Читать книгу A Woman's Life-Work — Labors and Experiences of Laura S. Haviland - Laura S. Haviland - Страница 33

This chapter introduces the reader to representatives of a large proportion of slave-owners of the Southern States, who were perverted by a system well-named "the sum of all villainies."

Willis Hamilton, an emancipated slave, the hero of this narrative, who fled to Canada with his slave wife, Elsie, to seek for her the protection of the British lion from the merciless talons of the freedom-shrieking American eagle, was emancipated three years previous to the date of this chapter, together with nineteen others (the reputed goods and chattels of John Bayliss, a Baptist deacon, near Jonesborough, Tennessee). Slaveholder though he was, John Bayliss evidently thought his black people had souls as well as those of white skins, for he allowed his house servants to remain in the dining-room during evening family worship, thus giving them instruction which, as the sequel will show, made the slave the teacher of the master; for one morning, as "Aunt Lucy," an old and privileged servant, was passing through his room, she said:

"Massa John, I's bin thinkin' a heap o' dat ar what you read in the

Bible t' other night."

"Ah, what's that, Aunt Lucy?" said the deacon.

"It's to do oder folks as you'd want 'em to do to you, or somehow dat fashion. I tell you, Massa John, 't would be mighty hard for you white folks to work great many years and get noffin'. Den, if you dies, whar'd we go to? I specks we'd go down de riber, like Jones's poor people did las' week."

"Well, well, Aunt Lucy, that was too bad; but Jones was in debt, and I suppose they had to be sold."

"O yes, I s'pose so; but dat you read in de Bible sort o' sticks to me—I can't help it," said this faithful old mother in Israel, as she went out to her work.

In a moment or two Mrs. Bayliss entered the room, and the deacon said:

"Wife, what kind of a text do you think Aunt Lucy has just given me?"

"Text?"

"Yes, text."

"What's got into her head now?"

"She says she's been thinking about what I read in prayer-time the other evening, referring to the golden rule, and that it sort o' sticks to her. She spoke, of the excitement over Jones's black people who were sent down the river the other day; and I tell you, the way she applied her text, it 'sort o' sticks' to me."

"O hush!" indignantly exclaimed Mrs. Bayliss. "Aunt Lucy's mighty religious, and has so many notions of her own she's not worth minding, any how."

"But she asked me what would become of my black people if I should die, and if I thought they would ever be torn apart as Jones's were. I tell you, wife, I have witnessed such scenes too often to feel right in risking a contingency of that kind," said the deacon, gravely.

"Don't be a fool, now, John Baybss," angrily exclaimed his wife, "about

Aunt Lucy's fuss over Jones's niggers."

"Well," said the deacon, "I don't wonder at her feeling grieved; they belonged to her Church, and many of them were her relatives."

Here, for the time being, the conversation ended; but the soul of John Bayliss, awakened by the simple, straight-forward speech of his bond-woman, refused to be quieted, and he made this the subject of earnest prayer until the path of duty became so clear before him that he could not do otherwise than manumit his twenty slaves, although bitterly opposed by his wife (who refused to free the three held in her own right).

Elsie, the wife of Willis Hamilton, belonged to a neighboring planter. She was sold to a drover for the Southern market, and was being torn from her husband and two little daughters. Willis, in his agony, went from house to house, imploring some one to buy her, so that she might remain near her family. Finally one Dr. John P. Chester, who was about opening a hotel, agreed to purchase Elsie for $800, if Willis would pay $300 in work in the house, and fare the same as the other servants in board and clothing. With these conditions Willis gladly complied; but after they had spent a few months in their new home Deacon Bayliss examined their article of agreement and found it to be illegal. He told Willis that Dr. Chester could sell Elsie at any time, and he could establish no claim to her, even had he paid the $300, which, at the wages he was receiving, would take him nearly nine years to earn, with the interest, and advised him to leave Dr. Chester and work for wages, as he had done since his manumission. This advice was immediately acted upon, Willis being permitted to spend his nights with his wife. Every thing passed off pleasantly for a few weeks, until one of the house-servants told Elsie that she overheard Master John sell both her and Willis to a slave-trader, who would the following night convey them to the river with a drove ready for New Orleans. Frantic as the poor woman was with terror and grief at this information, she managed to perform her duties as usual until supper-time; and when all were seated at the table she slipped out unobserved, ran through a corn-field into the woods, sending word to Willis by a fellow-servant to meet her at a certain log. The moment Willis received the message he hastened to her with flying feet; and here the wretched husband and wife, but a few days before so full of plans for a pleasant future, held their council in tears.

Willis, in his sudden fright and excitement, could only exclaim: "What shall we do? Where shall we go?" Elsie, cooler and more composed, suggested going to Deacon Bayliss for advice. This Willis quickly did, and soon returned, it having been arranged that he should bring Elsie there and secrete her in the attic until the excitement of the hunt was over. After this they assumed the names of Bill and Jane, a brother and sister who answered to their own description of color and size on Willia's free papers—the whole list of the twenty slaves emancipated by Deacon Bayliss being recorded on each paper.

After five weeks hiding at the southern terminus of the "Underground Railroad," they took up their line of march for Canada. In a Quaker settlement in Indiana they found friends to whom they revealed their true relationship, and here they spent a year with a Quaker family named Shugart. But the slight protection afforded by the laws of Indiana did not tend to give them a feeling of security, and so they started again for the promised land with their infant daughter Louisa. On this journey they were assisted on their way, and made easy and comfortable compared with their hasty flight from Tennessee, from whence they walked with swollen and blistered feet, and every nerve strung to its utmost tension from the fear of pursuit by their Southern persecutors.

As times were hard in Canada, Elsie consented to come to Michigan with her husband if he could find a Quaker neighborhood. In their search they found our house, and my husband, Charles Haviland, Jr., after learning their condition, leased Willis twenty acres of ground, mostly openings, for ten years, for the improvements he would make thereon. Here they lived for three years, when one day Elsie saw a strange man peering through the fence.

Her first thought was "a Southerner," and snatching her two Little ones she ran for our house, only a few rods distant. The man pursued her, and she called for help to a neighbor in sight, at which the skulking sneak took himself off to the woods. This incident so thoroughly aroused their fears that they took another farm, a few miles distant, for three years; then a farm near Ypsilanti for a few years; from whence they removed to Monroe, where they induced a friend to write to Willis's old friend and master, Deacon Bayliss, making inquiries after their two daughters, who were left behind in slavery. They received a prompt reply, purporting to come from Bayliss, informing them that their daughters were still living where they left them. He would see them, he said, by the time he received their next letter, which he hoped would be soon, that he might be the happy bearer of glad news to the children from their father and mother. He professed great joy at hearing from them, wished them to write all the particulars about themselves, but cautioned them to write to no one but him, and all would be safe. He requested them to inform him in what town they were living, as he noticed their letter was dated in one town, mailed in another, and he was directed to address them in a third. Their friend, however, strictly cautioned them not to reveal their definite whereabouts, but to answer all other queries. Willis wrote that as his farm lease had expired there, he would have to seek another farm, and did not know where he would be, but to address a letter as before and it would be forwarded to him.

Their next move was to return to their first Michigan home on my premises, a few months after the death of my husband, taking up their abode in the little log-house built for them a few years before, and working my land on shares. Another letter was soon received from their friend Deacon Bayliss, as they supposed, and they urged me to reply; but I firmly refused to write to any one in the land of the slaveholder, lest the message should fall into the hands of enemies, and advised them to leave their daughters in the hands of the Lord, who would yet provide a way of deliverance for them as he had for their parents. In their great anxiety, however, to hear from their children, from whom they had been separated so many years, their plea was strong and persistent: but I remained immovable to all their entreaties, and told them of a slave family, who, after living twenty years in Indiana, had but recently been captured and returned to hopeless bondage. Upon this they yielded to me for the time being, but in a few weeks came again with pleadings made eloquent by suffering. As they had felt the vice-like grip of the peculiar system on their own hearts and lives, they realized too keenly the fate that might any time overtake their daughters. But I still resisted all their entreaties, and in a few days after they applied to J. F. Dolbeare, one of the trustees of Raisin Institute, who, thinking there was no danger, wrote all they desired, telling the supposed Deacon Bayliss all their past life in the free States and all their plans for the future. This they kept from me for a time, but Elsie's heart refused to be quieted, and she finally told me about it, first telling her husband she believed it their duty "For," she says, "I have thought more about it since Aunt Laura told me she dreamed of three poisonous green vipers which she poked so near the fire that their sacks were burned to a crisp and the poison all ran out, so that she thought them powerless for harm, but they still kept their threatening attitude; and who knows but these vipers may be slaveholders?" Willis said he had felt like telling me all the while, and both came to me with their story.

I much regretted this unwise step, but forbore all criticism, and told them we would hope for the best. A few days after a stranger appeared at our gate and inquired for a stray horse, which he said left him at Tecumseh. None having been seen he made similar inquiries at Hamilton's.

He also asked for a glass of water, and while receiving it, says to

Elsie: "Auntie, where does this road lead to, that crosses the river

east?" "To Palmyra," she replied, and frightened at being addressed as

"Auntie," in the Southern style, hastened into her house.

The second night after this, at eleven o'clock, a carriage drove up to a log-house on one of the cross roads, and three men appeared simultaneously, two at the front and one at the rear window, but quickly disappeared. They had evidently mistaken their place, as it was a white family up with a sick child. It was a dark night, and there was a dug way ten feet deep perpendicular, near the fence to which their team was hitched, which the valiant and mysterious trio did not discover, and when they re-entered their carriage and attempted to turn around they tumbled into it, horses, carriage, and all. This little incident so disarranged their plans that they were until daylight returning to Adrian (only six miles distant), with their broken trappings and bruised horses. They told the liveryman, Mr. Hurlburt, that their horses took fright and ran off a steep bank, and begged him to fix the damages as low as possible, as they were from home, belated, etc. Mr. Hurlburt assessed them thirty dollars; but he afterwards said, had he known their business he would have doubled it.

Three days after this fortunate mishap Willis Hamilton received a letter inclosing three dollars, purporting to be from John Bayliss, who had come up into Ohio on business, and was on his way to visit them when he was suddenly taken very Ill, and was pronounced by the physicians in a critical condition—in fact, they gave him but little encouragement for recovery, and he desired Willis to come and visit him, and bring his wife and children, as he might want him for two weeks. He closed by saying:

"Whether I get better or die, I am resigned, and can say the Lord's

will be done. I shall have every train watched until you come. God

bless you

"Respectfully yours, JOHN BAYLISS"

Of course I was given this letter to read, and I suggested the utmost caution in obeying this request, for, as the old rat in the fable said, there might be "concealed mischief in this heap of meal" I called for the other two letters, and found they were written by the same hand Willis says: "Oh! I know the old boss too well, he's true as steel; he won't have anything to do with trap business. Besides, I've got my free papers, and I'm not afraid to go, but I wont take my wife and children" I proposed that Mr. Dolbeare or some neighbor go with him That pleased him, but Mr. Dolbeare could not go. As my son Daniel and I were going to Adrian, I proposed to get either Mr. Backus or Mr. Peters, both strong anti-slavery friends in the city, to accompany him to Toledo. As we were about starting, Joseph Gibbons, a neighbor, came with the suggestion that Willis remain at home, and James Martin, who was about his color and size, go in his stead; as Gibbons agreed with me in believing there was a deep laid plot. To this all parties agreed, and Willis gave me the letter and the three dollars towards the fare of whoever should go with James, who was an intelligent young colored man in our institution. Everything being in readiness we now started for Adrian, where we arrived just in time to jump on board the train, and consequently had no leisure to seek out and make the proposed arrangements with our above mentioned friends, but sent word back to Willis that we would return the following morning.

Once fairly settled on our journey the responsibility so suddenly thrust upon me made me cry out in my heart for wisdom beyond my own, and I prayed for a guiding hand to direct our actions in case we should find ourselves in the camp of the enemy, face to face with traffickers in human souls and bodies, who considered no scheme too vile or desperate for them to undertake, the success of which would in any way subserve their own interests.

We arrived at Toledo at 7 P. M., and as we left the cars James was, addressed by a man with the question: "Is your name Willis Hamilton?" (and without waiting for a reply), "Is your wife with you?"

"No, sir," said James.

"Perhaps I am mistaken," said the questioner, who was the porter of the

Toledo hotel.

"Who do you wish to see?" said James.

"Willis Hamilton is the man I am sent for, by his old friend John Bayliss, who is at the Toledo hotel, so ill that he is not expected to live."

"Where is this Mr. Bayliss from?" said James.

"Tennessee, I believe."

"Very well, if there is such a man here I want to see him."

"Come with me, and I'll take you to his room," said the porter.

While this conversation was passing between the porter and James we were following in the rear, but apparently paying no attention to them. Our plan was for Daniel to keep James in sight if possible, and whatever he heard of the sick man to report to me in the parlor. We entered the hotel nearly together. I was shown into the parlor and James was taken up a flight of stairs from the bar-room. Daniel was following, when the porter told him the bar-room for gentlemen was below. He said, "I am taking this man to see a friend of his who is very sick, and no strangers are allowed to enter the room." Of course, my son could do nothing but return, so no further observations could be taken by us until the reappearance of James. For two long hours we neither saw nor heard anything of him, and becoming very anxious and restless I told Daniel to ask for James Martin, as he had business with him. Twice he made this request, but the porter only said, "Yes, yes, you shall see him in a minute," and dodged from room to room to keep out of sight.

Growing desperate, I finally told my son to tell the porter "if that young colored man is not forthcoming at once, a writ of habeas corpus will be served on him in fifteen minutes, as we must see him immediately. Also tell Mr. Woodward, the proprietor, that your mother is here with a message for Mr. John Bayliss, who we understand is very ill at this house." Mr. Woodward instantly summoned the porter, and we heard him say in an excited undertone: "There's trouble ahead unless that young black fellow comes down immediately; tell them to send him down at once." In a moment the porter, three gentlemen, and James made their appearance, evidently to the surprise of twenty half drunken Irishmen who had been chattering all the evening, but were now so still you could have heard a pin drop, to see Hamilton (as the sequel shows they supposed) brought down so publicly and without fetters. It afterwards transpired that Willis Hamilton, upon coming down stairs, was to have been put into a close carriage, sent away, and his family then sent for under the plea that he was detained with his sick friend, and this was the intelligent crowd who were to aid in the success of the plan.

I had seen a carriage stand fifteen or twenty minutes at the bar-room door and finally leave without a passenger, and Daniel saw the same carriage at the rear door equally long, which also left there empty. Upon coming down James Martin evidently took in the situation at a glance, for, giving my son a pinch, he said: "Mr. Haviland, let us go into the dining-room and call for supper." This was to give the drunken rabble time to leave so that he could relate his adventures with the Southerners after supper. But by this time the porter came to me to inquire if I wished to see Mr. Bayliss, the sick man. I replied in the affirmative, upon which he said: "He is very low; no stranger has been allowed to enter his room for three days, but his doctor is here. Would you like to see him?" "I would," I replied. A tall gentleman now entered the room and addressed me: "Madam, are you the lady who wished to see me?" "I am, if you are the physician who has charge of John Bayliss of Tennessee, who we learn is very ill, by a letter which Willis Hamilton received yesterday."

"I am Dr. Taylor of this city, and have the case of Mr. Bayliss in my care. His son-in-law is here taking care of him, and they are all greatly disappointed at not seeing Hamilton this evening, as Mr. Bayliss has sent for him and his family, and they can not imagine why he does not come."

"Well, I can tell you why. We feared a trap, as Willis's wife was formerly a slave."

"I don't see," said the doctor, "how you could suspect any thing wrong in that letter, as I understand they have written them before, and you should have compared the letters to see if they were written by the same person."

"We did so, and found they were written by the same person. But there are other points to consider: 1st, John Bayliss stands somewhat in the relation of a slaveholder, as in a former letter he spoke of three aged slaves living with him, and wished Hamilton and wife to stay with him two weeks if he lived, which was doubtful, and wished them to be sure and bring their children, though we all know that four little noisy children are not agreeable companions in a sick-room."

Here my learned doctor gave his head a vigorous scratch, and said: "Well, madam, Mr. Bayliss is probably childish from age, and his severe illness makes him more so. A nervous temperament like his, affected by disease, often enfeebles the mind, as body and mind are in close relationship philosophically. Now, he is just childish enough to want to see those children playing around his room, and he says he would make them handsome presents; and as money seems to be plenty with him and apparently no object, I judge they would be well paid for coming."

I did not appear to question this view of the case, but inquired how long Deacon Bayliss had been ill.

"About seven days, madam," replied the doctor.

"What seems to be the nature of the disease?"

"It was at first a violent attack of bilious fever, but for the last three days it has assumed a fearful form of typhus."

I told him that Hamilton and his wife were both very anxious about their old friend, and wished me to see him personally, and give him their reasons for not coming.

"I should be glad," said the doctor, "to allow you to see him, were it not for his extreme nervousness, but I dare not risk it. It seems hard to think the dying request of this poor old man can not be granted. He seems to consider this family almost next to his own."

"Yes," I said, "it is also hard and humiliating to humane and patriotic Americans that a system of human bondage exists in this country which causes these horrible fears and suspicions to loom up like specters before the mental vision of this persecuted and down-trodden race."

"That is very true," said Dr. Taylor; "slavery is the darkest spot on our national escutcheon. But in this case there is no cause for suspicion; for I am sure there is no plot with regard to the Hamilton family, and I call God to witness that every word I tell you is truth. As to the three slaves you spoke of, he told me during the first of his sickness that he emancipated all his slaves, twenty in number, but that his wife had three in her right, which she refused to free, and these have always remained in the family. He manumitted his slaves from purely conscientious scruples; and I believe that if there is a Christian that walks God's earth he is one, for he has manifested such patience and resignation during his severe illness that he has entirely won my affections. Now, don't you think you can induce Hamilton to bring his family here? I do not believe he will live three days."

"I will be honest with you," I replied. "Although you have talked like a candid man, I do not believe I could transfer sufficient confidence to the family to induce them to come unless I should see him, as they charged me over and again."

At this my tender-hearted Aesculapius sighed deeply, and said: "I am sorry that they or their friends should entertain any distrust, as I fear he may not be conscious two days longer. A council of physicians was called this afternoon, and three out of the four gave it as their opinion that he could not survive, at the longest, beyond three days; and I believe him liable to drop away within twenty-four hours, although it is barely possible he may live a week."

"Well," I replied, "one cause of suspicion, both with my neighbors and myself was that, although the letters from John Bayliss were all written by the same hand, the last one was equally well written as the others, although he was represented as so very low, with little hope of recovery."

Here my ready-tongued doctor very thoughtfully placed his hand to his forehead, but in a moment replied: "I will tell you how that was. His fever was off at the time, which enabled him to carry a steady hand."

"Well, of course," I replied, "we do not know that any plan exists to remand these people back to slavery, but we only judged of the possibilities. And for my part I do not believe in regarding the wicked enactments of men which contravene the laws of eternal right given by God, who made of one blood all nations who dwell upon the face of the earth, and of Christ, who left the realms of glory to bring blessings to mankind, and a part of whose mission was to unloose the heavy burdens and let the oppressed go free. And in view of the golden rule given by the great Lawgiver, I would not for my right hand become instrumental in returning one escaped slave to bondage. I firmly, believe in our Declaration of Independence, that all men are created free and equal, and that no human being has a right to make merchandise of others born in humbler stations, and place them on a level with horses, cattle, and sheep, knocking them off the auction-block to the highest bidder, sundering family ties, and outraging the purest and tenderest feelings of human nature."

"That is all right," said the doctor, "and I understand your feelings. Slavery is the greatest curse upon our otherwise happy country. But in this case there need be no fear of any conspiracy to injure your colored friends; and I did hope, for the sake of Mr. Bayliss, they would come and visit him, and gratify his dying request."

He then gave me some of the alarming symptoms of his patient, enlarged on the sympathy he felt for him, and finally proposed to go up and consult with his son-in law on the propriety of allowing me to see him in his present exceedingly nervous state. He said if he was not spoken to perhaps I might be allowed to look at him, as he was kept under the influence of opiates, and was to-night in a heavy stupor, and not disposed to talk to any one.

"Would such an arrangement be any satisfaction to you?"

I replied that, while it was immaterial to me, it would probably satisfy the Hamilton family; and, after a few minutes' consultation in the sick-room, he returned with the conclusion that I might enter the room, but that no loud word must be spoken, nor the sound of a footfall permitted.

"But you can not see his face, as it is covered with cloths wet in vinegar to draw the fever out, and he is now in a doze, and I do not wish to disturb him."

He then described the terrible paroxysms, bordering on spasms, suffered by his patient, in which it took four men to hold him, and was eulogizing his wonderful fortitude and Christian patience, when the son-in-law suddenly came rushing into the room in his shirt-sleeves and stocking-feet, and exclaimed:

"Doctor, doctor, do come quick; father's got another spasm, and I don't know what to do."

"Yes, yes," said the doctor, "I'll come; don't leave your father a moment;" and jumped up, apparently in great excitement. But at the door he halted to tell me that these spasms indicated mortification, when the son-in-law again opened the door with a bang and the exclamation:

"Doctor, why don't you hurry? Father is vomiting again, and I'm afraid he is dying."

At this they both rushed frantically up-stairs. In about fifteen minutes the doctor returned, saying he had given his patient a double dose of an opiate, and would let him rest awhile. He then launched out into a description of his treatment of Mr. Bayliss; how he had blistered him, and performed a surgical operation on him which had given him great pain; said he was attending him to the neglect of his other patients, and after exhausting a large amount of eloquence on the subject returned to the sick chamber. In a few moments he came back with the information that I could now be admitted, and conducted me to the room.

As soon as we stepped within the door the doctor halted, but I stepped to the center of the room, as if I had forgotten that I was only just to enter, and gazed at the bed and then at the lounge opposite. The doctor stepped to my side and said, "That is he on the bed yonder." I stood a moment and took a mental inventory of the sick man, who appeared full six feet tall and very slender, not at all answering to the description of the short, heavily built John Bayliss, of two hundred pounds avoirdupois. Of course, a fit of sickness might reduce a man's flesh, but it did not appear to me as especially likely to increase his height. As his face was covered with wet cloths I could not see the round physiognomy of John Bayliss, but passing my hand over the face I found it long and thin featured. I whispered to the doctor that I would like to notice his pulse. He said I could do so on the jugular vein. I did so, and found the skin of this fever-stricken man to be the natural temperature, but I whispered to the doctor that I was not so accustomed to noticing the pulse in that locality as at the wrist. After some resistance by the sick man, who finally yielded with a long undertone groan, I found his wrist, and the full, strong, regular pulse of a well man. There was now no doubt in my mind that I was alone at this midnight hour, far from home, in a room with three slaveholders.

As I stepped from the bed the doctor asked me if I was satisfied. The thought flashed through my mind that I had always contended that deception was lying, and that no circumstances could justify it But other thoughts also came, and I replied that I was satisfied.

At this the son-in-law, who had apparently been sleeping on the lounge, roused himself and commenced rubbing his eyes, and looking at the doctor, said, "Oh, doctor, do you think father is any better?"

"I can not conscientiously give you any hope," replied the doctor.

"Oh, dear!" he exclaimed, "what shall I do? I am almost sick myself, taking care of him day and night. If I had only known that they were near Tecumseh, where I lost my horse, I would have seen them; but I hoped to have found him better when I returned, instead of which he was much worse."

At this I stepped towards him, and said: "If you are the gentleman who was inquiring for a horse in our neighborhood a few days ago, you called at Hamilton's house and asked for a drink of water."

"What, that place where a black woman brought me a glass of water?"

"Yes; that was Hamilton's wife."

"Is it possible! that little log house where there was a pile of pumpkins in the yard?"

"Yes," I said.

"Oh! if I had only known it," he exclaimed, "we would have had them here to help us. What trouble we have had. I reckon father will die, and I shall have to go home alone. God knows we have had a bad trip of it."

The careful doctor now began to fear we would disturb the patient, and we were about leaving the room when he suddenly exclaimed, "I want you to see what black bilious matter Mr. Bayliss vomited a while ago;" and, stepping back, he brought me a white bowl two-thirds full of what might have been the contents of a coffee-pot, with a bottle of black ink thrown in, and a few spittles floating on top. This, he told me, indicated mortification. We now passed into the parlor, where we could talk without disturbing the patient. "Now, madam, as you are fully satisfied with regard to Mr. Bayliss's illness, can't you do something to get the Hamiltons here?"

"I am willing," I replied, "to do all in my power, but see no better way than to inform them of the state of affairs upon my return, and the train will leave for Adrian at eight o'clock to-morrow morning." The doctor went up stairs to see what word they wished to send, and soon returned with the request that I should write to Hamilton to come immediately, and the porter would go with the letter for ten dollars, and his father would send another ten dollars to Willis. I still insisted that my original plan was the best, as the road through the cottonwood swamp was almost impassable.

The son-in-law now entered, and after walking across the floor a few times, with sighs and groans and bemoaning his dire calamities, said his father wished the letter written.

He returned to his father and the doctor went for writing material.

They closed the door behind them for a consultation, I supposed.

The reader will remember that during all this time I knew nothing of the experience of James Martin with this afflicted trio, but had been compelled to grope my way blindly. As the doctor and son-in-law went out my son came in. He had overheard something about the writing, and said, excitedly: "Don't write, mother; there is no sick man here. That tall man is Elsie's master, and they threatened James's life when they had him up stairs."

"Daniel, I know there is no sick man here," I said; "but they do not think I dream of any plot. It is now midnight, and it is not wise to let them know that we distrust them. Sit down and let us talk naturally."

The doctor now returned with writing material, and I sat down to write while he conversed with my son on the weather and kindred topics. Now my intention in writing to Hamilton was to serve these slaveholders by defeating them. I knew, too, that disguising my hand-writing was not enough to reveal to the Hamilton's that the letter was a sham, and whatever I wrote would be subjected to the perusal of my employers before it was sent. At this hour, too, a messenger could not probably be secured, even for twenty dollars. But as I seated myself at the table and took my pen in the manner in which I could appear to serve the slaveholders, but in reality defeat them, it came to me like a flash, and I cheerfully wrote all they dictated, not omitting the fact (?) that a council of physicians had decided that John Bayliss could not live to exceed three days; and after handing it to the doctor and son-in-law to read, I requested permission to add a few lines on my own responsibility, which was readily granted, as I explained to them that Elsie would not be prepared with regard to clothing, either for herself or children, to be away so long, and I could easily loan her sufficient garments.

This, of course, was as happy a thought for them as for myself, and was so received. "Indeed, madam," said the son-in-law, "that will be very kind in you. They can get ready so much quicker." So I added to my letter to Willis as follows: "Tell Elsie to take for herself the black alpaca dress in the south bed-room, and the two pink gingham aprons and striped flannel dresses in the bureau in the west room for the little girls. To come to Adrian, take the double team and farm wagon." I signed my name and handed the letter to the delighted stranger. He then gave my son a lighted sperm candle to light us over to the Indiana House, at that time the best hotel in Toledo, and kept by Salter Cleveland and wife, anti-slavery friends of ours. This light, however, served them to follow us, as well as guide us to our haven of safety.

After settling ourselves with our friends to tell our adventures I had a chance to hear James Martin's story. After the failure of my son to follow James and the porter up stairs, James was of course entirely in the hands of the enemy. At the head of the stairs they were met by an elderly gentleman with a lamp, who offered to conduct James to the sick room, and he was told to enter the first right hand door. On opening the door he found no one inside. "Oh," said his guide, "they have moved him to the next room, as was suggested by the council of physicians this afternoon; we will find him there; and opening the door the stranger assumed an attitude of command and told him to go in." James, however, replied: "I shall not go in, sir; you can see as well as I that the room is empty." The stranger gave a surprised look at the interior of the room and said: "Oh, I guess they moved him to the farther room, as some one suggested, after all. As there is no other room he can be in, you will certainly find him there."

By this time, of course, James began thoroughly to distrust his conductor, and hesitated about going farther; but desiring to make all the discoveries possible, and thinking if violence was attempted he could run down stairs to us, he passed on to the third door, and throwing it wide open found this room also empty.

He was about turning back when two other men suddenly appeared through a door at the left, and the three surrounded him, one leveling a revolver at his head, another at his breast, and the third pointing a dirk at his side, all indulging in an indiscriminate volley of oaths and threats. Said his grey-haired guide (who afterwards proved to be John P. Chester, Elsie's master, the same who had enacted to me the role of the sympathetic physician), "If you stir or speak one word we'll kill you. Go into that room, or you're a dead mail." In this position they entered the room and locked the door. "Now, Hamilton, we've got you, damn you."

"My name is not Hamilton, but James Martin," was James' reply.

"Damn you," rejoined Chester, "I know you; you were once a slave in

Tennessee."

"No, sir, I never was a slave, nor was I ever in a slave state. I was born and brought up in the State of New York."

"Then you're a d——d spy, and I've a great mind to shoot you this minute," said Chester.

"If you call me a spy because I came here to see Mr. John Bayliss for Mr. Hamilton, then you can do so, for this is why I am here, and I came here with no intention of harm to any one, I am entirely unarmed, I have not so much as a penknife with which to defend myself, but I tell you, gentlemen, I have friends here in this house."

At this they dropped their weapons as by an electric shock, and Chester exclaimed, "You shan't be hurt! you shan't be hurt!" Then turning to his son: "Tom, put up your pistol."

"But," says Tom, "I propose to search him and see whether he's clear of arms."

"No! you shan't do it. I reckon it's as he says."

James, seeing that they were thoroughly intimidated, now felt at his ease. The Southerners, of course, did not know but a posse of armed men awaited their actions instead of one little woman and a lad of seventeen. Chester now addressed James in a subdued tone and manner, asking him to sit down, "and I'll tell you all about it Mr. John Bayliss is here and he is very sick; he is not expected to live. But I am Elsie's master; my name is John P. Chester, and I bought her out of pure benevolence to save her from going down the river with a drove. Willis was going from house to house begging for some one to buy his wife, crying and taking on like he was nearly crazy, and I felt sorry for him, and told him if he would help me buy her by paying three hundred dollars in work for me, I could do it, and he entered into a written agreement with me that I was to feed and clothe him the same as my other servants, and give him a good price for his work; but before he had been with me a year he took my property and ran away with it, and now I want to get it back."

"Why don't you go and get it then?" said James.

"Oh, there's such a set of d——d abolitionists there I can't do it," said Chester. "Hamilton wrote to me that he had put in ten acres of wheat this fall on shares on a widow lady's farm, and that he had a yoke of oxen, two cows, pigs and chickens."

"Yes," said James, "that is all true."

"Well," said Chester, "you can have all he has there, besides any amount of money you please to name, if you will assist me in getting him and his family here. Will you do it?"

James replied, very carelessly, "Well, I don't know but I will for enough."

"You see," said Chester, "if I can get them here, I can get help from one place to another in Ohio, and when I strike Kentucky I'd be all right." In laying plans and making arrangements they consumed two hours' time, and, as the reader will remember, I became nervous and sent for James, after which I had my experience with the doctor and the sick man.

After finding ourselves quietly seated with our friends in their private parlor, before we had fairly finished relating our adventures, the night watch came in with the report that three men were pacing around the house at about equal distances, whom he suspected to be burglars. Orders were given to keep the outside rooms lighted, and if any attempt was made to enter to ring the alarm bell and assistance would be forthcoming. Morning light, however, revealed to the watchmen that their suspected burglars were the three Southerners, who had stopped at the Indiana House a few days, but not finding co-operation probable in their slave-hunting business, had changed their quarters to the Toledo Hotel. I recognized my doctor and the son-in-law; and the other, a tall, slender young man, of twenty-two, was my sick and suffering deacon, who an hour previous had been so near death's door. Their object, of course, in guarding the house, was to see that we sent no messenger to defeat the letter I bad so kindly written for them. But on this matter I gave myself no concern, as Elsie was as well acquainted with my wardrobe as I was, and would know at once that it contained no such articles as I mentioned; also, that the house had no south bedroom, and no bureau in the west room, neither was there a double team nor a farm wagon on the place. Consequently I had no fears that the letter was not faithfully fulfilling its mission.

A few minutes before we left the hotel for the 8 o'clock train to return home a colored man came to James, evidently quite excited, and said: "We have just heard there is a colored man here having trouble with slave-holders; if this is true, there are enough of us here to do whatever is necessary." James did not reply, but looked inquiringly at me. I replied, "There is trouble," and taking him into a back room, gave him a brief sketch of James's experience. I told him I did not think it probable that violence would be offered in daylight, but as Mr. Cleveland and son were both ill, we would like to know who our friends were at the depot. He assured me we should have all the aid we needed. "While at the depot," said he, "we shall watch both you and the slave-holders, and whatever you desire us to do, madam, say the word, and it shall be done." I thanked him, but did not think there would be any difficulty.

The three Southerners were at the depot as soon as we were. In the ticket office James gave up going, as he thought they intended going with us. But this I did not care for, and told James he must go now, as there was no other train until night, and there was no telling what they might do under cover of darkness. When we got to the cars the doctor and son-in-law jumped aboard, but the sick man was determined to take his seat with me, and followed my son and myself from coach to coach, and whenever we showed any signs of seating ourselves prepared to seat himself opposite. I looked at his snakish eyes, and concluded to leave my sick deacon to see James, who still lingered in the ticket office.

I again urged him to go with me, as I should take another coach when I returned and get rid of the Southerners. When I returned I ran past the coach I had left, and Daniel beckoned to me, saying, "Here, mother, this is the car we took." "Yes," I said, "but I see a lady ahead that I wish, to sit with." At this the sick man jumped up and exclaimed, "I'll be d——d if I don't take that seat then." But Daniel pressed his way past him, and noticed his heavily-laden overcoat pocket. By the time my son reached me there was no room near us for the sick deacon, so he returned to his first seat.

During all this time about a dozen men, black and white, were watching us closely. I beckoned the one who called on us at the hotel to come to our apartments, and told him to tell James to come immediately to my door. He came, and I opened the door and told him to enter, as the train was about moving. When he was inside he says: "I am afraid we will have trouble." Just then the conductor passed, and I said to him: "I suppose we will be perfectly safe here, should we have trouble on our way to Adrian." "Most certainly," he said (raising his voice to the highest pitch). "I vouch for the perfect safety and protection of every individual on board this train."

Near Sylvania, a small town ten miles from Toledo, the train halted to sand the track, and our chivalrous friends got off. Chester and his son Thomas, the sick deacon, stationed themselves about three feet from us; and Chester, pointing to James, said in a low, grim voice: "We'll see you alone some time;" and, turning to my son, "You, too, young man." Then directing his volley of wrath to me, he roared out: "But that lady there—you nigger stealer—you that's got my property and the avails of it—I'll show you, you nigger thief;" and drawing a revolver from his pocket, his son doing the same, they pointed them towards my face, Chester again bawling out, "You see these tools, do you? We have more of 'em here" (holding up a traveling bag), "and we know haw to use them. We shall stay about here three weeks, and we will have that property you have in your possession yet, you d——d nigger stealer. We understand ourselves. We know what we are about."