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A year has passed anxiously at Albany with Jo. Rumors reached him that in an attempt to escape, Mary had been captured and sold into the south forever beyond his reach. Gathering up his earnings and bidding his companions good-by, he started rather aimlessly westward, and where he would have brought up no one can tell, had he not one day met a stranger, a pleasant, benevolent looking gentleman, near the village of Versailles, N. Y. It was just at the close of that most hilarious campaign in which the cry of “Tippecanoe and Tyler too,” with “two dollars a day and roast beef,” mollified with liberal potations of “hard cider,” rendered “Little Matty Van a used up man,” though the result was not yet ascertained, for no telegraph had learned to herald its lightning message in advance of time. If no other good came from the campaign, it had given every class of men the free use of the tongue in hurrahing for his favorite candidate, and foot-sore and hungry as he was, there was something about the gentleman that said to Jo, “Now is your opportunity,” and touching his hat in genuine politeness he called out, “Hooraw for Ol’ Tip.”

Good naturedly the gentleman responded, “Well, my good fellow, it is a little late for you to be hurrahing for any candidate now that election is over, and, though you didn’t quite strike my man, I shall find no fault. I know what you want more than ‘hard cider.’ It is a night’s food and lodging.”

“Thank you Massa, I’se tired and hungry, an’ de fac’ am I doan know what to do with myself.”

“Well, no matter about that just now. Come along;” and Eber M. Pettit, long known as an earnest Abolitionist in Cattaraugus and Chautauqua counties, led the disheartened wanderer to his home, where, after supper, he questioned him as to his history, and when he had learned his unvarnished tale, he suggested that the man should stay with him that winter as a man-of-all-chores, and attend the village school.

As a result of that evening’s conference there appeared among the children of the district school in a few days a colored man of about twenty five years of age, learning with the youngest of them his a b c. This was an innovation, unique in the extreme. Some of the villagers turned up their noses at the “nigger,” but the social standing of Mr. Pettit, and the story of Jo which was freely circulated among the people, together with his genial disposition and kindness of manner, soon silenced all cavil and the school quietly progressed.

Learning that the editor of the Liberty Press was in Washington, Mr. Pettit addressed him in the following letter:

Versailles, N. Y., Dec. 1, 1840.

Dear General.—I have at my house a colored man named Jo Norton. Something over a year ago he left a wife and child in the Capital, the property of a Mr. Judson. She was to have been brought off directly after he left, but the effort failed and he understands she has been sold South. Will you be so kind as to inquire into the matter and see what can be done in the case if anything? Make your return to Jo Norton, direct.

Yours Truly,

E. M. Pettit.

Gen. W. L. Chaplain,

Washington, D. C.

This letter was duly posted, and on the morrow an ebony face, the very picture of expectancy, put in an appearance at the village post office with the query, “Any letter for Jo Norton, Massa pos’ massa?” Thus it was twice a day for a week, when his unsophisticated importunity was rewarded by a missive bearing the address,

Jo Norton, Esq.,

Versailles,

N. Y.

Care E. M. Pettit, Esq.

and bearing the post-mark of the Capital. It read as follows:

Mr. Norton, Dear Sir:

The woman about whom Mr. Pettit wrote me is here. After her husband’s escape she was detected in what was thought to be an effort to leave and was thrown into prison, where she lost an infant child. After three months she was visited by her master, and on a solemn promise never to make another effort to run away she was taken back to the family where she and the boy appear to be treated with great kindness. Though he has been offered $800 for her, Mr. Judson said he never sold a slave, and never will, but if her husband can raise $350 for them by March 4th, proximo, they will be given free papers so I can bring them North with me at that time.

Truly,

W. L. Chaplain.

At the reading of this letter, Jo, prompted by the fervent piety of his nature, broke into hysterical fits of laughter, interspersed with “Bress de Lor’, bress de Lor’.” But when the first paroxysm of joy was over he became very despondent, for he had no $350 and no friend to whom to appeal for it; but here, as before, Mr. Pettit came to the rescue.

“See here, Jo,” he said, “there are nearly three months to the fourth of March, and yours is a wonderful story. You shall go forth and tell it to the people, and the money will come.”

“Wy, bress de Lor’, Massa Pettit, dis chile can nebber do dat. De people would jus’ laf at de nigger.”

“Never mind the laugh, Jo. If you love Mary and the boy you can stand the laughing. Now be a man. I will go with you and see you start;” and before bed-time he had laid out the work for his ward, in whom he had now become thoroughly interested, and had listened several times to his rehearsal of his story of escape and tale of plantation life, and offered such suggestions as he thought advisable, and that night Jo went to bed “to sleep; to dream.” To dream of wife and boy in slavery, and himself making speeches among the white people of the North for their deliverance.

The next morning Mr. Pettit went out into the country a few miles where he had a number of Abolition friends and made full arrangements for Jo’s speaking there early the next week. In the meantime the word was thoroughly circulated whilst Jo was most effectively schooled to his new field, and on the appointed evening the school-house was filled to overflowing. Jo told his story in such a manner as to draw out rounds of approbative applause from the mouths of the audience, and six dollars from their pockets when the hat was passed round. Meetings were held immediately in the several school districts in the vicinity with marked success, and then Jo, highly inspired, left school and started out on a systematic course of lectures which took him to Westfield, Mayville and other villages of Chautauqua county as well as Cattaraugus.

On the 25th day of January Mr. Pettit received the following from Washington:

“Dear Pettit.—If Judson can have $300 by February first, he will deliver up the woman and child of whom we have had correspondence.

In haste,

W. L. Chaplain.”

He hastened to Ellicottville and found that Jo had already realized $100. A meeting was immediately called in an office in the village, at which were present Judge Chamberlin, of Randolph, E. S. Coleman, of Dunkirk, and several other gentlemen. The letter was read, and at the suggestion of the Judge a note for two hundred dollars was drawn and signed by ten of them, with the understanding that they were to share equally in the payment of any deficit after Jo had done his best. The money was advanced by Mr. Coleman, and one of the party drove fifty miles to Buffalo, through a pelting storm, purchased a draft, forwarded it to Mr. Coleman, and before the “days of grace” had expired Mary and her child were duly registered and delivered as free people.

Meanwhile Jo’s story had gotten into the papers of Western New York, and he had calls from various places to lecture; indeed, he had become quite a local lion, and so successful that early in March when word came that Mary and the child had reached Utica, he was the possesser of $195. This he deposited in the hands of Mr. Pettit who returned him $30 and told him to go and make provision for his wife and child, and pay the balance of the note when he could. Though he had walked that day from Buffalo, a distance of nearly thirty miles, Jo immediately returned, and early the next day, in the home of a leading Abolitionist in Utica there was a regular “Hal’lujer; Bress de Lor’, for de Lor’ will bress his people,” time when Jo and Mary met after their seemingly hopeless separation.