"Why don't she come away as your other daughter did?" I asked.

"Oh, she can't; missus won't let one o' my family come but me. She let's me come an' do all her marketin' arter I gets all her work a-goin', so my man an' chillen goes on wid it; she lets me come to de city to work, an' I pays her three dollars every week. Now I'se full o'

trouble over my Mary;" and she wept so freely that it was some time before she could give me this little sketch. I found they lived fifteen miles from the river, and she had placed her money in the hands of a colored man by the name of Bailey, to keep for her to use at some future time in going to Canada with her family. He had told her when the right time came he would have her money ready for her, and would help her. I told her I would gladly relieve her were it in my power; but all I could do was to advise her to bring her family in the covered market wagon, and throw a quilt or blanket over them; then the hay she always put in for her team over that, and a bag of apples, and another of potatoes, or any thing she generally brought into market, placed in front so as to present the appearance of a load of marketing. As she had been over so often, she said, the ferryman hardly ever asked her for her pa.s.s, for he knew her so well. "Don't you see you are the very one to bring yourself and family here? You could drive over and take your family to either of three places: to a colored family on Macallister Street, by the name of Hall; or to Levi Coffin's, on the corner of Ninth and Walnut Streets; or bring them here to John Hatfield's. At either of these places you are as sure of going through safe as if you were already in Canada." She listened with great attention, and her tears dried away as she looked up, with her face shining with hope, and said, "I do b'leve I can do it; I never thought o' that. I'll go to Bailey for my money fus thing, an' I'll go mighty soon." I charged her not to name to Bailey or any other human being this side or the other, the plan I had given her, except to her own family. She promised, and left with a much lighter heart.

A few days later I was requested to meet Mary French, who would be at John Hatfield's house at twelve o'clock. Her friend said, "She is nearly crazy, an' I coaxed her to see you. She's los' faith in every body I reckon, for 't was a good bit afore I could get her to see you agin. She said she did see you wonst, an' you couldn't do nothin' for her. She's bin house-cleanin' wid me, an' it 'pears like she's 'cryin'

all the time, day an' night, an' me an' another woman got her to see you, if I'd git you to come to Mr. Hatfield's at noon." I found her wringing her hands and weeping bitterly. As I looked upon that poor, despairing woman that I had left so hopeful a few days previously, I felt that I could say or do nothing for her but to point her to the G.o.d of Israel, who is able and willing to lead his oppressed children. I said, "Were you ever a Christian?"

"I was three years ago, an' I lived a prayin' life a year; then the white folks did so bad, it 'peared like I couldn't live 'ligion, an' I giv' it all up. Missus sole my poor gal down de river, to sen' her two gals to de Norf to school now she's gwine to sell my Mary, kase they's runnin' short o' money; an' she missed sellin' my gal las' year. If I hadn't lef de Lord maybe dis hard trouble wouldn't come 'pon me." And again she began to wring her hands with convulsive weeping.

As I looked upon that poor, crushed spirit, the most frantic with grief of any person I ever saw, a feeling of confidence sprang up in me that she would become free. Said I, "You have known what it was to ask G.o.d to give you freedom from sin, and make you free from the bondage of Satan. Now go to him with full purpose of heart, and he will restore the joys of his salvation and again will set you free in soul. Then, I feel confident that the Captain of the soul's freedom will open the way for freedom from this chain of slavery that now binds you as a family.

Now go to Jesus; he will do great things for you. You lose confidence in your friends, you lose confidence in yourself; but go to the Lord Jesus, and believe he will direct you, and he will do it. Let prayer be thy constant work, then faith will increase--that will not fail." At these few words she became calm, and said, as she looked up, "Can you tell me where my daughter is?"

"Certainly," I said, "I heard from her yesterday; she is in Carthaginia, Indiana. I had supposed she went directly to Canada, and I was sorry she stopped so near to the line--not more than one hundred miles off."

"I was tole she went through this city with her baby."

"It was true," I answered. I was astonished to see her wipe her tears away and become calm so soon, and converse with so much composure.

"If we come soon can you go a piece wid us?"

"It will make no difference whether I am here or not, if you go to either of the places I told you of. There are a great many safe places here, but I gave those places you know so well, and can find day or night I shall probably go to my home in Michigan next week, and it is uncertain when I return; but don't forget to carry your burden to the Lord by constant prayer for his directing hand; and whatever way he opens, take it; if it should be any other way than the plan I suggested, take it, regardless of what I have said, except to mind closely the impressions you feel confident come from an All-wise Director. Do this, and I have great faith in your success.

"Never have I had the strong faith that I have at this moment, that if you go to the Savior for his help in this time of your great need, he will lead you out of slavery. I advise you not to wait for Bailey. If you come here you can all be taken to Canada without a dollar."

This seemed to surprise her. She said she could get a few dollars, as she was earning good day wages.

"One thing more I would say," I went on, "and that is, wherever I may be, whether in my Michigan home, or here in this city, I shall not forget to implore divine aid in the deliverance of this family from slavery."

With this solemn interview we parted, and the burden of prayer followed me to my home. Hardly a day pa.s.sed without presenting that poor family at a throne of grace for their preservation.

Two months later found me again in the exciting scenes of Cincinnati.

My first inquiry was for Mary French. "Yes, I heard a few days ago that her mistress had forbidden her ever to come to this city again, and had threatened to sell the whole family down the river, and I suppose they are all sold by this time," said John Hatfield. He said she remained in the city three or four weeks after I saw her, to get money to start with, but she was too late. Her Mary was sold just before she returned home, and the poor woman grieved so for her poor girl, that he heard her mistress abused her, and threatened to sell them all. It seemed as if I could hardly endure the thought, when I had indulged such strong hope of her success, but I could not yet give her up, though I regretted exceedingly her delay, as I felt great confidence that He who notes the falling sparrow, and hears the young ravens cry, would have brought that family out of bondage.

While in charge of the sick, word was brought by a workman in a shop that there was an exciting report in town that a market wagon brought over a load of nine slaves early that morning, and that a reward of five hundred dollars was offered for information of their whereabouts.

While my heart leaped for joy, hoping it might be Mary French and family, yet as I was in a pro-slavery family, my feelings were kept to myself. The man of the house said:

"What a pity to lose that amount of property! But according to your principles, Mrs. Haviland, I suppose you are glad of it."

"Certainly. As I told you the other day, the negroes have the same rights from their Creator that we have, and no man or cla.s.s of men has the right to take them away."

"Now can't you set aside these notions of yours? You can easily find out where they are, and slyly report them, and here's your five hundred dollars."

"I would not for ten times that amount. Would you do it?"

"Certainly I would, and should think it my duty."

"I am astonished to hear this from one who professes to be a follower of the Lord Jesus, a part of whose mission was to unbind the heavy burdens and let the oppressed go free. It is pain to me to hear you advance the sentiments you do in the presence of your children; and a cla.s.s-leader in the Methodist Protestant Church. I can not henceforward acknowledge you as a brother in Christ."

"Why, Mrs. Haviland! You are the most uncharitable person I ever met.

This hurts my feelings more than anything you have said in presenting your radical position."

"I do hope and pray that the enlightening influences of the Holy Spirit may lead to a far different view from your present one. I am grieved to hear this from one who is looked upon as a leader to the Lamb of G.o.d, who shed his blood for the whole universe of man, regardless of color or nation."

His reply was, "I want to refer you to a few more Scripture arguments that I have not mentioned. To-night, from seven o'clock till nine, I want to talk with you on this subject."

I told him I would be ready, but I had one request, and that was to make this a subject of prayer, as I should myself, during the day. He said he would seriously look it over, and left for his business.

At nine o'clock my patient was comfortably cared for, and I had been talking of going to Levi Coffin's on an errand for a number of days. I asked permission of her to be absent an hour for that purpose, and her consent for two hours was given. On my way I called on John Hatfield, to know whether this company of slaves was not the Mary French family.

"Oh, no, that poor family has gone down the river. I heard some days ago that they were sold to a trader."

"The market-wagon was the plan I gave Mary, and I hoped so much that it was her family."

"Yes, but we should be just as glad for other slaves panting for liberty, as for her," and I accepted the remark as almost a half reproof for being more anxious for her than for other slaves.

As I entered Catherine Coffin's room I inquired whether she knew this morning's company of the nine slaves to be Mary French and family. "I know nothing of the name, but a woman and little child are up in our attic; but n.o.body knows it about this house but Levi and I."

"Please go up and tell her a friend is going to call on her, so as not to frighten her."

"Go on; she'll know we would let no one but a friend go up." I walked slowly up to the fourth story, and lo! on a box in the corner sat Mary French with her little grandchild sitting at her feet. "Is it possible that is Mary French?" I exclaimed. She sprang to me with outstretched arms, clasped me with tears of joy and leaning her head on my shoulder sobbed.

"O, my G.o.d has saved me so far, but my pore Mary was sole down de ribber, when I is here in de city to git a little money to start wid.

When I gets into missus' door, I sort o' felt somethin' wrong, an' axt her, 'Whar's Mary?', She say, 'I sole her las' week,' an' I cried, 'O my G.o.d! save my pore chile Mary!' an' she kotched up de tongs an' beat me on my head 'til I loss my min', and when I come to I was layin' on de floor bleedin'. You see here is a sore yit" (pointing to her head).

There was a gash that must have been three inches long by the appearance of the scar and sore, yet unhealed. "Missus said I never, the longes' day I live, should set foot in Cincinnati, 'case free n.i.g.g.e.rs ruin me, an' afore she have such a fuss as dis, she put de hull of us in her pocket. I knowd what dis mean, and I tried mighty hard to cheer up afore her. But my tears was my meat and drink a few days. I 'membered your word to go to de Lord day an' night, 'case I couldn't come to you no mo'e. In three days he answered my prayer, an' jus' tole me I's gwine to be free, an' I tole my husban' so, but he couldn't git faith in me. I tole 'im to put faith in G.o.d, as I did now. But I did lose faith in my bes' frien' when Bailey tole me you an' Hatfiel'

betrayed my gal Mary, an' got a hundred dollars reward; den I was mos'

crazy. And when dat 'oman tole me to go to you, an' I tole her I did talk to you, and tole her what Bailey said 'bout you an' Hatfiel', she said he was a bad man, an' lied only to keep my mouey. She begged me so hard I tole her if you'd tell me whar Mary is, I'd have faith in you, an' when you tole me so quick, all my faith in you come back. How I wish you could see my man, for he's so sure they'll cotch us. I don't know whar he is, for we's scattered among de good people. O, what a time I had wid 'im to git 'im started. I loaded an' unloaded four times afore he'd come. At las' a pore white man tole me he hear missus say she gwine to sell us all to de firs' trader come along. I say, 'What shall I do?' He say, 'If I was you, I'd run away.' I say 'Here's my man an' chillen, can't go widout 'em.' He say 'All go, an' if dey cotch you 'twon't be no wuss dan to go to de trader, and if I can do any way to help you I will, for I feels sorry for you.' When I tole my man, he was so skeered he didn't know hisself scarcely. He was ready to do anyhow I wants 'im, au' I went to dis white man, an' ax 'im for his boy ten year ole, to go wid me to market, an' take all my family, an' I'd cover 'em up in de market wagon. 'An' I'll tell your boy I wants 'im to watch my team for me, an' I'll gib 'im a dollar.' 'All right, only tell 'im what you'll do, an' tell 'im to come an' ax me an' he musn't know I knows about it.' An' I tuk missus' young hosses, an' put my man an' chillen in, cover 'em up, den put a bag o' taters an' apples an' a basket o'

chickens in front. An' I had dis little boy by de chickens, so if he cry or make a noise I shake de basket an' de noise of de chickens kill de noise of de boy. An' I drove de fifteen miles to de ribber by daylight, and drove back of Covin'ton till de smoke of de ferry boat rise; den I prayed G.o.d to keep de ferryman from axin' me for my pa.s.s.

For I's mighty feared he would, 'case I hadn't been here in so long.

An' jus' afore sun up my man crawled out de back of de wagon. I told de boy to hol' de hosses till I fix somethin'. I whispered, 'Get back quick, for G.o.ds sake,' an' he whispered, 'Let's go back, I knows dey'll cotch us.' 'Go back! Man, its death to go back; we'd be in jail in no time waitin' for de trader.' An' he crawl back an' I tuck 'im up agin, an' we trimble like a popple leaf. Den de smoke jus' rise on de ferry-beat, an' I drove on wid de white boy by my side. I prayed dat de Lord wouldn't let de ferryman ax me for my pa.s.s. If he did I's gwine to say, 'Dis white boy my pa.s.s;' but he didn't say a word, an' I praise G.o.d for answerin' my prayer." I told her she had nothing to fear from the five hundred dollars reward; she was in good hands; all she had to do was to go when they were ready to take them; but I would write a few lines for her to take to the first stopping place after leaving the city, advising to go by way of Carthaginia. "Write me from that town, and tell your daughter to go on to Canada with you without fail."

I left her with a lighter heart, rejoicing with that rejoicing family, though yet trembling with fear. The time appointed for the two hours'

discussion on the subject of slavery arrived. My pro-slavery friend was not disposed to open the conversation he desired in the morning. After waiting until one hour had elapsed, I asked if he was prepared to bring the Scripture arguments he had for my consideration at this hour. He replied that he had thought of but little else during the whole day; but on the whole doubted whether his reasons would stand the test, and declined saying any thing farther in defense of the position he had advanced. A few weeks later he died of cholera. I called on his widow, who said he died a happy soul, and often spoke of his confidence in me as an honest-hearted Christian, and she never heard him speak disparagingly of the colored people after the long conversation we had on that subject. I regretted the loss of an opportunity of seeing him after Mary French and family were safe in Canada. I wished to give him their history, as I felt sure it would have been "like a nail driven in a sure place." He had lived in the South, and the subject of slavery had never been placed before him in this way.

The reward for the nine slaves was doubled on the second day of their exodus. All the clew the hunters got of their whereabouts was from the boy they met at the ferry. He could not read the names on the streets, and could only point as near as he knew in the direction where they all left. He told them he didn't know there were any in the wagon but "black Mary," till they all got out; then she told him to go to Walnut Street ferry, and he drove two or three blocks when he stopped and cried, because he didn't know where to find Walnut Street. Then a man came and told him to stop crying and he'd drive him to the ferry. They went to Hall's, on Macallister Street, but not one was left there five minutes. They were conducted to different hiding-places, and not one was left within a half a mile to a mile from that part of the city.

Slave-hunters were paid from three dollars to seven dollars a day for watching around those suspected streets and those leading northward.

The family were dressed in disguise and taken out in three carriages, closed, and two white men in front, that gave an impression at sight of a load of white people. At noon-day, in this manner, they rounded the corners, where were standing some of their hunters who were receiving their seven dollars a day, as was ascertained by a scheme gotten up by the colored people.

The next evening after the nine fugitives were taken northward, they drove a double carriage into an alley near North Street, and the same number of colored people, so closely watched for, were hustled in with haste, and driven off with speed. The call to "_Stop_, HALT," was not heeded, until the police rushed at the increased cry, "_Stop thief_, STOP THIEF," and slackened their pace. But while the excited crowd gathered to see the police arrest the thieves, the colored man beside the driver demanded the reason why he and his ladies should receive this insult to hinder their pleasure ride. By throwing a light from their dark lantern in the faces of their pursuers, the hunters they had suspected were recognized, to their great annoyance. There were those among them who would not have been exposed, perhaps, for half the amount of the reward.

A few days subsequent to this little episode I received a letter from Mary, after their arrival at Carthaginia, where she met her daughter, who, with her child, made their party number eleven. They very soon reached the "land of the free." Nothing further was heard from them until I went with my two daughters to Windsor, Canada West, to attend their first of August celebration, in commemoration of West India emanc.i.p.ation. There were gathered a very large congregation in a grove, of both colored and white people. While listening to an eloquent oration delivered by Samuel J. May, of Boston, I was taken from my seat and borne away a few rods, hardly touching the tops of the bushes with my feet. I turned first one way and then the other, until I discovered the sable face of Mary French, with big tears rolling down her cheeks.

Not a word was spoken until we were entirely away from the congregation, and I said, "Mary, haven't we gone far enough?" when she let me down, and caught bold of my bands and kissed them, while tears of joy were still falling. "O, how happy we is to be all free. Can't you go to Malden an' see all my family? I knows my man would come all dis way afoot if he knowed you's here." I told her I could not, as I must return the next day with my two daughters.

"Is dey heah?"

"They were sitting by my side," said I; "those two girls dressed in white are my daughters."

"Sweet creturs! de little angels; I mus' go see 'em. I's got two gals here, too, an' I'll bring 'em to see you." And soon her hands were placed on the shoulder of each, still weeping for joy as she said: "G.o.d bless you! You tinks it strange to see an old black 'oman come to you like dis, but you wouldn't if you know'd what your mother has done for me an' my family. If it hadn't been for her we should all been in slavery to dis day. I wants you to go out dar whar you see your mother standin' afore a great while. I'm gwine back to her now." She came with her two girls, who were also very demonstrative in shaking and kissing my hands; but they laughed instead of weeping as did their overjoyed mother. By the time my daughters came to us we were served with cake and ice cream. As she and her daughters had on the ground a little stand from which they made sales, their favors in this line were repeated.

Instead of one year's suspension, as we designed, we had deferred finishing our inst.i.tute building in Michigan from time to time, until four years had elapsed. As the Ohio school law made provision to support a colored school in any town or place where there were as many as fifteen regular scholars, my daughter Anna and myself taught a school for them of one hundred scholars one term, in the bas.e.m.e.nt of Zion Church, Toledo. The expenses were paid from the school fund.