A Woman's Life-Work — Labors and Experiences of Laura S. Haviland
by Laura S. Haviland · English · Gutenberg #7295 · 975,482 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: A Woman's Life-Work — Labors and Experiences of Laura S. Haviland
Author: Laura S. Haviland
Release date: January 1, 2005 [eBook #7295]
Most recently updated: August 19, 2012
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7295
Credits: Produced by Skip Doughty, Tom Allen, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WOMAN'S LIFE-WORK — LABORS AND EXPERIENCES OF LAURA S. HAVILAND ***
Produced by Skip Doughty, Tom Allen, Juliet Sutherland,
Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
A WOMAN'S LIFE-WORK:
LABORS AND EXPERIENCES
OF
LAURA S. HAVILAND.
DEDICATION
to
My two sons, and four daughters, and families;
also to the
Home and Foreign Missionary Society,
are these pages dedicated.
The Author
PREFACE.
In presenting the following pages to the public, without the trace of
an excellent scholar or eloquent orator, I fully realize my inability
to compete with writers of the nineteenth century. With this
incompetency in view, I have hesitated and delayed until three-score
and thirteen years are closing over me. Yet as I am still spared to
toil on a little longer in the great field so white to harvest, praying
the Lord of the harvest to arm and send forth more laborers, because
they are too few, I ask an indulgent public to allow my deep and
abiding sympathies for the oppressed and sorrowing of every nation,
class, or color, to plead my excuse for sending forth simple,
unvarnished facts and experiences, hoping they may increase an
aspiration for the active doing, instead of saying what ought to be
done, with excusing self for want of ability, when it is to be found in
Him who is saying, "My grace is sufficient for thee, for my strength is
perfect in weakness."
LAURA S. HAVILAND.
OCTOBER, 1881.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
EARLY LIFE.
Parentage--Early Impressions--Childhood Skepticism--Religious
Experience--The Great Leveler--Marriage--Removal to Michigan--The
Semi-Christian--The Despairing Backslider
Restored--Proscription--Withdrawal from the Society of Friends--Founded
"Raisin Institute,"
CHAPTER II.
BEREAVEMENTS.
Dream--Bereavements--Early Widowhood--Trials--Dreamy--Victory by
Faith--A Fugitive Slave Escapes--Marriage of two Older Children,
CHAPTER III.
ANTI-SLAVERY EXPERIENCES.
Baptist Deacon Convicted of the Sin of Slavery by his Slave--Willis
Hamilton's Escape with his Slave-wife, Elsie, to Canada--Removal to
Michigan--Whereabouts Discovered by Elsie's Master--Deeply Laid Scheme
to Capture the Hamilton Family--Threats of Violence--Second Attempt and
Defeat--Death of the two Slave-holders,
CHAPTER IV.
AN OHIO SCHOOL-TEACHER.
A Traveling Agent--Slave Claimant--John White--Threats--Visit to Jane
White--Interview with William Allen--Escape of Slaves--In
Suspense--Death of First-born--Comforting Dream--John White a
Prisoner--His Release and Subsequent History,
CHAPTER V.
THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY.
Two Slave Families Escape--Story of George and James--A Mother and
Daughter Leave a Boat bound for the Lower Market--Sarah and two Young
Men join our Party--Seven are Conducted to Canada--Raisin Institute
Suspended for an Academic Year--Return to Cincinnati--Maria--Threats of
her Master--The Escape of two Young Men
CHAPTER VI.
FUGITIVE SLAVES ASSISTED.
Clara and Three Children Rescued--Jack Betrayed and Returned to
Bondage--A Little Nurse Girl taken from her Owners in Cincinnati--How
Zack was Saved--Calvin Fairbanks Visited in Prison--Fugitive Slaves
Forwarded
CHAPTER VII.
CHRISTIAN AND EDUCATIONAL WORK.
Visiting and Nursing the Sick--Nine Slaves Arrive from
Kentucky--Richard Dillingham Dies in Tennessee Penitentiary--Seven
Slaves Conducted to Freedom--Teach Six Months in Toledo
CHAPTER VIII.
FUGITIVES IN CANADA.
Mission Among the Fugitives in Canada--Religious Revival--Organization
of a Christian Union Church--Efforts of Missourians to Retake the
Fugitive Slave, William Anderson, from Canada--The Kentucky Slave-owner
Whipped in the Old Barracks in Windsor in his Effort to Decoy Three
Young Men back to Slavery--Reopening School
CHAPTER IX.
RESCUE OF SLAVES.
Escape of a Slave Family of Six--A Slave Man Travels for a White Man
and Succeeds--Trip to Arkansas--The Story of George Wilson--The
Slave-daughter under Mortgage Released by her Mother--Mintie Berry
Purchases her Husband--John Brown Hanged--The War Opens and takes
Seventeen Students of Raisin Institute--First Trip to the Front with
Supplies
CHAPTER X.
HOSPITAL WORK.
Cairo--Incidents Preparatory to Removing Freedmen's Camp to Island No.
10--Death of a Child--Disbursing Supplies and other Mission Work on the
Island--Story of Uncle Stephen--Hospital Visiting in Memphis,
Tennessee--Surgeon Powers Reported--Forty Slaves come into Camp
Shiloh--Seven Slaves come from a Plantation seven miles below
Memphis--First Enlistment of Colored Soldiers--Mission Work in Columbus,
Kentucky--Young Colored Man Shot by his Young Master--Turning of
Tables--Return Home--Our Principal, E. A. Haight, Enlisted
CHAPTER XI.
SANITARY WORK.
Organized Freedmen's Relief Association--Solicit Supplies--Academic
Year Opened for 1863-4--Sister Backus and Self leave for Fields of
Suffering--Incidents on the Way--Mission Work in Natchez,
Mississippi--Four Hundred Slaves Hanged and otherwise Tortured--Visit
to the Calaboose--Mission Work in Baton Rouge--Arrival at New
Orleans--Sketch of Persecutions
CHAPTER XII.
MISSION WORK IN NEW ORLEANS.
Mission Work in New Orleans--Soldiers and Prisoners Visited on Ship
Island--Petition of Seventy Soldier Prisoners in behalf of Three
Thousand of their Fellow Prisoners--Appeal in behalf of Ship Island and
Tortugas Prisoners--Mission Work at Plaquemine--Natchez--Capture of a
Rebel steamer--Arrival at Home--Release of the Three Thousand Banished
Union Soldiers
CHAPTER XIII.
FREEDMEN'S AID COMMISSION.
Refugees in Kansas--Children of Want--Afflicted Family--Scenes of
Distress--Agnes Everett--Quantrell's Raid--Poor White
Trash--Hospitals--Supplies Distributed--Refugee Buildings--Orphan
Children--Haviland Home--Thomas Dean a Prisoner--Petition for
Pardon--Pardon Granted--A Southern Clergyman--Mission School--At
Harper's Ferry and Washington.
CHAPTER XIV.
HOME MISSION WORK.
Mission Work and Incidents in
Washington--Murders--Alexandria--Richmond, Virginia--Williamsburg--Fort
Magruder--Yorktown--Suicide--Gloucester Court-house--Fortress
Monroe--Norfolk--Return to Washington--White Woman Whipped.
CHAPTER XV.
EXPERIENCES AMONG FREEDMEN.
A Soldier Prisoner--Interesting
Statistics--Schools--Plantations--Incidents--Return to
Washington--Return Home with Fifteen Orphans and Fifty Laborers--Change
in Orphan Asylum--Mission Work in Covington and Newport,
Kentucky--Mission Work in Memphis, Tennessee--Uncle Philip a Remarkable
Man--Return Home.
CHAPTER XVI.
STATE PUBLIC SCHOOL.
Board of Directors Arrange for Closing the
Home--Discouragements--Relief Comes by
Sleigh-loads--Encouragements--Petitions to the State Legislature to
make the Home a State Institution--Petitions Granted, and the Orphan's
Home becomes the "State Public School," located at Coldwater--Work in
State Public School.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHRISTIAN LABOR AND RESULTS.
Work for the Asylum--Again in Washington--Mission Work--Trial of Henry
Wirtz--Inspecting Soup-houses--Incidents connected with Kendal Green
Camp--Peremptory Order of J. R. Shipherd Closing Asylum--Children
Scattered--Returned Home with Authority from American Missionary
Association to Reopen Asylum--Dangerous Fall--Restored to Asylum
Work--Overtaken with Convulsions--Answer to Prayer in being Restored.
CHAPTER XVIII.
PRESENT CONDITION OF THE FREEDMEN.
Kansas Freedmen's Relief Association--Testimony of Perry
Bradley--Incidents--Persecutions--Prof. Greener--Colored
Republicans--Further Testimony--Negro Woman Killed--Letter from the
South--Atrocities--Refugees in Kansas--Bull-dosing--Kansas
Overfull--Protection Needed--Michael Walsh--Silver Linings.
CHAPTER XIX.
PROSPECTS OF THE FREEDMEN.
Supplies Furnished--Relief Association at Work--Northern
Outrages--Prudence Crandall--Colored Schools--Freedmen's Aid
Schools--Industrial and Agricultural Institute.
ILLUSTRATIONS.
STEEL PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR
THE SLAVEHOLDERS' THREATS.
SLAVE IRONS.
CLARK UNIVERSITY FOR FREEDMEN (CHRISMAN HALL).
MEHARRY MEDICAL COLLEGE.
CHAPTER I.
EARLY LIFE.
At the earnest solicitation of many dear friends I have consented to
leave on record some of the incidents that have fallen under my
personal observation during three-score and ten years.
My father, Daniel Smith, was a native of Eastern New York, and for many
years an approved minister in the Society of Friends. He was a man of
ability and influence, of clear perceptions, and strong reasoning
powers.
My mother, Sene Blancher, was from Vermont; was of a gentler turn, and
of a quiet spirit, benevolent and kind to all, and much beloved by all
who knew her, and was for many years an elder in the same Society.
It is due to my parents to say, if I have been instrumental, through
the grace of God, to bless his poor and lowly of earth, by adapting
means to ends in relieving suffering humanity, it is largely owing to
their influence.
Soon after their marriage, they removed to Kitley Township, county of
Leeds, Canada West (now known as Ontario), where I was born, December
20, 1808. I well remember the perplexities and doubts that troubled my
young mind in trying to find the whys and wherefores of existing facts;
yet I was naturally a happy and playful child. Some remarks made by my
parents over a portion of Scripture father was reading, in which was
the sentence, "and they are no more twain, but one flesh"--"that is a
close relationship; twain is two, no more two but one flesh"--struck me
with wonder and amazement. "Yes," replied mother, "that is a oneness
that is not to be separated, a near relation between husband and wife;
'no more twain, but one flesh.' 'What God has joined together let not
man put asunder.'" It seemed as if every word fastened upon my mind a
feeling of awe at the new thought, that father and mother were one
person. "Then they think just alike, and know all about the other, if
true; father and mother believe it, and they found it in the Bible, and
that," I thought, "must be true. Now for the test--If father and mother
are one, they must know each other's thoughts and whereabouts." After
father had been out a few minutes I asked mother where he was. "Not far
off; may be he's gone to the barn." But he was not there. At my report
she said, "Perhaps he's gone to David Coleman's, or some of the
neighbors." This settled the matter in my mind, that they were not one.
But I gave the same test to try father, which also proved a failure.
But not quite satisfied without further investigation, I asked mother
for permission to go to David Coleman's to play an hour with his little
girls. Little did she know that the object of her little five-year-old
skeptic was to present the test to their father and mother, to see
whether they were one, and found the same result each time.
This settled the question in my mind that one thing in the Bible was
untrue. Father and mother were mistaken in that part of the Bible that
said husband and wife were no more two, but one. For a long time after
this, whenever the Bible was referred to as authority, I would think,
"It may be true, and may not, because I tried one thing it said that
was not true."
Another mystery was hard for me to solve. In asking mother where we
should go if we should jump off the edge of the world, she replied,
"There is no jumping off place, because our world is round, like a
ball, and takes one day and night to roll around, and that makes day
and night." After the little child of six years had studied over this
mysterious problem a short time, she returned with the query, "Why
don't we drop off while underside? and why don't the water spill out
off Bates's creek and our well?" She replied, "Water, as well as every
thing else, is always kept in place by a great law, called gravitation,
that our Heavenly Father made when he made the world," and she said I
would understand more about it when older. But this did not satisfy me;
I wanted to know all about it _then_. As soon as father came in queries
were repeated, but he closed as mother did, that I must wait until I
was older, which made me almost impatient to be old enough to know how
these things could be.
Another subject occupied my childish mind a long time, and was
investigated to the extent of the miniature ability I possessed. And
that was the interesting fact that I discovered one bright evening
while looking at the stars, that our house was just in the middle of
the world; and when we went to grandfather's (a distance of seven
miles), as soon as it was night, I was out in the yard measuring the
distance by stars, but to my surprise, grandfather's house was just in
the middle. For I tried it all around the house, and went to the barn
with my uncles, and could discover no variation. Consequently I must
have been mistaken at home. But on our return I could not find by the
stars but that we were just in the center of creation. Whenever I went
with my parents to a neighbor's for an evening's visit, my first and
foremost thought was to see how far to one side they were. But I always
found myself just in the center of this great world; just as grown-up
children are prone to think their own nation is ahead in arts and
sciences, of all other nations--their own State ahead of all other
States in moral and intellectual improvements--their own town or city,
like Boston, the "hub of the universe." In fact, _we_ are about the
center; our pets more knowing, and our children smarter, than can be
found elsewhere. But as the study of astronomy gives ability to look
upon the vast universe of thousands of worlds much larger than our own,
revolving in their orbits, it develops our intellectual faculties, and
enables us to view the concave appearance of the ethereal blue from a
standpoint widely differing from the occupancy of the center. And when
supreme self is melted away by faith in the blood of the covenant, our
spiritual vision becomes clearer and our miniature minds are expanding,
and we learn to make due allowances for the acts and opinions of
others, that we have called peculiar, because they do not quite accord
with our own usages and tastes.
In 1815 my father removed with his family to Cambria, Niagara County,
Western New York, then a wilderness. Soon after we were settled in our
new home, we lost my baby brother Joseph, which made a deep impression
upon my young heart, and gave me great uneasiness in regard to my own
future happiness, should I be taken away. I found great relief, one
day, while listening to a conversation between father and grandfather,
as to what age children were responsible to their Creator. Father gave
his opinion that ten years, in the generality of children, is the age
that God would call them to an account for sin. Grandfather said that
was about the age he thought children were accountable, and all
children that die previous to that age are happily saved in heaven.
"Yes," said father; "where there is no law there is no transgression."
At this great relief to my troubled heart, I ran out to play with my
brother Harvey, to tell him how long we would be safe, if we should
die, for father and grandfather said children that died before they
were ten years old would go to heaven, and I would be safe almost two
years, and he would be safe a good while longer (as he was two years
and a half younger than myself). "Oh, yes," said he; "and Ira will be
safe a great many years, 'cause he's little, if he should die as little
Josie did." This earliest conviction of sin vanished like the morning
cloud. This idea was so deeply embedded in my young mind, that whenever
I heard of a child's death, my first inquiry was for its age.
If under ten, I was at ease over its safety; but if over ten years, I
was distressed unless I could hear of some words from the one taken
away, that would indicate a preparation for the change of worlds. The
vividness of those early childhood impressions are frequent reminders
of the importance of giving clear explanations to children, in regard
to important religious truths, as their young hearts are much more
impressible than is generally conceded.
EARLY IMPRESSIONS OF SLAVERY AND RELIGION.
During the first six years in our new home, there was no school within
three miles of us, and all the privilege we enjoyed of this kind was a
spelling lesson given daily to three of us, the two little girls of our
nearest neighbor and myself. Our mothers pronounced the words for us
alternately, at their house and ours. In this way we spelled our book
through a number of times. This privilege, with four months in school
previous to leaving Canada, proved a great blessing. As I possessed an
insatiable thirst for knowledge, I borrowed all the easy readers I
could find in the neighborhood. I was especially interested in memoirs
of children and youth, which increased my frequent desire to become a
Christian. I wished to read every book that came within my reach. I
read a few of father's books, designed for more mature minds. I became
deeply interested in John Woolman's history of the slave-trade, of the
capture and cruel middle passage of negroes, and of the thousands who
died on their voyage and were thrown into the sea to be devoured by
sharks, that followed the slave-ship day after day. The pictures of
these crowded slave-ships, with the cruelties of the slave system after
they were brought to our country, often affected me to tears; and I
often read until the midnight hour, and could not rest until I had read
it twice through. My sympathies became too deeply enlisted for the poor
negroes who were thus enslaved for time to efface.
The third or fourth I had ever seen of that race was an old man called
Uncle Jeff. He seemed to serve any one who called upon him for chores,
in our little village of Lockport, that grew up as by magic upon the
Erie Canal. Uncle Jeff was frequently employed by merchants to cry off
their stale articles on the street. At one time the old man, whose head
was almost as white as wool, was crying, "Gentlemen and ladies' black
silk stockin's of all colors for sale," holding them up to view as he
passed along the street, followed by a group of boys crying out,
"Nigger, nigger," and throwing grass and clay at him. At length he
turned to these half-grown boys, looking very sad, as he said, "Boys, I
am just as God made me, an' so is a toad." At this the boys slunk away;
and I felt very indignant in seeing the men who were standing near only
laugh, instead of sharply reproving those ill-behaved children.
Another colored man, named Ben, came to our town with a family who
opened an inn. He was employed mostly in the kitchen, and while Ben was
asleep on the kitchen floor, some rude boys put a quantity of powder in
the back of his pants, and placing a slow match to it left the room,
but watched the process of their diabolical sport through a window, and
soon saw their victim blown up, it was said, nearly to the ceiling. His
hips and body were so badly burned that he was never able to sit or
stoop after this wicked act. He always had to walk with a cane, and
whenever too weary to stand, was compelled to lie down, as his right
hip and lower limb were stiffened. Yet little notice was taken of this
reckless act, but to feed and poorly clothe this life-long cripple, as
he went from house to house, because he was of that crushed and
neglected race.
RELIGIOUS IMPRESSIONS AND EXPERIENCE.
In the Autumn of my thirteenth year, with our parents' permission,
brother Harvey and I attended a little prayer-meeting at our Uncle Ira
Smith's house, near by. Here was singing, experiences given, with
prayer and exhortations, in which young people, as well as those more
advanced in years, took part. All this was new to me, having never
attended any other meeting than of Friends, usually called Quakers. My
father being a minister and mother an elder in that denomination, they
were very conscientious in training their children in all the usages,
as well as principles, of that sect. At this Methodist prayer-meeting a
young girl, but little older than myself, related her experience, and
prayed so earnestly for her young associates, that it took a deep hold
on my mind; and on my way home, on that beautiful evening, I resolved
to seek the Lord until I could know for myself that my sins were
forgiven. Oh, how I wished I was a Christian, as was Hannah Bosworth.
She was so young, and yet she told us how earnestly she sought the
Lord, and found Jesus so precious in the forgiveness of her sins. It
was said in that meeting that God was no respecter of persons, and that
I had read in the Bible; and then Jesus had said, "Suffer little
children to come unto me, and forbid them not;" "and now, this very
night, I _will_ begin to seek the Lord, and I _never_ will give up
trying, if it takes as long as I live, until I receive an evidence that
I am the Lord's child. I want to realize that peace and joy those men
and women expressed in that meeting." As all had retired, I placed a
candle in my brother's hand, and hurried him to bed, that I might know
positively that no human ear could listen to my first attempt to
address my Heavenly Father.
I knelt for the first time in my life, in the rear of our corn crib,
but no words could I find for prayer, and a feeling of fear came over
me, and I arose to my feet. I looked all around me, but no one was in
sight; naught but trees and shrubs of the garden below, and the
ethereal blue, bedecked with the beautiful moon and sparkling stars,
above. Is it possible that He who created this beautiful world can
notice a little girl like me? And the thought occurred that I had
better wait until I was older. But the remarks to which I had just
listened came vividly before me, and I renewed my resolve to pray to
Him who had said, "Suffer little children to come unto me," and again
knelt for prayer; but that feeling of fear increased, until it seemed
as if some one was about to place a hand upon my shoulder, and I again
found myself on my feet. But as no one was in sight, I queried whether
this was not the enemy of my soul, to keep me from prayer, and fell
upon my knees a third time, determined to remain in the position of
prayer until my first petition to my Heavenly Father was presented. And
the prayer of the publican was repeated over and over again, "God be
merciful to me a sinner." These words above all others seemed just for
me. I was a sinner, and mercy was what I wanted. I returned to the
house with a still more fixed resolve to continue asking, with a firmer
purpose never to give over until the evidence of pardoning love was
mine. As I retired, I knelt by my bedside, and repeated the same
prayer, with a few additional words, imploring the aid of the Holy
Spirit to teach me the way of life, and penitential tears began to
flow. Before I slept my pillow was wet with tears, and was turned for a
dry place. As I was reading the Bible through by course, it became more
of a companion than ever before.
The next prayer-meeting was attended, and as they knelt during the
season of prayer I felt an impression to kneel with them. But the cross
was very great and I did not yield. I thought if I did so it would be
reported to my parents, and they would probably forbid my coming to
these little meetings, which I so highly prized. But this was
unprofitable reasoning, increasing the burden instead of bringing the
relief sought. I wept on my way home, and in my evening supplication
renewed my promise to be more faithful, let others do or say what they
would, if the like impression was ever again experienced. With
permission I attended the next prayer-meeting at my uncle's, and, as if
to test my faithfulness, two young women of my intimate associates came
in, and sat one on each side of me. At the first season of prayer, as I
did not have that impression, I felt quite at ease, and thankful to my
Father in heaven for excusing me. But the next united supplication, I
felt that I must unite with them in kneeling, and while one tried to
pull me up by the arm, with saying "I'd be a little dunce if I was in
thy place," the other sister pinched the other arm, "Now, Laura Smith,
be a little Methodist, will thee? I'd be ashamed if I was thee; every
body will make fun of thee." But I kept my position and made no reply,
but secretly prayed for strength in my great weakness. But my fears
were fully realized. It was at once reported that Laura Smith would be
a Methodist if allowed by her parents. And for a long time no
permission was given to attend those little prayer-meetings, my parents
assigning this reason: "This Methodist excitement is unprofitable,
especially for children. They have an overheated zeal, that is not
according to knowledge, and we do not think it best for thee to attend;
we want our children at a suitable age to be actuated by settled
principle, not mere excitement." This reasoning by my dear father
strongly tempted me to give up my resolutions altogether. Until I was
eighteen I felt no liberty whatever in unburdening my troubled heart to
my dear parents. They were unacquainted with the longings of my poor
soul. Like the lone sparrow upon the house-top, I mourned many weeks,
sought the solitary place for reading my Bible, and prayer; often
watered my pillow with tears, and longed for the day, and during the
day longed for the night, in which I might pour out my sorrows to my
Heavenly Father out of sight of human eye. I was conscious that my
sadness was troubling my dear parents. Oh! how I prayed for light to
dispel this darkness and doubt--sometimes ready to conclude that, as it
was my duty to obey my parents, the Lord would excuse me in waiting
until I was of age. Yet in reading the many precious promises of the
Lord Jesus, "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I
will give you rest;" "Seek, and ye shall find," I found fresh courage.
But why do I not find this rest for this weary heart? Why do I not find
the way to seek for the hidden treasure I so much longed for? These
queries were continually revolving in my mind, without a satisfactory
solution. Sometimes I almost concluded that God was too good to send
the beings he created for his own glory to perdition to all eternity,
and all would ultimately be saved; at other times, I could not
reconcile universal salvation with the parable of Lazarus and the rich
man, and was ready to conclude that salvation was for the elected few,
and there were those who could not be saved, and I was among the lost.
In one of these seasons, of almost despair, I ventured to attend a
Methodist meeting held in a private house, in company with my uncle.
Being at his house, I did not go home for permission. The minister was
a plainly dressed man; the opening hymn was new to me, but every line
seemed especially for me:
"God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform"
It was read and sung in an impressive manner. The fourth stanza seemed
specially suited to my case:
"Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He bides a smiling face."
This gave new light, new courage, and fresh hope sprang up, like
streaks of the morning sunbeam in the Eastern sky, preluding the full
blaze of the orb of day. The prayer and the text upon which he based
his remarks were all flowing in the same channel. The exhortation was
to the discouraged and despairing soul to remember that the darkest
time of night was just before the break of day, a remark I had never
before heard. I returned home stronger than ever before, and ventured
to tell mother of the good sermon preached by Isaac Puffer. But she was
again troubled, and reminded me of those we read of in Scripture, who
would compass sea and land to gain one proselyte, that when gained,
"were twofold more the child of hell than themselves." She also said
that my uncles would be well pleased to have me go with them. I assured
her that neither of my four Methodist uncles had ever intimated a word
to me on the subject. "But," said she, "actions sometimes speak louder
than words." This was not designed to discourage me, but darker than
ever was the cloud of unbelief that filled my heart. Was Isaac Puffer a
child of hell? then there is nothing in religion, with any body. It was
all a farce--all mere "overheated zeal, not according to knowledge."
All mere "religious excitement." I well-nigh distrusted all religion,
and father's and mother's religion was the same as others, of no value.
I had groped my way in midnight darkness, trying to find the true way,
when there was none. In this despairing state, while on my way to my
grandfather's on an errand, I halted to listen to the mournful notes of
the forest birds at my left; I looked upon the field of waving grain at
my right, and burst into a flood of tears as I exclaimed, Oh, what a
sin-stricken world is this! Every head of wheat is bowed in mourning
with poor me! Is there no balm in Gilead? is there no physician there
to heal this sin-stricken world, this sin-sick soul of mine? Like a
flash the answer came, Yes, Jesus is that balm; he shed his own
precious blood for me on Calvary, that I might live now, and for
evermore! Yes, the healing balm is applied, and I _am saved!_ Oh, what
a fountain is opened for cleansing! My peace was like an overflowing
river. It seemed as if I could almost live without breathing--my tears
were brushed away by the breath of heaven. I stood a monument of
amazing mercy, praising God with every breath. All nature praising,
instead of mourning as it did a few moments before. O, how changed the
scene! The birds now sent forth their notes of praise! The leaves of
the forest clapped their hands for joy, and the branches waved with
praise! Every head of wheat was now bowed in sweet submission. O, what
a leveling of all nations of the earth was this baptism. I had been
prejudiced against the Irish people, as I never had seen one of that
nation until they came to our town, Lockport (as it was then called),
by hundreds, to work on the Erie canal, that ran through a part of
father's farm; and as they were frequently passing our house drunk, I
was afraid of them. But now every soul seemed so precious, I thought I
could toil all my life long if I could become instrumental in bringing
one soul to the Savior who died to save sinners, though they might be
the greatest drunkards in that or any other nation. Jesus shed his
blood to redeem all who would by faith accept salvation so freely
offered. The African and Indian races were alike objects of redeeming
love. That was a fathomless fountain. After spending a little time in
this reverie, I went from this hallowed place to accomplish my errand,
and met a neighbor, who looked at me earnestly and said, "Laura, what's
the matter? are you sick?" "O, no; I'm not sick," and hurried on. And
the first greeting I received from grandfather was the same query, who
received the same reply. I left for home as soon as the errand was
accomplished, but as I was passing out of the door I met my Uncle
Americus with the same query, who also received the same answer. Oh,
how I wished father and mother could understand me, and the
overwhelming sorrow I had waded through in search of this satisfying
portion.
If any little differences arose among my younger brothers and sister,
all melted away with a word from me. This unalloyed peace remained with
me a number of days, and when the time arrived for the appointed
prayer-meeting at Uncle Ira's, I had a great desire to attend it, and I
hoped, by asking for permission to go, mother might ask for my reason.
In this I was disappointed with a denial. However, I continued to pray
to Him who owned me as his child, to prepare the way in his own time.
My anxiety increased to do something for my dear Savior, who indeed was
chief among ten thousand. I could drop a few words here and there, but
with great timidity, but nothing of my experience in this new life;
that was hid with Christ in God. I was anxious to attend that little
prayer-meeting, where my mind first was arrested on the subject of my
soul's best interests. I often dreamed of earnestly praying or
exhorting in that prayer-meeting, and would awaken myself in the
exercise. I had a longing desire to invite to this gospel feast others,
especially my young associates.
As Isaac Puffer had an appointed meeting at a brother Crane's, half a
mile distant, on Sabbath at four o'clock P. M., I asked father for
permission to attend, hoping thereby to find liberty to open my pent-up
feelings to my dear parents, who so little understood me. But my hopes
were vain. Father said, in reply, "Laura, I want thee never to ask me
to go to a Methodist meeting again."
O, what a blow was this for my trembling frame! The door closed more
tightly than ever before. Not one word could I utter. I left the room,
to find my old resort in the grove, to weep bitter tears of
disappointment. But widely different was this burden, now resting upon
my heart, from that mountain weight of sin and transgression borne a
few weeks previously. I read a few days before of the baptism of the
Lord Jesus, our perfect pattern. But he came to fulfill. Then I read of
Philip and the apostles who baptized after his ascension; and to my
young and limited understanding I accepted the water baptism as an
outward acknowledgment of the saving baptism of the Holy Ghost. I fully
believed I had received the spiritual baptism, but I greatly desired to
follow the Lord Jesus wherever he might lead. I read "Barclay's
Apology" on that subject; yet my childhood mind dwelt much on what I
read in these Bible examples. But to no human being did I present these
impressions. And I also found the example of singing, that I believed
was _vocal_, as I read, "And they sang a hymn and went out." And it
seemed right, for the present, for me to unite with the Methodists,
were it not for the opposition of my parents, that I felt sure would
not exist could they but understand me. It also seemed clearly
impressed upon my mind that, if my mind should become clear to unite
with that branch of the Christian Church, it would be for eighteen or
twenty years at longest. But why not always be my place, if it is my
duty now? was a query that I much dwelt upon. I earnestly prayed that
God would send Caleb McComber to us, an intimate friend of my parents,
and a noted minister among Friends.
Within a week my heart leaped for joy at the announcement by my father
that Caleb McComber was in the neighborhood.
"What has brought him here at this time? His brother (Dr. Smith) is all
right; he has made no trouble of late in drinking," responded mother.
"I do not know, I am sure, what has induced him to come here at this
time, as there is no meeting of business on hand, for him to take this
journey of nearly a hundred miles to attend," rejoined father.
Ah, the Lord has heard and answered prayer! He has heard the cry of
this poor child "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his
benefits." I could, with David, praise him with a full heart, and
sought a lone place to return thanksgiving and praise to him who had so
signally answered my petition, and was confident that the same
All-seeing Eye and Directing Hand would prepare the way for the desired
interview.
The following day being the Sabbath, we listened to a sermon by Caleb
McComber that was thought very singular at that day for a Friend. His
text was 1 Corinthians xii, 6 and 7; "And there are diversities of
operations, but it is the same God which worketh all in all." He
referred to the diversities of denominations, that were as families
composing the one true Church. And in this diversity of operations
there were those whose impressions of duty were clearly given in regard
to complying with outward ordinances, water baptism and the
Lord's-supper; and if these impressions were not complied with, a loss
would be sustained in spiritual life. And he exhorted to faithfulness
in obeying our Lord and Master. This discourse appeared as directly
addressed to this trembling child as did that of Isaac Puffer.
At the close of the meeting, said one of the elders to another, "Did
thou ever hear just such a sermon from a Friend? I thought it sounded
like a Presbyterian discourse." Said another: "What ails Caleb to-day.
I thought he preached like a Methodist." While these remarks were made
I felt confident we had listened to a message from the Great Head of
the true Church by his servant.
As he dined with our nearest neighbor, in company with his
half-brother, Dr. Isaac Smith, and wife, we all walked in company
nearly to our home, and the two young women invited me to call. I
accepted, with the excuse, for a drink of water (hoping for an
opportunity of telling that good man that I desired to have a talk with
him, and for that purpose would call after dinner).
But while waiting for the glass of water, said Caleb McComber, "Child,
how old art thou?"
The reply was, "Thirteen."
"I want thee to tell thy father and mother to come I here at three
o'clock this afternoon, and I want thee to come with them."
I gladly performed my errand, and at three P. M. we were there. After a
little space of silence he addressed the heads of families present,
then directed his remarks to us (the two young women and myself), at
first rather general. Then he said: "I want to say to one of you that
thou hast passed through an experience far beyond thy years; thou hast
known what it was to ask for deliverance from sorrow and darkness, and
thou hast also known what it was to receive the answer of peace from
thy Heavenly Father that the world knows not of. Hold fast that thou
hast received, that no man take thy crown. Be faithful in the little,
and more will be given. Bear in mind that little things are little
things, but to be faithful in little things is something great."
With exhortations to faithfulness and encouragement, this was to me an
undoubted evidence that He whose ear is ever open to the cry of his
children had most signally answered prayer in this clear and definite
searching of my heart. Very near and dear was that faithful
nursing-father brought to this little child's heart. With all freedom,
I could have related to him the obstacles that appeared in the way of
duty with me. But at that hour my feelings were too deep for utterance.
Instead of remaining longer, as was my impression, I returned home with
my parents, with the view of returning for a more private interview
when I could better command my feelings.
When about to return, I began to reason over the propriety of going
back. Certainly that good man had said all I could ask, both in his
sermon and in the religious opportunity in the family. And now there
might be danger of going too far. And there are those two young women,
who made sport of me in that prayer-meeting, where I knelt while others
led in prayer. Now they would make more sport than ever, as there are
so many there I could not speak to him without their knowing it, and I
shrank from going. I feared John Bunyan's "lions in the way;" but if I
had been faithful I would have found them chained, as were his. For it
was hard for me to give up the more private interview, as I was very
anxious to secure an interview between that minister and my dear
parents, as I was sure he understood me much better than they. But I
neglected my duty in this. O, how weak was human nature!
I had previously thought I would never again offend my loving Savior,
but would follow him through evil as well as good report. O, how
precious his cleansing blood appeared to me! It seemed as if the drops
that fell in his agony in the Garden of Gethsemane possessed power to
cleanse a world of sin and pollution. Yet I was not faithful in the
little. Although my parents never after forbade my going to a Methodist
or any other meeting, yet I saw it grieved them as I frequently
attended those prayer-meetings, but never to the neglect of our own,
and was often impressed to speak or offer prayer, but did not yield. I
found, to my sorrow, that these omissions produced poverty of soul, and
often cried, "O, my leanness! my leanness!" In secret many tears were
shed over the loss of that joy that had been my experience.
Little by little the candle of the Lord that shone so brightly became
dim, and at the close of one year I sought the society of the gay and
mirthful, more effectually to drown my bitter regrets for having turned
aside from the path so clearly marked out for me. I fully realized that
the dark cloud overshadowing me was the result of disobedience.
In company with a few of my companions, I attended the funeral of an
infant in our town. The service was conducted by a Baptist minister,
who had just come into the place. There was nothing in his remarks that
attracted my special attention. After the meeting closed, and people
were leaving, the minister passed on a little distance, and turned
back, as if something had been forgotten. Pressing through the crowd,
he ascended the porch, and came directly to me, looking earnestly at
me, as he reached his hand for mine, saying:
"I felt as if I could not leave this place without asking this young
woman a few questions. Have you ever experienced religion?"
This came upon me like a clap of thunder, he, being an entire stranger,
asking a question I never had occasion to answer. I hesitated, as I had
never intimated a word of my experience to any human being. My first
thought was to deny, but like a flash came the words of Jesus, "He that
denieth me before men, him will I also deny before my Father and his
holy angels. No; I can not--I will not, though I die. With this thought
I frankly replied:
"I think I have."
"Do you now enjoy it?"
"I do not"
This relieved me from the dilemma of being a disgrace to the cause of
Christ, as a number of my gay companions were with me, also those
Christian young people to whom I had listened with interest in prayer
and exhortations. But searching remarks from him followed. Still
holding my hand, he said:
"You have known of earnest pleading for the pardon of sin; and you have
known what it was to rejoice, as your prayers were answered. You have
known your duty, and did it not, and have brought yourself into
darkness. Do not occupy this dangerous ground longer. Return to jour
first love. Do your first work over; and He who is abundant in mercy
will again accept you. May God grant his blessing upon you! Good bye."
And he left me bathed in tears.
These earnest words reopened the many wounds that many neglected duties
had made. I could not doubt but Elder Winchell was as truly sent from
God to deliver this message as was Caleb McComber, for whom I prayed in
my distress. But now the Holy Spirit had sought me out, unasked for, to
warn me of the danger in the effort to occupy neutral ground, as I had
concluded to do until I was of age. I saw more clearly that I was
responsible to my Savior, who had done great things for me, whereof I
did rejoice with exceeding great joy.
Again my Bible became my daily companion, with prayer for my Savior's
directing hand. But my parents were again troubled, as those first
impressions returned in full force. I intimated my condition of mind to
my parents, but, with my natural timidity, not as freely as I ought.
They still attributed these impressions to the influence of my
Methodist uncles, and considered their duty was to place these
restraints upon their child. Father and mother had requested to become
members of the Friends' Society while three of their children were
under seven years, and requested for us, making us equivalent to
birthright members, according to the usage of our Society. From the
time of my Christian experience, I was never in sympathy with the
system of birthright membership. I believed it to be a source of
weakness, instead of spiritual life in this or any other Christian
body, and that all members of the Church militant should become united
by a heart-felt experience. I fully realized the loss I was warned to
shun by yielding to the earnest desires of my dear parents, who were
conscientious in their restraint. They said, in after years, that they
were laboring under a mistake, as was their timid child, in not more
faithfully following those early impressions of duty. I was not
faithful in the little, consequently more was withheld. My great
mistake was the lack of faith, in not fully returning to my Father's
house, where the little wandering prodigal would have been received,
and the new best robe again granted, and the rough way would have been
made smooth, and the impassable mountain that seemed to rise so high
would have melted away before the life-giving beams of the Sun of
righteousness. But I yielded to my timidity, and the conclusion was
reached to live a quiet Christian life, with my Bible and secret
communing with my dear Lord and Savior in secret prayer, as I could not
give up a strictly religious life. But dimly did die lamp of life burn,
compared with its former brightness.
The greatest source of retrograding in the divine life is
unfaithfulness in the performance of known duty. Many of the clouds
that overshadow us we bring by withholding more than is meet, and it
tends to poverty of soul. The talent committed to our charge is to be
occupied, and is always doubled when occupied by its possessor; but, as
I saw many, in whom I had confidence as living a quiet Christian
life--and this was more congenial to my natural feeling--I reached the
conclusion to make my Bible and secret prayer my companions as long as
I lived, and a Christian life in the Society of my parents' choice.
At the early age of sixteen I became acquainted with Charles Haviland,
Jr., a young man who was acquainted with the Savior's pardoning love,
whose father and mother were both acknowledged ministers in the Society
of Friends. From him I accepted a proposition of marriage, and on the
3d of 11th month, 1825, our marriage was consummated at Friends'
Meeting, in Lockport, Niagara County, New York, according to the usage
of Friends. The following Spring we commenced housekeeping in our own
home, in Boyalton Township, nine miles east of Lockport, and my dear
parents and family removed to Michigan Territory. Although parting from
them was severe, yet with my young and devoted husband I was contented
and happy as was possible to be, with so many reminders of the cloud
that rested over me in my spiritual horizon, with all my constant
striving for its removal. Phoebe Field, an eminent minister among
Friends, appointed a meeting in our neighborhood, in which she dwelt
upon the necessity of receiving daily nourishment from the true and
living Vine to become fruit-bearing branches, and remarked that there
were those whose religious experience seemed divergent from the manner
in which they were brought up, and through unfaithfulness had well-nigh
lost sight of the highway of holiness, in the mistaken view of
neutrality, when there was not an inch of such ground all the way from
years of responsibility to the grave. We are gathering with Christ or
scattering abroad. This earnest discourse so clearly defined my own
condition, that I renewed my many broken vows, and was almost persuaded
to yield the unsubdued will, and hope was indulged that the Father of
unbounded mercy, in his illimitable love, would again reveal himself in
breaking the bread of life.
September, 1829, we removed to Michigan Territory, and settled in
Raisin, Lenawee County, within three miles of my parents, brothers, and
sister, with our two little sons, to share with others the privations
of a new country, as well as advantages of cheap land. As there were a
number of our Society in this vicinity, a Friends' Meeting was
organized, in which we all had an interest, and endeavored to maintain
it in the usual order of our Society. But no true peace was mine, I was
still a wanderer from the true Church militant. I once knew the good
Shepherd's voice, but was now too far away to recognize it. In these
sad remembrances I sought a subterfuge behind which to hide in a false
rest. Eagerly I read a book on that subject, and drank its plausible
arguments without stint. It was a panacea, a temporary opiate to quiet
the vacillating condition of a restless mind; yet my Bible was not laid
aside, and many portions of Scripture were vigilantly brought to prove
this specious error to be a radical truth; and two years in this dead
faith I lived a dying life. But I found my investigations were not for
the whole truth, but was dwelling upon the love and benevolence of God
to the exclusion of justice as an attribute of the Lord, as well as
mercy, and decided to accept the whole truth, and abide its searchings;
and sought for it in the written Word diligently, as for hidden
treasures In reading Paul's epistle to the Hebrews, chapter vi, I
found, "It is impossible for those who were once enlightened and have
tasted of the heavenly gift, and were made partakers of the Holy Ghost,
and have tasted of the good Word of God, and the powers of the world to
come, if they shall fall away, to renew them again to repentance,
seeing they crucify to themselves the Son of God afresh, and put him to
an open shame." Oh, how these words thrilled my whole being! Again and
again they were reviewed. No Hope! no hope for a lost soul like mine!
were like burning coals upon my poor heart. I was once enlightened and
tasted of the heavenly gift; but how dark have been these years. Oh!
how soon did the lamp of life become dim through disobedience. I can
never again drink of that fountain of love that once filled my soul to
overflowing. But I had fallen away, and could never again be renewed,
having crucified to myself the Son of God afresh, and put him to an
open shame, by not honoring such a glorious Redeemer, as was my own
personal Savior. O, what delusion to have indulged in the vain hope
that I was serving him in a silent, quiet life, and then cover over all
this unrest with the idea that God was too abundant in mercy to cast
off any for whom he died to save. Day and night this terrible thought
followed me for months, "I am a lost soul! irretrievably lost. No hope!
Eternally lost!"
As I had never intimated to my dear companion the vacillating condition
of mind, and the effort in finding rest, neither should he be troubled
with the knowledge that his wife was a lost soul; neither should our
little ones on arriving to years of religious understanding ever know
that their mother was a lost soul. The midnight hour often witnessed
many bitter tears of regret over the awful thought. So near perfect
despair, I looked upon beast, bird, or even the most loathsome reptile,
and grudged their happiness of living and dying without responsibility.
These sad forebodings seriously affected my health, and my anxious
husband and parents feared some serious disease was preying upon me. I
sometimes thought the sooner I sank into the grave the better, as my
doom must be met. O, that I could but claim the privilege of the
prodigal, in returning to the Father's house, and of being accepted,
though a great way off. O that I never had been born! O that I had
followed that loving Savior's voice, so often clearly heard. It is now
too late, too late! O that I had returned to my first love when within
my reach. But I rejected the teaching of the Holy Spirit, and justly am
I now rejected. In this distressing despair I opened a little book--the
Christian experience of one whose exercises of the mind traced through
my own experience, even to my present despairing state, as nearly as I
could have related it in my own words. Through the instrumentality of a
similar experience in another, who was restored and was long a useful
Christian, I was encouraged to return, and found the healing balm.
Never can I forget the thrill of joy that ran through my whole being as
I laid aside that little book. I saw that I had misapprehended the
meaning of the passages of Scripture that seemed to describe my
condition, and that served to confirm my despair. I saw that those
referred to, had so far fallen, and so often rejected the Holy Spirit's
teachings, as not to realize their condition, and therefore lost sight
of the necessity of a Redeemer. This was not, nor ever had been, my
condition. Then I read Esau's seeking the blessing, "carefully with
tears," that I had also long dwelt upon as my condition. Here, too, was
a vivid thought, that he sought the lost blessing to subserve self,
instead of glorifying God. Here the bright star of hope pierced through
the cloud. Is it possible that I can go with confidence to that Father
who has so long borne with this unbelieving, doubting, rebellious
child? Why has he not cut off this cumberer of the ground long ago? His
long-suffering and unbounded mercy, O how free! how unfathomable! With
many tears of gratitude, mingled with new hope, new aspirations, the
bright beam of day radiating from every promise, I could now fully
accept the Lord Jesus as my mediator and restorer. By faith, I could
fully trust the poor prodigal in his hand. O, what losses we sustain
through unbelief. I have felt most easy in leaving my experience on
record, as a warning to young Christians to shun the depth of despair
into which I tank through unfaithfulness and unbelief. "By grace ye are
saved, through faith." Increasing faith, strength, and peace, with
restored health, was my rich experience.
ANTI-SLAVERY WORK.
Our family, with others, united with Elizabeth Margaret Chandler, who
organized in our neighborhood the first anti-slavery society in our
State. This was unsatisfactory to the ruling portion of our Society, as
it had cleared its skirts many years ago by emancipating all slaves
within its pale. Elizabeth M. Chandler was of the Hicksite division of
Friends, and as Presbyterians and other religious denominations came
into our anti-slavery society, meetings were frequently opened with
prayer, and that was thought to be "letting down the principles of
ancient Friends." And the subject of slavery was considered too
exciting for Friends to engage in, by many Friends of that day. I began
to query whether it would not be a relief to me, and also to my
friends, to become disconnected with that body, as I saw clearly my
path of duty would not be in accordance with the generality of our
Society. After making it a subject of earnest prayer, I became settled
as to the course to pursue, and concluded to unburden my heavy heart to
my parents as I had done, to my beloved companion, which I did after
our Sabbath meeting. We mingled our tears together. Father referred, to
the same proscribing spirit they exercised over me in my early
experience, that was now exercised over them. Father and mother wished
me to defer sending in my request to become disconnected with our
Society, as they, too, might think best to pursue the same course. This
was a severe trial for each of us. Father had been an acknowledged
minister of the Gospel nearly thirty years, and mother occupied the
station of an elder nearly the same time. We, too, had become active
members in this branch of the Christian Church. But the conclusion was
fully reached within two months after our little conference over this
important step, and the following letter of resignation was sent to our
business meeting:
"We, the undersigned, do say there is a diversity of sentiment existing
in the Society on the divine authority of the Holy Scriptures, the
resurrection of the dead, and day of judgment, justification by faith,
the effect of Adam's fall upon his posterity, and the abolition of
slavery, which has caused a disunity amongst us; and there being no
hope of a reconciliation by investigation, ministers being told by
ruling members that there is to be no other test of the soundness of
their ministry but something in their own breasts, thus virtually
denying the Holy Scriptures to be the test of doctrine;--we, therefore,
do wish quietly to withdraw from the Monthly Meeting, and thus resign
our right of membership with the Society of Friends."
This resignation was signed by Daniel Smith, Sene Smith, Charles
Haviland, Jun., Laura S. Haviland, Ezekiel Webb, Sala Smith, and
fourteen others. A few returned, but the greater united with other
Christian bodies, A few months after this there was a division in the
Methodist Episcopal Church, on account of slavery. They were called
Wesleyan Methodists. As this branch of our Father's family was the
nearest our own views, we were soon united with them. Our
testifications from Friends were said by other denominations to be
sufficient to be accepted as Church letters, as our offenses named
therein were "non-attendance of meetings for discipline, and attending
meetings not in accordance with the order of our Society." This was the
import of nearly or quite all who were disowned of our company. At that
day, all were dealt with as offenders, and were regularly disowned, as
our discipline at that time made no provisions for withdrawals. About a
year after this, the yearly meeting of Friends in Indiana divided on
the subject of slavery. No slavery existed in the society; yet its
discussion was deemed improper, and created disunity sufficient for
severing that body for a number of years, when they were invited to
return, without the necessity of acknowledgments.
About this time we opened a manual labor school on our premises,
designed for indigent children. With that object in view, we took nine
children from our county house (Lenawee), and I taught them, with our
four children of school age, four hours each day. The balance of the
day was divided for work and play. The girls I taught house-work,
sewing, and knitting. The boys were taken into the farm work by my
husband and brother Harvey Smith. As our county superintendents of the
poor gave us no aid, we found our means insufficient to continue our
work on this plane. After one year of this work we secured homes for
the nine children, except two invalids, who were returned to the county
house. We then placed our school on a higher plane, on the Oberlin plan
of opening the school for all of good moral character, regardless of
sex or color. At that day (1837) there was not a school in our young
State that would open its door to a colored person. And as my brother,
Harvey Smith, had attended the Oberlin Institute, he united with us in
this enterprise, and sold his new farm of one hundred and sixty acres,
and expended what he had in erecting temporary buildings to accommodate
about fifty students. The class of students was mostly of those
designing to teach. Our principals were from Oberlin during the first
twelve years of the "Raisin Institute." The first three years it was
conducted by P. P. Roots and his wife, Anna B., who were excellent
Christians. When they left, to open a similar institution at West
Point, Lee County, Iowa, John Patchin became their successor, and
conducted the school with equal ability three years. After uniting in
marriage with a teacher in Oberlin, he was assisted by his wife. These
thorough teachers earned for our institute the name of being one of the
best in our State. Students were sought for teachers in our own and
adjoining counties. Although our abolition principles were very
unpopular at that day, as we generally had from one to three colored
students in our school, yet the thorough discipline given in the
studies drew the young people of the best intellect from the
surrounding country. There were those who came from fifty to one
hundred miles to prepare for teaching or for a collegiate course.
Hundreds of young people who enjoyed the privileges our school afforded
came to us with their prejudices against colored people and our
position in regard to them; but they soon melted away, and went they
knew not where. It was frequently said if we would give up the vexed
abolition question, and let the negroes alone, Raisin Institute would
become the most popular school in the State.
As a sample of many others, I will notice a young lady from Jackson
County, who was brought to us by her father to become qualified for
teaching. But her sensibilities were so shocked at meeting in her
grammar-class a colored man that she returned to her room weeping over
her disgrace, and resolved to write her father to come and take her
home immediately. But the other young women persuaded her to attend the
recitations assigned her, when to her surprise the same young colored
man was in the advanced arithmetic class. And while impatiently waiting
for her father to come and take her from this "nigger school" (as she
and many others called it), a letter came from him advising her to
remain, as he had expended so much in fitting her for two or three
terms there; although if he had known that a negro would have been
allowed to attend her class he would not have taken her there. She soon
became reconciled, and before a half-term closed, when she threatened
to leave at all events (as she read her father's letter), she came to
that colored man to assist her in intricate parsing lessons. Before the
close of the first term she as frequently applied to James Martin, her
colored classmate, for assistance in solving difficult problems in
mathematics as to any of the others. She was one of our best students;
but this deep-rooted prejudice went, she knew not how, as with very
many others.
As to religious privileges in our school, our prayer-meetings were held
bi-weekly, Sabbath and Wednesday evenings, and ministers of various
denominations frequently appointed meetings in our school on the
Sabbath. While the Rev. John Patchin had charge of the institution he
generally preached Sabbath evening, instead of the prayer-meeting.
In the third year of our school our two older sons made a profession of
religion, with a number of other students, which was cause of great
rejoicing. Surely, we were blessed above measure. Within two years
after we were blessed with another shower of divine favor in the
conversion of our two older daughters. Not unfrequently were these four
children's voices uplifted in vocal supplication at the family altar.
We were surely repaid more than a hundred-fold for all our toiling, and
heavy burdens borne in founding Raisin Institute. As the fleeing
fugitive ever found a resting-place and cheer in our home, we richly
earned the cognomen of "nigger den;" yet Heaven smiled and blessed our
work. We had many sympathizing friends in the Society from which we
were disconnected as members, even with those who had deemed us too
radical. There was unity with us in our work that brought us together
in after years.
CHAPTER II.
BEREAVEMENTS.
Our last chapter left us rejoicing in success, but how soon did deepest
sorrow take its place. A dream seemed sent to prepare me for the severe
ordeal so near at hand. I thought I was standing in our front yard
looking eastward and an angel sitting on a bay horse appeared in the
place of the sun's rising, coming to earth on some mission, gliding
over the tree tops toward our house, where were father, mother, my
sister Phoebe, and my husband, who held in his arms our little babe. I
started to inform them that an angel was coming to earth on some
errand, when his advance was so rapid I was likely to lose sight of
him, and halted to watch his flight. He seemed to alight in our yard
near me, and smiled as he said, "Follow thou me." "I will," I
responded, as soon as I bid Charles and our folks farewell. The
beautiful personage assumed a firmer tone, as he said, "Let the dead
bury their dead, but follow thou me." At this command I responded, "I
will," and followed him to the graveyard, where he left me. And I awoke
with that angelic figure, with that sweet, yet solemn, voice ringing in
my ear.
I related the dream, with its clear impression in my mind, to my
husband, who replied, "That is a significant dream, and I think
indicates death. I think we shall be called to part with our infant
daughter Lavina; and it is quite evident that consumption is fast
hastening our sister Phoebe to her long home." She was my own sister,
who married my husband's brother, Daniel Haviland. He continued his
remarks, by making suggestions as to the course we would feel it best
to pursue about a burying-place for our little daughter, in case of a
refusal of Friends to allow a plain marble slab, with her name and date
of birth and death in their burying-ground; and suggested the corner of
our orchard as a pleasant place, to which I assented. After spending
half an hour in this conversation, he went out to his work. I prayed
for my Savior's hand to lead me in whatever trial it was necessary for
me to pass through.
Little did I think of the heavier stroke which was first to fall. A few
days after this dream I was charging myself with being visionary; yet a
few of these most impressive dreams, I believe, have been designed for
our instruction. My husband was seized with a heavy cold, accompanied
by a severe cough, that was increasing; yet he was able to be about the
house and barn, giving directions, as to outdoor work, but nothing
appeared alarming, when I was aroused by a startling dream of a coffin
being brought into our front room by four men, of whom I inquired who
was dead. The answer was, "A connection of yours." "I want to see him,
for that coffin appears to be for a small man," was my reply. "He is a
small man," was the rejoinder, "and you shall see him." Upon this, the
closed coffin was brought to me, and I arose and followed the
pall-bearers to the graveyard. As the people were standing around the
open grave to see the coffin lowered, I saw a little child standing on
the very edge of the grave opposite to me. I exclaimed, "Do take that
child away, for it will cave into the grave after its father!" At that
instant the light sand under its feet gave way, and, as it struck the
coffin, the loud, hollow sound awoke me, trembling as with a fit of
ague, and with the strong impression that I was soon to part with my
beloved companion and infant daughter, although both were sweetly
sleeping by my side. With this thrill through my whole being, I
resorted to prayer for their restoration to health, if consistent with
the divine will.
Although my husband had enjoyed good health a number of years, and had
not for seven years previously called upon a physician, yet I now
resolved to persuade him to call for one at once. As the clock struck
four, and as I was leaving the bed to light the fire, my husband awoke,
and said he had enjoyed the most refreshing sleep he had had since
taking this cold, and felt so well he thought he soon should be rid of
it. Whenever I spoke the chattering of my teeth revealed my agitation,
and he expressed fear lest I should be ill from the hard chill. But
little did he understand the upheavings of my troubled heart. Soon a
severe paroxysm of coughing gave the opportunity to suggest the idea of
sending for a physician. At length he consented, as he said, to please
me, as he thought this cough would soon give way. But while I went to
our boy's study room to awaken our son Harvey to go for the doctor, a
severe pain in the region of the lungs was cutting every breath.
The doctor was soon with us, but he thought there were no discouraging
symptoms apparent. I seat for Father Haviland, who also thought, as did
the doctor, that I was unreasonably troubled; but during the following
night he expressed doubts of recovery himself, and requested his will
to be written, which was done. As his fever increased, great effort was
made to control our feelings in his presence. At one time, as he awoke,
he discovered fast-falling tears, and said: "Do not weep for me, my
dear wife; remember those beautiful lines:
'God moves in mysterious way,
His wonders to perform.'
We are not to
'Judge the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face'
Our separation will be short at longest. Then we shall be reunited
where there is no sorrow--no more dying--in that glorious home. Two
days ago there seemed a little cloud; but prayer was answered, and the
cloud was all removed. The overshadowing now is that of peace and
love." He called for the children. Looking upon us all, he said, "O,
how dear you all are to me!" Calling each by name, he gave advice and
exhortations as none but a departing husband and father could leave
with his family--a legacy more precious than all the golden treasures
of earth. Then he added: "I want you, my dear children, to promise me
that you will meet your father in heaven. Will you meet me there?"
Taking our little babe in his hands, he kissed it and said, "Dear
little Lavina will soon be with her father," and closed with the
prayer: "O Lord, I commit my dear wife and children into thy bands.
Thou art the widow's God, and a loving Father to fatherless children."
The words of the dying Christian, beginning
"What's that steals, that steals upon my frame?
Is it death-is it death?"
were sung by his bedside, and as the last line,
"All is well-all is well,"
was reached, he raised his hands, and repeated, "O, hallelujah to the
Lamb!" Then, turning to me, he added, "My dear, I want these lines sung
at my funeral." His last words were, "Come, Lord Jesus, thy servant is
ready," and with a sweet smile his happy spirit was wafted home, March
13, 1845.
His disease was inflammatory erysipelas, at that time entirely new, and
not understood by our physicians. It passed through our portion of the
State, a sweeping epidemic, in the Spring of 1845, and proved fatal in
most cases. My dear mother, who was with us during this week of sorrow,
was taken home with the same disease, and in one week her happy spirit
took its flight to God who gave it. She, too, left us hi the triumphs
of faith. She had not left us an hour before brother Daniel came for me
to go to his dying wife, as she was calling for mother, and he did not
dare inform her that mother was dangerously ill. I took my little
emaciated babe upon a pillow, and went to my dear sister, who was so
soon to leave us. Her first query was, "How is our dear mother?"
"Mother is a happy spirit in heaven," was the reply, "and sister Phoebe
will soon meet her there."
Her reply was: "It is well; but I had hoped to meet her once more in
this world--yet we'll soon meet, to part no more forever. She soon
followed brother Charles; but I trust we will all meet one day, an
unbroken band. O how I wish I could see brother Ira!" an absent brother
for whom she had often expressed great anxiety in regard to his
spiritual and everlasting welfare.
The same burden of soul for the same brother had also rested on the
heart of our sainted mother, whose funeral took place two days later.
Within one week sister Phoebe died in peace. Here was the third wave of
sorrow rolling over us.
From this house of mourning I was removed to my home with the same
disease that had taken my husband and mother; and a number of our
neighbors Were going the same way. My father and father-in-law thought
me dangerously ill-chills and fever, with stricture of the lungs, that
made respiration painful. They were very anxious to have the best help
that could be obtained at once; "for," said father, "what is done for
thee must be done quickly" I told him that every one who had been taken
with this disease had died, as physicians of each school did not
understand it. But I would return to my home, as they suggested; but
felt most easy to trust myself with water treatment, and would like to
take a shower-bath every two hours, and try that treatment twelve
hours. This was done, and every bath brought relief to respiration, and
my lungs became entirely free, though my neck and throat were still
badly swollen and inflamed. Cold applications, frequently applied, soon
overcame that difficulty, and in three days the disease seemed entirely
conquered.
A relapse from taking cold, however, threw me into a stupor; but I was
aroused by an expression of a neighbor, as he said: "She is not
conscious, and never will be, unless something is done; and if she were
a sister of mine a doctor would be here as soon as I could bring him."
"I will see if I can get an expression from her," said my brother
Harvey.
"If we can only learn mother's wish it shall be granted," said my
anxious son Harvey.
As I heard their remarks a strong impression came over me that if I
were placed in charge of a physician I should not live two days, but if
I could tell them to shower my head and neck often I would recover. As
I looked upon my anxious fatherless children around my bed I made an
effort to speak, but my parched and swollen tongue could not for some
time utter a word. The answer to earnest prayer came from Him who
numbers even the very hairs of our head. As my brother took my hand,
saying, "If you wish a physician press my hand, or if you wish water
treatment move your head on the pillow," I could not move my head in
the least, and my only hope was to say no. When asked if I wished a
doctor sent for, I prayed that my tongue might utter words of direction
for the sake of my fatherless children, and said, "No."
"Do you want cold compresses, or shall we gently shower over a thin
cloth on the swollen and inflamed portion of your neck and head?"
"Shower."
"Cold or tepid?"
"Well."
"If you mean well-water, how much?"
"Big pitcher."
"How often?"
"Twenty minutes."
Said my son Harvey, "It shall be done, if I sit by her every minute
to-night."
I felt a positive impression that my Heavenly Father had answered my
prayer directly, and granted an assurance, in the token of recovery,
and I praised the Lord for his "loving kindness, O, how free." With
this assurance I fell back in a stupor, except a dreamy consciousness
of their showering, which was faithfully done, with the assistance of
my brother. At twelve o'clock I awoke, and inquired where all the
people were that filled the room a little while before, and was
surprised to learn the hour of night. They said, as my breathing became
more natural, the neighbors had left and the children retired.
I could speak easily, and the purple appearance of the skin had
disappeared. In the morning the pain was entirely gone, but the
soreness was still severe. But with frequent changes of compresses
during the day, the swelling very much subsided. I wondered why father
did not come, as he had not been to see me since sister Phoebe's
funeral. My brother informed me that he had a chill during the funeral,
and had not been able to leave. As he had a few fits of the ague some
weeks previously, I supposed it was a return of that disease. The day
following brother Sala came, and in reply to my inquiry after my
father, said he was no better, but sent me a request to be very careful
of myself, and hoped I would soon recover, and left in seeming haste to
see brother Patchin. But I sent for him to come and tell me more about
father. He soon came with brother Patchin and brother Dolbeare. He then
told me that father had the same disease that had taken my husband and
our mother, and he also said that it was father's request that for the
sake of my large family of children, who were recently bereft of their
father, that I would give up the idea of coming to see him.
But I could not be satisfied without going to see my dear father once
more, and yet, the pleading of my dear children was almost too much to
forego. "We have just lost our father; now what should we do if our
mother should be taken from us?" "But if I am rolled in quilts and laid
on a bed in the wagon, I am confident I can be taken to father's house
safely"--distant nearly three miles. In this way I was taken to my
dying father, though unable to walk across the room without assistance.
As soon as he learned of my coming, he directed them to lay me on the
bed until I was rested. In a few minutes he sent them to bring me to
him. As my son and brother led me to his bedside, he placed the cold
purple fingers over my pulse, and said, "I am so glad to see thee, but
I feared it would be too much for thee to bear. There is a little
feverish excitement about thee yet. I am more concerned for thee than
for the rest of my children, on account of thy large family, that will
so much need their mother's counsel and care. I want to say to thee,
Look up to the widow's God for guidance, for wisdom from him is so much
needed, with the heavy responsibilities now resting upon thee. Do not
allow these bereavements to crush thy feeble frame. I have feared they
had already seriously affected thy health. I know thy anxiety to bring
up thy children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. And he will
grant ability to lead them to the Lamb of God, who shed his precious
blood for us all." With other advice, he became weary, and said, "Now
take her back to the other room, and lay her on the bed until rested."
And during the few hours he lived he frequently sent for me to talk a
few minutes at a time, watching my pulse each time, until within a few
moments of the last farewell to earth.
There were six of his children present, to whom he gave his farewell
blessing, leaving a bright evidence that all was well with him. "In me
there is no merit. I am fully trusting in the merit of my crucified
Savior, who shed his own precious blood for my redemption. I can say
with Job, 'I know that my Redeemer lives,' and because he lives I shall
live also." His last words, almost with his last breath, were, "Here
she comes," and left this tabernacle for the building not made with
hands, eternal in the heavens. Father and mother were lovely in their
lives, and in their death were only two weeks divided. It seemed that
my last earthly prop was gone. Three weeks later my youngest child
followed her father and grandparents to the spirit home. Within six
weeks, five of my nearest and dearest ones were taken from me.
There was hardly a family within two miles of us but was bereft of one
or two loved ones by this epidemic. Five widows (myself included) at
one time were standing around the death-bed of a near neighbor. Our
female principal at that time, Emily Galpin, was taken with this
epidemic, and died after three days' illness. A few hours previous to
her death she requested a season of prayer, in which her husband, Rev.
Charles Galpin, led. Her prospect was bright, and, clearly foreseeing
the ransomed throng she was soon to join, said she, "Oh! how vain, how
transitory, does all earthly treasure appear at this hour--a mere
bubble upon the water." About a half an hour before she left us, she
said, "Hark! don't you hear that beautiful music? Oh! what music; I
never heard anything like it! Don't you hear it?" "No, we do not hear
it." Being in an ecstasy, she exclaimed, "Look at that heavenly choir.
Don't you see them? Don't you hear that sweetest of all music?" "We do
not see them nor hear them." "There--they have left." A few minutes
before her happy spirit took its flight, she again looked up very
earnestly. "There they are again. Oh, how sweet! how beautiful!" And
taking leave of her husband and two children, sister and
brother-in-law, and of all present, committing her dear ones to the
keeping of the Lord Jesus, with the request that the two lines,
"Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee,"
be placed upon the marble slab to mark her resting place, she fell
asleep in Jesus.
Such fatality never before, nor since, visited Raisin as is 1845. In
those days of sorrow commingled with the rest of faith, that brought
peace and joy even in affliction, my only reliance was the widow's God,
for wisdom I so much needed in the double responsibilities now resting
upon me.
After the death of my sweet babe, twenty-two months of age, and my
restoration to health, I looked over amounts of indebtedness with dates
when due. I made an estimate of costs of harvesting and marketing the
twenty acres of wheat and other grains, and what must be retained for
family use; and found I would be able to reach only about half the
amount due the following Autumn. I called on all our creditors within
reach to inform them of probabilities, unless I could find sale for a
portion of the stock. But none of the creditors wanted any of it. Said
one, to whom the largest amount was due, "You do not think of taking
your husband's business and carrying it forward, do you?" I replied, "I
thought of trying to do the best I could with it." With a look of
surprise, he said firmly, "You are very much mistaken, Mrs. Haviland;
you can not do any such thing; you had much better appoint some man in
whom you have confidence to transact your business for you." I informed
him I had seven minor children left me, and I found seven hundred
dollars of indebtedness, and it would cost money to hire an agent Then,
I ought to know just where I stand, to enable me to look closely to
expenditures. "Well, you can try it, but you'll find your mistake
before six months have passed, and you'll see you had better have taken
my advice." I knew I was not accustomed to business of this sort. All
the other creditors whom I had seen spoke very kindly. Although these
words were not unkindly spoken, yet they were saddening to my already
sad heart.
I was too timid to go to the probate judge with any sort of ease for
instruction. In looking around me for some female friend to accompany
me, I could find but very few who were not undergoing like trials with
myself, consequently I must submit to these new experiences, as
whatever was right for me to do was proper. I depended upon an all wise
guiding Hand, who is ever ready to reach it forth to the trusting
child. I wrote to one, a few miles distant, to whom was due eighty
dollars the ensuing Fall, that forty dollars would be all I should be
able to meet. He called in a few days, and introduced himself saying
that he had received a statement from me that I could only pay him the
coming Fall fifty per cent on the eighty-dollar note he held against my
husband. Said he, in a hurried manner, "I called to let you know that I
_must have it all_ when it is due, as I have a payment to make on my
farm at that time, and I have depended on that" I told him I would
gladly pay him every penny of it the coming Fall, but it would be
impossible, as there were other demands equally pressing. "Very well,
that is all I have to say, madam; I can not accept any such
arrangement; I shall put in a way to bring it. Good-by."
He left in haste for me to ponder all these things over, in doubts as
to my ability to meet all these rough places of outside life. Perhaps I
had better leave this business with some man to deal with men. But
prayer to the widow's God and comforting promises were my companions.
Here was my only refuge and shelter in these storms. As I retired with
a burdened heart, that I was endeavoring to cast at the feet of my
Savior, the widow's burden-bearer, I had a sweet dream of an angelic
host, that filled my room with a halo of glory, settled on every face,
and those nearest my bed appeared in the form of persons dressed in
beautiful attire; others were sweet faces that looked upon me with
smiles of peace. As one took my hand, a familiar feeling sprang up,
that gave me confidence to ask for the name. "My name is Supporter."
And looking at the one standing near, "And what is his name?" "That is
a woman, and her name is Influencer-of-hearts." Pointing to another
still more glorious in appearance, "And who is that one?" "That is
Searcher-of-hearts." "Then you all bear the name of your missions to
earth, do you?" "We do," replied Supporter. As I looked over this host
that filled my room I burst into a flood of tears for joy. I exclaimed,
"Oh! what missions are yours! so many wayward hearts to influence, so
much of sin and wickedness that reigns in this world to search out." At
this said Searcher of hearts, "Support her, for she needs it" "I do,"
and he reached for my other hand, and as both of my hands were held by
Supporter, I realized a wave of strength to pass over me, filling my
soul. I awoke in an ecstacy. Yea, I will cast my care on Jesus and not
forget to pray. Calm and sweet was this confidence in being cared for,
and supported by an almighty arm.
A few days after I saw the exacting man coming through my gate, which,
for a moment, caused a dread; but the second thought was, _all,_ all is
with my Savior. I met him with the usual greeting, and said, "You have
called to see about that claim you have against me." "Yes, I have
called to inform you that I shall not want any thing from you next
Fall, and perhaps shall not want more than half next year, as I have
received one hundred dollars that I had supposed was lost, and as I was
coming within two miles I thought I would call and let you know of my
conclusion." While I thanked him for the favor, secret praise ascended
to Him who melts away the mountain that seems impassable, making a way
where there seemed no way.
This may seem a small matter, but for me at that time it was a reason
for rejoicing at this unexpected turn of affairs. It was but one of
many similar cases, and none can more fully realize the blessing of
these reliefs than the widow of nearly two-score years, who never
previous to widowhood knew the burden of outside work in providing for
a large family, which was now added to continued care of the Raisin
Institute. Many night plans, for day execution, were made. I soon found
sale for forty acres of the one hundred and sixty, which relieved me of
the most pressing demands.
At times responsibilities were so great, and burdens so crushing, that
I was almost ready to falter. My greatest anxiety was to guide my dear
children aright. The four older ones had resolved to follow the dear
Redeemer, but the slippery paths of youth were theirs to walk in. The
consideration of these multiform cares at one time seemed of crushing
weight. I questioned whether the burden I had so often left at the foot
of the cross I had not taken up again, and whether I had as fully
consecrated self, with my dear children, to the Lord as he required. I
was endeavoring fully to yield _all_ into my Redeemer's hands for
safe-keeping. This was my constant prayer, yet this heavy burden during
a few days seemed unfitting me for the every-day duties devolving upon
me. In family devotion I opened to the fifty-fourth chapter of Isaiah,
where I found precious promises that I accepted for my own, and the
heavy burden for my children was uplifted. Never did I experience
greater liberty in prayer, or exercise a stronger faith. Surely the
silver lining to this cloud appears. "All thy children shall be taught
of the Lord" were precious words. I was afflicted and tossed with
tempest, but a sweet promise followed. All the way through that chapter
the Comforter appeared with rich promises. With these before me I could
freely leave all my burden with the Lord. I saw by the eye of faith all
my seven children made acquainted with their Creator in the days of
their youth. Although I never ceased asking, yet there has seemed an
accompanying assurance. When from ten to sixteen years of age, my seven
children yielded by living experience to the Savior's loving
invitation, "Come unto me," that hour and day was victorious through
faith. That weight of burden never again returned! The entire yielding
all into the care and keeping power of Him who doeth all things well,
at that hour was complete. I could say, "He leadeth me," without a
shadow of doubt.
As fugitive-slaves were still making their resting-place with us, I
hired one of them, named George Taylor, a few months through hay-making
and harvest. He had made his escape from a Southern master who was
about to sell him farther south. Once before he had made an
unsuccessful attempt at freedom, but was captured and placed in irons,
until they made deep sores around his ankles. As he appeared very
submissive, the sorest ankle was relieved. Being so badly crippled, he
was thought safe. But supplying himself with asafetida, which he
occasionally rubbed over the soles of his shoes, to elude the scent of
bloodhounds, he again followed the north star, and finally reached our
home. His ankles were still unhealed. He had succeeded in breaking the
iron with a stone, during the first and second days of his hiding in
the woods. He was an honest Christian man of the Baptist persuasion.
MARRIAGE OF TWO CHILDREN.
On June 6, 1846, my oldest son, Harvey S., was married to Huldah West,
of Adrian, and my oldest daughter, Esther M., was at the same hour
married to Almon Camburn, of Franklin, both of our own county. The
mother's earnest prayer was, that these children might prove each
other's burden-sharers, thereby doubling the joys, as well as dividing
the sorrows, of life. My daughter's husband was one of our students,
and in some of her studies a classmate.
We were fortunate in again securing brother Patchin to finish the
academic year in our institution. Though the cloud looked dark that
overhung our institution, by the sudden deaths of my husband, and
sister Emily Galpin, which caused her bereaved husband to leave as soon
as his place could be filled by a successor, we had the consciousness
that our school was taking a deep hold on the minds of the community at
large, as well as exercising a marked influence upon the young people
who were enjoying its privileges. We found an increasing interest in
abolition principles throughout our community. In this we praised God
and took courage.
CHAPTER III.
ANTI-SLAVERY EXPERIENCES.
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."
"Man, I fear neither your weapons nor your threats; they are powerless.
You are not at home--you are not in Tennessee. And as for your
property, I have none of it about me or on my premises. We also know
what we are about; we also understand, not only ourselves, but you."
Pale and trembling with rage they still shook their pistols in my face,
and Chester, in a choked voice, exclaimed: "I'll--I'll--I won't say
much more to you--you're a woman--but that young man of yours; I'll
give five hundred dollars if he'll go to Kentucky with me."
Just then the conductor appeared and cried out: "What are you doing
here, you villainous scoundrels? We'll have you arrested in five
minutes." At this they fled precipitately to the woods, and the last we
saw of these tall and valiant representatives of the land of chivalry
were their heels feat receding in the thicket.
Of course, this brave exhibition of rhetoric and valor called out
innumerable questions from the passengers; and from there on to Adrian,
though already terribly fatigued, we had to be continually framing
replies and making explanations.
Among the people of Sylvania the news spread like wildfire, and it was
reported that over forty men were at the depot with hand-spikes and
iron bars, ready to tear up the track in case the Hamilton family had
been found on the train bound for Toledo.
When we arrived at Adrian my oldest son, Harvey, and Willis were there
to meet us; and when we told Willis that Elsie's old master and his son
had but an hour previously pointed pistols at our heads and threatened
our lives, he could hardly speak from astonishment. Harvey said my
letter arrived before sunrise, but that no one believed I had any thing
to do with it. However, as the porter swore he saw me write it,
Professor Patchin and J. F. Dolbeare were sent for; but they also
distrusted its validity and the truthfulness of the bearer.
Elsie had no faith in it at all. "If," said she, "the old man is so
very sick, as he hasn't seen us for years, they could bring him any
black man and woman, and call them Willis and Elsie, and he'd never
know the difference; and as for that letter, Mrs. Haviland never saw
it. I believe the slave-holders wrote it themselves. They thought, as
she was a widow, she'd have a black dress, and you know she hasn't got
one in the house. And where's the pink aprons and green striped
dresses? And there's no south bed-room in this house. It's all humbug;
and I sha'n't stir a step until I see Mrs. Haviland."
Said another: "These things look queer. There's no bureau in the west
room."
The porter, seeing he could not get the family, offered Willis ten
dollars if he would go to Palmyra with him, but he refused. He then
offered it to my son Harvey if he would take Wills to Palmyra.
"No, sir; I shall take him nowhere but to Adrian, to meet mother," was
Harvey's reply.
After their arrival in Adrian the porter again offered the ten dollars,
and Lawyer Perkins and others advised Harvey to take it and give it to
Willis, as they would protect him from all harm. But when I came I told
him not to touch it; and the porter, drawing near, heard my explanation
of the letter, and the threatening remarks of the people, who declared
that if slave-holders should attempt to take the Hamilton family or any
other escaped slave from our city or county they would see trouble. He
soon gave us the benefit of his absence, and we went home with thankful
hearts that public sentiment had made a law too strong to allow
avaricious and unprincipled men to cast our persecuted neighbors back
into the seething cauldron of American slavery.
All that day our house was thronged with visitors, eager to hear the
story which was agitating the whole community, but about midnight I
told my friends that rest was a necessity, for never in my life was I
so thoroughly exhausted from talking; but, as the next day wan-the
Sabbath, I would in the evening meet all who chose to come in the
Valley School-house (at that day the largest in the county) and tell
them the whole story, and save repeating it so many times.
When the evening came we met a larger crowd than could find
standing-room in the school-house, and report said there was a spy for
the slave-holders under a window outside.
I related the whole story, omitting nothing, and was followed by Elijah
Brownell, one of our ablest anti-slavery lecturers, with a few spirited
remarks. He suggested that a collection should be taken up to defray
our expenses to Toledo and return, and fourteen dollars was soon placed
in my hands.
From a friend of our letter-carrier, the porter of the Toledo Hotel, we
learned that the plans of the slave-holders accorded with those given
James Martin in the sick-room. After getting the Hamilton family in
their clutches they intended to gag and bind--them, and, traveling
nights, convey them from one point to another until they reached
Kentucky. This was precisely on the plan of our underground railroad,
but happily for the cause of freedom, in this case at least, not as
successful.
The citizens of Adrian appointed a meeting at the court-house, and sent
for me to again tell the story of the slaveholder who had so deeply
laid his plans to capture, not only his fugitive slave Elsie and her
four children, but also her husband, who was a free man. Other meetings
were called to take measures for securing the safety of the hunted
family from the iron grasp of the oppressor, whose arm is ever strong
and powerful in the cause of evil; and so great was public excitement
that the chivalrous sons of the South found our Northern climate too
warm for their constitutions, and betook themselves to the milder
climate of Tennessee with as great speed as their hunted slave, with
her husband, hastened away from there fifteen years before.
It may be asked how the Chesters discovered that Hamilton and his wife
were in Michigan. We learned afterward that John P. Chester was the
postmaster at Jonesborough, and receiving a letter at his office
directed to John Bayliss, he suspected it to be from friends of his
former slaves, and opened it. His suspicions being confirmed, he
detained the letter, and both corresponded and came North in the
assumed character of Bayliss. His schemes miscarried, as we have above
narrated, and Bayliss probably never knew of the desperate game played
in his name.
About two weeks after the departure of this noble trio I received a
threatening letter from John P. Chester, to which I replied; and this
was followed by a correspondence with his son, Thomas K. Chester (the
sick deacon). From these letters we shall give a few extracts.
In a letter received under the date of December 3; 1846, John P.
Chester writes: "I presume you do not want something for nothing; and
inasmuch as you have my property in your possession, and are so great a
philanthropist, you Hill feel bound to remunerate me for that
property.... If there is any law of the land to compel you to pay for
them I intend to have it."
In my reply, December 20, 1846, I wrote:
"First, convince me that you have property in my possession, and you
shall have the utmost farthing. But if Willis Hamilton and family are
property in my possession, then are Rev. John Patchin and wife,
principals of Raisin Institute, and other neighbors, property in my
possession, as I have dealing with each family, precisely in the same
manner that I have with Willis Hamilton and family, and I do as truly
recognize property in my other neighbors as in the Hamilton family.
Prove my position fallacious, and not predicated on principles of
eternal right, and they may be blown to the four winds of heaven. If
carnal weapons can be brought to bear upon the spiritual you shall have
the liberty to do it with the six-shooters you flourished toward my
face in Sylvania, Ohio....
"As for my being compelled to pay you for this alleged property, to
this I have but little to say, as it is the least of all my troubles in
this lower world. I will say, However, I stand ready to meet whatever
you may think proper to do in the case. Should you think best to make
us another call, I could not vouch for your safety. The circumstances
connected with this case have been such that great excitement has
prevailed. A. number of my neighbors have kept arms since our return
from Toledo. I can say with the Psalmist, 'I am for peace, but they are
for war.'
"At a public meeting called the next evening after our return from the
Toledo trip, fourteen dollars was placed in my hands as a remuneration
for the assistance I rendered in examining your very sick patient. I
found the disease truly alarming, far beyond the reach of human aid,
much deeper than bilious fever, although it might have assumed a
typhoid grade. The blister that you were immediately to apply on the
back of the patient could not extract that dark, deep plague-spot of
slavery, too apparent to be misunderstood."
I received a long list of epithets in a letter, bearing date,
Jonesboro, Tennessee, February 7, 1847, from Thomas K. Chester, the
sick deacon:
"I have thought it my duty to answer your pack of balderdash, ... that
you presumed to reply to my father, as I was with him on his tour to
Michigan, and a participant in all his transactions, even to the acting
the sick man's part in Toledo ..., True it is, by your cunning
villainies you have deprived us of our just rights, of our own
property.... Thanks be to an all wise and provident God that, my father
has more of that sable kind of busy fellows, greasy, slick, and fat;
and they are not cheated to death out of their hard earnings by
villainous and infernal abolitionists, whose philanthropy is interest,
and whose only desire is to swindle the slave-holder out of his own
property, and convert its labor to their own infernal aggrandizement.
"It is exceedingly unpleasant for me to indulge in abuse, particularly
to a _woman_, and I would not now do it, did I not feel a perfect
consciousness of right and duty.... Who do you think would parley with
a thief, a robber of man's just rights, recognized by the glorious
Constitution of our Union! Such a condescension would damn an honest
man, would put modesty to the blush. What! to engage in a contest with
you? a rogue, a damnable thief, a negro thief, an outbreaker, a
criminal in the sight of all honest men; ... the mother, too, of a
pusillanimous son, who permitted me to curse and damn you in Sylvania!
I would rather be caught with another man's sheep on my back than to
engage in such a subject, and with such an individual as old Laura
Haviland, a damned nigger-stealer....
"You can tell Elsie that since our return my father bought her eldest
daughter; that she is now his property, and the mother of a likely boy,
that I call Daniel Haviland after your pretty son. She has plenty to
eat, and has shoes in the Winter, an article Willis's children had not
when I was there, although it was cold enough to freeze the horns off
the cows.... What do you think your portion will be at the great day of
judgment? I think it will be the inner temple of hell."
In my reply, dated Raisin, March 16, 1847, I informed the sick deacon
that my letter to his father "had served as a moral emetic, by the mass
of black, bilious, and putrid matter it bad sent forth. You must have
been exercised with as great distress, as extreme pain, that was
producing paroxysms and vomiting, that you had in your sick-room in the
Toledo hotel, when your physician was so hastily called to your relief
by your son-in-law, as the matter that lies before me in letter form is
as 'black', and much more 'bilious,' and nearer 'mortification' than
that I saw there."
"We thank you for the name's sake. May he possess the wisdom of a
Daniel of old, although his lot be cast in the lions' den; and, like
Moses, may he become instrumental in leading his people away from a
worse bondage than that of Egypt.
"According to your logic, we are not only robbing the slaveholder, but
the poor slave of his valuable home, where he can enjoy the elevating
and soul-ennobling privilege of looking 'greasy, slick, and fat'--can
have the privilege of being forbidden the laborious task of cultivating
his intellect--is forbidden to claim his wife and children as his own
instead of the property of John P. Chester."
I pitied the young man, whose bitterness of hate seemed incorrigible,
and gave advice which I deemed wholesome, although I yielded to the
temptation of dealing somewhat in irony and sarcasm.
But the next letter from the sick deacon was filled and running over
with vulgar blackguardism, that I would neither answer nor give to the
public eye. It was directed to "Laura S. Haviland, Esq., or Dan." As it
arrived in my absence, my son Daniel handed it to Rev. John Patchin,
who became so indignant in reading the list of epithets that he
proposed to reply.
The first sentence of his letter was:
"Sir,--As John Quincy Adams and Henry Clay were seated in Congress,
they saw passing on the street a drove of jackasses. Said Henry Clay,
'There, Sir, Adams, is a company of your constituents as they come from
the North.' 'All right; they are going South to teach yours,' was the
quick reply. And I think one of those long-eared animals has strayed
down your way, and your ma might have sent you to his school--I think,
however, but a few weeks, or your epistolary correspondence with Mrs.
Haviland would have been vastly improved."
From the report my son gave me of the short epistle, it was filled with
sentenced couched in the same spirit throughout; "for," said he, "that
rabid fire-eater has been treated in a manner too mild. He needs
something more nearly like his own coin."
I shortly after received a few lines from Thomas K. Chester, informing
me that he had my last letter struck off in hand-bills, and circulated
in a number of the Southern States, "over its true signature, Laura S.
Haviland, as you dictated and your daughter wrote it; for, as strange
as it may appear, I have the handwriting of every one of your family,
and also of Willis Hamilton. I distribute these hand-bills for the
purpose of letting the South see what sort of sisters they have in the
North." We learned from a number of sources that to this circular or
hand-bill was attached a reward of $3,000 for my head.
As for the letter that Chester had richly earned, neither my daughter
nor myself had the privilege of perusing it, as it was mailed before my
return home. But I presume the indignant writer designed to close the
unpleasant correspondence.
SECOND EFFORT TO RETAKE THE HAMILTON FAMILY.
After the passage of the famous Fugitive-slave Bill of 1850, turning
the whole population of the North into slave-hunters, Thomas K.
Chester, with renewed assurance, came to Lawyer Beacher's office, in
Adrian, and solicited his services in capturing the Hamiltons, as he
was now prepared to take legal steps in recovering his property. Said
he:
"I ask no favors of Adrian or Raisin, as I have my posse of thirty men
within a stone's throw of this city. All I ask is legal authority from
you, Mr. Beacher, and I can easily get them in my possession."
"I can not aid you," said Mr. Beacher; "it would ruin my practice as a
lawyer."
"I will give you $100, besides your fee," rejoined Chester.
"You have not enough money in your State of Tennessee to induce me to
assist you in any way whatever."
"Will you direct me to a lawyer who will aid me?"
"I can not; I know of none in our State who could be hired to assist
you. And I advise you to return to your home; for you will lose a
hundred dollars where you will gain one, if you pursue it."
At this advice he became enraged, and swore he would have them this
time, at any cost. "And if old Laura Haviland interferes I'll put her
in prison. I acknowledge she outwitted us before; but let her dare
prevent my taking them this time, and I'll be avenged on her before I
leave this State."
"All the advice I have to give you is to abandon this scheme, for you
will find no jail in this State that will hold that woman. And I
request you not to enter my office again on this business, for if it
were known to the public it would injure my practice; and I shall not
recognize you on the street."
In a lower tone Chester continued, "I request you, Mr. Beacher, as a
gentleman, to keep my name and business a secret." With a few
imprecations he left the office.
My friend R. Beacher sent a dispatch to me at once by Sheriff Spafford,
to secure the safety of the Hamilton family at once, if still on my
premises, as my Tennessee correspondents were probably in or near
Adrian. I informed him they were safe in Canada within six months after
the visit from the Chesters. Mr. Beacher also advised me to make my
property safe without delay, but this had been done two years
previously. On receiving this information my friend Beacher replied,
"Had I known this I would have sent for her, for I'd give ten dollars
to see them meet." Mr. Chester heard that the Hamilton family had gone
to Canada, but he did not believe it, as he also heard they had gone to
Ypsilanti, in this State, where he said he should follow them.
We learned in the sequel that he went to Ypsilanti, and took rooms and
board in a hotel, while calling on every colored family in town and for
two or three miles around it, sometimes as a drover, at other times an
agent to make arrangements for purchasing wood and charcoal. During
four weeks he found a family that answered the description of the
Hamilton family in color and number. He wrote to his father that he had
found them under an assumed name, and requested him to send a man who
could recognize them, as they had been away over eighteen years. The
man was sent, and two weeks more were spent in reconnoitering. At
length both were agreed to arrest David Gordon and wife, with their
four children, as the Hamilton family, and applied for a warrant to
take the family as escaped slaves. The United States Judge, Hon. Ross
Wilkins, who issued the warrant, informed one of the most active
underground railroad men, George De Baptist, of this claimant's
business. He immediately telegraphed to a vigorous worker in Ypsilanti,
who sent runners in every direction, inquiring for a Hamilton family.
None could be found; and the conclusion was reached that they were
newcomers and were closely concealed, and the only safe way was to set
a watch at the depot for officers and their posse, and follow
whithersoever they went, keeping in sight. This was done, and the place
they found aimed for was David Gordon's. On entering the house the
officer placed hand-cuffs on David Gordon, who in surprise asked, "What
does this mean?"
Said the officer, "I understand your name is Willis Hamilton, once a
slave in Tennessee."
Gordon replied, "No, sir, you are mistaken; I never was in that State;
neither is my name Hamilton, but Gordon, and I have free papers from
Virginia."
"Where are your papers? If they are good they shall save you."
Pointing to a trunk, "There they are; take that key and you'll find
them."
While the officer was getting the papers, Chester went to the bed of
the sick wife, placed a six-shooter at her head, and swore he'd blow
her brains out in a moment if she did not say their name was Hamilton.
"No, sir, our name is Gordon." Their little girl, standing by, cried
out with fear. He turned to her, with pistol pointing toward her face,
and swore he'd kill her that instant if she did not say her father's
name was Willis Hamilton.
At this juncture, the officer's attention was arrested. "What are you
about, you villain? You'll be arrested before you know it, if you are
not careful. Put up that pistol instantly, and if these papers are
good, I shall release this man, and return the warrant unserved."
He examined them and said, "These papers I find genuine." He then
removed the handcuffs from David Gordon, and with the discomfited
Thomas K. Chester and Tennessee companion returned to the depot for the
Detroit train.
While on their way they met a colored man that Chester swore was Willis
Hamilton. Said the officer, "You know not what you are about; I shall
arrest no man at your command."
On returning the unserved warrant to Judge Wilkins, Chester charged him
with being allied with the "d----d abolitionist, old Laura Haviland, in
running off that family to Malden, to keep me out of my property."
"I knew nothing of the family, or of your business, until you came into
this office yesterday," replied the judge.
In a rage and with an oath, he replied, "I know, sir, your complicity
in keeping slave-holders out of their property, and can prove it." He
threw his hat on the floor and gave a stamp, as if to strengthen his
oath.
The judge simply ordered him out of his office, instead of committing
him to prison for contempt of court; and with his companion he went
back to his Tennessee home, again defeated.
Thomas K. Chester wrote and had published scurrilous articles in
Tennessee, and in a number of other Southern States. They were
vigorously circulated until the following Congress, in which the grave
charge was brought against the judge, "of being allied with Mrs.
Haviland, of the interior of the State of Michigan, a rabid
abolitionist, in keeping slaveholders out of their slave property." A
vigorous effort was made by Southern members to impeach him, while his
friends were petitioning Congress to raise his salary, Judge Wilkins
was sent for to answer to these false charges. Although they failed to
impeach him, yet on account of these charges the addition to his salary
was lost.
When these false accusations were brought into Congress, and the judge
was informed of the necessity of his presence to answer thereto, he
inquired of Henry Bibb and others where I was. They informed him that I
was absent from home. On my return from Cincinnati with a few
underground railroad passengers, I learned of the trouble Judge Wilkins
met, and I called on him. He told me of the pile of Southern papers he
had received, with scurrilous articles, designed to prejudice Southern
members of Congress against him. Said he, "Although they failed in the
impeachment, they said they would come against me with double force
next Congress, and should effect their object." Said the judge, "I want
your address, for if they do repeat their effort, with the explanation
you have now given, I think I can save another journey to Washington.
The judge was never again called upon to defend himself on this
subject, as their effort was not repeated; neither did their
oft-repeated threat to imprison me disturb us."
DEATH OF THE CHESTERS
In the third year of the Rebellion, while in Memphis, Tennessee, on a
mission to the perishing, I found myself in the city where my Tennessee
correspondents lived a few years previous to their deaths. From a
minister who had long been a resident of that city, and had also lived
near Jonesboro, where they resided during the correspondence, I learned
the following facts: A few years prior to the war John P. Chester
removed with his family to Memphis, where he became a patroller. His
son Thomas transacted business as a lawyer. I was shown his residence,
and the office where John P. Chester was shot through the heart by a
mulatto man, whose free papers he demanded, doubting their validity.
Said the man, "I am as free as you are; and to live a slave I never
shall." He then drew a six-shooter from its hiding-place and shot him
through the heart. He fell, exclaiming, "O God, I'm a dead man." The
man threw down the fatal weapon, saying to the bystanders, "Here I am,
gentlemen, shoot me, or hang me, just as you please, but to live a
slave to any man I never shall." He was taken by the indignant crowd,
and hung on the limb of a tree near by, pierced with many bullets. I
can not describe the feeling that crept over me, as I gazed upon the
pavement where John P. Chester met his fate, and which I had walked
over in going to officers' head-quarters from the steamer. Oh! what a
life, to close with such a tragedy!
Thomas K. Chester being a few rods distant ran to assist his dying
father, but his life was gone ere he reached him. A few months later he
was brought from a boat sick with yellow fever, and died in one week
from the attack in terrible paroxysms and ravings, frequently requiring
six men to hold him on his bed. He was ill the same length of time that
they falsely represented a few years before in the Toledo hotel. Said
the narrator, "Thomas K. Chester's death was the most awful I ever
witnessed. He cursed and swore to his last breath, saying he saw his
father standing by his bed, with damned spirits waiting to take him
away to eternal burnings."
After a long walk one day, I called at the former residence of the
Chester family, and was seated in the front parlor. It is hard to
imagine my feelings as I sat in the room where those two men had lain
in death's cold embrace--men who had flourished toward my face the
six-shooter. It was by this kind of deadly weapon the life of one was
taken; and as nearly as words can describe the feigned sickness, the
last week of the life of the other was spent. No wonder the blood
seemed to curdle in my veins in contemplating the lives of these men,
and their end. It is beyond the power of pen to describe the panorama
that passed before me in these moments. The proprietor of the Toledo
hotel lost custom by his complicity in their efforts to retake their
alleged slave property. A few months after the hotel was burned to
ashes.
CHAPTER IV.
AN OHIO SCHOOL-TEACHER.
In the Autumn of 1847 a gentleman of evident culture called for early
breakfast, though he had passed a public house about two miles distant.
I mistrusted my stranger caller to be a counterfeit; and told him, as I
had the care of an infant for a sick friend, he would find better fare
at the boarding hall a few rods away. But introducing himself as an
Ohio school-teacher, and accustomed to boarding around, he had not
enjoyed his favorite bread and milk for a long while, and if I would be
so kind as to allow him a bowl of bread and milk he would accept it as
a favor. He said he had heard of our excellent school, and wished to
visit it. He was also acting as agent of the _National Era_, published
at Cincinnati, in which he was much interested, and solicited my
subscription. I told him I knew it to be a valuable periodical, but, as
I was taking three, abolition papers he must excuse me.
He was also very much interested in the underground railroad projects,
and referred to names of agents and stations, in Indiana and Ohio, in a
way that I concluded he had been on the trail and found me, as well as
others, and perhaps taken the assumed agency of the _Era_ for a
covering. He said it was found necessary in some places in Ohio and
Indiana to change the routes, as slave-holders had traced and followed
them so closely that they had made trouble in many places, and
suggested a change in Michigan, as there were five slave-holders in
Toledo, Ohio, when he came through, in search of escaped slaves. I
replied that it might be a good idea, but I had not considered it
sufficiently to decide.
Continuing his arguments, he referred to a slave who was captured by
Mr. B. Stevens, of Boone County, Kentucky. He saw him tied on a horse
standing at the door of an inn where he was teaching. In surprise, I
inquired:
"Did that community allow that to be done in their midst without making
an effort to rescue the self-made freeman?"
"O yes, because Stevens came with witnesses and papers, proving that he
legally owned him; so that nothing could be done to hinder him."
"That could never be done in this community; and I doubt whether it
could be done in this State."
"But what could you do in a case like that?"
"Let a slave-holder come and try us, as they did six months ago in
their effort to retake the Hamilton family, who are still living here
on my premises, and you see how they succeeded;" and I gave him their
plans and defeat. "Let them or any other slave-holders disturb an
escaped slave, at any time of night or day, and the sound of a tin horn
would be heard, with a dozen more answering it in different directions,
and men enough would gather around the trembling fugitive for his
rescue. For _women_ can blow horns, and _men_ can run. Bells are used
in our school and neighborhood; but if the sound of a tin horn is heard
it is understood, a few miles each way from Raisin Institute, just what
it means."
Looking surprised, he answered: "Well, I reckon you do understand
yourselves here. But I don't see how you could retain one _legally_ if
papers and witnesses were on hand."
"Hon. Ross Wilkins, United States judge, residing in Detroit, can
legally require any fugitive so claimed to be brought before him, and
not allow any thing to be done until the decision is reached. And there
are many active workers to assist escaping slaves in that city, who
would rush to their aid, and in ten minutes see them safe in Canada. I
presume if the slave claimant should come with a score of witnesses and
a half-bushel of papers, to prove his legal right, it would avail him
nothing, as we claim a higher law than wicked enactments of men who
claim the misnomer of law by which bodies and souls of men, women, and
children are claimed as chattels." The proprietor of the boarding hall
desired me to allow him to inform the stranger of our suspicions, and
invite him to leave. But I declined, as I had reached the conclusion
that my visitor was from Kentucky, and probably in search of John
White, whose master had sworn that he would send him as far as wind and
water would carry him if he ever got him again. Professor Patchin and
J. F. Dolbeare called to see him, and conversed with him about his
agency for the _Era_, etc.; and brother Patchin invited him to attend
the recitations of the classes in Latin and geometry. The second was
accepted, as mathematics, he said, was his favorite study.
By four o'clock P.M., the hour of his leaving, the tide of excitement
was fast rising, and one of the students offered to go and inform John
White of the danger we suspected, and advise him to take refuge in
Canada until these Kentuckians should leave our State.
We surmised that the five slave-holders he reported in Toledo were his
own company, which was soon found to be true. One of my horses was
brought into requisition at once for the dispatch-bearer; but he had
not been on his journey an hour before we learned that our Ohio teacher
inquired of a boy on the road if there had been a mulatto man by the
name of White attending school at Raisin Institute the past Winter.
"Yes, sir."
"Where is he now?"
"He hired for the season to Mr. Watkins, near Brooklyn, in Jackson
County."
This report brought another offer to become dispatch-bearer to the
hunted man. The following day found John White in Canada.
Two days after George W. Brazier, who claimed John White as his
property, and the man who had lost the woman and five children, with
their two witnesses, and their lawyer, J. L. Smith, who recently made
me an all-day visit, entered the lowest type of a saloon in the town
near by, and inquired for two of the most besotted and wickedest men in
town. Being directed according to their novel inquiry, the men were
found and hired, making their number seven, to capture John White. The
field in which he had been at work was surrounded by the seven men at
equal distances. But, as they neared the supposed object of their
pursuit, lo! a poor white man was there instead of the prize they were
so sure of capturing. They repaired to the house of Mr. Watkins, and
inquired of him for the whereabouts of John White. The frank reply was:
"I suppose he is in Canada, as I took him, with his trunk, to the
depot, yesterday, for that country."
At this Brazier poured forth a volley of oaths about me, and said he
knew I had been there.
"Hold on, sir, you are laboring under a mistake. We have none of us
seen her; and I want you to understand that there are others, myself
included, who are ready to do as much to save a self-freed slave from
being taken back to Southern bondage as Mrs. Haviland. Mr. White is
highly esteemed wherever he is known; and we would not see him go back
from whence he came without making great effort to prevent it."
At this Brazier flew into a rage, and furiously swore he would yet be
avenged on me before he left the State."
"I advise you to be more sparing of your threats. We have a law here to
arrest and take care of men who make such threats as you have here,"
said Mr. Watkins.
With this quietus they left for Tecumseh, four miles distant from us.
While at Snell's Hotel they displayed on the bar-room table pistols,
dirks, and bowie-knives, and pointing to them, said Brazier, "Here is
what we use, and we'll have the life of that d--d abolitionist, Mrs.
Haviland, before we leave this State, or be avenged on her in some
way." The five men then in haste jumped aboard the stage for Adrian. As
the authorities were informed of these threats, and Judge Stacy was
going to Adrian on business, he proposed to leave with a friend he was
to pass the import of these threats, fearing they might quit the stage
while passing through our neighborhood, and under cover of night commit
their deeds of darkness. I received the note, and told the bearer I
accepted this as the outburst of passion over their defeat, and did not
believe they designed to carry out these threats, and requested the
excited family to keep this as near a secret as possible, during a day
or two at least, to save my children and the school this exciting
anxiety. But I could not appear altogether stoical, and consulted
judicious friends, who advised me to leave my home a night or two at
least. This was the saddest moment I had seen. I felt that I could not
conscientiously leave my home. "If slaveholders wish to call on me they
will find me here, unless I have business away." They insisted that I
should keep my windows closed after dark, and they would send four
young men students, to whom they would tell the secret, with the charge
to keep it unless disturbance should require them to reveal it. We
received information the following day that the five Kentuckians took
the cars for Toledo on their arrival at Adrian. Their threats increased
the excitement already kindled, and neighbors advised me not to remain
in my house of nights, as there might be hired emissaries to execute
their will. Some even advised me to go to Canada for safety. But rest
was mine in Divine Providence.
The following week I accompanied an insane friend with her brother to
Toledo. The brother wished me to go to Monroe on business for them. He
soon informed me that the five Kentuckians were in the same hotel with
us, and he overheard one say that I had no doubts followed them to see
whether they had found any of their runaways, and that one of their
party was going wherever I did to watch my movements. This friend also
saw them consulting with the barkeeper, who sat opposite at breakfast
table, and introduced the defeated stratagem of the Tennessee
slave-holders at the Toledo hotel a few months previously. Said he, "I
believe you are the lady who met them there. Some of us heard of it
soon after, and we should have rushed there in a hurry if there had
been an attempt to take a fugitive from our city. They might as well
attempt to eat through an iron wall as to get one from us. I am an
abolitionist of the Garrison stamp, and there are others here of the
same stripe." And in this familiar style he continued, quite to my
annoyance, at the table. He came to me a number of times after
breakfast to find what he could do to assist me in having the hack take
me to whatever point I wished to go.
"Are you going east, madam?"
"Not today."
"Or are you designing to go south, or to return on the Adrian train?"
"I shall not go in either direction today."
Leaving me a few moments, he returned with inquiring whether I was
going to Monroe, and giving as the reason for his inquiries the wish to
assist me. I informed him I was going to take the ten o'clock boat for
Monroe. I learned in the sequel that they charged me with secreting the
woman and five children, and aiding their flight to Canada; but of them
I knew nothing, until my Ohio teacher informed me of their flight, and
while I was suspected and watched by their pursuers, we had reason to
believe they were placed on a boat at Cleveland, and were safe in
Canada.
We learned that their lawyer made inquiries while in my neighborhood
whether my farm and Raisin Institute were entirely in my hands. When
they became satisfied of the fact they left orders for my arrest upon a
United States warrant, to be served the following Autumn, if they
failed to recover their human property. About the expiration of the
time set George W. Brazier went with a gang of slaves for sale to Baton
Rouge, Louisiana, and died suddenly of cholera. There his projects
ended, and John White soon returned to his work in Michigan.
These circumstances delayed my prospect of going to Cincinnati and
Rising Sun to learn the condition of his family, but as money had been
raised by the anxious husband and father and his friends, I went to
Cincinnati, where I found my friends, Levi Coffin and family. The
vigilant committee was called to his private parlor, to consult as to
the most prudent measure to adopt in securing an interview with Jane
White, John's wife, whose master, Benjamin Stevens, was her father, and
the vain hope was indulged that he would not make an effort to retake
the family should they make a start for freedom. The committee proposed
that I should go to Rising Sun, and, through Joseph Edgerton and Samuel
Barkshire and families, obtain an interview with Jane White, as they
were intelligent and well-to-do colored friends of John White's in
Rising Sun.
Accordingly I went, and called on Joseph Edgerton's eating-house. On
making my errand known, there was great rejoicing over good news from
their esteemed friend Felix White, as John was formerly called. In
conferring with these friends and Samuel Barkshire, they thought the
errand could be taken to Jane, through Stevens's foreman slave,
Solomon, who was frequently allowed to cross the river on business for
his master, and was looked for the following Saturday. But as we were
disappointed, Joseph's wife, Mary Edgerton, proposed to go with me to
Benjamin Stevens's, ostensibly to buy plums. As there was no trace of
African blood perceivable in her, and the Stevens family, both white
and colored, had seen her mother, who was my size, with blue eyes,
straight brown hair, and skin as fair as mine, there was no question as
to relationship when Mary introduced me to Jane and her sister Nan as
Aunt Smith (my maiden name). It was also known to the Stevens family
that Mary was expecting her aunt from Georgia to spend a few weeks with
her. When we entered the basement, which was the kitchen of the Stevens
house, twelve men and women slaves just came in from the harvest-field
for their dinner, which consisted of "corn dodgers" placed in piles at
convenient distances on the bare table, made of two long rough boards
on crossed legs. A large pitcher filled as full as its broken top would
allow of sour milk, and a saucer of greens, with a small piece of pork
cut in thin slices, were divided among the hands, who were seated on
the edge of their table, except a few who occupied stools and broken
chairs. Not a whole earthen dish or plate was on that table. A broken
knife or fork was placed by each plate, and they used each other's
knife or fork, and ate their humble repast with apparent zest. I have
given this harvest dinner in detail, as Benjamin Stevens was called a
remarkably kind master. It was frequently remarked by surrounding
planters "that the Stevens niggers thought they were white."
As we were informed they had no plums for sale, Mary proposed filling
our "buckets" with blackberries, as there were an abundance within a
short distance, and asked Jane if she or Nan could not go and show us
the way. "I'll go an' ask Missus Agnes," replied Nan, who soon returned
with the word that Jane might go, as she wanted to make another batch
of jam. "But she says we must get dinner for Mary and her aunt first."
A small tablecloth was placed over one end of the table, and wheat
bread, butter, honey, and a cream-pitcher of sweet milk was brought
down for us. Not a child of the nine little ones playing in the kitchen
asked for a taste of anything during or after our meal. All that was
left was taken up stairs, and we were invited to call on Mrs. Agnes,
who received us cordially. She was teaching Jane's oldest daughter, of
seven years, to sew. After a few minutes chat with the mistress, we
left for blackberries.
When out of sight, I told Jane I was the one who wrote a letter for her
husband, Felix White, to her, and directed it to Samuel Barkshire, who
told me he read it to her, but did not dare take it from his house, but
took the braid of his hair tied with blue ribbon, sent in the letter.
She looked at me in amazement for a moment, when she burst into a flood
of tears. As soon as she could command her feelings she said her master
had told her that he had heard from Felix, and that he was married
again, and was riding around with his new wife mighty happy. When I
gave her the errand from her husband she was again convulsed with
weeping. Said she, "I would gladly work day and night, until my fingers
and toes are without a nail, and willingly see my children work in the
same way, could we only be with Felix." Poor heartbroken woman, she
sighed like a sobbing child. But two of her children were out a few
miles with one of the Stevens married children, to be gone two months,
and she sent a request to her husband to come on the sly to assist in
bringing their children away after the return of the absent ones, so
that all might go together. I assisted her in picking berries, as she
had spent so much of her time in talking and weeping her mistress might
complain. I gave her a little memento from her husband, and left the
poor heartstricken, crushed spirit.
The daughter and grandchildren of the master withheld them from going
to their natural protector, yet he was called one of the best of
slave-holders. Here was a woman and sister whose widowhood was more
desolate than even death had made my own. And her poor children were
worse than fatherless. I returned to my home and anxious children and
friends.
But the grieved husband felt confident his intimate friend William
Allen, who would have left for freedom long ago but for his wife and
child, would assist Jane and the children could he know from him how
many warm friends there were in the North to assist them. His friends,
as well as himself, were anxious to make another trial without the risk
of his going into the lion's den. Means being provided, three mouths
later found me again in Rising Sun. After a little waiting to see
William Allen, I took a boat and went four miles below on the Kentucky
side, and called at the house of his master to wait for a boat going up
the river within a few hours.
As they were having a great excitement over counterfeiters, and were
making great efforts to find the rogues, and looking upon every
stranger with suspicion, I was believed by my host to be one of them in
disguise. Within an hour after my arrival the sheriff and a deputy were
brought into an adjoining room. The lady of the house appeared excited.
Her little girl inquired who those strange gentlemen were; she replied
the sheriff and his deputy. I looked up from the paper I was busily
reading, and entered into conversation with the lady of the house, when
I overhead one man say, "I don't think there is anything wrong about
that woman." This remark led me to suppose I might be the object of the
undertone conversation among the gentlemen in the adjoining room. Soon
after the three gentlemen came into the room, with whom I passed the
usual "good afternoon." One, whom I took to be the sheriff, made a few
remarks over fine weather, etc., and all three returned to their room.
Said one, in a low voice, "I tell you that woman is all right; she's no
counterfeiter." My excited hostess became calm, and quite social, and
made excuses for having to look after the cooking of her turkey, as she
allowed her cook to spend this Sabbath with her husband in visiting one
of their friends. "And I always burn and blister my hands whenever I
make an attempt at cooking. But my cook is so faithful I thought I
would let her go today."
As I gave up the idea of seeing William Allen, I was about to go to the
wharf-boat and wait there for the five o'clock boat. But she urged me
to take dinner with them, as I would have plenty of time. After dinner
they directed me across a pasture-field that would shorten the
half-mile. Just out of sight of the house I met William Allen, with his
wife and little girl of ten years. As they were so well described by
John--or Felix, as he was here known--I recognized them, and gave the
message from their friend, from whom they rejoiced to hear. He said he
longed to be free, and thought two weeks from that day he could go over
to Samuel Barkshire's to see me. During this time he would deliver the
message to Jane. At present, he said, it would be very difficult
crossing, as there was great excitement over men that passed a lot of
counterfeit money in that neighborhood, and they were watching for
them. I told him it was not safe for us to talk longer there, as they
were slaves, and I was not free to be seen talking with them, and gave
them the parting hand, informing them that many prayers of Christian
people of the North were daily ascending for the deliverance of the
slave. "May God grant the answer!" was the heartfelt reply.
During the two weeks Mary Scott was introduced, who had recently bought
herself, with her free husband's aid. She related to me the sad
condition of her sister, Rachel Beach, who was the slave of Mr. Ray,
the brother of Wright Ray, of Madison, Indiana, the noted negro
catcher. She was the kept mistress of her master, who held her and her
five children, who were his own flesh and blood, as his property. After
her sister Rachel's religious experience, she was much distressed over
the life she was compelled to lead with her master. She had often wept
with her weeping sister. When she thought of escaping, she could not
leave her five little children to her own sad fate. As I was informed
that Mary Scott was a reliable Christian woman, I gave her a plan, and
names of persons and places of safety, with a charge not to stop over
the second night--if possible, to avoid it--at the first place named;
for it was too near her master's brother, Wright Ray, as he would make
great efforts to retake them.
This plan was adopted. But they were kept two days at Luther Donald's
station, which brought them into great difficulty. He was so well known
as the slave's friend it was unsafe to secrete fugitives on his own
premises; and he placed them in an out-house of one of his friends. On
the second night of their flight, when they were to be taken to the
next station, Wright Ray was on their track, and entered the
neighborhood at dark twilight, filling it with excitement on the part
of both friends and foes. The cry of a child brought a neighbor to
their hiding-place, who told her she was unsafe; but he would take her
and the children to his barn, where they would be perfectly secure.
Soon after her new friend left her she felt in great danger, and when
her children were asleep in their bed of stalls she ventured to place
herself by the road-side. Here she heard horses coming, and listened to
hear the voice of their riders, to see if she could recognize her first
friends, as they had told her they were going to take them to another
place of safety that night; but, to her grief, she heard the voice of
Wright Ray, with his posse. Filled with fear of capture, she groped her
way still farther back in the dark. After her pursuers passed she heard
two men coming, in low conversation. She prayed for direction, and felt
impressed, as she said, to tell these men her trouble. They proved to
be her friends, who missed them as they went to take their suppers. As
Ray and his company were known to be in town, they knew not but they
were captured. Runners were sent to the usual resorts of slave-hunters,
to see if any clew could be learned of the fate of the missing family.
"O, how I prayed God to deliver me in this my great distress!" she
said, in relating her flight in my interview with her in Canada. She
led her two friends to the barn, from whence her sleeping children were
removed; but by the time they reached the road they saw the lantern,
and heard rustling of stalks by her pursuers. As her new friend was a
well-known friend to slave-hunters, she and her children were still in
great danger. She was dressed in men's clothing, and her girls dressed
like boys, and they were taken out in different directions. Rachel and
the youngest child her guide took to a Quaker neighborhood, while two
men took each two girls on their horses and took different roads to
other places of safety; but no two of the three parties knew of the
others' destination. Two days of distressing anxiety were passed before
a word reached the mother from her children. Not knowing but they were
back to their old Kentucky home, she could neither eat nor sleep for
weeping and praying over the probable loss of her children. But her joy
could not find expression when two of them were brought to her. At
first sight of her darlings, she cried out, "Glory to God! he has sent
me two more. But where, O, where are the other two?" The two men who
brought these in their close carriage could give no tidings, as they
had heard nothing from them since leaving Donald Station. Rachel
continued weeping for her children because they were not. On the
following day they were heard from, and that they would be brought on
the following day, P. M.
A number of the neighbors were invited to witness the meeting. Among
them was a strong pro-slavery man and his family, who had often said
the abolitionists might as well come to his barn and steal his horse or
wheat as to keep slave-holders out of their slave property; yet he was
naturally a sympathetic man. This Quaker abolitionist knew it would do
him good to witness the anticipated scene. The knowledge of the
prospective arrival of the children was carefully kept from the mother
until she saw them, coming through the gate, when she cried aloud, as
she sank on the floor, "Glory; hallelujah to the Lamb! You sent me
all." She sobbed as she clasped them to her bosom, continuing, in an
ecstasy, "Bless the Lord forever! He is so good to poor me." The little
girls threw their arms around their mother's neck, and burst into a
loud cry for joy. "But the weeping was not confined to them," said our
Quaker sister, who was present. "There was not a dry eye in that house;
and our pro-slavery neighbor cried as hard as any of us."
After the excitement died away a little, said one, "Now, we must adopt
a plan to take this family on to Canada."
The pro-slavery man was the first to say, "I'll take my team, and take
them where they'll be safe, if I have to take them all the way."
Another said, "It is cold weather, and we see these children have bare
feet; and we must see about getting them stockings and shoes and warm
clothing."
And the little daughter of him who had so generously offered his
services in aiding this family beyond the reach, of danger sat down on
the carpet and commenced taking off hers, saying, "She can have mine."
"But, Lotty, what will you do?" said the mother.
"O, papa can get me some more."
"Yes, papa will get you some more," said her father, wiping his eyes;
"and your shoes and stockings will just fit that little girl." And the
mother could hardly keep her from leaving them. But she told her to
wear them home and put others on, then bring them back.
Said our informant, "I will warrant that man will hereafter become a
stockholder."
But the rescue of the Beach family cost Luther Donald his farm. He was
sued and found guilty of harboring runaway slaves and assisting them to
escape. But not one sentence of truthful evidence was brought against
him in court; although he did aid the Beach family when a stay of three
minutes longer in their dangerous hiding-place would have secured their
return to a life of degradation. Friends of the fugitive made up the
loss in part, and the God of the oppressed blessed him still more
abundantly. He was diligent in business, serving the Lord.
While rejoicing over the safe arrival of the Beach family in Canada,
heavy tidings reached me from home. In a letter I was informed of the
illness of my eldest son. Before the boat arrived that was to bear me
homeward a second letter came with the sad intelligence of the death of
my first-born. Oh, how my poor heart was wrung with anxiety to learn
the state of his mind as he left the shores of time. Why did not the
writer relieve me by giving the information I most needed? And yet I
was advised to remain until the weather became more mild. I had a
severe cough that followed an attack of pneumonia, and physicians had
advised me to spend the Winter in a milder climate. But this
bereavement seemed impelling me to return to my afflicted children. But
more than all other considerations was to learn the state of that dear
child's mind as he was about leaving the land of the dying for the
spirit world of the living. He had been a living Christian, but during
the year past had become more inactive, and in a conversation on the
subject a few days previous to my leaving, he expressed regrets in not
being more faithful. He urged me to take this trip, yet I could not but
regret leaving home. "Oh my son, my son Harvey would to God I had died
for thee!" In this distress, bordering upon agony of soul, I walked my
room to and fro, praying for an evidence of his condition. In the
conversation above alluded to he expressed a sincere desire to return.
Said he, "I am too much like the prodigal, too far away from my
Savior." How vividly did his words come before me! Oh, how these words
ran through my mind in this hour of sore trial. Is this the Isaac, I
dwelt upon as I was leaving my home, that I may be called to sacrifice?
I had in mind my son Daniel, who was fearful I would meet trouble from
slave-holders, as he remarked to his brother Harvey, "Mother is a
stranger to fear, though she might be in great danger."
"That fact, seems to me, secures her safety," replied Harvey.
As I overheard this conversation I shrank from the trial of leaving my
home circle, in which death had made such inroads, and for the time
being doubted whether I was called upon to make the sacrifice. But
prayer was now constant for an evidence of my son's condition, whether
prepared for exchange of worlds. He who spake peace to the troubled sea
granted the answer of peace, with an assurance that my prayer was
answered, and that in his own good time he would make it manifest.
I took the boat for Cincinnati, and on the morning after my arrival at
the home of my valued friends, Levi Coffin and wife, I awoke with a
comforting dream, which but for the circumstances I would not record. I
find in the written Word of divine truth that God, at sundry times,
made himself known to his faithful servants in dreams. And he is the
same in all ages, in answering their petitions and meeting their wants.
In the dream I thought I was living in the basement of a beautiful
mansion. Being rather dark, damp, and cool, I looked for some means of
warming my apartments, when I discovered the windows conveyed beautiful
rays of sunlight sufficient to dry and warm apartments designed for
only a temporary residence, as my future home was to be in the splendid
apartments above, which I was not to be permitted to enter until the
work assigned me in the basement was done. While busily engaged in
sweeping my room, and arranging my work, I saw my son Harvey,
descending from the upper portion of this limitless mansion, which I
thought was now his home. I hastened to the door to meet him. As the
thought struck me that he had been a slave, I cried out, "My son
Harvey, art thou free?"
"Oh yes, mother, I am _free_; and I knew your anxiety, and I came on
purpose to tell you that I went to my Master and asked if he would
grant my pardon? And he looked upon me and saw me in my blood as I
plowed in the field, and he said I should be free and live."
"Oh, what a relief is this glad news," I replied.
"I knew you desired me to go for my freedom long ago, but I did not
know that my liberty would be so easily granted--just for asking. I am
now free, indeed."
This message delivered, he ascended to his glorious home above. I awoke
with the words of this message as clearly impressed upon my mind as if
vocally spoken. I opened the Bible at the head of my bed, and the first
words that met my eye were these: "I saw Ephraim cast out in the open
field; I saw him in his blood, and I said live; and he shall live."
With promises given by him with whom there is no variableness or shadow
of turning, my heart was filled with praise and thanksgiving for the
Comforter who grants peace such as the world knows not of. Very soon a
letter came with the detailed account of the last hours of my son
Harvey, in which he left a bright evidence of his preparation for the
future life. He sent for Rev. John Patchin, of Raisin Institute, of
whom he requested prayer; at the close of which he followed in fervent
prayer for himself and loved ones. Then brother Patchin inquired if
perfect peace was his at this hour? "It is," he answered; "I am ready
to go," and he soon fell asleep in Jesus.
I remained a few weeks longer; but the close search for counterfeiters
made it difficult for William Allen to cross.
The request was repeated by John White's wife for him to come for them.
I returned home with the consciousness of having done all that I could
in delivering the messages as requested. The husband and father could
not feel reconciled to give up his family to a life of slavery, and
went for them, and brought them a few miles on the Indiana side, above
Rising Sun. They secreted themselves during the day in the woods, and
with the aid of his friend and Solomon Stevens's slave, previously
alluded to, who was also attempting to escape with the family, he made
a raft upon which they were about to cross a creek to reach the team on
the opposite side. Suddenly six armed men pounced upon them, and
captured the family, with Solomon. To save John from the hazardous
attempt to defend his family, his friend held him back in the thicket,
knowing the effort must fail. As he was not allowed to move he sank
back in despair in the arms of his friend. He had risked his own life
and liberty in his attempt to rescue them. He learned that George W.
Brazier swore he would chop him into inches if he ever got possession
of him again. After his unsuccessful effort in Michigan he offered six
hundred dollars for his head, dead or alive. Benjamin Stevens also
offered six hundred dollars reward for his daughter and his five
grandchildren, with Solomon. He afterwards sold them all for the very
low price of one thousand dollars, with the proviso that they were not
to be sold apart.
But poor Jane was not left long to grieve over her disappointed hopes.
She died of cholera. We heard she went rejoicing in that hope that
reaches beyond the vale. They were taken to Lexington, Kentucky, but
the grieved husband and father again made his way northward. He was two
weeks in reaching a settlement that was said to be friendly to fugitive
slaves. Forty miles distant from his old Kentucky home he assumed the
name of James Armstrong. The family upon whom he ventured to call
appeared very kind, and the man told him he would take him the next day
to a Quaker settlement, but he suspected he was reported to Wright Ray
and posse, who came into the house and bound him. Placing him on one of
their horses, they took him through fields and back roads until they
crossed the Ohio river, and lodged him in the Woodford jail, a short
distance from the river, nearly opposite Madison, Indiana. Wright Ray
had no idea of having in his possession John White, who had so recently
eluded his grasp in his unsuccessful trip with Brazier in Michigan. He
found among his papers in which were advertisements of escaped slaves,
Henry Armstrong advertised as belonging to the widow Armstrong, of
Maysville, Kentucky. With her Wright Ray had an interview, hoping to
arrange for the reward, which she refused to give, for he had been away
so long, he would be of little use, as Henry was willed free at her
death. But she told him if he could get enough from him to pay him for
his trouble, he might do so. Consequently he made him an offer to
release him for four hundred dollars, and encouraged him to write to
his friends in Michigan to aid him to that amount. He wrote to a
son-in-law of Mr. Watkins, so as not to mention a name of persons the
men had to do with in Michigan, and the letter was brought to us. We
all understood the writer to be our friend John White.
A few friends were consulted as to the measures to be adopted. It was
proposed that I should go to Cincinnati, and there make such
arrangements as the friends might think proper. As they proposed to
bear my expenses, I said, "If you send me, I shall go to-morrow
morning."
"But," replied the bearer of the letter, "as it is the Sabbath, I
suppose I should hesitate."
"It was lawful on the Sabbath to lift a sheep out of the ditch in the
days of Moses, and is not a man better than a sheep?"
"I can not answer you. All I have to say is, follow the dictates of
your own conscience."
I took the stage at Toledo, and in three days I was consulting the
vigilance committee in Levi Coffin's council chamber. As it would not
do for me to transact business with Wright Ray, Micajah White, nephew
of Catherine Coffin, offered to go as soon as the money was obtained.
Levi Coffin introduced me to Dr. Judkins, of whom I hired the money,
but hoped to lessen the amount if possible, in the arrangement with
Wright Ray. I urged on the nephew the necessity of taking the first
boat for Madison, as every hour endangered the safety of John White.
Whatever was done for him must be done quickly. Wright Ray was found
very willing to accept three hundred and fifty dollars, which was
placed in the hands of the clerk of the boat until his prisoner was
delivered to his friends in Cincinnati, when Micajah White agreed to
see the money paid to Wright Ray. This was done, and within three weeks
from the time I left home I returned with John White. The day after
John's release Brazier appeared at the jail, having heard that he was
there. But he was too late.
A few months after John White's release from Woodford jail George W.
Brazier went to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, with a gang of slaves for sale,
and suddenly died of cholera, just before the time fixed for his
return. It was said he intended to make a second effort to capture John
White, or to arrest me with United States warrant. Time rolled on, and
John F. White married a young woman in Canada, his home a number of
years. After the late war he removed to Ann Arbor, Michigan, to educate
his children. When we last heard of his first children, his oldest
daughter was married to Solomon, the ex-slave of Benjamin Stevens. We
rejoice that brighter days are dawning. Ethiopia is stretching out her
hands to God.
CHAPTER V.
THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY.
As my married children had charge of the farm, and the younger ones
were in school, and well provided for, I spent a few months in mission
work and nursing the sick. My dear friends, Levi and Catherine Coffin,
had given me a very cordial invitation to make their house my home
whenever I was in Cincinnati. Soon after my arrival, at early dawn,
nine slaves crossed the river, and were conducted to one of ou
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