatened. I heard of only one person who was alarmed, and he did not live in town.

        The fright of this man created considerable amusement at the time and was not soon forgotten. He was a poor laborer, who lived a mile and a half from Newport, in a cabin which he had built in the woods. About half a mile east of his place, two roads crossed each other, one of them leading to Newport, and near the cross-roads was a large pond of water. This incident occurred in the spring of the year. Having heard that on a certain night the town of Newport was to be destroyed by an army from Kentucky, this man was listening, at the time appointed, for the sound of the approaching army. Soon after dark he was sure he heard martial music near the cross-roads. He hastened to town with all speed, and came into my store, almost out of breath, to give the alarm. We laughed at him, and told him that he heard the noise of frogs in that pond of water, but he would not be convinced. To satisfy him, a young man present said he would mount his horse and go with him to hear the music. He went, and soon returned and informed us that the frogs were making a lively noise in the pond in honor of the return of spring; that was all the music to be heard. The laborer was so chagrined at his ludicrous mistake, that he did not show himself in town for some time.

        Slave-hunters often passed through our town and sometimes had hired ruffians with them from Richmond, and other neighboring places. They knew me well, and knew that I harbored slaves and aided them to escape, but they never ventured to search my premises, or molest me in any way.

        I had many employes about my place of business, and much company about my house, and it seemed too public a place for fugitives to hide. These slave-hunters knew that if they committed any trespass, or went beyond the letter of the law, I would have them arrested, and they knew also that I had many friends who would stand at my back and aid me in prosecuting them. Thus, my business influence and large acquaintance afforded me protection in my labors for the oppressed fugitives. I expressed my anti-slavery sentiments with boldness on every occasion. I told the sympathizers with slave-hunters that I intended to shelter as many runaway slaves as came to my house, and aid them on their way; and advised them to be careful how they interfered with my work. They might get themselves into difficulty if they undertook to capture slaves from my premises, and become involved in a legal prosecution, for most of the arrests of slaves were unlawful. The law required that a writ should be obtained, and a proof that the slave was their property before they could take him away, and if they proceeded contrary to these requirements, and attempted to enter my house, I would have them arrested as kidnappers. These expressions, uttered frequently, had, I thought, a tendency to

intimidate the slave-hunters and their friends, and to prevent them from entering my house to search for slaves.

        The pursuit was often very close, and we had to resort to various stratagems in order to elude the pursuers. Sometimes a company of fugitives were scattered, and secreted in the neighborhood until the hunters had given up the chase. At other times their route was changed and they were hurried forward with all speed. It was a continual excitement and anxiety to us, but the work was its own reward.

        As I have said before, when we knew of no pursuit, and the fugitives needed to rest or to be clothed, or were sick from exposure and fatigue, we have kept them with us for weeks or months. A case of this kind was that of two young men who were brought to our house during a severe cold spell in the early part of winter. They had been out in the snow and ice, and their feet were so badly frozen that their boots had to be cut off, and they were compelled to lie by for three months, being unable to travel. Dr. Henry H. Way, who was always ready to minister to the fugitives, attended them, and by his skillful treatment their feet were saved, though for some time it was thought that a surgical operation would have to be performed. The two men left us in the spring, and went on to Canada. They seemed loth to part from us, and manifested much gratitude for our kindness and care. The next autumn one of them returned to our house to see us, saying that he felt so much indebted

to us that he had come back to work for us to try to repay us, in some measure, for what we had done for him. I told him that we had no charge against him, and could not receive anything for our attention to him while he was sick and helpless; but if he thought he would be safe, I would hire him during the winter at good wages. He accepted this offer and proved to be a faithful servant. He attended night-school and made some progress in learning. He returned to Canada in the spring.

        Many of the fugitives came long distances, from Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, in fact from all parts of the South. Sometimes the poor hunted creatures had been out so long, living in woods and thickets, that they were almost wild when they came in, and so fearful of being betrayed, that it was some time before their confidence could be gained and the true state of their case learned. Although the number of fugitives that I aided on their way was so large, not one, so far as I ever knew, was captured and taken back to slavery. Providence seemed to favor our efforts for the poor slaves, and to crown them with success.

INCIDENTS OF A TRIP TO NORTH CAROLINA.

        Early in the spring of 1828 I started to North Carolina on business for myself and others, taking with me a small drove of horses to sell.

        I was accompanied by Ellis Mitchell, a light mulatto man, free born. He was from our neighborhood in North Carolina, where by his industry as a blacksmith he had become possessed of a comfortable

little property adjoining the farm of my wife's father, Stanton White. In the fall of 1827 my father-in-law moved from North Carolina and settled in Spiceland, Henry County, Indiana. Ellis had long wished to pay a visit to the western country, but was deterred from making the attempt by a knowledge of the difficulties that beset a colored man, who traveled alone from a slave State to the free States. Therefore, when my father-in-law prepared to start, Ellis saw his opportunity. He offered his services to drive my father-in-law's team, and was gladly accepted.

        He made the journey in safety and spent the winter in Indiana, visiting his numerous friends and acquaintances, who had emigrated from North Carolina. When he wished to return home in the spring, he offered to go with me and aid me in driving the horses, and I gladly availed myself of his services. Dr. Henry H. Way, who was then my partner in business, accompanied us on the first day's journey. We stopped at night at a tavern near Eaton, Ohio, had our horses put up and called for supper for three. When we were called to the supper table, however, we found plates and seats for only two. The doctor observed to the landlady that we had ordered supper for three, but that she had prepared for only two, and remarked: "Perhaps you did not understand that there were three in our company."

        "Yes, sir," she replied; "I did understand, but we don't admit niggers to our table to eat with white folks. I will give your servant his supper in the kitchen."

        "He is not our servant," rejoined the doctor; "but a respectable gentleman, fully as worthy as we are, and nearly as white; he owns good property, and is really worth more money than either of us."

        "I don't care," she replied; "he can't eat at my table with white folks."

        In his quaint, peculiar style of speaking the doctor asked: "Do you ever expect to go to heaven?"

        "I hope so," she replied, wondering how such a question could refer to the subject of their conversation.

        The doctor said: "If this man should go there, as I trust he will, do you think he will be put in the kitchen?" and then went on to quote several passages of Scripture, with which the woman was apparently not familiar, concluding by saying: "I had much rather eat with this man than with a person who would not eat with him."

        But the landlady did not yield, and Ellis had to eat in the kitchen. We traveled through the State of Ohio, but had no further difficulty in regard to Ellis' accommodations until we crossed the river at Gallipolis and entered the State of Virginia. Then, Ellis was a "nigger" and had to go into the kitchen the most of the way. While traveling up the Kanawha River, there was a sudden change of temperature, and the weather, which had been mild and pleasant, became cold and blustering, and snow fell.

        Ellis Mitchell became quite sick from exposure, and was hardly able to travel. We wished to stop early, but could find no house of entertainment.

Some time after sunset we arrived at a good tavern and called for quarters. The landlord came out to meet us and appeared very accommodating. He called several negro servants to take our horses, and said to me: "Send your servant with mine to take care of the horses." I told him that I would go to the stable myself to look after the horses, as my companion was sick and I wished him to go in to the fire. I requested the landlord to give him a comfortable room where he could lie down, for he had had a hard ague chill in the afternoon and the fever was now coming on.

        The landlord replied: "Oh yes, sir, he shall be properly attended to;" and I told Ellis to go in.

        I went with the servants to see that our drove of horses was properly stabled and fed, then went back to the house and inquired about Ellis.

        The landlord said: "My niggers will take care of him; don't be uneasy."

        But I was determined to see where he was, and how he fared, and walking out of the back door, I proceeded to a negro cabin which I saw a few rods off. Entering it, I saw Ellis sitting on a rough bench in one corner, near a large fireplace in which burned a few sticks of wood. In the opposite corner sat several negro children on the dirt floor, for only half of the cabin, the back part, had a rough board floor. On these boards lay a few old blankets and quilts which afforded all the bed that Ellis could expect for the night.

        I went back to the house with my feelings much disturbed, and said to the landlord: "I called for a

comfortable room for the sick man, so that he might lie down, but I find him sitting on a rough bench, with no chance to lie down. I want him taken out of that dirty cabin and given a comfortable place to rest and sleep; he is able to pay for it. He is a free man, owning a good property, and at home has nice feather beds to sleep on."

        The landlord replied: "I will see that he is made comfortable."

        After supper, I went again to the cabin to see how Ellis was faring. I found him lying on the bench, with his overcoat over him. An old straw bed, with some ragged and dirty blankets, had been spread down in one corner for him, but he had refused to lie on it. For his supper he had been given some poor coffee and corn bread, of which he had tasted but little. The floor of the cabin was occupied by the negro servants, men, women, and children. Ellis spent the night on the bench by the fire, sleeping but little.

        In the morning the breakfast offered him was the same as his supper, yet when we came to settle our accounts, his bill was the same as mine. Ellis had never been a slave, had always lived in a neighborhood of Friends, where he was respected and kindly treated, and this was the first time he had experienced the effects of slavery. The rest of the way home he fared more comfortably. After crossing the mountains into Patrick County, where taverns were few and far between, we made an early start one morning, and traveled till ten o'clock to reach an inn. We stopped and called for breakfast for

two, and, after waiting some time, I was informed that the meal was ready. I stepped into the dining-room, but seeing only one plate on the table, I called to the landlady, and said: "I ordered breakfast for two, and I wish this gentleman to eat with me."

        She replied: "After you have done, sir, he may come to the table."

        I told her that we had no time to spare to eat, one after the other, for we had a long journey before us that day, and wished to be off as soon as possible."

        "I don't care," she said, "niggers can't eat with white folks at my table."

        I answered: "That gentleman is nearly as white as I am, and is a worthy man; I have no objections to eat with him."

        She still persisted in her refusal; then I said: "I have no time to parley. That man is older than I am; I will give him the preference if either of us have to wait."

        She at once set a plate on another table in the room, and set the same fare before Ellis. So we were permitted to eat in the same room.

        Ellis concluded that Virginia was a hard place for free negroes, even if they happened to be nearly white, and was glad to get out of the State, and reach his own comfortable home.

        After spending a week in the neighborhood of my old home, and disposing of part of my horses, I went farther south, into the edge of South Carolina, on the Pedee River, thence turned my course toward

Fayetteville. Fifty miles south of that place lies the town of Lamberton, where I arrived one day at noon, and stopped for dinner. I saw a large crowd of people in the Court-House yard, and thought that it would be a good opportunity to dispose of the few horses which I had left. The landlord informed me that an auction was about to take place--that a large number of slaves were to be sold that afternoon to the highest bidders. As soon as dinner was over, I walked out to the large lot in front of the Court-House, and looked about me. The slaves who were to be sold stood in a group near the auctioneer's stand, which was a high platform with steps. They appeared intelligent, but their countenances betrayed deep dejection and anxiety. The men who intended to purchase, passed from one to another of the group, examining them just as I would examine a horse which I wished to buy. These men seemed devoid of any feeling of humanity, and treated the negroes as if they were brutes. They examined their limbs and teeth to see if they were sound and healthy, and looked at their backs and heads, to see if they were scarred by whips, or other instruments of punishment. It was disgusting to witness their actions, and to hear their vulgar and profane language. Now and then one of them would make some obscene remark, and the rest would greet it with peals of laughter, but not a smile passed over the sad countenances of the slaves. There were men, women and children to be sold, the adults appearing to be in the prime of life. When the examination

was over, the auctioneer mounted the platform, taking one of the slave men with him. He described the good qualities of that valuable piece of property,--then the bidding commenced. The slave looked anxiously and eagerly from one bidder to another, as if trying to read in their countenances their qualities as masters, and his fate. The crier's hammer soon came down, then another slave was placed upon the stand, and bid off. After several men had been sold in this way, a woman was placed upon the stand, with a child in her arms apparently a year old. She was a fine looking woman, in the prime of life, with an intelligent countenance, clouded with the deepest sadness. The auctioneer recommended her as a good cook, house servant, and field hand--indeed, according to his representation, she could turn her hand to anything, and was an unusually valuable piece of property. She was industrious, honest and trustworthy, and, above all, she was a Christian, a member of the church--as if the grace of God would add to her price! The bidding was quite lively, and she sold for a high price. I supposed that the child was included in the sale, of course, but soon saw that it was to be sold separately. The mother begged her new master to buy her child, but he did not want it, and would not listen to her pleading.

        The child was sold to another man, but when he came to take it from her, she clasped her arms around it tighter than ever and clung to it. Her master came up and tore it from her arms amid her piercing shrieks and cries, and dragged her away,

cursing and abusing her as he went. The scene moved my heart to its depths; I could endure it no longer. I left the ground, returned to my tavern, called for my horses, and left the town without attempting to do any business. As I mounted my horse, I heard the voice of the slave mother as she screamed: "My child, my child!" I rode away as fast as I could, to get beyond the sound of her cries. But that night I could not sleep; her screams rang in my ears, and haunted me for weeks afterward.

        This incident increased my abhorrence of slavery and strengthened my determination to labor for the cruelly oppressed slaves. I resolved to labor in this cause until the end of my days, not expecting that I would live to see the fetters broken and the bondmen free, yet hoping that the time of redemption was not far distant. I returned home with feelings of renewed energy and zeal for the cause of liberty.

        I devoted much time and labor to aiding the poor fugitives, but found opportunity to engage in other benevolent work. The Society of Friends had a standing committee, called the "Committee on the Concerns of the People of Color," whose business it was to look after the educational interest of the free colored people among us. I was a member of that committee. A fund was raised every year by our society to sustain schools, and to aid the poor and destitute among the colored people. I was appointed treasurer of this fund. We had several large settlements of free colored people in the limits of our Quarterly Meeting, which were under our care, and

we sustained schools among them. With others of the committee, I often visited these neighborhoods to look after the interests of these poor, ignorant people.

        I also engaged in the cause of temperance, which was as unpopular then as the anti-slavery cause.

TEMPERANCE.

        I will here give a brief sketch of our struggle at Newport in the cause of temperance, and state how we succeeded in firmly planting those principles which afterward made that village noted for its sobriety and good moral influence.

        Our war with King Alcohol began in 1830, and continued for several years, resulting finally in a complete victory on our part. Newport was a small village of about twenty families, when I located there in the fall of 1826. A few mechanics, such as blacksmiths, wagon-makers, carpenters, shoe-makers, etc., had opened shops, and there were one or two dram shops where liquor was sold in small quantities. There was no dry-goods store in the village until I commenced business there. I first opened my store with a small assortment of dry-goods, groceries and hardware, such as was needed by the farmers, and gradually enlarged my stock as the demand for the articles increased.

        The country was new and thinly settled, but emigrants from North Carolina and other places came in and the population grew in number year by year.

        The liquor business increased as the village and neighborhood became more thickly settled, and

other dram shops were added. It was no uncommon thing to see a drinking, swearing gang of rowdies about these places of dissipation, or to hear them quarreling and fighting among themselves. Frequently, on the last day of the week a company of roughs from the surrounding neighborhoods would meet at Newport and have a drunken spree.

        The only religious denominations in the neighborhood were Friends and Methodists; the former were the most numerous, but the latter had a church organization. Friends in the village became much annoyed by the liquor shops and the noisy disturbances which resulted from them, and a few of us often labored with the liquor sellers, but to no effect. One evening Daniel Puckett, Dr. Henry H. Way and I met, according to agreement, to consult together in regard to this growing evil in our village. We felt that something must be done, if possible, to put a stop to it, but knew that before anything could be effectually accomplished, the public sentiment must be aroused, and that the people must recognize the enormity of this growing evil. How shall we proceed to do this? was the question that we considered. It was suggested and agreed upon that we should try to organize a temperance society, but the next question was, how will this take with the public? We knew of no such organization west of the mountains, and realized that if we engaged in the work it must be as pioneers. We knew that Friends professed to be a temperance society; that our discipline prohibited our members from distilling, importing or vending spirituous liquors, and from the

unnecessary use of the same, but we might differ as to what the necessary use of liquor was.

        Friends were not, as a general thing, total abstainers from liquor, and the question to be considered was, will they sustain us in this move? To succeed, we knew that we must also get the Methodists of the neighborhood interested in the matter and gain their support, so we selected three of the most influential members of that denomination in the place, and invited them to meet us in council.

        They came at the appointed time: Edward Starbuck, James Driggins, and another whose name I do not recollect. The result of the council was that we united in calling a meeting at our school-house in the town for the purpose of organizing a temperance society.

        Several advertisements were written and signed by the six persons present: three Friends and three Methodists. These were posted in different parts of the village, and the result was that a public excitement was created and that a large number of people--both men and women--assembled at the school-house on the appointed evening. A chairman was chosen and the meeting called to order; then a committee to prepare a constitution and by-laws was nominated. This committee retired, but as the writings had been previously prepared, they soon returned and reported. Then, on the motion to adopt, the battle commenced. We expected to meet with opposition, but were not prepared for such formidable opposition from many of the prominent religionists of the neighborhood. King Alcohol

and his votaries opened fire on our little band of cold-water adherents, but we were well prepared for defense, having enlisted for the war, and expected a long hard struggle. Our number was small, but we felt that one, rightly armed, could chase a thousand, and two could put ten thousand to flight.

        The battle continued for several hours. The enemy evidently weakened and lost ground; a few were captured. The society was organized under the name of the "Newport Temperance Society," and twelve signers to the constitution and pledge were obtained. The meeting then adjourned, to assemble again the next week at the same place. We knew that no church could be obtained for the purpose of holding such an incendiary meeting, as it was termed. At the next meeting the opposition was still formidable. All sorts of accusations were brought against us, and many flimsy arguments were adduced to prove that our work should not go on and could not end in success. Among other things we were accused of wanting to take away their liberty as independent citizens, of wishing to connect Church and State, etc. The result of the second meeting was the addition of forty names to the temperance society. The women were now wide awake, and rallied to our side; this gave us strength and encouragement.

        As the news of our organization spread over the neighboring country, the excitement became greater. The frequent expressions were: "Our liberties are endangered by these fanatics at Newport; they are

turning the world upside down in their fanatical zeal," etc. Our work was now the absorbing topic of conversation. The liquor sellers became alarmed; not only those in Newport, but those in neighboring villages. Their business was in danger; something must be done to check the movement that had begun at Newport. They held a council at Williamsburg, a village four miles west of our place, and the result was that they sent us a challenge for a debate on the subject, between three men of their choosing and three men of our choosing. We called a meeting and accepted their challenge, appointing a committee to make all preliminary arrangements, and to select our three men. Our opponents selected John Hough and E. Lee, of Williamsburg; and Joseph Lomax, of that vicinity, as their champions; all of them were Democrats. Lee was a merchant in Williamsburg, interested in the liquor business there, and was considered a strong debater. Our committee chose Dr. Henry H. Way, Willis Davis, our school teacher, of Newport; and Abel Lomax, from the neighborhood of Williamsburg. Abel Lomax had been a member of the State Legislature for several years, having been elected on the Whig ticket, and was a thorough temperance man.

        It was agreed that the meeting should be held at our school-house, commencing at two o'clock in the afternoon. A large company gathered, and strict attention was given to the proceedings. Esquire Curtis presided over the meeting, which lasted till twelve o'clock at night. The debate was long and hot on the side of the opposition, but their arguments

were calmly and forcibly met by our valiant men, and a complete victory was gained for temperance.

        Notwithstanding the opposition we had to contend with, and the flouts and jeers directed against us, even by professors of religion, we persevered in the work, holding frequent meetings, appointing committees to labor in the cause, visiting the liquor dealers and those who patronized them, and in every way we could forwarding a cause which seemed to us a righteous one.

        Our number increased, many who had first opposed us falling into rank, and in less than one year we had between three and four hundred signers to our pledge. Public sentiment had so changed in our village and neighborhood, that a man who had any regard for his reputation would not be seen going into a liquor shop to purchase liquor for any purpose. Several of our liquor dealers were starved out for want of custom. They closed their shops and moved away when their licenses expired, not being able to renew them for want of the requisite number of freehold signers to their petitions. Many of the drinking, rowdy class in our neighborhood moved away into a more congenial atmosphere, so that quite a change was wrought in our quiet little village and the surrounding neighborhood. All the dram shops were now gone except one; that was kept on a small scale. We had labored much with the proprietor of this shop; he often promised to close his establishment but failed to do so, and finally bade us defiance. His license had not yet expired,

and he thought that we could not move him. We called a meeting at the school-house to consider his case. We invited him to it, but he refused to come, and still defied us. We passed a resolution, proscribing him as an enemy to the peace and harmony of our town, and declaring that we would have no dealings with him and no social intercourse, except in case of sickness or death, while he persisted in his nefarious business. I volunteered to carry the resolution to him, and labor with him, having been well acquainted with him for many years. I did so, and in my conversation told him that it was impossible for him to stem the current of public sentiment; that he had been kindly entreated by both men and women, and fair offers had been made to him by those who felt a deep interest in his welfare, but he had turned a deaf ear to all our pleadings, and bade us defiance. Now, I told him, we were determined to stop the liquor business in Newport, and we should watch him, day and night, and prosecute him for every unlawful act, but I pleaded with him to stop at once, then no prosecution would be brought against him. I told him that we were his friends, not his enemies, and sought only his good. He finally yielded and gave up the business, and moved away. Not a drop of liquor was now sold in our town; we had succeeded beyond our most sanguine expectations. But we did not rest in this quietness.

        A stranger to the most of us, by the name of Mann, came to Newport, and rented a house, under the pretense of keeping a grocery. He moved into

the dwelling attached to the store, but we soon found that his groceries were to consist of a general assortment of liquors. He had managed to get the requisite number of signers to a petition for license to sell liquor; he had obtained them slyly in our township. As soon as it was known in Newport, we got up a remonstrance and obtained over four hundred signers to it. The next week was Commissioner's Court at Centerville. Eli Osborne and I were appointed to attend court, and present the remonstrance when the license was applied for. We did this, and the license was not granted. We returned home rejoicing at our success, but next day Mann employed a lawyer, who succeeded in making the court believe that they were obliged to grant the license, as the requisite number of freeholders had signed the petition. Mann now rejoiced over us, and bade us defiance. He opened his liquor shop, and drinking companies soon gathered from surrounding neighborhoods, and drunken men were again seen in our streets. We labored with him, to no effect. But this reign of terror was of short duration. The Temperance Society held frequent meetings; we had many able temperance lecturers; our committees were at work; we were vigilant in all our efforts, and endeavored to watch over and guard the reformed drunkards. One of these reformed drunkards lived on the opposite side of the street from this shop; but he was faithful to his pledge, and did not yield to the temptation which was kept prominently before him.

        At a late hour, one night, a few weeks after this

liquor shop had been opened, a pistol was fired from it, and the shot passed through a pane of glass in the house across the street, entered the bedroom where this reformed man and his wife were sleeping, and lodged in the wall a few inches above their heads, waking them immediately.

        Early next morning this man went to Centerville and got out a writ for the liquor seller, and the sheriff came and arrested him and lodged him in jail to await his trial before the next court. While he was in jail his property was attached for debt. It was difficult for him to find bail, but at last he succeeded in getting bailed out of prison, as it was some time till court convened, and he left for parts unknown. He never returned to Newport, for he knew that other writs awaited him. This closed the liquor traffic in Newport.

        We elected Esquire Curtis, one of our strong temperance men, to the Legislature from our district, and while he was our representative, we sent up a petition for a special act of the Legislature for the protection of our village against the liquor traffic. Special acts could sometimes be obtained under the old Constitution of the State, and through the influence of Esquire Curtis and others an act was passed, so that no liquor could be sold in the corporate limits of Newport, for any purpose, without a permit from the trustees of the town. Now, we had gained a complete victory over King Alcohol in Newport, and public sentiment had been so changed that there was no dram shop in New Garden Township.

        Some of our citizens thought that it was necessary

to have some spirits kept in Newport for medical and mechanical purposes, and the temperance society appointed me liquor seller, as there was no drug store in the place at that time, and no stock of medicines except the small assortment which I kept.

        I reluctantly submitted to become liquor seller and obtained a permit from the trustees. I procured at Cincinnati, from Allen & Co., druggists, three two-gallon jugs, one filled with French brandy, one with wine, the other with alcohol. Thus, my stock of liquor consisted of six gallons, which lasted for several months. I was the only liquor dealer in Newport for about a year, then Dr. Way opened a drug store, and I gladly turned the business over to him. Newport still remains a temperance town, having been guarded and protected for more than forty years, as no other town in the State has been, so far as I have any knowledge. After our work at Newport seemed to be accomplished, we extended our labors to other towns and villages near, but met with little encouragement. Public sentiment was opposed to us; the people did not seem prepared to receive temperance doctrine at that early day.

CHAPTER V.

        NEWPORT STORIES--THE CUNNING SLAVE--ROBERT BURREL--ELIZA HARRIS--SAM, THE ELOQUENT SLAVE--PREJUDICE AGAINST COLOR--AUNT RACHEL--A SLAVE-HUNTER OUTWITTED--SEVENTEEN FUGITIVES.

        OF the many hundred cases that came under our personal notice during the twenty years that we lived at Newport, Indiana, a few will be given. I shall not attempt to give dates, nor the names of the runaway slaves. When the fugitives came to our house, they seldom gave the name by which they had been known in slavery, or if they did, we gave them another name, by which they were afterward known both at our house and in Canada. The stories that follow are gathered from the slaves' own narratives.

THE CUNNING SLAVE.

        Jim was a shrewd, intelligent chattel, the property of a man living in Kentucky. Having in some unaccountable manner got the idea that freedom was better than bondage, he resolved to make an effort to gain his liberty. He did not make his intention known to his wife or any of his fellow-bondmen, choosing to make the attempt alone. He watched

for an opportunity to escape, and when it came he started for the Ohio River. He knew that he was a valuable piece of property, and that his master would pursue him and make strong efforts to capture him, so he let no grass grow under his feet till he reached the bank of the river. He wandered along this in the dark for some time, looking for a way to cross, and finally came to the hut of a colored man. He told his story to the negro living in the hut, and offered him part of the small sum of money he had if he would take him across in a skiff to the Indiana shore. The negro knew where a skiff lay drawn up on the shore, and consented to row him across. Jim reached the other side safely, and landed a short distance above Madison. It was now near daylight, and he must hasten to seek a place of concealment. He was directed how to find George De Baptist, a free colored man, who often aided fugitive slaves. George then lived in Madison, but soon after removed to Detroit, Michigan, for his own safety. Jim made his way to the house of this friendly colored man, and remained secreted during the day. Some time in the day, George De Baptist learned that Jim's master had arrived in town with a posse of men, and that they were rudely entering the houses of colored people, searching for the missing slave. By shrewd management on the part of George, the hunters were baffled, and the next night Jim was conducted through corn-fields and by-ways to a depot of the Underground Railroad. He was forwarded from station to station, at late hours in the night, until he reached William Beard's,

in Union County, Indiana. Here he rested a few days, under the roof of that noted and worthy abolitionist, whose house was known for many years as a safe retreat for the oppressed fugitive. From that place he was conducted to our house, a distance of about twenty-five miles, and, after remaining with us one day, he was forwarded on from station to station, till he reached Canada. Here he remained a few months. In telling his story, he said:

        "Oh, how sweet it was to breathe free air, to feel that I had no massa who could whip me or sell me. But I was not happy long. I could not enjoy liberty when the thoughts of my poor wife and children in slavery would rise up before me. I thought to myself, I have learned the way and found friends all along the road; now I will go back and fetch my wife and children. I'll go to old massa's plantation, and I'll make believe I am tired of freedom. I'll tell old massa a story that will please him; then I will go to work hard and watch for a chance to slip away my wife and children."

        So Jim left Canada and wended his way back to the old plantation in Kentucky. His master was greatly surprised, one morning, to see his missing property come walking up from the negro quarters as if nothing had happened. Jim came up to him and made a low bow, and stood before him as humble as a whipped dog. In answer to the volley of questions and hard names that greeted him, Jim said:

        "I thought I wanted to be free, massa, so I run away and went to Canada. But I had a hard time

there, and soon got tired of taking care of myself. I thought I would rather live with massa again and be a good servant. I found that Canada was no place for niggers; it's too cold, and we can't make any money there. Mean white folks cheat poor niggers out of their wages when they hire them. I soon got sick of being free, and wished I was back on the old plantation. And those people called abolitionists, that I met with on the way, are a mean set of rascals. They pretend to help the niggers, but they cheat them all they can. They get all the work out of a nigger they can, and never pay him for it. I tell you, massa, they are mean folks."

        In narrating his story, Jim said: "Well, old massa seemed mightily pleased with my lies. He spoke pleasant to me, and said: 'Jim, I hope you will make a good missionary among our people and the neighbors.' I got massa's confidence, and worked well and obeyed him well, and I talked to the niggers before him, in a way to please him. But they could understand me, for I had been doing missionary work among them, and the neighbors' niggers too, but not such missionary work as massa thought I was doing."

        Jim worked on faithfully through the fall and winter months, all the time arranging matters for a second flight.

        In the spring, when the weather was warm, he succeeded in getting his wife and children and a few of his slave friends across the Ohio River into Indiana. He got safely to the first station of the Underground Railroad, with his party, numbering

fourteen, and hurried on with them rapidly from station to station, until they reached our house. They were hotly pursued and had several narrow escapes, but the wise management of their friends on the route prevented them from being captured. They remained at our house several days to rest, as they were much exhausted with night travel, and suffering from exposure, and while they were concealed in our garret, their pursuers passed through the town.

        The hunters went northward by way of Winchester and Cabin Creek, where there was a large settlement of free colored people. While they were searching in these neighborhoods, we forwarded the fugitives on another route, by way of Spartansburg, Greenville and Mercer County, Ohio, to Sandusky. From this place they were shipped across the lake to Fort Malden, Canada. Jim's opinions, as he had expressed them to his master, now underwent a sudden change. He liked the country and the people, and thought that he could make a living not only for himself, but for his family. As to the abolitionists along the route, he thought they were the best people in the world. Instead of cheating the poor fugitives by getting their services without pay, they fed and clothed them without charge, and would help them on their journey; often using their own horses and wagons, and traveling all night with the fugitives. A few years after I had the pleasure of seeing Jim and his family in their comfortable home in Canada. Jim said he hoped God would forgive him for telling his master so many lies. He said he

felt no feelings of homesickness, no longings for massa and the old plantation in Kentucky.

ROBERT BURREL.

        A colored man, who gave his name as Robert Burrel, came to my house, seeking employment. He said he had been working several months at Flat Rock, in Henry County, but that his employer there had no work for him during the winter, and had recommended him to call on me. He said he had been brought up in Tennessee, but, thinking he had rather live in a free State, had come to Indiana a few months before. I liked his sober and intelligent appearance, and gave him employment in my pork-house. I found him to be a deeply religious man and a most faithful and trustworthy servant. He was pleasant in his manner and speech, but was never heard to indulge in loud laughter. He seemed to have some serious subject on his mind, over which he was constantly brooding. If any one inquired particularly concerning his past life, he evaded the questions, and it was not until he had been in my employment for several months that he ventured to tell me the true state of his case. He was a runaway slave, and belonged to a man living in East Tennessee. He had married a free colored woman living there, and was as happy as it was possible for a slave to be, until he learned that his master was about to sell him to a trader who would take him to the far South. Then he ran away, leaving his wife and two children, and made his way to Indiana. His object was to gain enough money to

buy his freedom and send for his family. He had been working with this end in view, but had kept his fears, hopes and anxieties in his own heart, lest he should be betrayed and lose the liberty that was so sweet. His story gained my sympathy, and I promised to aid him in any way I could. We often consulted together concerning his wife and two little boys. He represented his wife as being a Christian woman, and said that she was a member of the Methodist Church; to which he also belonged. She had promised to remain faithful to him, and to await patiently the result of his effort. I discouraged his attempt to buy himself, as it would take several years of hard work, and might then be a failure. I advised him to save all the money he could, and perhaps some way would open by which his wife and children could get to him, and go with him to Canada. But he felt very timid about sending for his wife and children before securing his own freedom, for he feared they would be tracked and his whereabouts discovered.

        I continued him in my employ, putting him in my linseed oil mill, and paying him extra wages for his care and good management. In conversation with him, one day, I found that he knew something about John Rankin, a noted abolitionist and Presbyterian clergyman, formerly of East Tennessee, but then living at Ripley, Ohio.

        I wrote to friend Rankin, giving the outlines of Robert's story, and asking him if he thought the wife and two children could be brought to Ohio without arousing the suspicions of Robert's master

and leading to his detection. He wrote me, in reply, that some of his family were going to East Tennessee soon, on a visit to their relatives there, and he thought they could have an interview with Robert's wife, and arrange to have her and the children removed to Ohio. I kept up a correspondence with him on the subject, and ascertaining that it would cost about forty dollars to move the woman and children to Ohio, I sent him that amount, to be applied for that purpose. I sent a message to be delivered to Robert's wife, telling her that if she would come to Ripley, Ohio, she could gain information of her husband. The message was delivered to her by the friends of John Rankin, but they did not succeed in gaining her confidence, and she would not come to Ohio, fearing that it was a scheme to betray her husband. So the project failed at that time, and John Rankin returned the money I had sent him; but two years later we renewed our efforts, and succeeded in bringing the woman and her children to Ripley. From this place, lest somebody should have traced them from Tennessee, hoping to learn the whereabouts of Robert, they were taken to Cincinnati. Soon afterward they were brought to my house in Newport, and there was a joyful meeting between husband and wife, after a separation of four years.

        I purchased for them a little home in Newport, which Robert paid for by his work, and here they lived happily several years, with none to molest or make them afraid. When the fugitive slave law of

1850 was passed, they left and went to Canada for greater security.

THE STORY OF ELIZA HARRIS.

        Eliza Harris, of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" notoriety, the slave woman who crossed the Ohio River, near Ripley, on the drifting ice with her child in her arms, was sheltered under our roof and fed at our table for several days. This was while we lived at Newport, Indiana, which is six miles west of the State line of Ohio. To elude the pursuers who were following closely on her track, she was sent across to our line of the Underground Railroad.

        The story of this slave woman, so graphically told by Harriet Beecher Stowe in "Uncle Tom's Cabin," will, no doubt, be remembered by every reader of that deeply interesting book. The cruelties of slavery depicted in that remarkable work are not overdrawn. The stories are founded on facts that really occurred, real names being wisely withheld, and fictitious names and imaginary conversations often inserted. From the fact that Eliza Harris was sheltered at our house several days, it was generally believed among those acquainted with the circumstances that I and my wife were the veritable Simeon and Rachel Halliday, the Quaker couple alluded to in "Uncle Tom's Cabin." I will give a short sketch of the fugitive's story, as she related it.

        She said she was a slave from Kentucky, the property of a man who lived a few miles back from the Ohio River, below Ripley, Ohio. Her master and mistress were kind to her, and she had a comfortable

home, but her master got into some pecuniary difficulty, and she found that she and her only child were to be separated. She had buried two children, and was doubly attached to the one she had left, a bright, promising child, over two years old. When she found that it was to be taken from her, she was filled with grief and dismay, and re solved to make her escape that night if possible. She watched her opportunity, and when darkness had settled down and all the family had retired to sleep, she started with her child in her arms and walked straight toward the Ohio River. She knew that it was frozen over, at that season of the year, and hoped to cross without difficulty on the ice, but when she reached its banks at daylight, she found that the ice had broken up and was slowly drifting in large cakes. She ventured to go to a house near by, where she was kindly received and permitted to remain through the day. She hoped to find some way to cross the river the next night, but there seemed little prospect of any one being able to cross in safety, for during the day the ice became more broken and dangerous to cross. In the evening she discovered pursuers nearing the house, and with desperate courage she determined to cross the river, or perish in the attempt. Clasping her child in her arms she darted out of the back door and ran toward the river, followed by her pursuers, who had just dismounted from their horses when they caught sight of her. No fear or thought of personal danger entered Eliza's mind, for she felt that she had rather be drowned than to be captured and separated

from her child. Clasping her babe to her bosom with her left arm, she sprang on to the first cake of ice, then from that to another and another. Some times the cake she was on would sink beneath her weight, then she would slide her child on to the next cake, pull herself on with her hands, and so continue her hazardous journey. She became wet to the waist with ice water and her hands were benumbed with cold, but as she made her way from one cake of ice to another, she felt that surely the Lord was preserving and upholding her, and that nothing could harm her.

        When she reached the Ohio side, near Ripley, she was completely exhausted and almost breathless. A man, who had been standing on the bank watching her progress with amazement and expecting every moment to see her go down, assisted her up the bank. After she had recovered her strength a little he directed her to a house on the hill, in the outskirts of town. She made her way to the place, and was kindly received and cared for. It was not considered safe for her to remain there during the night, so, after resting a while and being provided with food and dry clothing, she was conducted to a station on the Underground Railroad, a few miles farther from the river. The next night she was forwarded on from station to station to our house in Newport, where she arrived safely and remained several days.

        Other fugitives arrived in the meantime, and Eliza and her child were sent with them, by the Greenville branch of the Underground Railroad, to Sandusky,

Ohio. They reached that place in safety, and crossed the lake to Canada, locating finally at Chatham, Canada West.

        In the summer of 1854 I was on a visit to Canada, accompanied by my wife and daughter, and Laura S. Haviland, of Michigan. At the close of a meeting which we attended, at one of the colored churches, a woman came up to my wife, seized her hand, and exclaimed: "How are you, Aunt Katie? God bless you!" etc. My wife did not recognize her, but she soon called herself to our remembrance by referring to the time she was at our house in the days of her distress, when my wife gave her the name of Eliza Harris, and by relating other particulars. We visited her at her house while at Chatham, and found her comfortable and contented.

        Many other fugitives came and spoke to us, whom we did not recognize or remember until they related some incident that recalled them to mind. Such circumstances occurred in nearly every neighborhood we visited in Canada. Hundreds who had been sheltered under our roof and fed at our table, when fleeing from the land of whips and chains, introduced themselves to us and referred to the time, often fifteen or twenty years before, when we had aided them.

        On the first day of August, 1854, we went, with a large company from Windsor, to attend a celebration of the West India emancipation. The meeting was held in a dense settlement of fugitives, about eight miles south of Windsor. Several public speakers from Detroit were in our party. A platform

had been erected in a grove near the school-house, where Laura S. Haviland had established a school for fugitives. The day was fine, and there was a large crowd of colored people, who had come from various settlements to hear the speaking. Here we met quite a number of those whom we had helped on their way to freedom, and the gratitude they expressed was quite affecting. One old white-headed man came to my wife, and said he wanted to get hold of her hand. She reached her hand to him, and while he held it, he said: "Don't you 'member me, Misses?"

        She looked at him closely, and said: "No, I believe I do not remember thee."

        Then the old negro said: "La me! Misses, don't you 'member when dey was close after me to take me an' you hid me in de feather bed and saved me? Why, bress your heart! if it hadn't been for you I should nebber been here. It's more dan twenty years ago, and my head is white, but I hasn't forgot dat time."

        She shook his hand heartily, and said: "Now I remember thee."

        At Amherstburg, generally called Fort Malden, and many other places, we met with many, both men and women, whom we had assisted on their way to liberty, and their expressions of thankfulness and regard were very gratifying to us.

SAM, THE ELOQUENT SLAVE.

        The subject of this sketch was the property of a man living near Lexington, Kentucky. He had a

wife and several children whom he was permitted to visit frequently, was well treated by his master, and had no fear of being sold away from his family; so his condition was a very favorable one, compared with that of many other slaves. But this state of security came suddenly to an end. The master died and the heirs decided to sell Sam, but as he was very powerful, and a dangerous man to deal with when his spirit was roused, no one dared to take possession of him and tell him that he was sold away from his family. What could not be done by force was accomplished by stratagem. Sam was sent into the jail to take a box of candles, and, all unsuspecting, walked into the trap. Several men were hidden behind the door, and leaping out suddenly, they knocked him down, overpowered and bound him. He then learned that he was bought by a negro trader, who intended taking him to the South. Just before the coffle started, Sam's wife was permitted to come to the jail to bid him good-by, but her distress was so great and she wept so loudly that she was hurried out and taken away without having been able to say a word. Sam was taken to Mississippi and sold, but after several months managed to escape, and after much difficulty and many hardships found his way back to Lexington, Kentucky, where he hoped to find some one who would purchase him and allow him to remain near his family, but in this effort he did not succeed.

        Hearing that pursuers were on his track, he left that neighborhood, and succeeded in making his way to Newport, Indiana, where he arrived in the

dead of winter, in a destitute and suffering condition.

        I persuaded him to remain till better weather, when the roads would be open and traveling easier, and he remained till spring, I in the meantime furnishing him with employment at good wages. It may be in place here to mention that the abolitionists were frequently accused, by pro-slavery people, of availing themselves of the labor of the fugitive slaves by employing them several months on the promise of good wages, then raising the alarm that the masters were in pursuit, and hustling them off on the road to Canada without paying the wages due them. It is almost needless to say that this accusation was false. During that winter there was a monthly prayer-meeting, held in the Wesleyan Chapel at Newport, on behalf of the slaves, and I asked Sam to attend one of these meetings with me. He at first hesitated, so fearful was he of being betrayed, but on being assured that there was no danger, he consented to go.

        It seemed strange to him that white people should pray for slaves; he had never heard of such a thing before. As others were telling stories of the sufferings of slaves, I suggested to Sam that he should give his experience. To this he consented, with reluctance, and I rose and informed the meeting that a fugitive slave was sitting by my side, whose story I was sure would be interesting to all present. Sam then rose from his seat and gave a short history of his sufferings, together with a vivid description of the horrors of slavery, and so interested his hearers that they expressed a desire to hear him again.

        He was prevailed upon to speak another time, when a larger number would have an opportunity to hear him, and a meeting was appointed for this purpose. When the evening came the church was crowded. Sam was conducted to the pulpit by the minister and myself. We made short introductory speeches, then Sam spoke for more than an hour to the attentive and deeply interested audience. They had not expected to hear good language from a slave who had had no educational advantages, and were surprised to find his speech resembling that of a practiced orator. Sam had, during the life of his indulgent master, had frequent opportunities of hearing public speeches in Lexington, and this experience, which had been a sort of education to him, added to his native eloquence, enabled him to hold his audience spellbound, while he depicted in glowing words the cruelty of slavery and the manifold sufferings of the slaves. He then gave an account of his own trials, and pictured in a touching manner the scene of his wife's separation from him when he was bound in jail, and finished with an appeal to the audience so full of pathos that the heart of every one was touched, and nearly all his hearers were melted to tears.

        Some of them declared afterward that they thought Henry Clay could not surpass him in eloquence. Shortly after this the United Brethren held a Conference in Newport, and wishing to have Sam address them, a deputation called at my house, to speak with him on the subject. They were shown into the parlor, where a fire was burning, and

as I sat talking with them, Sam came in with an armful of wood to replenish the fire.

        One of the deputation said: "Is this the man?" and I answered, "Yes;" then remarked to Sam that these men wished to see him. Sam went out quickly and did not return. When I went to look for him, I found him outside the kitchen door, with a large butcher knife in his hand, ready to defend himself. He thought that the men had come to take him, and was determined to sell his life or liberty as dearly as possible. When the matter was explained, he went in to see the men, and afterward spoke for them. In the spring he was sent on to Canada, where he was out of the slave-dealer's power forever.

PREJUDICE AGAINST COLOR.

        A white man from Massachusetts moved with his family to Missouri, bought a farm and settled there. One of his neighbors had a slave, a young man nearly white, who was willed free at a certain age. The time of his bondage had nearly expired when the gentleman from Massachusetts hired him of his master, and after he became free, he continued in the same service. He proved to be a very intelligent, industrious and trusty man, and his employer soon gave him the entire control of the farm and all affairs of out-door business. The family did not have good health in their new home, and becoming dissatisfied with the locality resolved to return to Massachusetts.

        The farm was sold and the other property disposed

of, and they were about to start eastward, when the husband and father sickened and died. A short time before he breathed his last, he called his servant to his bedside and requested him to take charge of his wife and two daughters and see them safely back to their home in the East.

        The man promised faithfully that he would fulfill this request, and soon after the funeral was over the little party started. It was before the time of railroads or turnpikes in the West, and they went in a wagon, drawn by four horses, the colored man driving the team, and attending to all matters connected with the journey. Passing over the prairies of Illinois and Indiana, they found the mud very deep and the roads almost impassable, it being late in the fall, and when they reached Indianapolis they concluded to remain there during the winter. The young man found employment with his team, and supported the family by his work.

        The two daughters were well educated and accomplished young ladies, and when they became known were greeted as acquisitions to the society of the place. They were members of the Presbyterian Church and taught in the Sabbath-schools of that denomination, and being good singers were invited to join the choir.

        The mulatto man in their family, who was really almost white and possessed none of the negro features, was very gentlemanly in his appearance and manners, and so kind and attentive to them and thoughtful for their welfare, that one of the daughters became very much attached to him. He had

long loved her in secret, without daring to speak, but now, finding that his love was reciprocated, saw no reason why they should not be married.

        The mother gave her consent, and accompanied her prospective son-in-law to obtain the marriage license.

        On the evening of the wedding, the news spread through the city that a negro had married a white woman, and an infuriated mob filled the street in front of the house, and with hoots and yells proceeded to search for the man--several shades lighter than some of themselves--who dared to marry a white woman. The bridgroom escaped by a back way and fled to the woods for safety, as if he were a fugitive slave. Not finding him, the mob dragged the bride out of the house and rode her on a rail through the streets, as a demonstration of the popular indignation. The bridgroom remained concealed in the woods for awhile, finding no way to communicate with his wife, and not daring to venture back to get his clothes or to say good-by. He was in deep distress and knew not what to do.

        The city was in an uproar of excitement, and the indignant citizens were searching the houses of the colored people for this terrible criminal who had committed so great a sin as to marry a woman a shade lighter than himself, and that with the full approbation of her mother and sister. It was evident that he could not show himself in Indianapolis again with safety. He moved eastward and got into a colored settlement at Flat Rock, Henry County,

from which place he was directed to my house at Newport.

        The news of the marriage flew all over the State. The newspapers were full of it, and the public sentiment was aroused. The dreadful prospect of amalgamation loomed before the people like an impending curse. It must be put a stop to at once. The Legislature was in session at Indianapolis at the time this occurred, and they took immediate action concerning it. They passed a law placing a heavy penalty on any clergyman or magistrate who should marry a white person to one in whose veins there was a drop of colored blood. Several members of the Legislature, and a number of prominent citizens visited the offending family and urged them to apply for a divorce.

        The poor girl was almost crazy with trouble, having been disgraced by being ridden on a rail, and alarmed by the threats of the outrageous mob, and her mother and sister were also alarmed, and finally, through fear, they yielded to the threats and persuasions of their visitors, and signed a petition for a divorce. The Legislature at once divorced the couple, and the young lady was declared free from the disgraceful alliance. It was found to be a very nice point in carrying out the new law, to detect the drop of colored blood. No minister or magistrate was safe in marrying any couple. The law would not work, and was repealed the following year.

        Many people blamed me for taking in Charley, the young colored man, and harboring one whom they regarded as a great criminal. I gave him employment,

and he remained with me for several months. He proved to be quiet, orderly and industrious, and very gentlemanly in all his ways, yet many of the women in our town and neighborhood were as much afraid of him as if he were a murderer. My wife and a few other women had no such foolish fear of poor Charley, but sympathized with him in his troubles. Soon after he came to my house, I called a council of a few of my particular friends, those who stood by me and sustained me in all my anti-slavery efforts. We were not in favor of amalgamation and did not encourage the intermarriage or mixing of the races, but we were in favor of justice and right-dealing with all colors. This seemed to be the united feeling of those in council. We looked upon such marriages as a matter of choice with the contracting parties, and not as a crime or a sin. Many reasons might be given why we did not encourage such a choice, but we did not criminate those who had made the choice.

        The object of this council was to take into consideration the propriety of sending a deputation to Indianapolis to learn the true state of things there, to ascertain the feelings of Charley's wife and her mother toward him; and to obtain his clothing, which he had been compelled to leave behind in his hasty flight.

        Charley was in deep mental distress, and needed the counsel and sympathy of his friends. He was not sensible of having committed any crime in marrying the woman he loved, and who professed to love him in return, but all his hopes of happiness

were destroyed, and he was regarded as a criminal. He was likewise deeply concerned for the welfare of the family that had been placed in his care by the dying husband and father.

        George Shugart volunteered to go to Indianapolis, and get Charley's clothes and learn the feelings and wishes of the family. It was just at the time that the Legislature had taken action in the case, and the family were so confused and alarmed that they could make no definite plans for the future. They thought it best to remain where they were until spring. The horses and wagon had been sold, at a heavy sacrifice, and they had no means of continuing their journey then. So the messenger brought little comfort to Charley. He remained in my employ until late in the spring, when he learned that the mother and her two daughters had left Indianapolis and gone to Cincinnati. As soon as he received this information he went to Cincinnati, where he joined them. Soon after the whole party disappeared from Cincinnati. No one knew where they went, but it was supposed that they returned to Massachusetts, and that the husband and wife lived together unmolested.

AUNT RACHEL.

        The subject of this sketch, one of those good old darkey aunties whom we have all known or heard of, was brought up in Lexington, Kentucky. She was a slave, a house servant, and had a kind and indulgent master and mistress, to whom she was much attached. She had the principal charge

of household affairs. Her husband belonged to another person in the neighborhood, but was often permitted to visit her. They had a family of several children, and were as happily situated as it was possible for slaves to be. They knew that they were liable to be separated and sold away from each other, and this disturbed their happiness. At last the dreaded misfortune came to them. The husband was sold, and taken to the far South, and the wife never saw him nor heard from him afterward. This was a terrible shock to Aunt Rachel, and had it not been for her children, she said she would have prayed to die. But for their sake she bore her grief, not thinking that she would ever be called upon to part from them, or to experience deeper pangs of sorrow than those she had already known. She knew not what was in store for her. Two years afterward her old master and mistress died, and she and her children were sold at public sale. The children were bid off by citizens of Lexington, but Aunt Rachel was sold to a Southern slave-trader. Now, indeed, came trouble. No one but a mother who has been separated from the children she loves can understand the depth of her distress, or sympathize with the anguish of her heart. Aunt Rachel was torn away from her children and taken South in a gang of slaves, which the trader had bought for the Southern market. In Mississippi she was sold to a cotton planter, and immediately set to work in the cotton field. She had never been accustomed to out-door work, and could not keep up with the other cotton pickers. For this she was cruelly punished,

and her allowance of food reduced. Finding that her strength was failing her under this hard treatment, she resolved to run away, and try to make her way back to her old Kentucky home. She hoped, if she lived to get there, to prevail on some of her white friends at Lexington to buy her, and thus enable her to stay near her children. She thought of the great distance she must traverse, and of the dangers and hardships of such an undertaking, but she said to herself: "It is death to stay here, and I had rather die in the attempt to get away."

        It was now the beginning of summer, and she thought she could live on berries and fruits the most of the time. She slipped off one night and made good headway during the hours of darkness, hiding in the cane-brakes when daylight appeared. The next night she ventured to the negro quarters of a plantation, and got some provisions. Her long and toilsome journey was attended with much danger and suffering, and occupied the most of the summer. She finally reached her old home in Lexingion, Kentucky, and secreted herself with a friend. She did not dare yet to make herself known to her children, lest it should lead to her detection, but sometimes could hardly control herself when she saw her youngest child, a little girl three years old, playing in the adjoining yard. She remained in concealment for some time, while her colored friends tried to find some one in Lexington who would purchase her. They were unsuccessful in their attempts, and it was deemed unsafe for her to remain longer in the place, as it had by this time

become known to a number of the citizens of Lexington that she had escaped from her master and was there. She thought she would start northward and try to reach Canada, but while her colored friends were making arrangements for her journey to the North on the Underground Railroad, she received the alarming intelligence that her master from Mississippi had arrived in Lexington in pursuit of her. He had had no clue to her whereabouts, but judged that in her flight she would be guided by that instinct which leads one across rivers and mountains to the spot endeared by associations of home and kindred.

        Soon after reaching Lexington he learned that she was secreted somewhere in the town. He offered a reward for her capture, and a diligent search commenced. The police were on the alert, and poor Aunt Rachel was soon captured and dragged to jail for safe keeping. Her master was greatly incensed because she had run away, and put him to so much trouble and expense in pursuing her, and was very abusive and threatening in his language to her. He gave her a few keen cuts with his whip, as tokens of what was in store for her, and told her he would have his pay out of her when he got home; he would double her task, and if she did not perform it he would cut the hide off of her with his whip.

        Aunt Rachel trembled but made no reply; she knew that she was in his power. Handcuffs were put on her wrists, and a chain with a heavy ball fastened around her ankle. Thus ironed, she lay in the jail for more than a week, while her master was engaged

in buying a small company of slaves for his plantation in Mississippi. When ready to start South, he hired a wagon in which to transport his slaves to Louisville, at which point he intended to put them aboard a down-river boat. Aunt Rachel was placed in the wagon, with her heavy irons on. After a wearisome day's travel, they stopped in front of a tavern, where they intended to spend the night. It was quite dark, for they had been compelled to travel some time after night-fall in order to reach a place where they could find quarters. While her master went into the house to see about getting entertainment, Aunt Rachel gathered up the ball and chain in her manacled hands, slipped out of the hind end of the wagon, and slid down into a deep ravine near the road. She crouched under the side of the bank and lay as still as death. She was soon missed, and the search for her began. Her master, and those he called to his assistance, ran in every direction, with lighted lanterns, looking for her, but they overlooked her hiding-place. She was so near, almost under the wagon, that they did not think of searching where she lay. She remained perfectly still, except the tumultuous throbbing of her heart; and this she thought would surely betray her when those in search passed near her hiding-place.

        Finally, all became quiet, and the search seemed given up for the night. Then Aunt Rachel gathered up her chain and crawled off into the woods, making her way through the darkness as fast as her fetters would allow. She did not venture to follow any road or beaten path, but wandered on through

the woods, as best she could, for two or three miles. Being quite weary under the weight of her irons, she stopped to rest. It was cool weather, late in the fall, and she soon felt chilly. Looking about, she discovered some hogs lying snugly in a leafy bed under the side of a large log, and frightening them away, she crept into their warm bed. She now felt comfortable, and soon fell into a refreshing sleep that lasted an hour or two. When she awoke she felt quite refreshed, and ready to pursue her journey. Her situation was indeed forlorn. She had eluded the grasp of her master, but manacled as she was, how could she ever make her way to freedom and safety? Must she not perish of hunger in the lonely woods? How could she free herself from her hand fetters, and from the heavy chain that was chafing her ankle and making it sore? As she reflected on these questions, distress filled her mind, and she wept. She knew of no friend but God, and she prayed to him in this hour of need; she asked him to guide and help her. She seemed to feel his presence with her, in answer to her petitions, and a glow of comfort warmed her heart. She moved on, to look for a safe place where she might hide during the day, and came to a small stream of water, on whose banks were a number of large stones. She placed two stones close together and laid her chain across them, then lifting another stone in her fettered hands, she managed by repeated blows and by frequently turning it, to break the chain; thus freeing herself of the greater part of it, and of the heavy ball. Several links, however,

were left hanging to the band riveted around her ankle; from this she could not free herself. She lay in the woods during the day, and at night ventured to a house where she saw some colored people. She was kindly received, and furnished with food. The man succeeded in getting her handcuffs off, which was a great relief to her, but having no file, he was unable to relieve her of the iron band on her leg. This colored brother gave her directions for her journey, and put her on a route that would reach the Ohio River, opposite Madison, Indiana. He even ventured to take two of his master's horses out of the field, and help her on her way several miles.

        The next night her progress was slow on account of her manacled ankle, which by this time was swollen and very painful. Some time before day-light she ventured to approach a hut, which was situated near the road she was traveling. She discovered a negro man kindling a fire, and made herself known to him. He received her kindly, and his wife ministered to her needs. She remained secreted during the day at this hut, and at night felt strengthened and ready to pursue her journey. The man had a file, and succeeded in filing off the rivet, and loosening the band from her leg. He then applied what simple remedies he had at hand, and succeeded in some measure in assuaging the pain and swelling of the ankle. At night this kind friend helped her on her way, and conducted her to the house of a colored man, who lived near the Ohio River, below Madison. This man was a slave, but had a kind and indulgent master, who

allowed him the use of a skiff, and permitted him to go over the river to trade. Aunt Rachel prevailed upon him to take her across the river that night, and he landed her near Madison, directing her how to find a settlement of free colored people near that place. At this settlement she fell into the hands of a trusty colored man, who lived about ten miles out in the country, where he owned a good farm, and was comfortably situated. Aunt Rachel found a quiet home at his house, which was fortunate for her, as she was now almost unable to travel. The chafing of the iron band around her ankle had caused inflammation, and made a very painful sore. She was able, however, to move about enough to do housework. She remained at this place all winter, unmolested. In the spring a fugitive was captured in the neighborhood, and Aunt Rachel and her friends became alarmed for her safety. She was put on the Underground Railroad, and brought to our house at Newport. She was anxious to remain with us for awhile, hoping that by some means she might hear from her children, concerning whom she was very anxious. She thought she would be safe from pursuit, for her master in Mississippi would not be likely to spend much more time and money looking after her. My wife needed help at that time, and agreed to hire her for a few weeks. We soon found her to be one of the best housekeepers and cooks we had ever employed. She was careful and trustworthy, and exemplary in all her ways. We became much attached to her; indeed, the neighbors and all who

knew her had a great deal of respect and liking for Aunt Rachel. Every one who heard her story, as she related it in simple yet thrilling language, felt a deep interest in her case. She staid with us more than six months, and would have remained longer had it not been considered unsafe. Some Kentuckians were scouting about through our neighborhood looking for fugitives. They made their headquarters at Richmond, at a hotel which was a well-known resort for negro hunters. Aunt Rachel became alarmed, and we thought it best for her to go on to Canada, where she would be safe. A good opportunity in the way of company for the greater part the way offered just then, very fortunately.

        A committee of men and women Friends, appointed by New Garden Quarterly Meeting to attend the opening of a meeting at Young's Prairie, Michigan, were just about starting on this mission. Aunt Rachel was acquainted with most of them, and wished to accompany them, and they were very willing to engage in Underground Railroad work, though the Quarterly Meeting had not appointed them to that service.

        We provided Aunt Rachel with warm and comfortable clothing for her journey to the North. A well-filled trunk was placed in one of the carriages, and Aunt Rachel took her seat by one of the women Friends. She presented the appearance of a sedate and comely Quaker woman, quite as suitable to be appointed on the committee as any of the company. Aunt Rachel traveled very agreeably with this committee to Young's Prairie, Cass County, Michigan.

She remained at the Friends' settlement there for several days, and was then sent on the mail coach to Detroit. At that city she called on some people to whom we had directed her, and they sent her across to Canada. She found employment in the homes of white families in Windsor and Norwich, where she remained for several months. Then she married a respectable colored man by the name of Keys, who owned a comfortable little home. Here I met with her eight years afterward, when on a visit to the fugitives in Canada, in company with William Beard. The meeting was very unexpected to Aunt Rachel, as she had no previous knowledge of our arrival in the country. We rode up to her little home, and hitched our horses at the gate, some distance from the house. Aunt Rachel was in the yard at the time, picking up kindling wood. She stood still a moment until she recognized me, then dropped her wood and rushed to meet me, shouting and praising God. She exclaimed: "Is it possible the good Lord has sent you here?" then, with tears running down her black cheeks, she threw her arms around me, and asked many blessings on my head. Her emotions and manifestations of joy at meeting me quite unmanned me for a time. She led us into the house, which was snug and comfortable, and introduced us to her husband. He appeared to be a very friendly, kind-hearted man. Aunt Rachel informed me that she had suffered a great deal with her leg, where she had worn that cruel chain. At one time she lay for several months under treatment of some of the

best doctors in Detroit. They decided that to save her life the limb must be amputated. She consented that the operation should be performed, and the doctors came with their surgical instruments, but her husband would not give his consent. He believed that she could get well without losing her limb. The doctors yielded, the limb was spared, and she did get well.

A SLAVE-HUNTER OUTWITTED.

        The story that I am about to relate may, in some of its particulars, seem improbable or even impossible, to any reader not acquainted with the workings of the southern division of the Underground Railroad. That two young slave girls could successfully make their escape from a Southern State and travel hundreds of miles, hiding in the day, in thickets and other secluded places, and traveling at night, crossing rivers and swamps, and passing undiscovered through settlements, appears more like a story of romance than one of sober reality. But I will not test the reader's credulity by leaving this story unexplained; I will give a few items regarding the manner of the escape of many slaves from the South. I have always contended that the Underground Railroad, so called, was a Southern institution; that it had its origin in the slave States. It was, however, conducted on quite a different principle south of Mason and Dixon's line, from what it was on this side. South of the line money, in most cases, was the motive; north, we generally worked on principle. For the sake of money, people in the South would

help slaves to escape and convey them across the line, and by this means, women with their children, and young girls, like the subjects of this story, were enabled to reach the North. They were hidden in wagons, or stowed away in secret places on steamboats, or conducted on foot through the country, by shrewd managers who traveled at night and knew what places to avoid.

        Free colored people who had relatives in slavery were willing to contribute to the utmost of their means, to aid in getting their loved ones out of bondage; just as we would do if any of our loved ones were held in thralldom. It was by some line of the Southern Underground Railroad that two slave girls, living in Tennessee, managed to escape and reach Cabin Creek, Randolph County, Indiana, where lived their grandparents and most of their near relatives, who were free.

        This neighborhood was settled principally by free colored people who had purchased government land in forty or eighty acre lots; in some instances a quarter section--one hundred and sixty acres--had been entered. A dense settlement of free colored people had formed at Cabin Creek, and a good school had been established there, under the auspices of New Garden Quarterly Meeting of Friends.

        Near the center of the colony lived the grandparents of the two girls mentioned, and there the girls staid, after their long and perilous journey, enjoying their newly gained liberty, and hoping that their master would never learn of their whereabouts. But they were not destined to dwell here in safety.

Their master had come to Richmond, ostensibly to look about the neighborhood and buy cattle, but really to gain some trace of his slave property. He hired spies and sent them into different neighborhoods, Cabin Creek among the rest, and thus the girls were discovered. When the master learned that his two slave girls were so near, he felt as if they were already in his power, but when he heard more concerning Cabin Creek neighborhood and the character of the colored people there, he began to think it might not be so easy to effect a capture. When a slave-hunter came to Cabin Creek, the people banded together to protect the fugitive he was after, and as they were very determined in their defense it was a difficult matter to capture the slave. They had prearranged signals for such occasions, and the alarm soon called the people together.

        The master of the two girls obtained a writ and placed it in the hands of an officer, then gathered a company of roughs from Richmond, Winchester and other neighborhoods, and rode out to Cabin Creek at the head of a large company of armed men. They marched to the cabin where the two girls were, and surrounded it.

        The alarm was given as soon as the company were seen approaching, and a boy mounted a horse and rode off at full speed to spread the alarm. He was fired at by some of the company, and a rifle ball grazed his arm, making a slight flesh wound. This only hastened his speed and increased the excitement. The grandfather of the two girls was away from home, but the brave old grandmother

seized a corn-cutter and placed herself in the only door of the cabin, defying the crowd and declaring that she would cut the first man in two who undertook to cross the threshold. Thus she kept the slave-hunter and his posse at bay, while a large crowd of colored people collected. Quite a number of white people came also, some out of curiosity or sympathy with the master, and others who sympathized with the fugitives. It is said that there were more than two hundred people gathered around the cabin. The sound of the horn, and the message of the boy, had brought together most of the colored people in the settlement. An uncle of the slave girls, who lived near by, seeing the crowd as they rode up, placed himself near his mother, on the outside of the door, and several other sturdy negroes stood by his side.

        He was a shrewd sharp fellow, with a fair education, and kept his presence of mind under the exciting circumstances. He demanded to see the writ, and it was handed to him by the officer. He read it over carefully, and tried to pick flaws in it. He denied that it gave them any authority to enter that house to search for property. The laws of Indiana did not recognize human beings as property until they had been proven to be such, and that was a difficult thing to do. He said that he doubted very much whether the man who had obtained this writ to arrest two slave girls could prove them to be his property. Furthermore, he did not believe the girls were in that house. He extended the debate with the master as long as possible, and in the meantime

several colored people had been permitted to pass in and out under the sharp edge of the old woman's corn-cutter, but no white person had been admitted.

        While the debate was going on, arrangements were being made, both outdoors and indoors, for the escape of the girls. The uncle understood all this perfectly, and he was doing his part toward success, by prolonging the palaver. The girls dressed in boys' clothes, and put on slouch hats; then, while the debate outside grew warm and excitement began to run high, and the slave-hunters to declare that they would enter the house, in spite of the corn-cutter and other obstructions, the girls passed out of the door with other negroes, and made their way through the crowd. Two fleet horses, with light but very capable riders, stood near the side of a large log, screened from the sight of the crowd by some tall bushes. The girls stepped quickly on the log and sprang, one on each horse, behind the riders, and were soon out of sight. When the uncle knew that the girls were at a safe distance, he began to moderate and proposed a compromise. Speaking in a whisper to his mother, he appeared to be consulting with her on the subject, and finally said, that if the master of the girls would agree to give them a fair trial at Winchester, he and his posse would be allowed to enter the house peaceably. This was agreed to, and the grandmother laid aside her weapon of defense, and appeared calm and subdued. The master and his posse rushed in to seize the girls, and those outside,

who could not see into the house, listened to hear the girls' screams of terror and pleadings for mercy while their master bound them. But they heard nothing of the kind, only oaths and exclamations from the men as they searched about the cabin and up in the loft. The hunters were baffled; the girls were not to be found. The darkies seemed in a good humor, and there was a general display of white teeth in broad grins. Some of the white folks also seemed amused, and inclined to make sport of the misfortune of the master. It was no laughable matter to him--to be duped by negroes and to lose such valuable property as these girls were, either of whom would soon be worth one thousand dollars. Some in the crowd were unfeeling enough to jest at his loss, and to advise him to look around and see if there was not a hole in the ground where the girls had been let down to the Underground Railroad.

        When the master fully realized how he had been outwitted, his wrath knew no bounds, but his hired assistants tried to comfort him with the thought that they could soon ferret out the fugitives, and promised to make a thorough search through all the abolition neighborhoods.

        The girls were taken a short distance on the Winchester road; then through by-ways and cross-roads they were brought through the Cherry Grove settlement of Friends to Newport, a distance of about twenty miles. The girls were much exhausted when they arrived at our house, having had a hard ride, part of the way in the night. After taking some nourishment, they were placed in a private room to

rest during the remainder of the night, and were soon sound asleep. We did not apprehend any danger that night, as we supposed a vigorous search would be made at Cabin Creek and neighboring settlements, and that our town would not be searched till the hunt in the other localities had been prosecuted and proved fruitless.

        Some time the next day, a messenger arrived at my house from Cabin Creek, and told us that after failing to find the girls at their grandfather's, the posse of pursuers had divided into several squads to search the different neighborhoods, and that one company were on their way to Newport. That afternoon several strangers were seen rambling about our village, inquiring for stray horses, and going abruptly into the houses of colored people living in the suburbs. It was not difficult to guess what was their real business. I was busy in my store when I learned of the conduct of these strangers, but went at once to the house and told my wife that negro hunters were in town, and that she must secrete the two girls. She was used to such business, and was not long in devising a plan. Taking the two girls, who had by this time been dressed in female apparel, into a bedroom, she hid them between the straw tick and feather tick, allowing them room for breathing, then made up the bed as usual, smoothed the counterpane and put on the pillows. But the girls were so excited and amused at the remembrance of how they outwitted massa, and of their ride, dressed in boys' clothes, and at their novel position, that they laughed and giggled

until my wife had to separate them, and put one in another bed. I went back to my store and left Aunt Katy, as every one called my wife, to manage affairs at the house. If the searchers attempted to enter our house, she was to rattle the large dinner bell violently, and at this signal the neighbors would rush in, and I would get the proper officers and have the negro hunters arrested for attempting to enter my house without legal authority.

        But these proceedings were not necessary. The hunters did not have courage enough to enter my house, though they knew it was a depot of the Underground Railroad. Hearing that threats were made against them in the village, they left without giving us any trouble.

        We kept the girls very secluded for several weeks until the master had given up the search, and gone home. Then having other fugitives to forward to the North, we sent them altogether via the Greenville and Sandusky route to Canada, where they arrived in safety.

CHAPTER VI.

        NEWPORT STORIES CONTINUED--SEVENTEEN FUGITIVES--TWO SLAVE GIRLS FROM MARYLAND--ANECDOTE OF A VISIT TO CINCINNATI--STORY OF LOUIS TAIBERT--JOHN WHITE.

        THE largest company of slaves ever seated at our table, at one time, numbered seventeen, though we often had parties of from ten to fifteen. The party referred to, arrived at our house about dawn one morning, having been brought in two covered wagons from Salem, a settlement of Friends in Union County. The distance was about thirty miles, and the journey occupied the most of the night.

        It was an interesting company, consisting of men and women, all apparently able-bodied and in the prime of life. They were of different complexions, varying from light mulatto to coal black, and had bright and intelligent expressions. They were all from the same neighborhood, a locality in Kentucky, some fifteen or twenty miles from the Ohio River, but belonged to different masters.

        For some time they had been planning to escape, but had kept their own counsels, not venturing to divulge their secrets to other slaves. A place of

rendezvous was agreed upon, and at the appointed time they repaired to it, carrying small bundles of their best clothes which they had found opportunity to carry out previously and hide. One young man, who was engaged to be married, succeeded in getting his intended wife, a beautiful mulatto, from her master's place, and took her with him. Most of them had managed to save some money, and they found this of great service in helping them on their way. The leader of the party had made arrangements with a poor white man, living on the bank of the Ohio River, whom he knew to be trustworthy. This man owned a wood boat and a skiff, and promised for the consideration of a liberal sum of money to have his boat in waiting, on a certain night, at a secluded point, and to take the party across the river to a point on the Indiana shore, some miles above Madison.

        At the time appointed, the party succeeded in getting together, and hastened to the river. Their white friend was in readiness for them, and landed them safely on the Indiana shore before daylight. They hurried into the woods, to find hiding-places among the hills and in ravines during the day, for they knew that they would be pursued, and that their masters would make great efforts to capture such valuable property.

        The next night they left their hiding-places and moved cautiously northward, not daring to travel in the road, but making their way through corn-fields and across plantations. At one time, when they had just crossed a road and entered a corn-field in the

river bottom, they heard the sound of horses' feet, in the road near by. Two or three men, who were riding ahead of the main party, saw the fugitives and gave the alarm. The pursuers instantly dismounted and rushed into the corn-field, but having to climb a high rail fence they did not gain on the runaways. The party of fugitives scattered, and fled rapidly through the wilderness of tall, full-bladed corn. The field they were in was large, and other corn-fields joined it, lying in the rich river bottom, so that they had the advantage of shelter all the way. The pursuers, fifteen or twenty in number, divided and rushed after them with guns in hand, calling on them to stop or they would be shot down. Some of the fugitives recognized the voices of their masters, but they heeded them not. They ran on with all their might, each one looking out for himself or herself. Several shots were fired at them as they ran, and they heard the bullets whistle through the corn around them. They outstripped their pursuers, and ran from one corn-field to another in the bottom land until they had gone two or three miles. Hearing no sound of their pursuers, they stopped to take breath and see if all their party were safe.

        A few of them had kept in hearing of each other, and by a low whistle were soon brought together. More than half the company were still missing. They moved on, a short distance, very cautiously, and gave another whistle, which was responded to, and in a few minutes the young man and his intended wife and two other women joined. They repeated their whistle, but heard no response.

        About half the company were now together, including all the women. It was near morning, and as they did not feel safe in the corn-fields, they resolved to make their way, if possible, to the woods among the hills, and hide there during the day.

        They succeeded in this attempt, but just as they were entering the woods they were greatly alarmed by hearing, a little distance behind them, the report of several guns, fired in quick succession. They feared that their missing comrades had fallen into the hands of the enemy. They hastened forward in the woods, and concealed themselves in a thicket of young trees and bushes. Soon after daylight they were alarmed by hearing the sound of some one chopping with an ax near them. They cautiously reconnoitered, and found that it was a colored man chopping wood. One of the party ventured to approach him, and found him to be friendly. His house was not far off, but he did not think it safe to take them to it, as the hunters might come there to look for them. He conducted them to a safe hiding-place, and furnished them with food, of which they were greatly in need. They had lost their bundles in their flight through the corn-fields, and were thus deprived of their little stock of provision and spare clothing.

        The next night their colored friend conducted them to a depot of the Underground Railroad, the Hicklin settlement, where fugitives were always kindly received and cared for, and helped on their way to other stations. Here they remained in concealment during the day, feeling great anxiety about

their missing comrades--fearing that they had been captured and taken back to slavery. During the day, however, Hicklin, at whose house they were, learned that there were other fugitives in the vicinity, among his neighbors who were abolitionists, and when he went to ascertain the facts concerning them he found them to be the comrades of the party at his house. They had met with a free colored man who had conducted them to this neighborhood. Two of them had received gunshot wounds, which were very painful but not dangerous. Several hours after they had evaded the hunters in the corn-field, and while trying to make their way to the woods, they had come upon a party of the hunters who were lying in ambush, having dismounted from their horses and tied them in the bushes. The fugitives saw the horses, and instantly comprehending the situation, they started off at full speed and ran for life. The pursuers fired at them, but they did not stop, though one received a number of small shot in his back and shoulder, and the other was wounded by a rifle ball that passed through his clothes and made a gash several inches long in his side. They reached the woods and soon distanced their pursuers, and saw them no more.

        The two companies were glad to meet again, and soon prepared to renew their journey to the North. Their friends at Hicklin settlement provided two wagons and transported them to the next station, and they were hurried on from station to station, traveling at night and hiding during the day, until they reached my house, as I have mentioned. On

that morning my wife had risen first, and when she heard the two wagons drive up and stop, she opened the door. She knew the drivers, who were from Union County, and who had been at our house on similar errands before. She spoke to these conductors, and asked: "What have you got there?"

        One of them replied: "All Kentucky."

        "Well, bring all Kentucky in," she answered, then stepped back to our room and told me to get up, for all Kentucky had come. I sprang up and dressed quickly, and when I went out, I found the fugitives all seated in the room, my wife having welcomed them and invited them to take chairs and sit down. I said to one of the conductors:

        "The train has brought some valuable looking passengers this time. How many have you?"

        "Only seventeen this load," he replied.

        "Well," I said, "seventeen full-grown darkies and two able-bodied Hoosiers are about as many as the cars can bear at one time. Now you may switch off and put your locomotives in my stable and let them blow off steam, and we will water and feed them."

        My wife and our hired girl soon had breakfast prepared for the party, and the seventeen fugitives were all seated together around a long table in the dining-room. We assured them that they could partake of their food without fear of molestation, for they were now among friends, in a neighborhood of abolitionists, and a fugitive had never been captured in our town. Their countenances brightened at this assurance, and they seemed more at ease.

Several of our near neighbors came in to see this valuable property seated around our table, and estimated that, according to the owners' valuation, they were worth $17,000. Two of the company were still suffering from the wounds they had received. After breakfast, Dr. Way and Dr. Stanton were invited in to see the wounded fugitives. They took the two men to their office near by and examined them. They extracted a number of small shot from the back and shoulders of one, then dressed his wounds and the wound of the other, who had been struck by a rifle ball. The men then seemed comfortable, and were very thankful for this kind treatment.

        This interesting company of fugitives remained two days at my house to rest and prepare for their journey northward. Having lost their bundles of clothing, as mentioned, many of them were in need of garments and shoes. These were furnished to them, and when all were made comfortable, I arranged for teams and suitable conductors to take them on to the next station. It was decided, for greater safety, to forward them via the Mississineway route, though that was not the most direct line to Canada. When all necessary arrangements were made, the fugitives left my house shortly after dark in two wagons drawn by good teams, and accompanied by suitable conductors. The station they were directed to reach that night was the house of John Bond, a well-known friend to the slave, who lived in a Friends' settlement on Cabin Creek. The distance was something over twenty miles, and as

the road was new and rough, it would take them the most of the night to reach the station. The conductors returned the next day with the teams, saying they had arrived safely with the fugitives at the station and left them there. Early the next morning, after the fugitives had left my house, a messenger, who had been sent by Aquilla Jones, of Richmond, arrived at my house, and informed me that fifteen Kentuckians, in search of fugitive slaves, had come to Richmond the night before, and were stopping at the hotel of one L-- B--, who was a well-known friend to the slave-hunter. Aquilla Jones did not know of any fugitives passing recently, but supposed that if there were any in the neighborhood I would be likely to know it. I immediately started a messenger on horseback to overtake the party of fugitives, and to have them scattered and secreted among their friends, thus to remain until further orders. Expecting that the fugitives were still at John Bond's, I wrote a note to him apprising him of their danger, but they had been forwarded that morning to a Friends' settlement in Grant County, some twenty-five or thirty miles further on. The intervening country being thinly settled, it had been thought safe to let them travel in the daytime.

        On receipt of my message, John Bond mounted his horse and pursued the party. He overtook them that night, and had them scattered and concealed among friends. They remained in their hiding-places for several weeks, until the hunters had given up the chase and returned home; then

they came together again, and were forwarded on from station to station, by way of Adrian and Detroit, Michigan, until they reached Canada in safety. On their way they rested a few days in a settlement of abolitionists not far from Adrian, and here the young man and his intended wife, whom I have previously mentioned, were legally married. A few years afterward I had the pleasure of visiting them in Canada, and dining with them in their own comfortable little home. They had a beautiful son, about a year old, and proudly said: "We can call him our own; old master can not take him from us and sell him."

        We will now turn back and notice the proceedings of the bloodhounds in human shape who were on the trail of the fugitives. The morning after the fifteen Kentuckians arrived at Richmond, they employed several roughs of that place to accompany them as guides. These roughs were always ready to help capture fugitives, for the sake of money, and professed to know all the abolitionist neighborhoods toward the North.

        The Kentuckians divided into three companies, each having a guide. One company was to go by the way of Hillsboro and Spartansburg, another by way of Williamsburg and Economy, and the third through Newport and Cherry Grove. They hoped in this way to strike the trail of the fugitives, and arranged to meet at Winchester, the county seat of Randolph County, and give an account of their search. The party that was to come by way of Newport, came through town one or two at a time,

some distance apart, so as to avoid exciting suspicion in regard to their business. When they met children in the street, they inquired if any stray horses or cattle had been seen, and then asked if any fugitive slaves had been in town lately. In this way they learned that a large company of fugitives had been at my house a few days before, but that they had gone on to Canada.

        The three companies met at Winchester according to agreement, but no discoveries had been made except by the company that passed through Newport. It was now decided that two of the companies should follow up the supposed line of the Underground Railroad to the lake, and watch for the fugitives at the points where they would be most likely to pass over to Canada. The guides professed to understand the route and to know the places where the fugitives would most likely be harbored. The third company, with some additional guides from Winchester, were to canvass the different settlements of Friends in that neighborhood and around Newport, in the hope of gaining some clue to the fugitives, if they were still sheltered among the abolitionists there. They were told by some who were favorable to their cause, that it was quite probable that Levi Coffin, the notorious nigger thief of Newport, had got intelligence of their movements, and had hid their slaves among some of his friends in the neighborhood, for he had many friends there no better than himself, and there were many in Richmond who would give him warning of pursuers. This part of the company, after an unsuccessful

search through the various neighborhoods, returned to Richmond, stopping on the way at a tavern three miles north of Newport. Here they uttered many threats against me, declaring they would hang me or shoot me, and burn my houses. The tavern-keeper was friendly toward me, though he did not believe in aiding runaway slaves, and he felt alarmed for my safety. After the hunters were gone, he mounted his horse and came to see me and warn me of my danger. He advised me to keep closely at home, not to venture out alone lest my enemies should take my life. I thanked him for his kindness, but told him that I felt no fear of danger. I had obeyed the commands of the Bible, and the dictates of humanity, in feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and aiding the oppressed, and I felt no condemnation for it. I should go about my business as usual, and if duty called me from home, I should pay no attention to the threats of slave-hunters, but attend to my duty.

        The hunters made their headquarters at L---- B----'s tavern in Richmond, while awaiting the return of their companions from the lakes. They were not idle in the meantime, but made frequent night raids through our neighborhood and other settlements of abolitionists, supposing that their slaves might still be harbored among us.

        One evening, in company with several roughs of Richmond, they started toward Newport, making terrible threats against me. They would burn me out, if it cost them ten thousand dollars; they would shoot me down at sight or drag me into the

woods and hang me to a limb, etc., etc. These threats were made publicly, and one of my friends who heard them became much alarmed for my safety. He mounted his horse and rode to Newport to give me warning. He arrived at my house about midnight, when all of us were asleep. He knocked loudly at the door, and when I arose and let him in, he repeated in an excited manner the threats he had heard, and seemed much alarmed. I thanked him for the interest he manifested in my welfare, and told him to make himself entirely easy, for I anticipated not the slightest disturbance. According to the old proverb, I said barking dogs never bite, and if these men intended to do such terrible things to me, they would not have told of it publicly. I discovered that he had a couple of loaded revolvers with him, and told him to put them away, for I did not want such weapons; I did not depend on fire-arms for protection. He said he thought he might come in contact with the slave-hunters on the way, and would need these to defend himself with. I had his horse put up, and persuaded him to go to rest. When morning came, my buildings were all standing, there was no smell of fire about the premises, I was not hanging to a tree, and my friend had found no use for his revolvers.

        The hunters, who had gone northward toward the lakes, returned without having obtained any clue to their valuable missing property. They remained at Richmond a few days, then the whole party returned South. But before going, they conferred upon me

a high honor. They said that they could never get the slightest intelligence of their slaves after they reached my house, and declared that there must be an Underground Railroad, of which I was president. They repeated this several times in Richmond, and I heard of it when next I went to attend the board of bank directors at that place.

        Some of my friends asked me if I had heard of my promotion to office, and when I said I had not, they told me what the Kentuckians had said. I replied that I would accept that position or any other they were disposed to give me on that road--conductor, engineer, fireman or brakeman. This was the first time I ever heard of the Underground Railroad.

        The saying of the Kentuckians soon became widely circulated, and I frequently received letters addressed to "Levi Coffin, President of the Underground Railroad." I had the honor of wearing that title for more than thirty years, and it was not until the great celebration of the Fifteenth Amendment to the Constitution, by the colored people at Cincinnati, that I resigned the office, and laid aside the name conferred on me by Southern slave-hunters. On that occasion I said that our underground work was done, and that as we had no more use for the road, I would suggest that the rails be taken up and disposed of, and the proceeds appropriated for the education of the freed slaves.

        A few weeks after the Kentucky slave-hunters had left Richmond, I was summoned, with several of my neighbors, to appear before the grand jury

at Centerville, the county seat of our county, where court was then in session. I at once guessed the cause of the summons. Knowing that L---- B----, of Richmond, was one of the grand jurors, I supposed that he was acting in the interests of the slave-hunters who had recently made their headquarters at his house, and that I was to be indicted for harboring fugitive slaves, while my neighbors were summoned as witnesses. Though almost sure that this was the case, I felt no alarm. I thought that if the grand jury should find a bill against me, and I should be compelled to stand a trial in court, and be convicted of a violation of the fugitive slave law, and have to suffer the penalty, it might be the means of advancing the anti-slavery cause, and of raising up other friends for the slave. Some of the ablest lawyers of that district were my friends, and I knew that I would have plenty of defenders. These were some of my reflections as I rode to Centerville, a distance of eleven miles, in company with Daniel Puckett, Dr. Henry H. Way, Samuel Nixon, and Robert Green, who had been summoned to appear with me before the grand jury. When I entered the court-room I discovered that I was personally acquainted with a majority of the jurors, and knew some of them to be strongly anti-slavery in their sentiments. Bloomfield, of Centerville, was foreman of the jury. He asked me whether I knew of any violations of the law in our neighborhood within a certain time, any cases of assault and battery, or other outbreaks. I told him that I knew of nothing of the kind, adding that we were nearly all abolitionists,

and were a peaceable people. The foreman then turned to L---- B----, and said:

        "Mr. B----, I believe that it is you who are interested in the negro question. If you wish to ask Mr. Coffin any questions, you can proceed."

        L---- B---- then asked me if I understood the statute in regard to harboring fugitive slaves. I told him that I had read it, but did not know whether I understood it or not. I suggested that he turn to it and read it, which he did. I told him that I knew of no violation of that statute in our neighborhood. Persons often traveled our way and stopped at our house who said they were slaves, but I knew nothing about it from their statements, for our law did not presume that such people could tell the truth. This made a laugh among the jury, with the exception of L---- B----. I went on to say that a few weeks before a company of seventeen fugitives had stopped at my house, hungry and destitute, two of them suffering from wounds inflicted by pursuers who claimed them as slaves, but I had no legal evidence that they were slaves; nothing but their own statements, and the law of our State did not admit colored evidence. I had read in the Bible when I was a boy that it was right to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, and to minister to those who had fallen among thieves and were wounded, but that no distinction in regard to color was mentioned in the good Book, so in accordance with its teachings I had received these fugitives and cared for them. I then asked:

        "Was I right, Friend B----, in doing so?"

        He hesitated and seemed at a loss how to reply. I continued: "How does thy Bible read? Was it not as I have said?"

        "Yes," he answered, "it reads somehow so."

        He evidently wished to change the subject. He next asked me if I understood the statute in regard to hiring free colored people who had not given bond and security, as the law required, that they would not come upon the county for support. I told him that I had read it, but, perhaps, did not understand it, and requested him to turn to it and read it. He did so, and I then said: "I presume I am guilty of violating that statute, for I am in the habit of hiring service whenever I need it, without distinction of color, and without asking any questions in regard to that law."

        One of the jury asked me if I knew of any case in the county where the requirements of that statute had been fulfilled.

        I replied: "No, not one. It appears to be a dead letter in this part of the State, and many of our best lawyers believe it to be an unconstitutional act of the Legislature."

        The foreman then said: "Mr. B----, I believe Mr. Coffin understands the negro law about as well as you do. If you are through asking questions, he need not be detained."

        "I have no further questions to ask him."

        As I was retiring I said: "I do not know whether I understand the law as well as Friend B---- does; but I know that I have more to do with aiding the

fugitives and less to do with aiding their pursuers, than he has."

        Dr. Henry H. Way was then called in. L---- B---- questioned him in regard to the party of seventeen fugitives, and asked him at whose house they had stopped in Newport.

        "At Levi Coffin's," the doctor replied, and in answer to questions gave a full description of them; adding that he and Dr. Stanton had dressed the wounds of the two men who had been shot.

        B---- asked: "Did you know that they were slaves, escaping from their masters?"

        The doctor replied: "We had no evidence except their own statements. They said they were slaves from Kentucky, but their evidence is worthless in law in this State."

        Here they got into an argument in regard to law, in which the doctor completely confounded B----. The foreman finally interfered, told B---- that he was wrong, and dismissed the doctor. The other witnesses were called in and questioned, but their testimony all amounted to the same thing, showing that the fugitives had been sheltered at my house for several days, and that anybody who wished to see them had access to them. Notwithstanding B----'s attempt to implicate me, the jury found no bill against me.

        Anti-slavery sentiment had largely increased in our county, and this effort of B----'s to indict me for harboring fugitive slaves soon became widely known and had a tendency to kill him politically.

TWO SLAVE GIRLS PROM MARYLAND.

        The laws of Indiana, Illinois and Ohio allowed persons from a slave State to pass through with their slaves if they did not stop to locate. If they made any purchases amounting to location, the slaves were to be considered free.

        The following case came under this law: Two brothers from Maryland, by the name of Dawes, each accompanied by his family and one slave girl, were traveling through Indiana on their way to the State of Missouri, when the illness of the wife of Elisha Dawes, the elder brother, compelled them to stop for a time near Winchester, Randolph County, Indiana. During their stay at that place, they decided to locate there and to buy a tan-yard which was for sale at Winchester, at a great bargain; they being tanners by trade. The terms were agreed upon and were satisfactory to both paties, but before the writings were drawn or the bargain closed, the thought occurred to the Dawes brothers that if they located in Indiana they would lose their slaves; they could not hold them in a free State. This would be a heavy loss to them, as the girls were valuable property, the one belonging to the elder brother being nearly grown, and the other about fourteen years old. They knew not what to do, and consulted with the man with whom they were stopping, who was pro-slavery in his sentiments. He advised them not to close the contract for the property until they had disposed of the slave girls, then the money thus obtained would give them a good

start in business. In accordance with his advice, they concluded to take the girls to Kentucky by way of Cincinnati, sell them there, and with the money obtained from their sale, buy a quantity of hides in Cincinnati, then return to Winchester and close the contract for the property. Their friend and adviser agreed to go with them and aid them in disposing of their slaves and purchasing stock. But notwithstanding all their wise precautions they made one serious mistake. They contracted for a lot of tan-bark and for some household furniture, which in the sight of the law amounted to location, and the moment they did so the slaves were free. When ready to go to Cincinnati, they fitted up a light covered wagon, drawn by two horses, and taking the two slave girls and their friend, they started from Winchester in the middle of the day, and passed through Newport between sunset and dark. The slaves were out of sight behind the hay in the back part of the wagon, and were not noticed by any one as the party passed hastily through our village. They were hardly out of sight when Dr. Hiatt, an abolitionist from the neighborhood of Winchester, arrived at my house. He understood the whole matter, and knew that the men violated the law of the State in taking the two girls out of it to sell them as slaves. When he learned that they had started to Kentucky, he had mounted his horse and followed them, hoping to reach Newport before they did, and have them arrested as kidnappers. He had not supposed that they would reach Newport that night, but they had driven rapidly, and he had not succeeded in

getting ahead of them. We at once called a meeting in our school-house, and by ringing the bell and sending out runners, we soon had most of the citizens convened. Esquire Curtis presided at the meeting. Dr. Hiatt gave the outlines of the story, and as he had in writing all the particulars of the purchases which the men had made near Winchester, he was able to prove that they had violated the law of the State and should be arrested as kidnappers. But there was no time to delay; if anything was to be done to save the girls, it must be done at once. The masters had only eleven miles to travel until they would be out of the State. The questions to be immediately considered were: Who will file an affidavit and procure a writ? Who will pursue the men to-night, arrest them as kidnappers, and bring them before Esquire Curtis for trial?

        There were no volunteers in the meeting, so I suggested the names of two or three persons who would be suitable to go; but they declined. My name was then suggested. I said: "Yes, I expected to have it to do from the first, but I wanted to see if any others were willing." I at once filed an affidavit before Esquire Curtis, and he issued a writ and placed it in the hands of John Hunt, who was the constable.

        It was now after night and quite dark, and rain was beginning to fall. The constable summoned his posse before leaving the school-house--ten able-bodied, resolute men, making, with himself and me, twelve men in the company. We had to go home and get our suppers, saddle our horses and prepare

for traveling in the rain; and it was ten o'clock when we were all mounted and ready to start. The constable and I led the way. It was quite dark, the rain was falling heavily and the mud in the road was deep; so our progress was necessarily slow.

        After riding about two hours, we discovered the white cover of the travelers' wagon which was standing in the yard of a farm-house, about a hundred yards from the road. We rode up the short lane that led to the house, and calling out the man of the house explained our business to him; then leaving the others outside, the constable and I went inside and arrested the two slaveholders, who were in bed. They were naturally much surprised at being thus disturbed in the middle of the night, and when they learned the reason, they were very angry and used oaths and hard names quite freely.

        The two slave girls were lying on a pallet on the floor, in the same room. They knew not what to think of being thus aroused, but I spoke to them reassuringly, and told them not to be alarmed. Elisha Dawes seeing me speak to them, ordered them not to say a word. I paid no attention to him, but told them they were in a free State, and were now free according to the law of the State, and that they need not be afraid to speak. I assured them that we would protect them and see that they were not sold into slavery.

        The constable told the men that they were his prisoners, and must go back with us to Newport for trial. They reluctantly obeyed his orders, leaving

their friend from Winchester and two of our men to bring the wagon and the two girls next morning. It had now ceased raining, and the moon had risen and gave a dim light. As we rode back to Newport with the two slaveholders, one of them said:

        "I would like to see the man who filed that affidavit; I would put daylight through him."

        I rode up by his side, and said: "If it will afford thee any satisfaction to see that person, look at me; I am the man. But it is not I that you have to contend with; it is the State of Indiana. You have violated the law of the State by attempting to take your slaves out of the State after making purchases that amounted to location. We are able to prove this. The moment you made the contract at Winchester, the girls were free, and now, in the sight of the law, you are kidnappers carrying off free persons to sell them into slavery. The lightest penalty for this is five hundred dollars' fine and two years' imprisonment in the penitentiary. You shall have a fair trial; nothing will be done unfairly. The case will come up before court, where you will have the benefit of counsel and jury. There will be a preliminary hearing before Esquire Curtis at Newport, and he will no doubt bind you over to appear in court."

        After hearing these statements, the slaveholders ceased their abusive language. They appeared to be alarmed at the serious aspect of the case, and were more subdued and friendly in their manners. When we reached Newport, I took them to my house and had their horses put in my stable. Next

morning, when the two slave girls were brought to town I gave them quarters at my house, and entertained the whole company two days free of charge. I treated the men as kindly as I could, and sought to make their position as prisoners as pleasant as possible. They desired to send to Winchester for witnesses, having a brother-in-law and some others in their company whom they wished to be present at the trial, and I sent a messenger to bring these persons. I also sent to Centerville for a lawyer, Abner Haines, now Judge Haines, of Eaton, Ohio. It was on account of sending for these persons that the trial was postponed until the second day. Just before the hour set for trial, Lawyer Haines read to the two prisoners the law bearing on their case, and cited several instances of a similar kind that had been tried in court, resulting in the conviction of the defendants. He told them that the very moment they had made purchases preparatory to location their slaves were free, and that their attempt to take the two girls out of the State and sell them amounted to kidnapping; and assured them that if prosecuted they could not escape conviction and the penalty for that offense.

        They were much alarmed at this and wished to compromise with me, in some way, that I might not appear against them, or carry the case into court. They offered to give up the slave girls to me if I would not appear against them. I told them that I would consent to this on one condition, and that was that they should make out papers of emancipation for the girls. This they agreed to do, and Lawyer

Haines wrote out the papers at once, and they were signed and acknowledged before Esquire Curtis. The slave girls were then given into my care, and the prisoners discharged.

        Before starting back to Winchester, Elisha Dawes asked me to let him take his girl--the oldest one--home with him as a nurse for his child. He promised to treat her well, and said he did not know how his wife, who had a young child, could do without her. I asked him why he did not think of that before he started to sell the girl, and said that now I could not trust her with him. So the two girls were left at our house, and the men returned to Winchester. I sent the girls to school, and had the care and oversight of them for several years. The older of the two married a respectable colored man, and is still living. The younger went to Canada of her own choice, and died there a few years afterward.

        The Dawes brothers located at Winchester, and being told by some of their pro-slavery friends that I had scared them out of their slaves, and being assured that the whole proceedings were illegal and could be upset in law, they became very much dissatisfied. They were much enraged at me, and made so many threats against me, that some of my friends advised me not to go to Winchester for some time, lest I should meet with harm. I replied that I often had business at Winchester, and that when it called me there I should not stay away on account of the threats of the Dawes brothers. They finally resolved to prosecute me, and went to Centerville to employ some of our best lawyers, but did not

succeed in getting any one to undertake the case. A few weeks after their return to Winchester, my business called me to that place, and the first person I saw after dismounting from my horse was Elisha Dawes, who happened to be on the street. I walked straight up to him and shook hands with him, and inquired after the health of his family. He appeared quite cordial in his manner. I often met him and his brother afterward, and kept up a friendly acquaintance with them for several years. At one time when I met with Elisha Dawes, he told me that his father, who lived in Maryland, and who was anti-slavery in sentiment, was quite rejoiced that the slave girls had been taken away from them.

ANECDOTE OF A VISIT TO CINCINNATI.

        While living at Newport I often went to Cincinnati on business, and on one occasion when my wife and little daughter were with me, a free mulatto woman and her fugitive slave daughter--nearly white--were put in my charge. I took them back to Newport in my carriage, stopping on the way at a tavern near Hamilton. At supper the landlord seated us all at the table, except the mulatto woman, who, he intended, should eat with the colored servants. After the meal was over, I told him that he was quite partial, to admit a slave to the public table and exclude a free woman. He was much astonished and could not believe that the girl was a slave.

        "Why," he said; "she is white, perfectly white."

        "That may be," I replied; "but she is nevertheless

a slave. Color is no protection in the South."

        The landlord then acknowledged the inconsistency of his conduct, and we enjoyed the joke very much.

        At another time when I was in the city accompanied by my wife and daughter, Hiram S. Gillmore, a noted abolitionist and one of my particular friends, asked me if I knew of any person in from the country with a wagon who would take a fugitive slave girl out to a place of safety. He then gave me the outlines of her story. She had come from Boone County, Kentucky, having run away because she learned that she was to be sold to the far South. Knowing that she would be pursued and probably retaken if she started northward immediately, she conceived a plan like that adopted by Cassie and Emmeline when they ran away from Legree, in "Uncle Tom's Cabin." She hid herself in the interior of a large straw pile near her master's barn, having previously arranged apertures for air, and a winding passage with concealed entrance, by which her fellow-servants who brought her food could enter. Here she remained six weeks, while her master with a posse of men scoured the country in search of her. Like Cassie who looked from her hiding-place in the garret, and heard the discomfited Legree swearing at his ill luck as he returned from the unsuccessful pursuit, this young woman could hear in her hiding-place, in the straw pile, the noise of horses' feet and the sound of talking, as her master and his men returned from their fruitless search for her. When the hunt was over, she stole out and made her way

safely to the Ohio River, crossed in a skiff and reached the house of a family of abolitionists in Cincinnati, where she was kindly received, and furnished with comfortable clothing.

        In answer to the inquiry of Hiram S. Gillmore, I replied that I was there in a carriage, and would take her out, if she would be ready when I called for her at nine o'clock next morning. At the appointed time we started. The young slave woman was nearly white, was well dressed, and presented quite a lady-like appearance.

        At the end of the first day's travel, we stopped about four miles above Hamilton, at a private house, the residence of one of my friends--a democrat, by the way--who had often invited me to call at his house, with my wife, and pay his family a visit. The gentleman's daughter ran out to meet us, and I said to her: "Well, Ellen, I have brought my wife with me this time; now guess which of these ladies she is."

        She looked from one to the other, hardly able to decide, but, finally, judging perhaps from the Quaker bonnet my wife wore, decided on the right one. The gentleman and his wife now came out to meet us, and when I introduced the young lady with us as a fugitive slave, they were full of surprise and curiosity, having never seen a fugitive slave before.

        I told them her story, and then said to my friend: "Will she be safe here to-night, Thomas?"

        "I reckon so," was the reply.

        "I don't want any reckon about it," I rejoined;

        "I shall put her in thy care, and I don't want thee to let anybody capture her." She was kindly treated.

        Next morning--it being the Sabbath day--we went on about eight miles to West Elkton, a Friends' settlement, to attend meeting and spend the day. Meeting had just commenced when we arrived. My wife took the fugitive into meeting with her and seated her by her side. This was the first time the girl had ever attended a Quaker meeting. At its close I introduced her to a number of our friends, as a run away slave from Kentucky. She was the first that had been seen at that place, and a mysterious influence seemed to invest her at once. Men lowered their voices as if in awe, when they inquired about her, and some of them seemed alarmed, as if there was danger in the very air that a fugitive slave breathed. I spoke in a loud, cheerful tone and asked: "Why do you lower your voices? Are you afraid of anything? Have you bloodhounds among you? If so, you ought to drive them out of your village." We stopped at the house of Widow Stubbs, a thorough abolitionist, and soon afterward one of her near neighbors, a man with whom I was well acquainted, came in to inquire concerning the girl.

        He asked if she was safe, whether she had not better be secreted, etc., all the time speaking in a low tone. I said: "What is the matter, Henry? What makes thee speak so cautiously? Is there any one in your village who would capture a fugitive slave? If there is, hunt him up and bring him here.

I would like to see him and to introduce this young lady to him. I think we could make an abolitionist of him. For my part, I have no fears of any one in this village, and think thou may make thyself quite easy."

        In the course of the afternoon quite a number of people came in who seemed concerned in a similar manner for the safety of the girl, but seeing me so entirely at ease, their fear and anxiety passed away.

        This public exposition of a fugitive slave, at Friends' meeting and in the village seemed to have a good effect in the place, for West Elkton afterward became one of our best Underground Railroad depots, and the timid man first alluded to became one of the most zealous workers on the road.

A STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY.

        Louis Talbert was an intelligent colored man, who belonged to a slaveholder living in Kentucky, a few miles back of the Ohio River, above Madison. Louis was not content with being a chattel that could be bought and sold, but kept planning how he might gain his freedom. For several years he had quietly and shrewdly been gaining all the information he could in regard to that land of liberty he had heard of so often, and at last concluded to make the attempt to reach it. He ventured to divulge his secret to several of his trusty friends and fellow-servants in the neighborhood, and twelve of them agreed to join him in the attempt to gain freedom. They met frequently, late at night, in the woods or some other secluded place in the neighborhood,

to consult together and to make their plans. The chief difficulty that they would have to encounter in their journey was the Ohio River--they had no way of crossing it, and knew not what to do. Finally, Louis Talbert, who was the leading spirit among them, suggested the construction of a raft. This at once solved the problem, and the time to start was agreed upon. On the appointed night the party made their way to a point on the river bank, selected by Louis. Having some suitable tools with them, they soon prepared two logs and pinned them together. When the little raft was launched upon the water, it was found that only two persons could ride on it at a time. Their expectations of all getting across that night were disappointed, for it was late when they reached the river, and only six had been transported to the Indiana shore when daylight warned the party to seek concealment. They hid in the thickets, on each side of the river, during the day, and when night came the remaining six were safely ferried across. But this delay operated against them, and came near proving fatal to their hopes. When so much valuable property was found to be missing in the neighborhood they had left, it created great excitement among their masters and other slaveholders. A large company started out to hunt for the runaways, and crossed the river at various points, in order, if possible, to intercept them in their flight. The second night, when all the fugitives were safely over the river, they started on their way northward through Indiana. They made but little progress

before day began to dawn, and soon had to seek places in the bushes, where they could remain in safety during the day. By this time, some of the hunters had got ahead of them, and had given the alarm, and offered large rewards for their capture. In the counties of Indiana bordering the Ohio River, fugitive slaves were in as much danger of being captured as on the other side of the river, for there were many persons on the look-out for them who hoped to get the rewards offered by the slaveholders in such cases.

        The next night Louis and his companions left their hiding-places, but being pinched with hunger, they sought to obtain some food before starting on their journey northward. They went to a house to buy some provisions, not thinking that they were in great danger. But a large party of hunters were in the neighborhood, and were soon apprised of their presence. The fugitives were closely pursued by a large party of armed men, the party from Kentucky having been joined by a number of ruffians in the neighborhood, who were as eager in the chase as they would have been in a fox or a deer hunt. Louis and his companions ran in different directions, and endeavored to hide in the woods and corn-fields, but most of the party were captured, only Louis and three others succeeding in making their escape. After traveling several nights, during which time they suffered much from hunger and exposure, they reached my house. We received and cared for them, and they remained with us several days, resting from their fatiguing and anxious journey. They

were then put on the old reliable road leading to Canada, and reached that country in safety.

        Louis remained there about one year, then returned to Indiana, and staid a few days at my house. He said he was on his way back to Kentucky. He had two sisters still in bondage, and was determined to make an effort to bring them away. They belonged to a man living about thirty miles back from the river. Louis felt much anxiety about them, as they were young women grown and were regarded as valuable property by their master. He feared that they would be sold to traders and taken to the far South, as such property was in demand and would bring high prices. I tried to dissuade Louis from such a hazardous undertaking. I told him that he would risk his own liberty and might not be able to effect the rescue of his sisters, but he was determined to go. He was well acquainted in that neighborhood with both colored and white people, and, relying on his shrewdness and judgment, he made the bold venture. After crossing the river into Kentucky, he moved cautiously in the night season from one negro quarter to another where he was acquainted. He encouraged several of his particular friends to join him and prepare to make the journey to Canada. He assured them that he was well acquainted with the route and could conduct them safely, and told them of the many good friends they would find on the road who would help them on their way to liberty. The sweet word of liberty, and the hope of all its blessings and privileges, thrilled their hearts, and they at once

agreed to make the effort to gain it under the leadership of Louis. The plans were all made, both men and women being in the party who were to attempt to escape.

        Louis went several nights to the place where his sisters were, and watched about the house, trying to get an interview with them, but they were house-servants, and were kept in at night so closely that it seemed impossible for him to make himself known to them and talk with them without discovery.

        One moonlight night as he was watching the house, trying to attract the attention of his sisters, their master saw and recognized him. The signal for pursuit was at once given and the alarm raised. A neighbor who had several bloodhounds was summoned, and the dogs were put on the trail. By this time, however, Louis had reached the woods, and being well acquainted with the country, he knew how to choose the paths that would be most difficult for the pursuers. Louis knew how to charm the dogs, and he received no harm from them.

        He baffled his pursuers and made good his escape, bringing with him four or five of his slave friends, including two women. Thus, though he failed to get his sisters, his mission was not entirely unsuccessful. He made his way to the Ohio River with his company, and finding a skiff they crossed in safety to the Indiana side. They then proceeded as rapidly as possible to a station of the Underground Railroad, and that line soon brought them to my house. They remained with us a short time, and were then forwarded to Canada.

        After seeing his friends safe in that country, Louis returned to Indiana and attended school at a manual labor institution, in Randolph County, called the Union Literary Institute. It was chartered by the State of Indiana for the benefit of colored students. Louis remained here nearly two years, making satisfactory progress in his studies and gaining the esteem of all who knew him. During vacation in the first year he made a second attempt to rescue his sisters from slavery, but was again unsuccessful in getting them, though he succeeded in bringing out of bondage another company of his friends. He still did not abandon the hope of rescuing his sisters.

        At the school which he attended, Louis became acquainted with M. W., a young white man who lived in Hamilton County, Indiana. To him Louis communicated his resolve to make another effort to get his sisters out of slavery. M. W. became so much interested in the matter that he agreed to accompany Louis on his next trip into Kentucky.

        Some months afterward Louis went to Westfield, Hamilton County. He was then on his way to Kentucky to make another attempt, and reminded his friend of his promise, but M. W. had just been married and declined to go. He directed Louis to the house of L. Pennington, who lived in the neighborhood. This Friend tried to discourage Louis from making the attempt; telling him that he would risk his own liberty and might not achieve that of his sisters. But Louis was determined to go, and made a confidant of a young man by the name of

N. W., who was interested in his case and who agreed to accompany him. They made all their plans and appointed the time for starting. They were to take the train at Indianapolis and go to Madison, then cross into Kentucky and proceed secretly on their mission. These arrangements were made a week or two before the time fixed for starting, and might have been successful had not N. W., in the meantime, unwisely made a confidant of one of his acquaintances at Indianapolis, telling him all the particulars of the case. This friend in turn confided the whole matter to another person living in Indianapolis, who knew Louis' master in Kentucky, and who immediately wrote to him, giving all the particulars, and telling him the day and hour that Louis intended to take the train at Indianapolis for Madison.

        Louis' master, as soon as he received this information, gathered a posse of men and started to Indianapolis, arriving there the night before Louis was to start South. He obtained a writ for arresting his slave and put it in the hands of an officer, then, with the witnesses who were to prove his property, he waited to capture Louis as soon as he should come into the depot.

        The next morning Louis, who was all unconscious of the danger he was going into, walked into the depot to get aboard the train and found himself confronted by his master. He could not save himself, either by resistance or flight, and soon found himself heavily fettered. N. W., who was to accompany him, was a short distance behind, but seeing

the excited crowd in the depot and learning that Louis had been captured, he turned back and went immediately home and told the news to Louis' friends.

        Louis' master said to him: "I would have paid any price to get hold of you, and now that you are in my power, I will make an example of you. You have carried off thirty-seven thousand dollars' worth of slave property."

        Louis had been a very successful missionary among the slaves in Kentucky. Beside bringing a number out of the house of bondage, he had directed others how to get on the Underground Railroad and go right through to Canada where they would be free. They had listened with deep interest to his stories of Canada and liberty, and frequent stampedes of slaves from that part of Kentucky was the result.

        Louis' master took him back to Kentucky strongly bound, and exhibited him in fetters in many towns and public places in that section of the country, in order, as he said, to make an example of him, and to intimidate other slaves who might have thoughts of running away. But the master soon found that he had a troublesome piece of property on his hands. He did not dare to turn Louis loose and set him to work, for he might stray off and take a good deal of valuable property with him, of his own kind. He kept him bound for several weeks, waiting for a favorable opportunity to sell him, and finally disposed of him to a Southern slave-dealer for the sum of seven hundred dollars.

This was considered a low price, but there was some risk in buying such a shrewd, wily fellow as Louis, who had dared to run away from his master.

        Louis was taken on board a steamboat, with other slaves, to go down the river to a Southern slave market. He was kept bound for several days on the journey, but managed to gain the confidence of his master, so that his fetters were taken off and he was allowed the same privileges that the other slaves had. His master knew that he would not be likely to sell so well if he was kept bound, for the purchasers would think he was a dangerous fellow, and undesirable as a piece of property.

        As soon as Louis was turned loose he began to look out for a chance to escape. They were now near the mouth of the Ohio River, and Louis was very anxious to make his escape from the boat before they entered the Mississippi River, at Cairo. But he found no opportunity, and they were soon on the broad stream of the Mississippi. The night after they reached this river, Louis determined on a plan of escape. A small boat or yawl was tied to the rear end of the steamboat and floated in the water. It was kept there for the convenience of landing passengers without rounding to the steamer, and for putting the mail ashore at different points along the river. Louis planned to get into this boat under cover of darkness, and arranged with the chamber maid to cut the rope that bound it to the steamer. Two other slave men, to whom Louis had confided his plans, had agreed to go with him, but

at the last moment their hearts failed them and they concluded to stay. Louis got into the boat, and the colored chamber-maid, faithful to her promise, cut the rope, and he paddled away in the darkness.

        Louis was now in the middle of the Mississippi, with a slave State on each side of the river. He knew how to row well, and soon made his way to the Missouri side. He pulled up stream near the bank for some time, but found that it was hard work, and that he made little headway. When day-light appeared he tied the yawl in a secluded place on the shore, and sought a hiding-place, where he spent the day. When night came, he felt that he must seek some food, for he was now very hungry. He concluded to abandon the yawl and make his way up the river by land. After walking some distance he came to a farm, and discovering several negro huts he ventured to approach one. He was kindly received and furnished with a supply of food. He gained some information about the country between that place and Cairo, and pursued his journey. He lay by during the day, and traveled at night until he reached the Mississippi River, some distance above Cairo. He suffered from hunger and various hardships, but found some true friends among the slaves near the river. Here he rested awhile in safe concealment, then was helped across the river into Southern Illinois. In this section fugitive slaves found few friends, for most of the settlers were from slave States, and were disposed to capture all runaways. Through this country Louis cautiously made his way in the night season, venturing

now and then to call at a house and beg for food. In a few places he found friends, and was enabled to rest in safety, and recruit his strength.

        Thus he slowly made his way through Illinois into Indiana, and arrived at the house of Levi Pennington, in Hamilton County, just three months from the day he first called there. Friend Pennington was much surprised to see him, having heard of his capture at Indianapolis, and of his being taken back to slavery by his master. After resting awhile here, Louis returned to school and resumed his studies.

        We learned afterward that Louis' new master, the slave-trader, was much enraged when he discovered his loss, and blamed the captain of the boat for having his yawl where it was so easy of access. When they arrived at Memphis, he sued the captain for the price of his slave, contending that the captain was responsible for the loss of his property. The trader lost the suit, and had the costs to pay, then the captain sued him for the detention of the boat, and gained the suit, and the trader had to pay seven hundred dollars. Then the captain sued him for the value of the yawl which his slave had carried off, and got judgment against him, which it is said cost him seven hundred dollars more. According to this statement, Louis Talbert was a dear piece of property to the negro-trader.

JOHN WHITE.

        John White was the slave of a man who lived in Kentucky, just opposite Rising Sun, Indiana, on the Ohio River. He married a slave woman, the

daughter of her master, who lived in the neighborhood, and they had several children. He was very much attached to his family, and visited them as often as he was permitted by his master. Hearing one day that his master intended to sell him to the far South, and knowing that he would thus be separated from his family, he determined to run away. Carrying his plan into execution he crossed the river into Indiana, where he had some friends--free colored people--and by them was directed to my house at Newport. Here he remained some weeks, and my deepest sympathies were aroused in his behalf. He was naturally very bright and intelligent, but his mind seemed overclouded with gloom at the prospect of leaving his family in slavery. He finally started toward Canada, stopping on the way at Raisin Institute, near Adrian, Michigan, a school open to all, irrespective of color, where he met that noted abolitionist and noble-hearted woman, Laura S. Haviland, having been directed to her by me. He remained in Canada several months, but being anxious and concerned about his family, resolved to return to his abolition friends in the States, to see if something could not be done, and accordingly came back to Raisin Institute, in Michigan. It was then winter and not a suitable season to make an attempt to rescue his wife and children, so he remained at the institute during the winter and spring, and attended school. He was very eager to learn, and made rapid progress in his studies.

        In the summer he returned to my house, at Newport, and consulted with me regarding the project

he had so much at heart. A messenger was sent to his colored friends, at Rising Sun, to see if arrangements could be made with them to aid his family in escaping, but nothing definite could be determined upon. Not willing to give it up, John White remained several months at Newport--working and attending school, and in the winter ventured to go to Cincinnati, hoping to make arrangements with the colored stewards of the Louisville and Cincinnati packets, with whom he was acquainted, but failed in this. He then returned to Michigan, where he remained a year or two, continuing his education at the Raisin Institute, but never forgetting his anxiety about his wife and children, and his hope to see them free.

        His story finally so enlisted the sympathies of Laura S. Haviland that she resolved to aid him in his desire, and, with that purpose in view, went down to Rising Sun and introduced herself to John's colored friends, who were, by the way, almost white.

        Disguising herself, she went with one of the women across the river into Kentucky, ostensibly to pick blackberries. Going to the house where John's wife lived, the colored woman introduced Laura Haviland as her aunt, and the mistress gave John's wife permission to accompany them in their search for blackberries. This afforded the opportunity which had been so long desired, and the wife soon heard the message from her long lost husband, and was made acquainted with the plans for the escape of herself and her children.

        During this interview the arrangements were all

made and the time fixed, and on the appointed night John crossed the river from Rising Sun, and brought away his wife and six children from their place of bondage. This was the opportunity for which he had worked and prayed so long, and success seemed at last to have crowned his efforts. But alas! it was only a gleam of light before a darker night.

        Reaching the river they entered a skiff, and attempted to row across to a point above Rising Sun, where a wagon was to meet them, but the water was high and the current swift and strong, and in spite of their efforts, they floated down the river some distance below Rising Sun, and were unable to reach the landing where the wagon was waiting.

        Daylight coming on, they hid in the thickets and remained there all day, and at night unwisely ventured out into the high road. There had been ample opportunity for the master to gather a posse of men and start in pursuit, and the fugitives had not proceeded far when they found themselves hemmed in between two companies of pursuers. The wife and children were recaptured, but John sprang into the thickets and managed to elude the pursuers. He could not protect his family by staying with them; he would only be caught himself, and he sought safety in flight, but the cries of his wife and children rang in his ears, and the thought of their anguish lacerated his heart.

        He lay out in the woods several days, and then made his way to the hut of a free colored man, where he obtained food, of which he was sadly in need, being almost famished. Here he was found

and captured by Wright Ray, a noted negro-hunter, of Madison, Indiana, who was in search of other fugitives at that time. He took John to Madison then across into Kentucky, and lodged him in jail. When questioned, John had the shrewdness to give--not his own name--but that of a fugitive with whom he became acquainted in Canada. He said that his name was James Armstrong, that he was the property of the widow Armstrong, of Augusta, Kentucky, but had lived several years in Michigan. Wright Ray pretended to go to the widow Armstrong, and buy her slave James at a low price "as he ran," and then told John that if he had any friends in Michigan who would raise the money in a certain time, that he would sell him for three hundred and fifty dollars. At John's request the sheriff wrote to an address in Michigan, giving this information, and the letter came into the hands of Laura S. Haviland. Though all the names were fictitious, she concluded that the person referred to was John White, and immediately took measures to obtain his liberty. She came to our house--we were then living at Cincinnati--and told her story, intending to go on to Madison, Indiana, cross over into Kentucky, and see if the slave in jail was really John White. I persuaded her to remain, and sent instead, my nephew, M. C. White, giving him letters to Judge Stevens, of Madison, and other noted abolitionists, who might be of service to him in his mission. He went to Kentucky, found that the slave in question was John White, and then entered into negotiations to obtain his freedom. In

presence of Judge Stevens, of Madison, he made a contract with Wright Ray to pay the three hundred and fifty dollars on the following conditions: Wright Ray was to bring John White to Madison, and place him on board the packet bound for Cincinnati; the money was to be deposited with the clerk of the boat, and be paid over when John was safely delivered to his friends in this city.

        M. C. White then returned to Cincinnati, and made known the success of his mission. I borrowed the money--as Laura S. Haviland had not time to obtain it before she started--and sent him back to Madison. The terms of the contract were carried out, and John White arrived at Cincinnati. The boat came in before daylight, when the clerk who had the money in charge was asleep, but M. C. White informed Wright Ray that he would take John up town and return at eight o'clock to pay over the money.

        As soon as John reached my house he was concealed, as it was not thought safe for him to be seen in the streets, lest he might be recognized by some one who had seen him in Kentucky.

        Then, following my instructions, M. C. White returned to the boat and told Wright Ray that he was ready to pay over the money, but informed him that the slave was not the person he (W. R.) thought he was, that he was a free man (taking the ground that all men are free until they forfeit their liberty by crime), and that if he received the money, he would be guilty of kidnapping, and must risk the consequences. Ray, however, decided to take

the money and it was paid over to him. Lawyer Joliff, and I obtained a writ as soon as possible--which was at nine o'clock--and placed it in the hands of an officer with instructions to arrest Wright Ray, but when the officer went to the boat Ray was not to be found. We immediately forwarded the writ to Judge Stevens, at Madison, and Ray was soon afterward arrested at that place and lodged in jail, where he remained several months, awaiting the opening of court. The case would, without doubt, have gone against him had it been tried, but the presence of John White as prosecuting witness would have been necessary, and his friends feared to risk his freedom, so the case was allowed to go by default.

        John returned to Michigan, almost broken-hearted. All his endeavors to gain the freedom of his wife and children had been in vain, and he never saw them again. They were shortly afterward sold and separated, the master taking a price for his own daughter. Laura S. Haviland wrote to him several times, portraying in the strongest terms the sin of selling his own child. Her letters made a deep impression on his mind, and he was so much distressed that he became almost insane; he would walk the floor of nights, hour after hour, striving to make terms with his guilty conscience. He made great efforts to buy back his daughter and her children, but without success, and it was thought that this trouble shortened his days.

CHAPTER VII.

        DISCUSSION OF THE ANTI-SLAVERY SUBJECT--ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETIES AND LECTURERS--OPPOSITION TO THE MOVEMENT--SEPARATION OF FRIENDS OF INDIANA YEARLY MEETING--ACTION WHICH CAUSED THE SEPARATION--REUNION--THE COMMITTEE FROM LONDON YEARLY MEETING--INTERVIEWS WITH THE COMMITTEE--LAST INTERVIEW WITH WILLIAM FORSTER--VISIT TO CANADA IN 1844--MEETINGS WITH FUGITIVES--THEIR STORIES--A SPECIAL PROVIDENCE--AUNT SUSIE'S DREAM--THE STORY OF JACKSON--A MOTHER RESCUES HER CHILDREN.

        THE subject of slavery had been talked about and discussed at Newport and in other neighborhoods of Friends in our part of the State, by Friends and others who felt for those in bonds as bound with them, for several years previous to the agitation of the Free Labor question. Abolitionism at that time was very unpopular. Some Friends advocated colonization, or gradual emancipation, and many joined the popular current of opposition to abolitionism. Some of us felt that there was need of more earnest labor and renewed exertions on behalf of suffering humanity, even among

Friends who professed to bear a testimony against slavery--that an effort should be made to enlighten the minds of the people, and to advance the cause of immediate and unconditional emancipation on Christian principles. We felt that this movement could be forwarded by giving circulation to such publications as were calculated to create an interest in the cause of the oppressed and suffering slave. To promote this object, a few of us, of Newport and vicinity, held, in the year 1838, a conference to consult in regard to our duty in this matter. Daniel Puckett, and other prominent Friends, took an interest in the conference. The result was that we decided to establish an anti-slavery library at Newport, and to collect all the books, tracts, and other publications on the subject that we could, and circulate them among the people. There was then a depository of anti-slavery publications open at Cincinnati. The sum of twenty-five dollars was subscribed, and I was authorized to obtain the publications that we needed. I afterward bought others with my own means, and kept up the supply. We gave away these publications, or loaned them until they were worn out. The effect of this effort was manifested in a deep and increasing interest on the subject of slavery, in our neighborhood. We often held library meetings, as we called them. In that day of mobs and the ridicule of abolitionism, it would not do to call them abolition meetings, even though the anti-slavery sentiment was on the increase in Indiana. About that time a number of Friends, who were in favor of immediate and unconditional emancipation,

joined with others in the formation of the State Anti-Slavery Society of Indiana, which was organized at Milton, in Wayne County.

        In the year 1840, Arnold Buffum, a member of the Society of Friends, and one of the noble band of twelve that organized the American Anti-Slavery Society, in 1833, on the ground of immediate and unconditional emancipation, came to the West for the purpose of holding meetings among the people; to talk about the wrongs and sufferings of the slave, and to excite an interest in his behalf. It was a work that lay near his heart and one to which he believed himself called by his Heavenly Father. He believed that he was required to plead the cause of the oppressed; to speak for the dumb, and to show forth the cruelty of slavery. He had labored extensively in the Eastern States, and had encountered much opposition in the path of his duty. Some of those who had opposed his labors in the East, endeavored to block up his way and spoil his influence in the West, by writing defamatory letters to their friends here. In these letters they made statements concerning him in which there was not a particle of truth. These stories were circulated wherever he went, with a view to prejudice the people against him; but his enemies were foiled in their designs. One of the wicked and foolish stories told concerning him was, that he was an amalgamationist, and had a colored woman for his wife. But the people among whom he traveled could soon see for themselves that this was a falsehood. His amiable and excellent wife, who accompanied him in all

his travels for the purpose of sustaining and comforting him, and who was in full sympathy with him, was a highly esteemed member of the religious Society of Friends, and had no connection with the colored race.

        After laboring for some time in Ohio, Arnold Buffum made his way to our neighborhood and came directly to my house. I had never seen him before, but had heard much of him and his work and the cold reception that he had met with in many places. I gave him a hearty welcome to my house and our State, and told him that when I heard he was pleading the cause of the poor slave in Ohio, I had earnestly desired that the Lord would send him to Indiana. We appointed a meeting for him at our meeting-house in Newport, and there was a good audience of Friends and others, to hear him on the subject of slavery. He made a good impression, and a number of meetings were held in our place; appointments also were made in other neighborhoods.

        Daniel Puckett, a noted minister among Friends, accompanied him to some of these neighboring meetings, and Jonathan Hough, another well-known Friend, was his companion when he went to Winchester, and other places in Randolph County. After he returned to Newport, I went to Centerville, our county seat, and obtained the privilege of holding a meeting in the Court-House. At the appointed time, I accompanied him to the place. We had a large meeting, but there was some disorder. The mob spirit plainly manifested itself, but was

finally quelled without any serious disturbance. Buffum was used to such demonstrations, and was not embarrassed by them in the least. He was the first anti-slavery lecturer who had spoken in that part of the State, and he had ignorance as well as prejudice to contend with. From Centerville we went to Spiceland, in Henry County, where we had an appointment, and held two meetings. We also held two meetings at Greensboro, then went to Raysville. These meetings were well attended, but, strange as it may seem now, many Friends seemed shy of them, appearing to be afraid to risk their reputation by attending an abolition meeting. They professed to be as much opposed to slavery as any one, but seemed to be more opposed to abolitionism. Different religious denominations partook of this same prejudice, and we found ourselves opposed by the cultured as well as the ignorant. It tried a man's soul to be an abolitionist in those days, when brickbats, stones and rotten eggs were some of the arguments we had to meet.

        Arnold Buffum did not attempt to organize anti-slavery societies. His mission did not seem to be that work, but the endeavor to rouse an interest in the minds of Friends and others on behalf of the slave, and to prepare the way for more efficient action.

        He labored for several months in Wayne and adjoining counties, making my house his headquarters His anti-slavery lectures in the different neighborhoods created an excitement among the people, and set them to thinking and talking on the subject,

and debating it among themselves. The arguments that Buffum used made deep impressions on many minds, and caused them to reflect on a subject to which they had previously given little attention.

        Soon after Buffum's first tour in Indiana, Louis Hicklin, a Methodist preacher, from near Madison, Indiana, traveled over the same ground, delivering anti-slavery lectures, and organizing anti-slavery societies. The agitation of this subject was now fairly under way. Anti-slavery lecturers began to canvass the State, strong anti-slavery societies were organized in various places, and the subject received more thoughtful attention than had before been bestowed upon it. A State Anti-Slavery Convention was held at Newport, and was largely attended by delegates from various parts of the State. Newport was called by the pro-slavery party, "the hot-bed of abolitionism." My house was generally the home of the lecturers and speakers who were traveling through our neighborhood, pleading the cause of the slave. I was always glad to entertain them, and to do all I could in forwarding the cause we had so much at heart. Charles Burley, Frederick Douglass and other speakers from the East were among those who stopped at my house.

        But as the anti-slavery movement gained strength, the opposition to it became more powerful. Politicians and other prominent men opposed it, and their influence gave encouragement to the lower classes who possessed the mob spirit and who often interrupted the anti-slavery meetings. When Fred. Douglass made his first lecturing tour through the

West, accompanied by other prominent speakers from Massachusetts, he had to contend with prejudice expressed in the most insulting manner.

        At their meeting at Richmond, while they were on the stand speaking, rotten eggs were thrown at them, and at Pendleton they were pelted with brickbats, stones and eggs, until they were driven from the platform. M. C. White, my wife's nephew, who was on the platform, had two of his front teeth knocked out by a brickbat, thrown by one of the mob. Such disgraceful disturbances were of frequent occurrence in various parts of the State, when meetings were held to plead the cause of the slave. This, however, only served to forward the anti-slavery cause among quiet, well disposed citizens. Daniel Worth, a prominent Wesleyan minister, was made President of the State Anti-Slavery Society, and several State Conventions were held at Newport, Wayne County, and Greensboro, Henry County. The work commenced by Arnold Buffum, in 1840, went on with increasing interest, being sustained by Dr. Bennett and other prominent speakers who devoted much time and labor in pleading the cause of the oppressed, until the eastern, middle and northern counties of the State became so strongly abolitionist in sentiment, that the number of the people were very small who would risk their reputation in giving aid to the slave-hunters. Public opinion became so strongly anti-slavery in our neighborhood, that I often kept fugitives at my house openly, while preparing them for their journey

to the North, without any fear of being molested.

        But, notwithstanding this large increase of anti-slavery sentiment, the pro-slavery party still held the reins of government, in both Church and State, and there was a strong opposition to the abolition movement. The doctrine of immediate and unconditional emancipation was unpopular. Some prominent members of the Society of Friends opposed it, and favored colonization or gradual emancipation.

        This difference of opinion subsequently led to a separation in Indiana Yearly Meeting of Friends, which occurred in 1843, and was a sore trial to many of us. The causes of this painful separation are fully set forth in the history of the separation of Friends of Indiana Yearly Meeting, compiled by Walter Edgerton. The two Yearly Meetings continued their separate organizations for thirteen years, but a reunion was finally effected, to the rejoicing of many hearts on both sides.

        We were proscribed for simply adhering to what we believed to be our Christian duty, as consistent members of the Society of Friends, in regard to the anti-slavery movement; in uniting with others in anti-slavery societies, opening our meeting-houses for anti-slavery meetings, to plead the cause of the oppressed, and laboring for the spread of anti-slavery truth in every way we could, consistent with our profession as Christians. We asked only liberty of conscience--freedom to act according to one's conscientious convictions. We did not wish to interfere with the conscience or liberty of others,

but strictly to live up to that part of our Discipline which bore a testimony against slavery. We had no new doctrine to preach; we advocated immediate and unconditional emancipation as we had done all our lives. This we understood to be the doctrine and testimony of the Society of Friends for generations past. But abolitionism was unpopular; an odium was attached to the very name of abolitionist. It tried men's souls in those days to meet the current of opposition.

        Strange as it may seem to the rising generation who read the part of Friend's Discipline relating to slavery, and who would naturally suppose that they would give their support to every movement opposing slavery, there was a spirit of opposition to abolitionism attributable to various causes, which had almost imperceptibly crept in among Friends, and which manifested itself in the Yearly Meeting. A few leading members were colonizationists, some were gradualists, and many were led to believe that there was some disgrace about abolitionism--they could hardly tell what--and they fell in with the current of opposition. Charles Osborne, that faithful servant of the Lord, who preached no new doctrine, had experienced no change, but followed the same course and advocated the same anti-slavery doctrine that he had for forty years. He, with many others of our prominent and faithful ministers, Daniel Puckett, Thomas Frazier, Abel Roberts, Isam Puckett, Martha Wooton, etc., were proscribed and considered disqualified for service in the church, because they could not conscientiously adhere to

the advice of the Yearly Meeting. We were advised not to unite in abolition societies, nor to open our meeting-houses for abolition meetings.

        This took place at the Yearly Meeting in the fall of 1842. These advices were sent down to Quarterly and Monthly Meetings, with a committee to see that they were carried out. Thus we had no alternative; we must separate, or be disowned for opposing the advice of the body, as they called it. In the winter of 1843 we called a convention at Newport, Indiana, which was largely attended by members of the various Quarterly Meetings who felt aggrieved with the action of the Yearly Meeting.

        We spent some time in prayerful deliberation and the result was the reorganization of Indiana Yearly Meeting and the establishment of the Yearly Meeting of Anti-Slavery Friends. No change in the Discipline was thought necessary. Five Quarterly Meetings and twelve Monthly Meetings were organized and established; these constituted the New Yearly Meeting. As soon as these meetings were organized the opposite party seemed to take alarm, and ceased to prosecute the proscriptive measures which had caused the separation.

        By this loosening of the cord they no doubt saved many of their members, who sympathized with us, but who on account of the change in policy were not driven to the necessity of separating from the body. Thus a large number of Friends in the limits of Indiana Yearly Meeting retained unity with us and brotherly feeling toward us, and many of the members of other Yearly Meetings sympathized

with us. We had many able ministers, both men and women, with us, and we experienced many precious meetings, where the overshadowing wing of Divine Goodness was sensibly felt to hover over us and bless our assembly. The trials and sufferings through which we had passed together made us near and dear to each other. This feeling remains with those still living, to the present day, and is renewed whenever we meet. Several of our most prominent ministers of the present day were connected with anti-slavery Friends; many of the older ones have gone to their reward.

        As time rolled on, and the anti-slavery sentiment increased, and the odium attached to abolitionism lessened, many of the younger members of the old Yearly Meeting came forward nobly and joined us on the anti-slavery platform, and many of the older ones acknowledged that the Yearly Meeting did wrong in pursuing the course that brought the separation, and manifested the most friendly feeling toward us. The Yearly Meeting made a change in the Discipline in regard to acknowledgments from those who had once been members; thus leaving the door open for a reunion. Many of the older ones on both sides had passed away. There seemed now to be nothing to keep us longer apart, so we dissolved our separate organizations, and in most or all of the Monthy Meetings, where anti-slavery Friends lived, a proposition was made to the Monthly Meeting in writing, to unite in a body without making any acknowledgment. This proposition was accepted in most cases, at that meeting,

without making an appointment. Thus a happy reunion was effected.

        In the year 1845, London Yearly Meeting issued an address to the anti-slavery Friends who had separated from Indiana Yearly Meeting, and appointed a committee to accompany it and to endeavor to heal the breach. This committee was composed of four prominent and influential Friends--William Forster, George Stacy, Josiah Forster and John Allen. They arrived in this country in time to attend the Yearly Meeting at Richmond in the tenth month of that year.

        The Yearly Meeting of Anti-Slavery Friends was in session at the same time at Newport, ten miles distant. We supposed that the committee would attend our meeting also, but in this we were mistaken. The old Yearly Meeting appointed a committee to give such information as they desired. The day after that Yearly Meeting closed, the English Friends paid a short social visit to Charles Osborne, who was stopping at my house. Several other Friends were present. During this short interview some intimation of their intended course was given, influenced perhaps by the counsel of the advisory committee of the old Yearly Meeting. They returned the same evening to Richmond, which was their headquarters. They concluded to visit the distant meetings or outposts of anti-slavery Friends, before visiting the larger body at Newport, and other meetings in that vicinity. After they left Newport several of the leading anti-slavery Friends thought it necessary to confer together a little on

the circumstances of their conclusions, believing that the course of action the committee had decided upon would not heal the breach or effect the object of their mission to this country. This conference resulted in our addressing a letter to the committee, in brotherly love, suggesting a different course. This letter was signed by fourteen prominent Friends--Charles Osborne, Daniel Puckett and others--and Benjamin Stanton, Henry H. Way and I were nominated to carry it to them at Richmond before they started West, and to have an interview with them. We were kindly received by the committee, and had a free and open conversation with these noble Christian men on the subject of their mission. We fully believed that the course they were about to pursue would not bring the differing parties together as they desired, and as we also greatly desired.

        We thought that if the leading influential members of both parties could be brought together, and the causes of the differences that produced the separation investigated, and clearly set forth to the committee, they might be able to judge clearly and intelligently, and to advise in the matter. But they thought that their minute of appointment from London Yearly Meeting would not justify them in taking that course, as the address of that meeting was to anti-slavery Friends, advising them to cease holding their separate meetings and to return to the body from which they had separated. London Yearly Meeting did not understand all the causes of the separation, but took it for granted that the

Society of Friends was everywhere an anti-slavery body, and bore a testimony against slavery both in Europe and America. They did not understand the different sentiments among us in this country in regard to anti-slavery action--that the spirit of colonization and gradual emancipation was deeply seated in the minds of many Friends here, notwithstanding that, in their General Epistle, London Yearly Meeting had denounced colonization as an odions plan of expatriation. They were not aware that the great body of the Society of Friends in America had, with nearly all other religious societies, thrown the weight of their influence against the few true abolitionists who advocated immediate and unconditional emancipation.

        Friends in America, as a body, had fallen into the popular current and denounced abolitionism, though there were in all the Yearly Meetings noble exceptions, persons who had to suffer on account of their testimonies, and who stood firm in the face of opposition and battled for the right.

        These members of the minority sympathized with us who had dared to stand firm in the cause of the oppressed and suffering slave, and to the testimony of the Society of Friends against slavery. We often received letters of cheer and encouragement from members of other Yearly Meetings. Charles Osborne, who was widely known and loved as a faithful minister of the gospel, and who had traveled and labored much in the ministry, was among the number proscribed and pronounced disqualified for labor in the church.

        Friends in England had no such trials to pass through; abolitionism was popular there, and they were united in their sentiments on the anti-slavery subject. They united with others in anti-slavery societies, and opened their meeting-houses for anti-slavery meetings. In this country our meeting-houses were refused for such purposes, when we wished to assemble to plead the cause of the slave and to try to enlighten and awaken public sentiment on the subject of slavery. We apprehended that the English Committee were not fully apprised of all these circumstances, which led to our separation, hence our letter to them and our interview with them. All these matters were carefully laid before them, and received a kind and respectful hearing, but they could not feel it right to change their programme.

        They had decided to visit all the different neighborhoods of anti-slavery Friends belonging to our Yearly Meeting, call the Friends together at their meeting-places, and after reading to them the address of London Yearly Meeting, advise them to discontinue their separate organizations, and return to the body. This was as far as they thought they were justified by their appointment to go; they felt that they could not act as umpires or mediators between the two parties. We assured them that such a course of action could not effect a reunion. We said that anti-slavery Friends had counted the cost and suffered much before they separated; that our meetings had been much blessed, and that we had abundant evidence that our assemblies had been

owned by the great Head of the Church. We had been forced to take the step we did by the act of Indiana Yearly Meeting, and if we enjoyed religious society at all there was no alternative for us but to continue our meetings. Until a different spirit was manifested by the body we had separated from, we could not relinquish or discontinue our organizations; we believed that the cause we had so much at heart would suffer by such a course. We were fully convinced that their labors in the direction they had decided upon would not effect the object desired. This seemed to make a deep impression on the mind of dear old William Forster; indeed, all of them seemed full of love and kind feeling toward us. They talked freely with us on the matter, expressing their earnest desire that the unity of the body might be restored. We desired the same thing, but we were not disposed to cry Peace, peace, when there was no peace. Those days were trying and proving seasons to many of us. We parted from the committee in love and kind feeling, leaving them to ponder over our suggestions. But they pursued the course planned out, visiting the various neighborhoods of anti-slavery Friends on the outskirts of our Yearly Meeting, calling the people together at their different meeting-places, reading the address to them, and advising them to discontinue their separate organizations.

        The result was what we had anticipated; anti-slavery Friends were not prepared to accept their advice or to adhere to their counsels. I wish to speak of these dear Friends from England with

much love, and to hold in kind remembrance their many good works, and their devotedness to the cause of Christ. But I think they erred in judgment--as it is possible for good and wise men to do--and I believe they were fully sensible of it before they left this country. Our separate organization was kept up, and it was nearly eleven years after their visit that a satisfactory reunion was effected.

        Their meeting with anti-slavery Friends at Newport was held about three days before they started home. When they arrived in town in the morning, a short time before the appointed hour of their meeting, they took quarters at the house of William Hobbs, a prominent member of the old Yearly Meeting. At the close of the meeting, I invited them to our house to dine, but they declined, having promised to return to William Hobbs'. I told them I wanted them to pay me a visit before they left town, having learned that they had to return to Richmond that evening. I said I had something to show them, which I thought would interest them, and which they would be likely to remember after they returned to their own country.

        William Forster said: "We will go home with thee now," as it was on their way to their stopping place. He took me by one arm, George Stacy by the other, and the other two Friends followed us. When we arrived at our house, I seated them in the parlor, excused myself for a moment, and went into a back room where there were fourteen fugitive slaves, who had arrived the night before. An old white-haired grandmother was there, with several of

her children and grandchildren; one of her daughters had a child three months old. I invited them all to follow me into the parlor to see the four English Friends, telling them the gentlemen lived on the other side of the ocean where there was no slavery, and were true friends to the slave. This seemed to remove all fear from them, and they followed me into the parlor. I had them to stand in a semicircle, and introduced them to the English Friends as fugitive slaves fleeing from the land of whips and chains, and seeking safety in the Queen's dominions. The Friends all rose and shook hands with them. Taking the child in my arms, I said: "See this innocent babe, which was born a slave," and handed it to George Stacy, who stood near me. He took it in his arms and fondled it, for it was a pleasant looking child. All the Friends seemed deeply interested, and asked the fugitives many questions. The old woman seemed to be quite intelligent, and answered their questions readily.

        William Forster said: "It is a long road to Canada; do you think you will ever reach that country?" He did not know the facilities of the Underground Railroad.

        The old negress replied: "De Lord has been with us dis far, an' I trust He will go with us to de end of de journey."

        William Forster said: "Thou art old and feeble."

        "Yes, massa," she replied, "but I'se been prayin' de good Lord a great while to let me breathe one mouthful of free air before I died, and bress his great name, He opened de way so dat we got off

safe and He has guided us to dis good man's house, and he and his good wife has give us clothes to make us warm, and when we rest a little so we can stand more night travel, he says he will send us on. May de Lord bress him! You see, gent'men, dat de Lord is good to us and helps us."

        Many more questions were asked by the Friends, and answered by the old woman and others of the party. The Friends seemed so interested that they hardly knew how to close the interview. When the fugitives retired, I turned to George Stacy, and said:

        "For pleading the cause of innocent babes like the one thou held in thy arms, and sheltering the fugitives, such as you have seen, we have been proscribed. Now, my dear friends, if you fully understood the difference of sentiment that exists, and the course pursued by some of the leading members of Indiana Yearly Meeting, which led to our separation, you could not advise the discontinuance of our organization, while they persist in their course toward us. Your efforts have strengthened the opposition to our labors."

        I then alluded to the course pursued by the committee of the old Yearly Meeting, when they visited the Quarterly and Monthly Meetings to enforce the epistle of advice issued by the Yearly Meeting. My remarks seemed to make a deep impression on their minds. William Forster said: "It must have been very trying, indeed," to which the others assented. Their time had now expired and we must

separate, but, before starting, William Forster said to his companions:

        "We must not leave this country without having a more deliberate opportunity with Levi Coffin; I do not feel satisfied." After consulting together a few moments, they asked me if I would be willing to meet them at Richmond. I said that I would, and told them to appoint the time and place most convenient to themselves, and I would endeavor to meet them promptly. They had an appointment for the next day at Dover, which would close their labors in that part of the country, and suggested that I meet them the day following, at nine o'clock in the morning. The place appointed was the house of my cousin, Elijah Coffin, in Richmond, where they made their headquarters. I suggested having another Friend to accompany me, but they seemed to prefer an interview with me alone. I met them at the hour appointed, having a deep sense of my incompetency to engage in debate with four well-educated and well-informed English gentlemen. William Forster was a prominent and widely known minister, George Stacy was clerk of London Yearly Meeting, and Josiah Forster and John Allen were highly esteemed elders. How could I, a lay-member of a proscribed body of abolitionists, venture to differ from or call into question the acts of these wise Christian fathers in the church? These feelings and thoughts passed through my mind as I proceeded to Richmond, and I prayed earnestly that I might be guided and rightly directed in everything I uttered--that self

might be entirely subdued and nothing but the cause of Christ and his poor have any place in my mind. I was cordially greeted by the committee and conducted to a room which had been prepared for the meeting, where we would not be interrupted.

        All diffidence or embarrassment had passed away; I felt calm and quiet in my mind, and much openness and freedom seemed to be felt by us all. William Forster opened the conversation by saying that when they were at my house their time was so limited that I did not have the opportunity of expressing all that I wished to say on the subject of our trials and in regard to their labors among us, and that he felt it was right to give me a further opportunity, and hoped that we might be brought nearer together in sympathy. I then commenced where our conversation at my house had ended, and gave them, in detail, the beginning and continuance of our difficulties on the anti-slavery subject, showing how the opposition spirit gained the ascendency and proscribed Charles Osborne and other prominent Friends.

        I spoke more fully of the measures adopted by the Yearly Meeting, which caused many of us to pass through deep trials and sufferings, and finally brought about the separation, and said that I believed the matter was not fully understood by London Yearly Meeting, that if it had been, they would not have issued that address advising us to discontinue our separate organization. Yearly Meetings are not infallible, I continued, and individuals are not infallible, and you, my dear friends, may have

erred in judgment from lack of a full understanding of this difficulty, for you are only men.

        George Stacy, who sat near me, patted me affectionately on the knee, and said: "We know that, Levi; we are very poor creatures of ourselves."

        William Forster said: "I hope thou wilt award honesty to our purpose."

        I said: "Certainly I will. I love you as Christian brothers and have no doubt of the honesty of your purpose, but your labors will not have the desired effect. Our organization will not be discontinued until a different spirit is manifested by the opposing party, and Indiana Yearly Meeting opens the way for a reunion." The committee asked many questions, which I endeavored to answer carefully. They seemed to be deeply impressed and often said in the course of my statements, "How painful and trying that must have been." They appeared very humble and manifested much love and kindness in their manner toward me. I felt perfect freedom during the interview, notwithstanding the misgivings I had felt beforehand. After spending two hours together we parted, with many expressions of love and kind feeling. After their return home, I received several communications from them which expressed the same brotherly feelings. Eight years afterward London Yearly Meeting issued an address to the President of the United States and the governors of the various States in America, on the subject of slavery.

        William Forster, that noble anti-slavery Christian minister, volunteered to carry the address and visit

all the governors and heads of departments in our Government. Josiah Forster, his brother, and two other Friends, John Candler and William Holmes, were appointed to accompany him in this undertaking. I was then living in Cincinnati. I heard of their arrival in America, but had no knowledge of their having reached this city until I went to Friend's Meeting one First day, and saw William Forster sitting at the head of the meeting, with his brother Josiah by his side. I was rejoiced to see these dear friends again.

        William Forster was favored to preach the gospel with great power and unction that day. As soon as the meeting closed he made his way to me and grasped my hand, having previously recognized me. He told me that they had arrived in the city the evening before and had taken quarters at Abraham Taylor's, and invited me to go with them and dine. I excused myself, as we had company to dine with us that day, and invited them to visit us, which they promised to do. We then had charge of the Colored Orphan Asylum. In the afternoon they made us a visit and spent a few hours very pleasantly. They had the orphan children collected together, and spoke in an interesting manner, imparting much wholesome counsel to them. Learning that the asylum was a benevolent institution, dependent on contributions for support, they gave some money to be applied as we saw fit. We had taken charge of the asylum a short time, to try to build it up and get it in a good condition. When the English Friends were ready to start away, William

Forster declined to get into the carriage, saying that he would walk with me a short distance, as he wished to have some conversation with me before we parted. We walked together slowly for several squares. He said he had often thought of me since we parted at Richmond, eight years before, and expressed the kind feelings he still had for me.

        I expressed the same for him, and went on to say that the breach was not yet healed in Indiana Yearly Meeting, but a very different feeling was now manifested toward us. Many of our opposers showed a kind and loving spirit; several of the prominent members of the old Yearly Meeting had acknowledged to me that the Yearly Meeting did wrong in taking the course that brought about the separation. I believed the way was opening for a reunion; many of the younger members of the old Yearly Meeting were now boldly advocating the cause we had espoused; the proscriptive measures were no longer prosecuted; and a change had been made in their Discipline, which opened a door for us to reunite with them. William Forster seemed much rejoiced on hearing these statements. I told him that a change of public sentiment was rapidly taking place in the North, both in Church and State, and that abolitionism had lost much of the odium formerly attached to it. This also seemed to rejoice his heart, and he said he earnestly hoped that a happy reunion would soon be effected in Indiana Yearly Meeting. He expressed much satisfaction and comfort in our interview, and said that it was probably the last time we would meet in this

world, but that he hoped we would meet in the realms of never-ending peace and joy. We parted with much love for each other.

        The next day the party visited the governor of Kentucky, then went by way of Indianapolis to Illinois, Wisconsin, and Missouri, and continued their tour through the Southern States, visiting the governor of each State. They had a kind reception and respectful hearing in every instance. This arduous work and extensive travel proved too much for the strength of William Forster. He was taken sick, and died in East Tennessee, before their mission was completed. A full account of his peaceful and happy close is given in the "Memoirs of William Forster," edited by Benjamin Seebohm. He was buried in Friends' burying-ground, at Friendsville, Blount County, East Tennessee.

        The remaining members of the delegation finished the work of their mission, and returned to England in the spring of 1854. When I heard of the death of this dear old Friend and faithful servant of the Lord, it was a great comfort and satisfaction to me to remember our last interview in Cincinnati.

FIRST VISIT TO CANADA.

        In the fall of 1844, William Beard, of Union County, Indiana, a minister of the religious Society of Friends, felt a concern to visit, in gospel love, the fugitive slaves who had escaped from Southern bondage and settled in Canada. A number of them had stopped at his house in their flight, and had been forwarded by him to my house, a distance of

thirty miles. He felt that I was the person who should accompany him on this mission, and came to see me to present the subject. I heartily united with him, having felt a similar desire. We then laid the concern before our different Monthly Meetings, where it was cordially united with, and a certificate of unity and concurrence was given us. Thus provided with the proper credentials, and with the love of God in our hearts, we set out on our mission to the poor fugitives, intending also to visit the missionary stations among the Indians in Canada.

        We started on horseback on the sixteenth day of the ninth month--September. On our way we visited several colored settlements in Ohio and Michigan, and held meetings with the people.

        We reached Detroit on the twenty-fifth of the ninth month, about noon, and in company with Dr. Porter, a noted abolitionist of that city, spent the afternoon visiting the colored schools and various families of fugitives, many of whom remembered us, having stopped at our houses on their way from slavery to freedom. In the evening we attended a good meeting among the colored people, and visited Aunt Rachel, whose story of escape and suffering is given elsewhere. She had come over from Canada and settled in Detroit. She was married, and had a kind husband. I had not seen her since she left my house, eight years before.

        On the twenty-sixth we passed over to Windsor, on the Canada side. Here, and at Sandwich, we visited a number of colored families, many of whom recognized me at once, having been at my house in

the days of their distress when fleeing from a land of whips and chains.

        The Queen's Court was in session at Sandwich while we were there, and a white man was on trial for having, under the inducement of a bribe, decoyed a fugitive across the river into the hands of his master. We went into court and listened for a time with much interest to the lawyers pleading. We heard Colonel Prince reaffirm the proud boast of England, that the moment a fugitive set his foot on British soil his shackles fell off and he was free. We afterward learned that a heavy penalty of fine and imprisonment was placed on the culprit.

        From Sandwich we made our way down the Canada side of the Detroit River to Amherstburg, generally called Fort Malden, near the head of Lake Erie. In this old military town, and in the vicinity, a great many fugitives had located. The best tavern, or house of public entertainment, in the town, was kept by William Hamilton, a colored man. While at this place we made our headquarters at Isaac J. Rice's missionary buildings, where he had a large school for colored children. He had labored here among the colored people, mostly fugitives, for six years. He was a devoted self-denying worker, had received very little pecuniary help, and had suffered many privations. He was well situated in Ohio, as pastor of a Presbyterian church, and had fine prospects before him, but believed that the Lord called him to this field of missionary labor among the fugitive slaves who came here by hundreds and by thousands, poor, destitute and ignorant, suffering from

all the evil influences of slavery. We entered into deep sympathy with him in his labors, realizing the great need there was here for just such an institution as he had established. He had sheltered at this missionary home many hundreds of fugitives till other homes for them could be found. This was the great landing point, the principal terminus of the Underground Railroad of the West.

        We held meetings among the fugitives here and in the various settlements in the neighborhood. Isaac J. Rice accompanied us on these visits, and down the lake to Colchester and Gosfield. Here we had several meetings and visited many families, hearing thrilling stories of their narrow escapes, their great sufferings and the remarkable providences that attended their efforts to gain freedom. They told how they had prayed to the Lord, asking him to be with them and protect them in their flight from their tyrannical masters, and how he had never forsaken them in their time of need, but had fulfilled his promise to go with them. They frequently spoke as if they had held personal conversations with the Lord, and their simple and untutored language was full of expression of praise and thanksgiving. I was often led to believe that these poor ignorant and degraded sons and daughters of Africa, who were not able to read the words of the precious Savior, were blessed with a clearer, plainer manifestation of the Holy Spirit than many of us who have had better opportunites of cultivation. My heart was often touched and my eyes filled with tears on hearing their simple stories, or listening to their fervent

earnest prayers in the services of family devotion, which we held from house to house. Holding meetings in families and in public constituted our work among them. We visited all the principal settlements of fugitives in Canada West, as well as the various missionary stations among the tribes of Indians there, and had an interesting and satisfactory season among them. We spent nearly two months in this way, traveling from place to place on horseback, as there were no railroads in that section then.

        Leaving Gosfield County we made our way to Chatham and Sydenham, visiting the various neighborhoods of colored people. We spent several days at the settlement near Down's Mills, and visited the institution under the care of Hiram Wilson, called the British and American Manual Labor Institute for Colored Children. Friends in England had furnished the money to purchase the land and aid in establishing the institution; Friends of New York Yearly Meeting also contributed to aid this work. The school was then in a prosperous condition.

        From this place we proceeded up the river Thames to London, visiting the different settlements of colored people on our way, and then went to the Wilberforce Colony. This was the only settlement we visited in our travels where we did not find fugitives who had been sheltered under my roof and fed at my table during their flight from bondage.

        At the close of our religious meetings I generally addressed the colored people on the subject of education. I urged the parents to send their children

to school, and to attend Sabbath-schools and night-schools themselves whenever opportunity offered; to learn at least to read the Bible. We had visited most of their schools, and I contrasted their present situation and advantages with their former state of servitude, where they were not allowed to learn to read. I sometimes mentioned that I had had the privilege of aiding some of them in the time of their distress, of sheltering them under my roof and feeding them at my table when they were fleeing from the hardships and cruelties of slavery and seeking safety and freedom in the Queen's dominions. Whenever I touched that subject it brought out shouts of "Bless the Lord! I know you. If it hadn't been for you I wouldn't be here;" and at the close of the meeting the people would come round us to shake hands in such crowds that it was impossible for all to get hold of our hands. Some would cling to our garments as if they thought they would impart some virtue. I often met fugitives who had been at my house ten or fifteen years before, so long ago that I had forgotten them, and could recall no recollection of them until they mentioned some circumstance that brought them to mind. Some of them were well situated, owned good farms, and were perhaps worth more than their former masters. Land had been easily obtained and many had availed themselves of this advantage to secure comfortable homesteads. Government land had been divided up into fifty-acre lots, which they could buy for two dollars an acre, and have ten years in which to pay for it, and

if it was not paid for at the end of that time they did not lose all the labor they had bestowed on it, but received a clear title to the land as soon as they paid for it.

        We found many of the fugitives more comfortably situated than we expected, but there was much destitution and suffering among those who had recently come in. Many fugitives arrived weary and foot-sore, with their clothing in rags, having been torn by briers and bitten by dogs on their way, and when the precious boon of freedom was obtained, they found themselves possessed of little else, in a country unknown to them and a climate much colder than that to which they were accustomed.

        We noted the cases and localities of destitution, and after our return home took measures to collect and forward several large boxes of clothing and bedding to be distributed by reliable agents to the most needy. Numbers arrived every week on the different lines of the Underground Railroad, destitute of every comfort and almost of clothing; so we found that end of our road required Christian care and benevolence as well as this. We were gratified to learn that the colored people of Canada had organized benevolent associations among themselves, for the purpose of assisting the newly arrived fugitives as far as they could.

        William Beard and I afterward made short tours to Canada at different times to look after the welfare of the fugitives. At the time of our visit, in 1844, there was said to be about forty thousand fugitives in Canada who had escaped from Southern bondage.

        While mingling with the fugitives in Canada we heard many interesting stories of individual adventures and trials, a few of which will be given.

        The first may be appropriately called:

A SPECIAL PROVIDENCE.

        There lived in Mississippi, a black woman who was poor, ignorant, and a slave, but rich in the knowledge of the truth as it is in Jesus, and strong in unwavering faith. Working in the field under the driver's lash, or alone in her little hut, she never ceased praying to God, asking him to help her to escape, and assist and protect her on the long journey to the North. She had heard there was a place called Canada, far to the northward, where all were free, and learned that, in order to reach it, she must go a long way up the Mississippi River, then cross over and steer her course by the north star. Finally, her prayers seemed to be answered, and she had perfect faith that she would be preserved through all the dangers that would menace her if she ran away.

        One night, when all around were wrapped in sleep, she put a small supply of food and some clothing together, in a little bundle, and, stealing away from the negro quarters, left the plantation and plunged into the forest, which was there a labyrinth of swamps and cane-brakes. She made her way through this slowly, for several days, often hearing the bloodhounds baying on her track, or perhaps in search of other fugitives. Slaves often fled to these swamps and took refuge among the thickets, preferring

the companionship of the deadly moccasin snake and the alligator, and the risk of death from starvation or exposure to the cruel treatment of their masters, and the keen cut of the overseer's lash.

        This slave woman managed to evade the dogs by wading in pools and streams of water, where she knew they would lose the scent and be thrown off her trail. One time, however, she heard the deep baying of the bloodhounds coming toward her, when she was some distance from any water. There was no way of escape and she knew they would soon come up with her, and perhaps tear her to pieces before the pursuers could reach them. In this dire extremity, she fell on her knees and asked God to preserve her--to give her some sign of his protecting power; then, with all fear gone, she rose to her feet and calmly watched the dogs approach. As they came near, she took from her pocket a handful of crumbs--the remainder of the food she had brought--and held them out toward the hounds. They came up to her, but instead of seizing and mangling her, they gamboled about her, licked the crumbs from her hands, then ran off through the forest.

        This remarkable preservation she felt was the sign she had asked of God, and, falling on her knees once more, she dedicated herself wholly to him, vowing that if she reached Canada, the rest of her life should be devoted solely and entirely to his service. She had a long journey after that, lasting for several months, and encountered many dangers, but

was preserved safe through them all. She traveled at night and hid in the thickets during the day, living mostly on fruit and green corn, but venturing now and then to call at negro huts and beg for a little of the scanty food which they afforded. When she came to rivers and streams of water too deep for wading, she made rafts of logs or poles, tied together with grape-vines or hickory withs, and poled or paddled herself across as best she could. Reaching Illinois, she met with kind people who aided her on to Detroit, Michigan. Here also she found friends and was ferried across to Canada. A colored minister who witnessed her arrival says that, on landing, she fell on her knees and kissed the shore, and thanked the Lord for his wonderful mercy in preserving her through so many dangers and bringing her at last to the land of freedom. She then arose and jumped up and down for half an hour, shouting praises to God and seeming almost delirious in her great joy. We were informed that she was a devoted Christian worker, and was earnestly endeavoring to fulfill her vows and promises to the Lord.

AUNT SUSY'S DREAM.

        The following story was related to us at Amherstburg, by a negro woman. She had been a slave in South Carolina, and though she had longed all her life to be free, no opportunity for escape had presented itself. At last, when she was approaching middle age and was the mother of several children, she was taken to one of the Northern States, by her master and mistress, who went there on a visit.

She ran away from them, and by the aid of kind people on the way reached Canada in safety. She rejoiced to think she was free, and would have been perfectly content in her new home had not the thought of her two children in bondage troubled her. Their images were constantly before her during her waking hours, and in dreams she sought them in their Southern home.

        One night she dreamed that she was gifted with the power of flight, and soared over the long distance that separated her from the objects of her love. She alighted near her children and was entranced in the joy of a happy meeting, when their master approached and tried to take them from her. She placed one on each of her wings, and, rising high in the air, flew back to Canada. Her heart was so full of joy at this fulfillment of her dearest hopes that she shouted aloud. With the shouting she awoke, and realized that she was still bereaved, but gathered comfort from her dream, regarding it as an omen that her children would be restored to her. The following lines were written by an English lady, to whom I related this incident, in the year 1864, when on a mission to England in behalf of the Freedmen:

                         A mother was sleeping,
                         Yet silently weeping,
                         And sorrow stole over her heart like a wave;
                         For while liberty blest her
                         The feeling oppressed her
                         That her children were still in the land of the slave.

                         A mysterious power,
                         Had seized her that hour,
                         And her once timid heart had grown fearless and brave;
                         And regardless of dangers,
                         Of bloodhounds and rangers,
                         Undaunted she flies to the land of the slave.

                         Far, far to the southward,
                         Her flight is still onward,
                         From Canada's shore, by Ontario's wave;
                         To the warm plains outspreading,
                         Where the planter is treading,
                         That land which is known as the land of the slave.

                         How her pulses are swelling!
                         In her old cottage dwelling,
                         She beholds the two girls she has come there to save;
                         And, embracing, doth tell them,
                         That no one shall sell them,
                         She'll bear them away from the land of the slave.

                         The children caress her,
                         And smiling address her--
                         "Dear mother! you come to snatch us from the grave!
                         For our master has told us
                         This day he has sold us,
                         To the lonesome rice swamps of the land of the slave."

                         Then gently that mother
                         Lifted one and the other
                         Upon those soft pinions, so mighty to save;
                         Her children upraising,
                         While the master stood gazing,
                         She bears far away from the land of the slave!

                         The mother was sleeping,
                         At an end was her weeping,
                         And loud was the shout of rejoicing she gave;
                         But alas! on awaking,
                         The vision forsaking,
                         Her children were still in the land of the slave.

                         Oh! ye English mothers,
                         Ye sisters and brothers,
                         Who love the free children whom Providence gave;
                         Now, without stint or measure,
                         Give for those, from your treasure,
                         Whose children are still in the land of the slave.

THE STORY OF JACKSON

        We heard from his own lips, while visiting at his house in Canada. He had formerly been the property of a man living in Kentucky, who found him to be a trusty servant, and frequently sent him on business errands some distance away. Jackson was married to a woman who was the property of another man, but his master hired her time, and the husband and wife were permitted to live together. They had one child at the time the story begins.

        One day Jackson was sent away to a distant market with his master's team, and while he was gone his wife and child were sold by their master to a Southern trader, who removed them to a place about thirty miles distant, where the gang of slaves was gathered, preparatory to starting South the next day. The wife, torn so suddenly from her home, was frantic with distress, and prayed to God to trouble her husband's heart that he might know something was wrong, and come to her rescue. Her prayer was answered, for her husband had a strong presentiment on the day mentioned that all was not well at home, and not being able to account for it, hastened his return and learned the facts. Taking two of his master's horses that night, he started in pursuit; rode all night and just before daybreak

reached the place where his wife was. She had slept none, but had prayed through all the hours of darkness, and so confident was she that her prayer would be answered that as she lay in the cabin with the rest of the gang of slaves, she kept her head turned in the direction whence her husband would come, and listened intently for the sound of his horses' feet. When she did hear him, she took her child in her arms, slipped out quietly in the dark, and joined him. There was no time for explanation or rejoicing then; they were still in the midst of danger and must fly to a place of safety before they uttered the feelings of their full hearts. Mounting the horses, and riding at full speed, they made some distance before the growing light of coming day warned them to seek a hiding-place. They concealed themselves in the woods all that day, and pursued their journey northward during the night. Finally, they reached the banks of the Ohio River, and leaving the horses, they crossed to the other side, where they found friends who directed them on their way. In the northern part of Ohio, they stopped in a quiet settlement, where the people were abolitionists. Here they had a good situation offered them, and thinking they would be safe from pursuit in this secluded neighborhood, they accepted the offer and went to work.

        Here they remained several years, very happy in their humble home, and here two more children were born to them. By their industrious habits and good conduct they gained the esteem of those around them, and seemed secure in the protection

of so many friends. The law, however, still regarded them as slaves, and they learned in time that they were not safe, even on the soil of free Ohio.

        An agent, sent out from Kentucky in search of other fugitives, came into this neighborhood, and recognizing Jackson, lost no time in conveying the news to his master. As soon as he received the intelligence, the master gathered a posse of men and came in pursuit. They pounced upon the unsuspecting family and were dragging them back to bondage, when Jackson's friends learned what had happened and came to the rescue. Hastening to the county seat, they obtained a writ, and pursuing the party arrested the master for kidnapping, and brought them all back to the Court-House for trial. Shrewd lawyers were employed, who picked a flaw in the writ which the master had obtained, and the slaves were released. The master hastened to renew his writ, intending now to gain full legal possession of his property. But Jackson's friends were wide awake, and did not risk another arrest. They hurried the fugitives from the Court-House by a back way, through an alley, to a place where a wagon and two swift horses--procured for the occasion--were in waiting. They were quickly stowed in the wagon, then the driver took the reins, and off they went at full speed. The master and his posse pursued them, but in vain. Jackson and his family were conveyed to the lake that night, and put on board a steamer. They crossed safely to Canada, and made their home in Gosfield County.

        At the time he related this story, Jackson was living on land of his own, in a house erected by the industry of himself and family, and surrounded by peace and prosperity. He and his wife often related to their children the story of their early hardship and suffering, and when they contrasted their present with their former lot their hearts overflowed with gratitude to God for his protecting and guiding care.

A MOTHER RESCUES HER CHILDREN.

        While at Fort Malden, on Lake Erie, we heard of a brave woman named Armstrong, who had recently gone back to Kentucky and rescued five of her children from slavery. We were anxious to see her and hear the story from her own lips, and accordingly visited her at her home in Colchester, about ten miles below Malden. She was a portly, fine-looking woman, and we were much impressed with the noble expression of her countenance. She told us that about two years before she and her husband, with their youngest child, a babe a few months old, made their escape from Kentucky. Their home in that State was about ten miles from the Ohio River, at a point opposite Ripley, the home of that worthy divine and noted abolitionist, John Rankin. After crossing the river, they found friends who helped them on their way to Canada.

        They gained freedom for themselves, but they were not happy; they had left seven children in slavery. The mother wept and prayed over their fate, and planned continually how they might be rescued. She felt that she must make some attempt

to bring them away, but her husband thought of the risk and danger attending such an effort on her part, and tried to dissuade her from going. She said: "I inquired of the Lord concerning the matter. I prayed most all night, and the Lord seemed to say, 'Go.'

        "Next morning I told my husband I was going, that the Lord would go with me and help me. I had all my plans laid; I dressed in men's clothes, and started. I went to our friends in Ohio, and had all the arrangements made for a skiff to come over to the Kentucky side. I took by-ways and through fields to old master's farm, and got there in the early part of the night. I hid myself near the spring, and watched for my children, for I knew some of them would come to get water. I had not been there long before my eldest daughter came. I called her name in a low voice, and when she started up and looked round, I told her not to be afraid, that I was her mother. I soon convinced her, and her alarm passed away. I then told her my plans, and she said she could bring the rest of the children to me when master and mistress got to sleep. The night was very dark, and that favored our plans. She brought all the children to me but two; they were sleeping in the room with old master and mistress, who had gone to bed, and she could not get them out without raising the alarm. I started with the five, and hastened back to the river as fast as we could go in the dark. We found the skiff waiting for us and soon crossed. On the other side, a wagon was ready to take us in, and the man with it

drove us a few miles to a depot of the Underground Railroad. Here we were secreted during the following day, and next night were forwarded on to another station, and so on from station to station till we reached Sandusky, where we were put on board the Mayflower--called the Abolition Boat. We landed safely at Fort Malden two weeks ago, and are out of old massa's reach now. The Lord did help me, and blessed be his holy name!"

        She said she had made arrangements with her friends in Ohio, living near the river, to try to get her two other children and send them to her, and she had faith that they would succeed.

CHAPTER VIII.

        FREE LABOR--TESTIMONY OF JOHN WOOLMAN AND OTHERS--MY CONVICTIONS--FREE-LABOR SOCIETIES OF NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA--OUR ORGANIZATION IN THE WEST--REMOVAL TO CINCINNATI--FREE-LABOR BUSINESS--SOUTHERN COTTON PRODUCED BY FREE LABOR--INCIDENTS OF A SOUTHERN TRIP--INTERVIEWS WITH SLAVEHOLDERS.

        FOR several years my mind had been deeply impressed with the inconsistency of abolitionists partaking indiscriminately of the unpaid toil of the slave. I thought that to be consistent in bearing testimony against slavery, we should discourage unpaid labor and encourage paid labor as far as practicable. I knew, however, that it would be very difficult to abstain entirely from the products of slave labor. I was then engaged in mercantile business--retailing dry-goods and groceries, a large portion of which was produced by slave labor, and I knew of no facilities for obtaining free-labor goods. I had heard Charles Osborne, a worthy minister of the Society of Friends, express his sentiments on the subject, and they made a deep impression on my mind. Charles Osborne had long been a consistent and thorough abolitionist, and was

the editor of the first anti-slavery paper published in America--so far as I have any knowledge--which advocated immediate and unconditional emancipation. The paper was called the Philanthropist, and was published at Mount Pleasant, Ohio, in 1816. The statement that this was the first paper favoring immediate and unconditional emancipation may be called in question by some, as the Genius of Universal Emancipation, published by Benjamin Lundy, in East Tennessee, has long had the credit of being the first. But I know that the statement I make is correct. Benjamin Lundy was a journeyman printer under Charles Osborne, in Mount Pleasant, and went from that office to East Tennessee. He was accompanied by Charles Osborne's son Isaiah, who aided him in printing the Genius of Universal Emancipation. The Philanthropist was also the first paper ever published in the United States, which promulgated the doctrine of the impropriety of using the products of slavery.

        In a printed address to the Society of Friends, written many years after his removal to the State of Indiana, Charles Osborne makes the following remarks: "On whom has the mantle of Woolman fallen? We have approved and admired his course on the subject of slavery for more than half a century, but with a few exceptions we have halted and stumbled at the most essential part of his Christian testimony: that of abstaining from the gains of oppression." This subject was discussed by prominent abolitionists of Ohio and Indiana, and a paper called the Free Labor Advocate was established at

Newport, Indiana. It was edited by Benjamin Stanton, and the subject of free labor was ably advocated in its columns.

        About the year 1844 I became so strongly impressed with the horrors of slavery, and its results, which were ever before me, that I was led to reflect more deeply on the subject than I had done before, and to view it in all its practical bearings. I read the testimony of John Woolman and other writers, and became convinced that it was wrong to use the product of slave labor. I felt that it was inconsistent to condemn slaveholders for withholding from their fellow-men their just, natural and God-given rights, and then, by purchasing the fruits of the labor of their slaves, give them the strongest motive for continuing their wickedness and oppression. Knowing so well the sad realities of life on the Southern plantations, I felt that in purchasing and using cloth made from cotton, grown by slaves, I made use of a product which had been planted by an oppressed laborer, fanned by sighs, watered with tears, and perhaps dressed with the blood of the victim. The words of John Woolman found an echo in my heart: "Seed sown with the tears of a confined, oppressed people--harvests cut down by an overborne, discontented reaper, make bread less sweet to the taste of an honest man, than that which is the produce or just reward of such voluntary action as is a proper part of the business of human creatures."

        The free States furnished a good market for the products of the South, and made slave labor valuable to the master. If it had not been so, then

John Randolph's prophecy would have been fulfilled--the slave would not have run away from his master, but the master from his slaves, for they would have been a burden and expense to him. The object of the slaveholder was to make money by selling the cotton, sugar, etc., produced by his slaves, and without a market for these he would have been deprived of the great motive for holding the negroes in bondage. Northern consumers, by their demand for articles thus produced, stimulated the system by which they were produced, and furnished the strongest incentive for its continuance.

        I felt by purchasing the products of slave labor, I was lending my individual encouragement to the system by which, in order to get their labor without wages, the slaves were robbed of everything else. In the language of Charles Stuart: "Their bodies are stolen, their liberty, their right to their wives and children, their right to cultivate their minds and to worship God as they please, their reputation, hope, all virtuous motives, are taken away by a legalized system of most merciless and consummate iniquity. Such is the expense at which articles produced by slave labor are attained. They are always heavy with the groans and often met with the blood of the guiltless and suffering poor." "If our moral sense would revolt at holding a slave ourselves and using his unpaid labor, it should also revolt at using his unpaid toil when held by another."

        With these strong convictions, I determined, as a matter of conscience, to abstain so far as I could from the products of slavery, and in my business to

buy and sell, so far as possible, only the products of free labor. I had learned that there had been associations formed at Philadelphia and New York, which were manufacturing goods of free-labor cotton, and that they had obtained free-labor groceries from the British West Indies, and other countries, where slavery did not exist. I decided to go to Philadelphia and New York, and ascertain how the business of these associations was managed -- whether it was a mere speculation to make money or was conducted on conscientious principles, and whether the goods purchased were really the products of free-labor. When I arrived at Philadelphia and made inquiries, I found that the business was conducted by such men as Enoch Lewis, Abraham L. Pennock, Samuel Rhodes, George W. Taylor, James Mott, James Miller McKim, Charles Wise, etc. These were all prominent abolitionists, and well known as conscientious men of high reputations; many of them were leading members of the religious Society of Friends. They had erected a cotton factory, which was conducted by George W. Taylor. I found that instead of making money at it, they were carrying on the business at a heavy sacrifice, being actuated solely by conscientious principles. The cotton they were manufacturing was obtained from Friends' settlements in North Carolina. I was personally acquainted with their agents in that State who obtained it for them, and knew them to be reliable men. After becoming fully satisfied that there was no deception, that from the field to the factory the cotton could be relied

upon as the product of free labor, I purchased as good an assortment of cotton goods as I could obtain. The assortment was not extensive; in prints particularly it was quite limited. The goods were mostly staple articles that afforded little profit.

        I next went to New York, and found the business there conducted by such men as Robert Lindley Murray, Lindley M. Hoag, and other equally reliable and conscientious men. They dealt mostly in free-labor groceries, West-India sugar, molasses, coffee, etc., and had arrangements for obtaining free-labor rice, indigo, and other articles. They also kept Laguira, Mocha, and other coffee, the product of free labor. Here I purchased my groceries, though at a higher price than I had been accustomed to pay for slave products. The assortment of free-labor goods obtainable was so limited and the prices of so many articles higher, that I knew my profits would be curtailed, and I would lose many of my customers. In addition to the heavy pecuniary sacrifice I would sustain, I expected to meet with opposition and ridicule, though I knew that the free-labor subject had taken deep hold of the minds of many abolitionists in my own and other neighborhoods, and that many who desired to bear a faithful testimony against slavery wished to get a supply of the products of free labor.

        Cotton yarn was then much used among the farmers in the West in making jeans, linseys, etc., for their own wear. This article I could not obtain from the Philadelphia cotton mills, as they only made warp for their own manufactures. To obviate this

difficulty, I purchased a bale of their free-labor cotton and shipped it to Indiana, and prevailed on a Friend, who owned a small cotton mill near Richmond, to clear his machinery of other cotton, and make this bale into warp for me. I obtained, afterward, a larger supply of cotton, and visited the cotton mills at Dayton and Hamilton, hoping to get it manufactured separately. I at first met with difficulties, for the proprietors were not willing to clear out their machinery, but the foreman of one of the mills at Hamilton was an abolitionist, who felt an interest in promoting the cause, and he agreed to do the work for me, though it entailed additional labor.

        Beside the many obstacles I had to encounter in obeying the dictates of my conscience on this subject, I had to contend with innumerable discouragements, and to endure much ridicule. I had to meet the arguments of the pro-slavery party, but I also had the support of many warm friends, who harmonized with me and encouraged me in the work, and who were willing, at any sacrifice, to abstain from the use of slave-labor products. In my own neighborhood such prominent men of our society as Daniel Puckett, Benjamin Thomas, Samuel Charles, Jonathan Hough, Dr. Henry H Way, Benjamin Stanton, and many others, were warm advocates of free labor, and in other neighborhoods I had many true friends, such as William Beard, Jacob Grave, Daniel Worth, and others.

        My custom was confined measurably to abolitionists, and the supply of free-labor goods that could

be obtained was inadequate to meet the demand. Better facilities for supplying the demand were much needed. The free-labor subject had been agitated in various communities of anti-slavery people, and by this time the principles involved in it had become widely known and had been adopted by many in various parts of the Western States. In Ohio and Indiana conventions were held for the purpose of devising some plan whereby free-labor goods could be supplied to all who desired to use them.

        In Ohio, such men as Thomas Morris, Samuel Lewis, Dr. William H. Brisbane, Dr. G. Bailey, and John Joliff, had taken an interest in the subject. Several plans were suggested, but as no suitable person could be found to carry them out they were abandoned.

        In the autumn of 1846, a union convention of those interested in the subject of free labor was held in Friends' Meeting-House at Salem, Union County, Indiana. It was largely attended by prominent men of Ohio and Indiana. From Cincinnati came Dr. Brisbane, John Joliff, Edward Harwood, Thomas Franklin, and others.

        The convention held two days and during that time the subject was ably discussed. A resolution was passed to raise a fund of thee thousand dollars to be loaned for five years, without interest, to some suitable person for the purpose of enabling him to open a wholesale depository of free-labor goods at Cincinnati. A committee was appointed to select the person, and to report his name to the convention

the next day. The committee made choice of me and reported my name to the meeting. The resolution appointing me to the position was carried by acclamation, but I could not give my consent to accept the position. I thought it would prove too great a sacrifice to me to "pull up stakes" and move to Cincinnati. I had lived in Newport twenty years, and was much attached to my house and to my friends and acquaintances there. A few years before I had built a dwelling-house, taking much pains to make it comfortable and convenient in all its appointments, with the expectation of occupying it as long as I lived. Neither I nor my wife thought that we would like city life, so notwithstanding the deep interest I felt in the concern, I declined to accept the position.

        The committee was continued for the purpose of finding some suitable person who would undertake to carry out the proposed plan, and individuals of different neighborhoods were appointed to raise the fund of three thousand dollars, by soliciting subscriptions from those who were interested in the subject. But the committee did not succeed in finding a suitable person to undertake the business, and again applied to me and urged me strongly to go to Cincinnati and open the desired depository.

        During the winter I received many letters from different parts of the country soliciting me to engage in the proposed business. I was thought to be the most suitable person to engage in such an undertaking as I had already had several years' experience in dealing in free-labor goods at Newport. I finally

consented to go to Cincinnati for five years, and try the experiment. I sold out my business at Newport, rented my house and moved to Cincinnati the twenty-second day of April, 1847, having previously rented a store and dwelling-house in the city.

        We fully expected to return to our home in Newport at the expiration of five years, or sooner, hoping that some suitable person would be found to take the business off my hands and continue it. I went to Philadelphia and New York that spring and purchased as good an assortment of free-labor cotton goods and groceries as could be obtained. The demand for such articles was increasing, and the Philadelphia Association had enlarged their business and were furnishing a better supply of cotton goods. Beside selling their own manufactures, they were obtaining from England a finer quality of cotton goods than their own mills furnished. The English goods were manufactured at Manchester under the auspices of a free-labor association, and could be relied upon as being the product of free labor.

        I opened the store in Cincinnati and sent out printed circulars, which were widely circulated by friends of the enterprise. Orders from various parts of the West soon began to come in--far exceeding my meager assortment of cotton goods. I had not been able to obtain a sufficient supply of brown muslins, sheeting, cotton yarn, carpet warp, etc. This difficulty I knew might be remedied if I could obtain a supply of cotton, for there were several cotton mills in this vicinity that manufactured yarn, wicking, twine, batting, etc. Having been reared

in the South and having acquaintances in nearly all the cotton-growing States, I knew that there were many settlements there of the poorer class of farmers who owned no slaves and hired none, part of them doing this from principle, part of them because they were too poor to do otherwise. These small farmers generally raised from one to ten bales of cotton for market; a few raised larger quantities. I learned through correspondence that a good supply of free-labor cotton could be obtained from this class of people, and resolved to avail myself of the opportunity thus afforded. The previous winter, Nathan Thomas, a worthy member of the Society of Friends, who lived near Newport, Indiana, had gone with his wife to spend the winter with some of her relatives living near Holly Springs, Mississippi. Pleasant Diggs, the uncle of Nathan Thomas' wife, with whom they spent most of the time, had been reared in a neighborhood of Friends and was opposed to slavery. He owned no slaves and hired none, and the cotton which he raised was the product of free labor. Knowing Nathan Thomas to be interested in the free-labor cause, I requested him to ascertain if cotton could be obtained in that part of the State, which could be relied upon to be clear of slave labor. He wrote me that a large quantity was raised by free labor, but that it had all been ginned and baled by slave labor, as none of the farmers in that neighborhood owned a cotton gin. He added that he knew of other neighborhoods, in that county, where free-labor cotton was raised.

        I corresponded with Samuel Rhodes, of Philadelphia,

concerning the information I had received from Nathan Thomas, and informed him that William McCray, who lived near Holly Springs, Mississippi, a son-in-law of Pleasant Diggs, made about thirty bales of cotton annually, cultivated entirely by free labor, and that he was willing to put up a gin and gin his own and his neighbors' cotton by free labor, if we would furnish him the gin and allow him to pay for it in cotton.

        I suggested that the Philadelphia Association should join me in this enterprise, for I believed they could obtain a larger supply and a better quality of cotton than they got from North Carolina, and perhaps at less cost. The subject was brought before the board, and an agreement was at once made. I was authorized to purchase a cotton gin and ship it to William McCray, of Mississippi. I at once applied to James Pierce, of Cincinnati, who manufactured cotton gins for the South, and purchased an excellent thirty-saw gin for $300, and shipped it immediately that it might be put up at once, and be ready for use in the fall.

        The Philadelphia Association authorized me to employ Nathan Thomas as our agent to go South, next winter, to see that all the arrangements made with the cotton planters were strictly carried out. The second winter that Nathan Thomas spent in the South, he was authorized by the Philadelphia Free-Labor Association to travel through the different Southwestern States, and hunt out the settlements of small farmers and ascertain what quantity of free-labor cotton could be obtained. He traveled

through parts of Mississippi, Tennessee, Louisiana, Texas and Arkansas, and gave the information he obtained in a series of letters, which were afterward published by the managers of the Free-Labor Association of Ohio Yearly Meeting.

        The gin I shipped to William McCray proved to be an excellent one, and was known in that part of the country as the "Abolition Gin." Arrangements were made to purchase all the free-labor cotton in reach of that gin, and other arrangements were made by which it could be hauled to Memphis--the nearest shipping point free of slave labor. At Memphis it was to be delivered to a commission merchant, formerly of Philadelphia, who employed no slave labor, and who was recommended by Samuel Rhodes, and others, as a reliable man. This merchant shipped the cotton up the river by boats that employed no slaves. By these means large quantities of free cotton were sent from the South, and we obtained a full supply. The Philadelphia Association was enabled to ship cotton to the Manchester mills in England in exchange for a finer class of goods than they were making, and I was supplied with all the cotton I could purchase, for manufacturing at Cincinnati. I had made arrangements with Gould, Pearce & Co, of Cincinnati, to spin cotton yarn, carpet warp, twine and candle wicking, and with Stearns & Foster to make batting and wadding from the cotton which I furnished. Afterward, I induced Gould, Pearce & Co. to put up looms and make brown muslin for me, in addition to the other articles.

        When these arrangements were completed and the work in operation, I furnished the Philadelphia and New York Associations with heavy brown muslins, cotton yarn, carpet warp, twine, wicking, batting and wadding in exchange for their goods, for several years. I was authorized by the Philadelphia Association to employ Nathan Thomas to spend the third winter in the South to superintend the cotton business--to see that all the arrangements were carried out, and to engage the next year's crop of cotton in various localities. In engaging cotton, Nathan Thomas always promised to give the market price and no more, thus affording no advantage to the producer which would prove a motive for deception. Suitable persons were appointed agents in the different neighborhoods to receive the cotton and pay for it, and the producers were thus saved the trouble and expense of hauling it to a distant market. We also had arrangements for shipping from Hamburg and Eastport, on the Tennessee River.

        The next year I traveled over part of the same ground, visiting free-labor neighborhoods in Hardin and McNairy Counties, Tennessee, and Tishomingo County, Mississippi. I found quite a number of settlers from Guilford County, North Carolina, and being acquainted with some of their relatives in that locality, I was kindly received and made welcome among them. I talked freely on the subject of slavery, explaining Friends' principles and testimony in regard to slavery and war, and dealing in or unnecessarily using intoxicating liquors. Strong

drink seemed to be much in use in that part of the country. I also explained the feelings and views of many Friends and other conscientious people in the North in regard to the use of the unpaid toil of the slave. I talked freely with many slaveholders on these subjects, and was kindly treated by them. Many of them understood something of the principles of Quakers regarding slavery, and discovering from my dress and language that I was a Quaker, they seemed disposed to talk freely and asked many questions.

        I explained our principles to them as well as I could, and said that we bore a testimony against slavery in our Discipline, and that no person could be a member of our society who owned a slave. I told them that I was a Southern man, having been born and brought up in North Carolina, in the midst of slavery, and was well acquainted with the system. I was and always had been opposed to slavery, but it was no part of my business, in the South, to interfere with their laws or their slaves. I was attending to my own affairs, and did not intend to busy myself with other matters.

        I had shipped to Eastport, Mississippi, and Hamburg, Tennessee--the points from which our cotton was shipped North--a quantity of flour, cheese and other produce. The boat on board which I had shipped these articles was one of the best on the Tennessee River, and as it was a popular boat for travelers, we took on a number of passengers at different points. They were all Southerners, from various places in Tennessee, Mississippi and Alabama,

and most of them were merchants who had been to Louisville to replenish their stock of goods. The majority of them were slaveholders, but they appeared to be a very civil and gentlemanly set of men. Several of them seemed disposed to make my acquaintance and to find out who and what I was, whence I came and whither I was going. I was aware that Northern men were watched with jealous eyes in the South.

        I made myself sociable with the passengers, and when they learned that I was from Cincinnati, and had a large cargo of produce on board which I was shipping to Eastport and other points to sell or exchange for cotton, and that I was brought up in the South, and had many relatives and acquaintances there, their jealous suspicions seemed to be entirely removed and they treated me with much respect. Different ones politely invited me to drink with them, according to the fashion prevalent in the South, but I declined, saying that I was a temperance man and used no liquor, except as medicine.

        In the course of our journey I talked freely on the subject of slavery, speaking of its evil influences and my conscientious convictions in regard to it. On one occasion I got into a warm debate with one of the passengers by the name of Bell. He was a merchant of Farmington, Mississippi, and a member of the Legislature of that State.

        I had given him and several others my business card, which bore my name and the words, "Commission merchant and dealer in free-labor cotton goods and groceries." He asked me what "Free-labor

cotton goods" meant. I told him it meant just what it said--goods produced by free labor, and went on to say that I dealt exclusively in such goods, and was then on my way South to collect free-labor cotton.

        He became excited and angry, and began to ask questions. I explained to him calmly the whole free-labor subject, speaking of the class of men in the free States who were interested in it, and my own conscientious convictions that induced me to engage in the work. I told him that many of our best citizens, both East and West, who believed that slavery was wrong and who felt for those in bonds as bound with them, had come to the conclusion that they could not consistently partake of the unpaid labor of the slave, and that this feeling was largely on the increase. This brought up the whole subject of slavery. Bell advocated it excitedly, and said that he would not live in a free State, that the blacks were made to serve and the whites to govern, etc., and went on to give the usual pro-slavery arguments.

        Most of the passengers had gathered round us by this time to hear the debate. I spoke of the evils of slavery, of its horrors and cruelties, many of which I had witnessed myself while living in the South--the separation of husbands and wives, parents and children, etc. I dwelt largely upon the deleterious effects of slavery on the white population of the South, the disregard of marriage bonds, the license which slavery afforded, etc. I referred to several instances which had come under

my notice in North Carolina, where men of high political and social standing had lived with their slave women and reared families of mulatto children. I said that I had always been opposed to amalgamation, which was the direct result of slavery. I referred to the slaves of mixed blood whom we saw in every part of the South, and spoke of the common practice of fathers selling their own children. I then gave him an instance which came under my personal observation. A planter of Mississippi, named William Thompson, had come to Cincinnati a few years before, bringing with him fourteen of his slaves, all his own children and grandchildren, and the slave woman with whom he had lived, the mother of his children. He had sold one of his cotton farms, and wished to buy land in a free State and settle his children where they would be safe after his death. He was referred to me for advice regarding a suitable place to locate, and I directed him to a colored settlement in Darke County, Ohio, where land could be bought at a reasonable price, and where his children could have the benefit of a good school. He went to that locality, bought a farm and saw his people comfortably settled.

        He then returned to Mississippi, and the next year sold his other farm and brought another company of slaves to Ohio, among whom was a middle-aged colored woman, with five or six yellow children, whom he acknowledged to be his own. He bought land for this party, and lived among them. Thompson claimed to be a member of the Baptist

Church. This, I said, is the state of morals which slavery produces.

        I then referred Bell to another instance in his own State. Major William Phillips, a wealthy cotton planter, who lived near Yazoo City, Mississippi, was a gentleman of high social standing, and was for some years a member of the legislature. His white children were grown and settled in homes of their own when he lost his wife. He married a second wife, lived with her a few years, then separated from her, giving her a farm and a few negroes. He then took one of his own slaves, a young mulatto woman, and kept her as his wife. He had several children by her, and concluding that he wanted them to be free, he sold his plantation and one hundred and thirty of his slaves, and brought his slave woman and her children to Cincinnati. He purchased a valuable piece of property on Broadway, where he now lives, professing to keep the mulatto woman as a hired servant. His children attend school, which they would not be allowed to do in your State. I have been told that two of his sons, who live in the South, have followed their father's example and keep slave women for wives.

        By this time my friend Bell had become quite calm, and did not attempt to contradict my statements. An old gentleman from Alabama, a slave-holder, who sat near by, spoke several times during the debate, confirming my statements in regard to the evils of slavery. The company that had gathered round seemed to listen to the conversation with interest. I endeavored to speak with moderation,

maintaining at the same time my independence and my right as an American citizen to express my conscientious convictions.

        The gentleman from Alabama said that he believed slavery was a curse to the South, and that he would be willing to give up his slaves at any time if they could be properly provided for.

        After this discussion, Bell became very sociable, and finding that I expected to travel in his county, he invited me to call and see him, offering me the hospitality of his home. I told him that if I should be in his neighborhood I would accept his invitation.

        At Hamburg, Tennessee, I stored a part of my produce with William Campbell, a merchant, and went on to Eastport, thirty miles farther, where I discharged the rest of my freight. The next day I returned to Hamburg, and stopped at a tavern in that village. On the Sabbath I inquired if there was any church in the place, and was directed to a Methodist church, in the edge of the town, where there was to be preaching that day. I found the meeting-house to be a log cabin, with nothing to fill the cracks between the logs. The congregation consisted of eight or ten white people, half a dozen negroes, and several dogs. The men all chewed tobacco and spit on the floor, the women dipped snuff, and the dogs quarreled and fought with each other. The sermon was good, but no one seemed impressed by it except an old negro woman, who sobbed aloud and rocked herself to and fro. After meeting, the minister invited me to go home with

him and spend the night. He lived four miles on the road I had to travel the next day, so I accepted his kind invitation. I inquired of the landlord where I could procure a horse to use a week or two, and he said I could have one of his. I asked him if he was not afraid to trust a stranger, and he replied: "I am not afraid to trust a Quaker." I thanked him for his kind offer, but thought he might be deceived by wolves in sheep's clothing.

        I went home with the preacher, and spent the night at his house very pleasantly. He owned no slaves, and said that he had always been opposed to slavery, although he had been reared in the South. Some of his neighbors were slaveholders, and that night when we were talking on the subject of slavery, he lowered his voice, and spoke in a subdued tone. I asked him why he did so, and he replied:

        "You are a stranger here, and we do not know who may be eavesdropping and listening to our conversation." The night was dark and rainy, and a person might have listened under the window without being discovered.

        I told my friend that I would not live in a country where I could not talk freely and speak above my breath in my own house. The next day the preacher kindly accompanied me to a neighborhood of non-slaveholders, where Nathan Thomas had engaged free-labor cotton. We went to Lemuel Lancer's, who owned a cotton gin worked by free labor, and who acted as agent for us in purchasing cotton from those of his neighbors who owned no slaves. I

spent a few days pleasantly at this place, then visited other neighborhoods of free-labor farmers in Hardin and McNairy counties, Tennessee. I then went into Tishomingo County, Mississippi, and finding myself in Farmington, I called on my friend Bell, at his store. He received me cordially, and invited me to spend some time with him, but as I wished to reach another neighborhood that afternoon I declined his invitation.

        He introduced me to several merchants of the place, and as it seemed to be a leisure hour, we seated ourselves in the shade near Bell's store and entered into conversation. One old gentleman named Jones asked me many questions about the Quakers, saying he had read some of their writings and thought he should like to live among them. Bell had introduced me as a merchant from Cincinnati, and the conversation turned on that place and business matters there. He said he thought provisions and goods might be bought on better terms in Cincinnati than in Louisville, where their merchants usually went to buy their stock. One of the merchants said the reason he did not go to Cincinnati to buy goods was because he understood there were so many free negroes there that a gentleman could not walk the street without being insulted by them. I told him that I had lived there several years and had never been insulted by a colored person; as a general thing the colored people were very civil.

        Another man said that he understood we were amalgamated in Cincinnati, mixed up with the

negroes--that white men had colored wives, etc. I replied that we had a great many people of mixed blood in Cincinnati, but that they all came from the South. This caused a laugh, and I went on to say, I knew of no case of amalgamation occurring in Ohio, but I knew many instances of white men bringing their yellow children from the South to our State to be set free, and I knew of two or three cases of white men having colored wives. About a year ago two good-looking young white men from this State came to Cincinnati, bringing with them mulatto women, whom they claimed as wives. They wished to purchase land and settle in Ohio, and having been referred to me for advice respecting a suitable locality, they called on me. I went with them to the place where they were stopping--the Dumas House, a hotel for colored people, kept by a colored man--to see their families. One of the women had three children; the other was younger and was finely dressed and decked with jewelry. I asked the husband of the latter if this was his wife? He answered in the affirmative. I then turned to the other man and asked him if the elder woman was his wife, and if those three children were his? He answered, "Yes." I then asked the men if they were legally married to these women? They said they were not; that the women were slaves, and according to law in Mississippi the marriage of slaves was not legal. Well, I said, it is not legal for you to live this way in Ohio. The law of our State will not permit it. If you intend to keep these women as your wives, you must be legally married. A

few days afterward the men obtained license and were legally married to the colored women. Such cases as these, I continued, are all that I know of in Cincinnati. We of the North are opposed to amalgamation.

        One of the merchants present said that he had heard that if fugitive slaves reach Ohio, the abolitionists would harbor them and help them on their way to Canada. Well, I replied, we have all sorts of people in Ohio. I heard a story about a runaway slave a short time before I left home. It was told to me by a Presbyterian minister, who ought to be truthful. He said that the fugitive slave escaped from his master and made his way through Ohio on his way to Canada. He generally traveled at night and lay concealed during the day, but when near the northern boundary of the State, he concluded that it would be safe to travel in the day, not knowing that his master was on his trail and close behind him. That day his master had heard several times that his slave was a short distance ahead, traveling on the main road. The fugitive stopped at a house near the road to beg for something to eat, as he was very hungry. It happened that the people were good folks, who thought it right to feed the hungry, and they invited him in. The lady of the house began to prepare some food, and her husband went out to chop some stove-wood. While he was at the wood-pile, which was near the road, the slave's master rode up and inquired if he had seen a negro pass along the road that day.

        The man quit chopping and asked: "What kind

of a looking fellow is the negro you are after? Is he black or brown or of mixed blood, and where was he from?" When the master had given a full description of his slave and answered the other inquiries, the man said: "Yes, I saw just such a negro pass along here to-day."

        The master brightened up and said: "That is my slave. What time of day was it when he passed? How long ago did you see him?"

        "It has not been more than an hour; he can't be far ahead."

        "Did you speak to him?"

        "Yes, I talked with him for some time."

        "What did he tell you?"

        "Well--he told me a good deal about himself."

        "Now, sir," said the master, "I wish you would tell me all you know about him. He is my property and I intend to capture him at any cost, I will pay you fifty dollars if you will aid me to get hold of him"

        The man deliberated for some time, then said: "I don't know that that would be just right, but I'll tell what I will do. I'll go and counsel with Deacon Jones, who lives at that next house, about a hundred yards off, and if he says it is right I'll tell you all I know about your slave."

        He then dropped his ax, and started to see Deacon Jones. The master rode by his side, and stopped at the deacon's gate, while his companion went into the house. The man staid so long counseling with the deacon that the master grew impatient,

and when, at last, the man came out he asked him, hurriedly: "What did the deacon say?"

        The man, however, was in no haste. He scratched his head and hesitated awhile, then replied:

        "He said he did not think it would be any harm to tell you all I know about your slave."

        The master asked, more impatiently than before, "Well, what do you know about him. Can you tell me where he is now?"

        The man replied: "I don't know exactly where he is now, but when you were talking to me at the wood-pile he was in my house."

        They returned together to the house, the master in no very good humor. The man asked his wife about the negro, and she replied: "He has been gone more than half an hour. When he saw his master ride up, he slipped out of the back-door, and hid in the bushes, and when you were at Deacon Jones', I saw him running like a turkey right toward Canada. You can't catch that fellow!"

        The merchants all laughed at this story, and said it was a Yankee trick. They asked me no more questions about runaway slaves. I had a free and open conversation with them regarding my business in that part of the country. I informed them that I could not deal in slave-labor cotton, on conscientious principles, and gave them a clear understanding of the free-labor business, and of the class of people in the North who were engaged in it.

        The old man Jones said he knew that the Quakers were a quiet and peaceable people who were opposed to slavery, and that they had a right to live

according to their conscientious convictions. He concluded, by saying: "I think that Mr. Coffin is about right, and that slavery is a curse to our country."

        I received several warm invitations to stop over night, but I declined them and continued my journey. I was thankful that I had met with so good an opportunity to advocate anti-slavery principles among the slaveholders.

        I visited in various neighborhoods the planters who produced free-labor cotton, and those who owned gins worked by free labor. I found all the arrangements made by Nathan Thomas working well. On account of drought, the cotton produced that year was considered but half a crop, but I found in Tishomingo County, Mississippi, one hundred and twelve bales of free-labor cotton, in McNairy County, Tennessee, six hundred and sixty-six bales, and in Hardin County, two hundred and sixty-three bales. All this had been ginned by free labor, and was ready for shipment north on the Tennessee River. From Marshall County, Mississippi, several hundred bales were shipped by way of Memphis to Philadelphia. After spending nearly two weeks traveling and visiting in these neighborhoods, and talking freely everywhere on the subject of slavery, I returned to Hamburg. After finishing my business there and at Eastport, I returned home, feeling thankful that I had found such an open field for spreading anti-slavery principles in the South. I believe that our traveling through the cotton-growing States and buying free-labor cotton,

encouraging paid labor and discouraging unpaid labor, were the means of preaching abolitionism in the slave States, and was really pleading the cause of the poor slave.

        Notwithstanding the facilities we had for procuring large quantities of free cotton and the arrangements I had made for manufacturing staple articles in Cincinnati, I found it to be a losing business. On account of the additional expense of procuring free-labor cotton and the difficulty of obtaining and keeping an assortment of dry-goods and groceries, it soon became evident after I opened the store in Cincinnati that the enterprise would not sustain itself unless it could be conducted on a much larger scale than my means allowed.

        Only about half the sum proposed to be raised to aid me in the work was ever raised. It was much easier to pass resolutions in conventions than to carry them into effect. I invested all my available means in the free-labor business and had to use borrowed capital besides. To help sustain me in the work, I connected with it a commission produce business, which entailed much additional labor.

        By this time the demand for free-labor goods in the West had largely increased. I received orders from nearly all the free States west of the mountains, from Canada, and from two of the slave States, Kentucky and West Virginia. My supply was not equal to the demand, and I could not fill the orders for a large assortment. The Philadelphia Association had but one mill for manufacturing cotton, and their prints were coarse in quality. Often, for

want of goods, they could fill my orders only in part.

        The New York Association often lacked a full supply of groceries so that I was unable to obtain enough to fill all my orders. I sold usually in wholesale quantities, and though I did a large business for several years, it was at a constant pecuniary sacrifice, so far as free-labor goods were concerned.

        It required a much larger capital than I was using to make it a self-sustaining business. In order to supply the increasing demand for free-labor goods, it was necessary to enlarge our manufacturing busines; that required a large capital, and men of large capital could not be induced to invest in the business. Few of that class were in sympathy with the free-labor movement.

        I felt anxious for some capitalist to take charge of the business, and release me from it--I wanted to return to my comfortable home in Indiana--but many of my friends seemed to think that if I let go of the helm the ship would stop. They encouraged me to hold on, and suggested the organization of a joint-stock company. It was accordingly advertised that a convention would be held at Salem, Union County, Indiana, on the nineteenth of November, 1850, for the purpose of forming a Free-Labor Association. The convention was largely attended, and a deep interest was manifested in the subject under consideration. In conformity with the resolutions passed, a committee was appointed to take steps to form a joint-stock company, with sufficient capital to enlarge our manufacturing business. The

company was organized under the act of the General Assembly of the State of Ohio relative to incorporations for manufacturing and other purposes. A charter was obtained, and a board of trustees, consisting of William H. Brisbane, Samuel Lewis, John Joliffe, Thomas Freeman, Richard Gaines, Thomas Franklin and myself, were appointed. William H. Brisbane was elected president, Thomas Franklin was secretary, and I was chosen to be treasurer. The title of the company was, "Western Free Produce Manufacturing Company." Books were opened and an appeal was issued to the friends of the cause to come forward and take stock in the company. In order to get as many as possible interested in the work, the stock was divided into small shares. According to our constitution and charter, the company could not go into operation until a specified sum was subscribed and paid in. A number of the friends of free labor responded to the call, but their subscriptions did not reach the sum required; so the enterprise proved to be a failure, and had to be abandoned. The fugitive slave law was enacted that year, and the anti-slavery cause seemed shrouded in gloom, but in the midst of these discouragements we were encouraged by the intelligence of the spread of the free-labor cause in England. A little periodical entitled "The Slave --His Wrongs and Their Remedy," was started there about the first of that year, for the purpose of advocating free-labor principles. From the first number we gained the information that twenty-six free-labor associations had been established, and that notwithstanding

the issue from the press, at Newcastle, of more than one hundred thousand tracts and papers on free-labor subjects, within the three months past, it was difficult to meet the demand for information on this important branch of the anti-slavery enterprise. The free-labor warehouse, at Manchester, had more than equaled the expectations of the proprietor, and efforts were being made to supply him with additional capital for extending operations, and also to open a warehouse in London.

        The associations in England had depended, to some extent, on cotton furnished by the free-labor associations in America, but the cultivation of free-labor cotton in other countries was becoming more extensive. Great Britian had received more cotton from the East Indies the previous year than ever before--it amounted to two-thirds more than the import of the preceding year--and the cultivation of cotton had been commenced on the west coast of Africa. Experiments on the island of Jamaica the previous year had proved the soil and climate to be admirably adapted for its cultivation, the cotton produced being pronounced clean and of good staple and color.

        These accounts from England were encouraging to the friends of the free-labor cause in this country; we hoped to be able soon to procure a better assortment of free-labor goods. I was also encouraged to continue my efforts in this cause by receiving from the East an able and interesting report--printed in pamphlet form--giving an account of what had been done there in the interests of free labor. It

was called "The Report of the Board of Managers of the Free-Labor Association of Friends, of New York Yearly Meeting, adopted at the annual meeting of the Association, held Fifth month 27th, 1851," and was signed by direction and on behalf of the board of managers, by Benjamin Tatham, secretary. A list of the names of the members of the association was given. The number was eighty-three, which comprised many of the most prominent members of New York Yearly Meeting, by which it appeared that the Yearly Meeting was alive to the free-labor subject. This contrasted strongly with the apathy manifested by many Friends of Indiana Yearly Meeting. The report showed that the New York Association had been actively at work, and had recently furnished the mill at Manchester, England, with fifty bales of free cotton. Friends of the free-labor cause in the West seemed anxious for me to continue the business at Cincinnati, and some additional means were furnished that enabled me to continue the manufacture of free cotton and to obtain a better supply of free-labor goods. By close financiering and strict economy I kept up the business at Cincinnati for ten years, then sold out, and retired from mercantile life with very limited means.

CHAPTER IX.

        UNDERGROUND RAILROAD WORK IN CINCINNATI--A REMINISCENCE--THE FUGITIVE COOK GIRL--A COMPANY OF TWENTY-EIGHT FUGITIVES--AUNT BETSEY--JACK AND LUCY--ASSESSMENTS ON UNDERGROUND RAILROAD STOCK--A PRO-SLAVERY MAN SILENCED--THE STORY OF JANE.

        WHEN we moved to Cincinnati in the spring of 1847, my wife and I thought that perhaps our work in Underground Railroad matters was done, as we had been in active service more than twenty years.

        We hoped to find in Cincinnati enough active workers to relieve us from further service, but we soon found that we would have more to do than ever. When in the city on business, I had mingled with the abolitionists and been present at their meetings, but some of them had died, and others had moved away, and when I came to the city to live, I found that the fugitives generally took refuge among the colored people, and that they were often captured and taken back to slavery.

        Most of the colored people were not shrewd managers in such matters, and many white people, who were at heart friendly to the fugitives, were too

timid to take hold of the work themselves. They were ready to contribute to the expense of getting the fugitives away to places of safety, but were not willing to risk the penalty of the law or the stigma on their reputation, which would be incurred if they harbored fugitives and were known to aid them.

        Abolitionists were very unpopular characters at that time, both in religious and political associations, and many who favored the principles of abolitionism lacked the moral courage to face public opinion, when to do so would be to sustain an injury in their business and to lower their reputation in public esteem. But there were a few noble exceptions--brave and conscientious workers--who risked every thing in the cause they believed to be right. I had already risked every thing in the work--life, property and reputation--and did not feel bound to respect human laws that came in direct contact with the law of God.

        I was personally acquainted with all the active and reliable workers on the Underground Railroad in the city, both colored and white. There were a few wise and careful managers among the colored people, but it was not safe to trust all of them with the affairs of our work. Most of them were too careless, and a few were unworthy--they could be bribed by the slave-hunters to betray the hiding-places of the fugitives. We soon found it to be the best policy to confine our affairs to a few persons, and to let the whereabouts of the slaves be known to as few people as possible.

        When slave-hunters were prowling around the

city we found it necessary to use every precaution. We were soon fully initiated into the management of Underground Railroad matters in Cincinnati, and did not lack for work. Our willingness to aid the slaves was soon known, and hardly a fugitive came to the city without applying to us for assistance. There seemed to be a continual increase of runaways, and such was the vigilance of the pursuers that I was obliged to devote a large share of time from my business to making arrangements for their concealment and safe conveyance of the fugitives. They sometimes came to our door frightened and panting and in a destitute condition, having fled in such haste and fear that they had no time to bring any clothing except what they had on, and that was often very scant. The expense of providing suitable clothing for them when it was necessary for them to go on immediately, or of feeding them when they were obliged to be concealed for days or weeks, was very heavy. Added to this was the cost of hiring teams when a party of fugitives had to be conveyed out of the city by night to some Underground Railroad depot, from twenty to thirty miles distant. The price for a two-horse team on such occasions was generally ten dollars, and sometimes two or three teams were required. We generally hired these teams from a certain German livery stable, sending some irresponsible though honest colored man to procure them, and always sending the money to pay for them in advance. The people of the livery stable seemed to understand what the teams were wanted for, and asked no questions.

It was necessary to use every precaution, and I thought it wise to act, as the monkey did, take the cat's paw to draw the chestnut from the fire, and not burn my own fingers. I generally gave the money to a second person to hand to the colored man. We had several trusty colored men--who owned no property and who could lose nothing in a prosecution--who understood Underground Railroad matters, and we generally got them to act as drivers, but in some instances white men volunteered to drive, generally young and able-bodied. Sometimes the depot to which the fugitives were consigned was not reached until several hours after daylight, and it required a person of pluck and nerve to condu