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

by Laura S. Haviland

CHAPTER VI.

FUGITIVE SLAVES ASSISTED.

The exciting intelligence reached us that Clara and her three little ones were about to be captured by slave-holders in the city, on Pearl Street. I called on her at once, and found the house was surrounded the night before by strangers, who were followed to a hotel, and on the record the name of her master's son was found. Poor woman! She had passed through great suffering in making her escape with her two children; a third was born in Cincinnati—yet it too must share the anticipated fate of its mother. She had always been a house-servant, but found the death of her master was about to make great changes, he being deeply in debt. By the aid of a chambermaid she was secreted on a boat, and kept the two children drugged with opiates until she feared they would never come to life. But after her arrival, under the care of a skillful physician, they survived. She had found good friends among her own people and Church two years. I found her weeping, with the two youngest in her arms, the oldest sitting on a stool at her feet. With fast-falling tears she kissed her babes. "O ma's precious darlings, how can I spare you!" I told her if her master did not come for her until it was dark enough to conceal her, arrangements were made to come for her with a close carriage, to take them out of the city to a place of safety.

"I reckon you can't save us," she sobbed.

I told her we would pray the Lord, who knew all her deep sorrow, to open the way for us.

"Yes, I cried mightily to him to help me out o' that dark land back yonder, and it 'peared like he did bring me out; but if I had stuck closer to him I reckon he'd kep' me from this hard trial;" and fresh tears freely flowed.

With my hands on her shoulders, my tears mingled with hers. In broken sentences, she referred to the separation of her husband when he was sold and taken down the river.

I left her, with a heavy heart, yet strong hope that her young master (as she called him) would be defeated.

At twilight, I called to assist in getting them ready to jump into the carriage that our friend William Fuller would drive to the door within fifteen minutes; and being ready, we were in the carriage turning the first corner within a minute, and left them in charge of an underground railway agent, who took them on his train as soon as their clothing and pocket-money were forwarded to them, to the great relief of many anxious hearts.

A little past nine o'clock, her master and his posse surrounded the house, and lay in wait until the stillness of the midnight hour was thought most favorable to pounce upon their prey and hurry them to the river, where they had a boat in waiting for them. Then their force was increased, and an entrance demanded. The owner of the house (a colored man) refused admittance without legal authority, although threats of breaking down the door or windows were made; but they were resisted with returning threats of shooting the first man that dared to enter without proper authority. As they were expecting an attack, the women had left their home for the night. The watch was kept around the house until morning approached, when the marshal, with his official papers, was brought to claim Clara and three children. But to their great disappointment, in searching the house, no Clara or children were there. In great rage her master left, swearing vengeance upon him who had kept them in suspense all night when he had spirited them away, for he knew he had harbored his property in his house; but all the reply he received was, "Prove it, if you wish." They got no track of them until they heard from them in Canada.

A fugitive by the name of Jack secreted himself on a large steamer from the lower Mississippi, and left it on landing in Cincinnati. Being so far from his old home, he hired himself as a barber, in which business he was very successful about two years, when his master learned of his whereabouts. He made the acquaintance of a free colored man by the name of Robert Russel, who was an idle, loafish mulatto, sometimes working at little jobs in Cincinnati, and also in Covington. In the latter place he fell in with the slave-holder, who was watching for an opportunity to secure the aid of some one who would induce Jack to come to the river, where he would hurry him onto the ferry, and get him on the Kentucky side, when he could easily return him to the far South. As he found Robert Russel a man of no principle, he gave him ten dollars if he would decoy Jack to the wharf of Walnut Street landing about noon, when men were generally at dinner. He succeeded, when the master with his Kentucky friends slipped hand-cuffs on poor Jack, and took him on the ferry for a thief. The more Jack protested, denying the charge, the louder they cried thief! thief! Some of his colored friends consulted their favorite lawyer, John Jolliffe, about arresting Jack's master for kidnapping, as he had taken him illegally, but they were told they could do nothing with him in Kentucky. They were compelled to leave their friend to his fate.

But the Judas who betrayed Jack ought to be brought to justice; but how could they do it? As I was at that time teaching a school of colored girls, in the basement of Zion Baptist Church, a number of colored men came to consult with me. I told them as Robert Russel was a renegade he was as liable to serve one side of the river as the other, and would as readily bring a slave to the Ohio side for ten dollars, as to decoy him back into the hands of his master for that money. They said Robert did not dare come into Cincinnati, fearing that justice would be dealt out in tar and feathers by the colored people. They learned soon after he came to the city that he ran away from Ripley to avoid being arrested for stealing. I advised them not to take the law of tar and feathers, as they had indicated, in their own hands; but to spoil the petting he was getting from the slave-holders across the river, by warning them against Robert Russel, for he would as readily play the rogue one side as the other; and this they could do in a little printed card that might be dropped on the sidewalk through a few streets in Covington, and they would run him out of their town in a hurry. This idea pleased them, and they wished me to draft the card, and they would print and circulate it. I told them I would take my noon recess to prepare it, and at 4 o'clock my school would be out, and they might come for it. I gave it as follows:

Slave-Holders of Kentucky!
BEWARE OF THE ROGUE, ROBERT RUSSEL!

Who absconded from Ripley, Ohio, to evade the strong arm of the law he richly deserved for misdemeanors in that town. This man is a light mulatto, and betrayed one of his race for ten dollars, in Cincinnati, bringing him into life-long trouble. He will as readily take ten dollars from any of your slaves to bring them to Cincinnati, and again take ten dollars to return them to you, as he has no higher purpose to serve than paltry self. A LOVER OF RIGHT.

This was printed on a placard of ten by twelve inches. They procured two hundred for distribution, but found it more difficult to get a distributor than they anticipated. I told one of them to go to Levi Coffin's and inform him and his wife where I was going after my school was dismissed, and that I would distribute them through Covington, but to let no one else know of it, except their committee who secured the printing, as it would produce increased excitement. I went a mile from the river before commencing my work, and left one or two in every yard, when no eye seemed directed toward me, I dropped them by the street side until I reached the ferry that returned me to my anxious friends in Cincinnati, just as the sun dropped behind the Western hills.

The following day report gave an account of the evening's excitement in Covington. A company of slave-holders met to consult over this placard, and the conclusion was reached to give Bob Russel until nine o'clock the following morning to leave the State or take the consequences. Two slaves had left them within a couple of months, and they charged him with taking them over the river. Some of the more excitable were for hauling him out of bed at the close of their meeting (ten o'clock), and dealing summary vengeance for their recent losses, but as he pledged himself to leave their State the next morning never to return, they left him to his own uncomfortable reflections.

A party consisting of four, from New Orleans, came to Cincinnati to spend the Summer, and made their home at a hotel. It was soon ascertained by the colored people that their little nurse girl of about nine years of age, was a slave, and as the master and mistress had brought her there, she was by the laws of Ohio free. They took the opportunity to coax her away and place her among their white friends, who they knew would take good care of her. Very soon there was great inquiry for Lavina. They said she was just a little pet they brought with them to play with and mind the baby, and they knew she was stolen from them against her will; but that if they could get sight at her, she would run to them, unless she was forcibly held back by some mean person. Diligent search was made among the colored people whom they suspected, but no clew could be found of her whereabouts. They were then advised to visit some prominent abolitionists, where they were satisfied she had been taken. So close to Elizabeth Coleman's were they watching, that she felt unsafe, fearing they might come in and find her alone with her little pet fugitive, so she took her to Samuel Reynold's by night.

The search continued. Samuel met the master on the street in front of his house, but had left orders to dress Lavina in his little boy's suit; and holding the master in conversation awhile, he said he would call for Jim, to bring them a glass and pitcher of water, having already told his wife to give Jim a few necessary instructions hew to appear very smart and active. As she came out to give them drink, Samuel gave the master and his two friends a few lessons in Ohio law, informing him that all slaves brought into the State by their owners were free. The master contended that it would be very cruel to keep Lavina from her mother (who belonged to him), and he knew if he could be allowed to see her it would be sufficient to convince them of her attachment to him, and promised to leave the child to her own choice. "But," said Samuel, "Lavina is on our underground railroad." This was as new to the New Orleans slave-holder as were the Ohio laws he had been explaining. After discussing the right and wrong of his claim, Samuel called to his wife to send Jim with a pitcher of water; and out came the little fellow. "Pour a glass of water for this gentleman, Jim;" and their heated discussion continued. The master took the glass from Jim, who looked him full in the face, with one hand in his pocket, while Samuel was serving the other two gentlemen with a glass of water. The women in the house were filled with fear, as they deemed Samuel rather imprudent. But Jim returned with pitcher and glass, and the master and his friends went back to the hotel none the wiser, either of Lavina's whereabouts or of the operation of this new kind of railroad. Lavina was well cared for, and her master and mistress returned to New Orleans with a new experience, minus a nurse girl.

Another fugitive, by the name of Zack, came across the river from Virginia into Ohio. He had lain in the woods by day, and traveled by the North Star at night, when it was clear, but in rainy or cloudy weather he found he was as liable to go South as North. There had been much rain to impede his progress, and he suffered much from hunger. He had advanced only a few miles from the river, when he found a family of true friends, who replenished his clothing, and was preparing food for his journey, when his master, with eight other men, found out where he was, and came with officers to search the house and take their prey. They came in the night and demanded entrance. "Wife, what shall we do? There are men under every window."

"Let them search the two lower rooms first, and while you go with them you tell Zack to slip into my room while you are with them, and I'll see to him."

"But I tell you he can't be got out of this house without being caught."

"Go on; I know that." And he left her and gave the frightened man his orders. But before he reached her room she rolled up the feather-bed and drew the straw mattress to the front side of the bedstead, and told Zack to jump in. Her oder obeyed, she threw back the feather-bed, and before the master and officer entered her room she was occupying the front side of the bed. The clothes-press, wardrobe, and under the bed were all closely scrutinized. The husband, pale with excitement, was expecting, in every place they searched, that poor Zack would be found. But they all left satisfied that he was not in that house, though so very sure they had found the right place. The noble woman said he shook with fear, so as to make the bed tremble during the search, knowing but too well his sad fate if he should again fall into the hands of his master. Every necessary measure was taken to hasten his progress to Canada.

In December, 1852, Calvin Fairbanks, who had served a term of three years in the Kentucky penitentiary for aiding slaves to escape, called at Levi Coffin's and informed me of a letter he had received, giving information that an interesting slave woman in Louisville, Kentucky, could cross the river, if a friend would meet her at Jeffersonville, Indiana, and take her to a place of safety; and he proposed to be the conductor. I advised him, by all means, not to go so near Kentucky, as he was so well known through that State. He said he expected we would oppose him. I advised him to consult with Dr. Brisbane, as Levi was absent. But he chose to keep the matter quiet, and went on his dangerous expedition. I was called away to College Hill as nurse, and in three weeks, when I returned to Levi's, he called me into the store, saying, "We have a letter for thee to read; somebody is in trouble, and Samuel Lewis, Dr. Brisbane and myself have been trying to find out who it is, but can make out nothing by the letter. The signature is of stars, that he says is the number of letters in the name, but we can make nothing of it;" and he handed me the letter, dated from Louisville jail.

As soon as I counted the six stars in the first name, I said, "Levi, it is Calvin Fairbanks! Read out the last line of stars, and we'll find Fairbanks."

At this point Dr. Brisbane entered the store.

"Doctor," said Levi, "Laura has found our riddle; she says it is Calvin
Fairbanks."

Both were astonished, not knowing he was down the river. I told them of his call in Levi's absence, and of his errand.

"Poor man, how he will suffer, for they will soon find him out, and they are so very bitter against him, I fear he will die in their penitentiary, for they will have no mercy on him," said the doctor.

"He sends us an appeal for help, but I see no way we can render him assistance," responded Levi.

A few weeks later a colored man, who had been mistaken for a slave, was released from that jail. He came to us telling of the suffering the prisoners endured, having no bed but a pile of filthy straw in their cells; and that Calvin requested him to see his friends, and tell us he must perish unless a quilt and flannel underclothing were furnished him; and he also needed a little pocket money. No one dared to take these articles to him, for only two weeks previously a man by the name of Conklin had brought the wife and four children of an escaped slave into Indiana, and was captured in the night. All were taken to the river, and the poor woman and her children returned to their owner, without her meeting the husband and father, who had sent for them. Conklin was bound with ropes and thrown into the river, where he was found a few days after. Four weeks before Williams, from Massachusetts, followed two little mulatto girls who were stolen from their free-born parents by a peddler, and found them near Baltimore, Maryland. As soon as his errand was made known a baud of ruffians lynched him.

These two cases of murder, without the semblance of law, had produced much excitement in the North, and now the Fairbanks case was increasing the exasperation of the South. But here was a suffering brother in prison. A few days of earnest prayer determined me to go to Louisville jail with a trunk of bed clothes and under flannels. I looked for strong opposition from my friends, but to my surprise when I proposed the plan to my friends Levi and Catherine Coffin, they favored my project. Catherine did her full share in furnishing a trunk, a thick comfortable and pillow; others soon brought a change of flannels; and as Levi met friends and made known my project of going to Louisville, the mites were brought to the amount of fourteen dollars for Calvin, and enough to bear my expenses. Levi saw Captain Barker, who possessed an interest in the line of packets running to Louisville, and he offered half fare, and promised to send for me in time for the Ben Franklin, No. 2, to leave for Louisville the next day at 2 P. M.

Dr. Brisbane, on returning from an absence of a few days, told Levi not to allow so rash a move, and said that I must not go to Louisville in this excitement, for it was dangerous in the extreme; and he referred to Conklin's fate, that was just as likely to be mine. This so discouraged Levi, that he said, "It may be we have been too fast in giving thee words of encouragement." My reply was, "I find no geographical lines drawn by our Savior in visiting the sick and in prison."

Here was a suffering brother, who had fallen among thieves, and I felt it my duty to go to his relief. There seemed also a clear answer to prayer that I should be protected; and if time would allow me to call on Dr. Brisbane before I left for the boat, I would do so, as I desired to see him.

"If thou art going, I advise thee not to call on the doctor, as I know how he feels about thy going, and all thy reasons will not satisfy him in the least."

I told him if the doctor or any one else would go, I should feel easy to give it up, but otherwise I could not.

During this conversation Melancthon Henry came in, as he said, "with his mite" of three silver dollars for brother Fairbanks. He said, "You are going into the lion's den, and my prayer is that you may be as wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove. I know the venom of the serpent is there in power, but God will give his children the wisdom without the poison." Melancthon was a son of Patrick Henry, who had emancipated him with his slave mother. He was a member of the Wesleyan Methodist Church, to which I was at that time attached.

Soon after Captain Barker sent for me, and told me to refer Colonel Buckner to him in presenting my note of introduction, as he was favorably acquainted with the colonel and he should mention me as one of his friends.

Arrived at Louisville about day-dawn, I took a hack, and ordered the hackman to place the trunk on the porch of the front entrance of the jailor's residence. As the colonel's wife answered the door-bell, I inquired for Colonel Buckner. She stepped back to call him, when in an undertone I heard, "Who is it?" "I don't know; she came in the hack and is genteelly dressed, and I think came from the boat."

He "genteelly" met me, took Captain Barker's letter of introduction, and then introduced me to his wife and daughter, and to his wife's sister from Boston, who was there on a visit with her daughter, making quite a lively social circle. My errand was immediately made known, and the colonel excused himself for overhauling the trunk to take its contents to Calvin at once, as it was in the line of his duty as keeper of the prison to examine every thing brought in for prisoners; not that he expected to find anything improper for Fairbanks to receive. I told him I designed returning to Cincinnati on the same boat I came on, and it was going out at 4 P. M.

"Why go so soon?" he asked.

I replied, "My errand here is accomplished, when I see that these things are delivered to Calvin Fairbanks; and as I have a little pocket change, sent by his friends in Cincinnati, I would like to see Calvin, as I shall write his mother after my return."

"I will see if the sheriff thinks it best. There was a great excitement in the city when Fairbanks was arrested and brought here, and Shotwell, the injured man who lost his servant Tamor and her child, is very much enraged, and being a man of wealth and influence here, I dare not take you in to see Fairbanks on my own responsibility; but I'll see the sheriff, and if he says you can see him it is all right."

With a little note from me he took the trunk of things to Calvin, and brought back a receipt. As he handed it to me he said, "I suppose you will recognize his handwriting, so you'll know it's from him?"

I replied that I had seen a note of his writing, but was not familiarly acquainted with it, but was perfectly satisfied with the receipt.

He said he had been to see the sheriff, but he was absent, and would not return for two or three days, "and I think you had better wait," he continued, "and see him, as you can remain with us; it shall not cost you a cent."

I told him my friends in Cincinnati would be at the wharf to meet me the following morning; and as I had nothing further to accomplish, being satisfied that the things and money had been received by Calvin Fairbanks, I felt free to return. But he urged still harder.

"It will be too bad for you to return without seeing him, as you are the only friend that has called to see him since he has been here; and I know he wants to see you, for he asked if you were not coming in to see him, and I told him I was waiting to see the sheriff; and I think you had better wait till the boat makes another trip, as your stay here is as free as air, and we would like you to stop over; then you can see the sheriff, and I reckon he will not object to your going in to see Fairbanks, and yet I dare not take you in without his approval."

I at length consented. They were all very polite, and I rested as sweetly that night as if in my own room at Levi Coffin's, or in my own Michigan home. The next day the colonel was very free to talk of the false ideas of Northern people about slavery; spoke of Elizabeth Margaret Chandler's work on slavery, that I took from their center table; said his wife's Boston friends sent it her, but "it was nothing but a pack of lies."

I told him that she lived and died neighbor to me, and I esteemed her as a noble woman.

"But she never lived in the South, and had no right to judge of their condition without the knowledge of it."

I was introduced to a young man who he said had been suffering a few days' imprisonment under false charges, but on the examination, had that day, was found not guilty. As the family withdrew from the parlor, this young man seemed very anxious to deliver a secret message from Fairbanks to me; he said he had made a confidant of him, and told him to request me to see to forwarding Tamor's trunk of valuable clothing to a place of safety. He then told me the mark on the trunk, and the place in Louisville where it was waiting to be forwarded. I said that I had told the colonel I had no idea of Tamor's whereabouts, as I had supposed she was taken with Fairbanks until informed to the contrary; and that I had no business here whatever, aside from bringing a few articles for his present relief.

After being absent awhile, he returned with a note purporting to be from Calvin, inquiring whether I had made the acquaintance of persons therein named. I told the bearer I had not, and if he saw Calvin he could tell him so. He urged me to send Fairbanks a note, as the colonel or any one else should know nothing of it; but I refused, becoming satisfied that he was more of a dispatch-bearer for the colonel than for Calvin Fairbanks. I learned afterwards that this was true, and that he was released for the purpose of getting hold of additional evidence with which to convict him, and perhaps convict myself also.

In the evening a gentleman of their city made a call on the family, and to him I was introduced. He spent an hour or two in conversation with myself and the others. The jailer, Colonel Buckner, told me just before I left that their city papers—Louisville Courier and Louisville Commercial—inserted a notice to the effect that "Delia Webster, from Cincinnati, is here, and is quartered for a few days in the city." This little notice created much excitement; and as the gentleman alluded to knew Delia Webster personally, the colonel brought him in to make my acquaintance and report accordingly. As he passed out of the parlor, he told the colonel he might rest assured that lady was not Delia Webster, and they had nothing to fear from this Cincinnati lady, and he should set the editors right. All this excitement was carefully kept from me, as they wished to keep me as long as they possibly could, hoping to glean some additional evidence against Fairbanks, although the jailer told me they had sufficient evidence to convict Fairbanks for a term of twenty-five or thirty years at least, as this was the second offense, and he had no doubt but that he had been guilty of many others. The papers next day came out with a correction, "that it was not Delia Webster, but Mrs. Haviland, from Cincinnati; and, as abolitionists generally went in pairs, she had better keep a lookout, or she, too, would find an apartment in Colonel Buckner's castle."

Delia Webster was arrested near the time of Calvin Fairbanks's first arrest, and for the same offense, and sentenced to the same penitentiary, but in six weeks was pardoned.

The colonel was disposed to spend much time in discussing the merits, or rather demerits, of abolition principles, which seemed to be a new theme for this Methodist class-leader and jailor. He said:

"I want to convince you that you abolitioners are all wrong, for you go against colonization, and you can't deny it; and if there was ever a heaven-born institution it is colonization."

"Do you claim that God has conferred the prerogative to a man or set of men to draw a line, and say to you or me. 'You shall go the other side of that line, never to return?'".

"O no, that is a different thing. We belong to a different race."

"Whatever privilege you claim for yourself or I claim for myself, I claim for every other human being in the universe, of whatever nation or color. If the colored people choose to go to Africa. I have no word to say against their removal; it is their right and their privilege to go. And if they wish to go to any other part of our world they have the same right with me to go."

"O no, not to Canada; for you have no idea of the trouble it makes us. We expend thousands of dollars in preventing our slaves from going there."

"That is the defect in your policy. It is the existence of your system of slavery that makes you all this trouble." "As I told you of Miss Chandler, so it is with you, because you never lived in a slave State, and know nothing of their contented and happy condition. They have no care; if they are sick the doctor is sent for, and they are as tenderly cared for as our own children, and their doctor's bills are paid. I know if you would live here a few months you'd see these things very differently. You would see our slaves marching out to their work, singing their songs and hymns as merrily as if they'd never had a troubled thought in their heads. Here's my wife, born and raised in Massachusetts, and now she thinks as much of our institution of slavery as any of us who are raised here."

"If your slaves are so happy and contented, why do they make you so much trouble in their effort to reach Canada?"

"O, there's free niggers enough to be stirring up the devil in their heads; for their notions are not fit to mingle with our servants. And there's the good the colonization of these free negroes is doing. I know of one man that manumitted two of his slaves on purpose to have them go to Africa as missionaries; and there is the design of Providence in bringing those heathen negroes here to learn the Gospel plan by Christ, to save the dark and benighted heathen of their own country. We have reports from the two missionaries that I told you were set free for that object, and their master sent them off to school a year or more to fit them for their work."

"But why not give them all an opportunity of educacation, to enable them to read the Bible and books and papers. That would improve the race at home; and instead of sending them off, as you say, they would be preachers here among their people."

"I tell you that wouldn't amount to any thing, as there are but few that can learn any thing but work, and that they are made for. Their thick skulls show that they can't learn books; and if you knew as much about them as I do you'd see it too, but you are such an abolitioner you won't see it."

I told him I had seen colored people in the North who were well educated and intelligent.

"O yes, there are a few who can learn, but I speak of the race. They are different from us, you know. Not only their skin is black and hair curled and noses flat, but they stink so."

"But here is your house-servant, Mary, preparing your meals, setting in order your parlor and private rooms, and waiting on the persons of your wife and daughter—and her hair is as short and skin as black and nose as flat as any you'll find; and yet this disagreeable smell only troubles you in connection with the principle of freedom and liberty."

"You are such an abolitioner there's no doing any thing with you," he rejoined, and left the room.

He soon returned, and said:

"There's another thing I want to talk with you about, and that is amalgamation. If you carry out your principles, your children would intermarry with negroes; and how would you feel to see your daughter marry a great black buck nigger?"

"That is the least of my troubles in this lower world," said I. "But as far as amalgamation is concerned, you have twenty cases of amalgamation in the South to one in the North. I say this fearless of contradiction; it is a fruitful product of slavery. There are hundreds of slaves held as property by their own fathers. You'll find it wherever slavery exists. You find it here in your own city, Louisville."

Giving a shrug of his shoulders, he replied, "I will acknowledge this is a sorrowful fact that can not be denied."

This ended his talk on that subject.

After supper we were all enjoying a social chat before a blazing grate in the dining-room, and I was sitting near the kitchen door, that was ajar, where were their slaves in hearing. In their presence I had avoided answering some of his questions, but now a question was put within their hearing, which seemed to demand a square reply, and I gave it.

"I would like to know, Mrs. Haviland, where you abolitioners get your principles of equal rights. I'd like to know where you find them."

"We find them between the lids of the Bible. God created man in his own image—in his own likeness. From a single pair sprang all the inhabitants of the whole earth. God created of one blood all the nations that dwell upon the whole earth; and when the Savior left his abode with the Father, to dwell a season upon our earthly ball, to suffer and die the ignominious death of the cross, he shed his precious blood for the whole human family, irrespective of nation or color. We believe all are alike objects of redeeming love. We believe our Heavenly Father gave the power of choice to beings he created for his own glory; and this power to choose or refuse good or evil is a truth co-existent with man's creation. This, at least, is my firm conviction."

No reply was made, but, at his suggestion, we repaired to the parlor, where other conversation was introduced, but no reference made to Bible arguments.

During the time of waiting to see the sheriff the jailer's wife frequently spent an hour or two in social conversation. She said they never bought or sold a slave but at the earnest solicitation of the slave.

"Our black Mary was one of the most pitiable objects you ever saw. She was treated shamefully, and was put here in jail, where she lay three months, and was so sick and thin there wouldn't any body buy her. I felt so sorry for her I used to take her something she could eat, and I had her clothes changed and washed, or I reckon she would have died. She begged me to buy her, and I told Mr. Buckner that if she was treated half decent I believed she would get well. So I bought her and paid only four hundred dollars; and now you see she looks hale and hearty, and I wouldn't take double that for her. But there is poor black Sally, just four weeks ago today she was sold to go down the river in a gang, and I never saw any poor thing so near crazy as she was. She was sold away from her seven children. As I heard her screams I threw my bonnet and shawl on and followed her to the river, and she threw herself down on her face and poured out her whole soul to God to relieve her great distress, and save her poor children. Oh how she cried and prayed. I tell you no heart, not made of stone, could witness that scene and not melt. Many shed tears over poor Sally's prayer. A man standing by went to the trader and bought her, and went and told her that he lived only eight miles away, and had bought her, and she should come and see her children occasionally. She thanked him as he helped her to stand up, for she seemed weak. But in just two weeks from that day she died, and the doctors examined her, and said she died of a broken heart. They said there was no disease about her, but that she seemed to sink from that day, growing weaker and weaker until she died. That was just two weeks ago to-day."

Her eyes frequently filled with tears as she related this sad incident, and yet she could cheerfully say, "Oh, Mrs. Haviland, go with me into the kitchen to see my nigger baby." As we entered the kitchen there stood the mother by her fat, laughing baby, bolstered up in his rude cradle of rough boards. "There, isn't that a fine boy? he's worth one hundred dollars. I could get that to-day for him, and he's only eight months old; isn't be bright?"

"He is certainly a bright little fellow."

As I looked at the mother I saw the downcast look, and noticed the sigh that escaped a heavy heart, as she listened to the claim and price set upon her little darling. It's mother, Mary, was ebony black, her child was a light mulatto, which was in keeping with the story of abuse to which she was compelled to submit, or else lay in jail.

During the afternoon of Friday a Mr. Adams, from South Carolina, came to recognize and take his slave Jack. Said the colonel: "He was decoyed by an abolitioner, and now you can see what your principles lead to. There's Jack in the yard" (pointing toward the man). "His master has just been in jail with me and talked with Jack, and I let him out, and he's going around town with him to see if he can get his eye on the rogue that enticed him away. You see he's a great, stout, smart-looking fellow, and the rascal got sight at him, and saw him alone, and asked him if he wouldn't like to be free, and be his own master. He said he would. 'Then meet me at eleven o'clock by that big tree near the road yonder, and I'll take you with me to Canada, where you'll be a free man.' Jack met him at the place appointed, and they vent on till daylight, then hid till night, and traveled on. 'Now,' said this abolitioner if you will let me sell you in this little town ahead, I'll be around here till near night, then I'll go on to the next tavern (or I'll tell them so), but I'll stop in a little wood this side, and wait for you till eleven or twelve o'clock, and you can meet me, and I'll give you half I get for you, then well travel all night again, when we'll be out of reach of their hunting for you. Then we can travel by day-time, as you can call me master, and I'll call you my body-servant.' Jack was now fairly in his hands, and did as he directed. As he had divided the money with Jack he had confidence in this mean fellow, and thought he would take him on to Canada. He met him according to the plan, and, after traveling all night again, another proposition was made to sell him again, and he would again divide and give him half, which now amounted to a large sum for Jack. But this was not the end of sales; for he played the same game over and ewer, until they reached this city, when Jack was caught and put in jail. After he'd been here three days he told me all about it, and I took the money and wrote to Mr. Adams to come and get him. By the time that abolitioner got here he had sold Jack seven times, and divided with him every time. So, you see, that is just the fruit of your principles."

I patiently waited until he finished his story, with its charges, when it was my time.

"Colonel Buckner, I do not acknowledge this to be the work of an abolitionist, This was a selfish, unprincipled man; he was making himself rich, and probably was taking Jack down the river, and would have kept on selling him, and dividing, until he would have sold him for the last time, and then have taken from Jack all the money he had given him from these clandestine sales. I have no word of sanction to give to work like this; I should say his place was here in jail instead of Jack. If Jack had come to us hungry and naked, we should have fed and clothed him; and if sick with fatigue and footsore, we should have given him a ride toward Canada, if he wished to go there; but as for this man, I will not own him as an abolitionist. I repudiate his work altogether."

"Oh, yes, he told Jack he was an abolitioner."

"Then he was a hypocrite. I want to suppose a case for you to consider. Perhaps a fine appearing man comes into your city, attends your Methodist meetings, and calls himself a Methodist. He speaks well in your class meetings, speaks, prays, and sings in your prayer-meetings, and you became very favorably impressed with him as a Christian. He engages, perhaps, as clerk or bookkeeper in one of your large business houses across the street, and during three or six months appears so candid and punctual in all business transactions, that they confide to his care important business. But the opportunity arrives when he takes advantage of this confidence, and forges a draft of $3,000, and it is cashed, and he is off, never to be heard from again. Now as you learn of this dark deed, you have no idea of acknowledging that man as a Christian brother, have you?"

"Oh, no, certainly not; we expect and know there are hypocrites."

"So do we expect hypocrites in our abolition ranks; but because of counterfeit money we would not reject the true coin."

In the evening I was introduced to Mr. Adams, of South Carolina, with whom we all seemed to enjoy free and easy conversation. He was quite pleased to find his servant Jack, and a secret thought stole over me that he was also pleased to get with him two or three times his value in gold.

Sabbath morning Ben Franklin No. 2 packet came in, and I prepared to go to the boat, as the jailor said the sheriff had not yet returned from the country. Said the jailor:

"I don't like to have you leave without seeing Fairbanks, as you are the only friend who has called on him. I have a great mind to assume the responsibility of just taking you into the jail a few minutes before you go."

"I would thank you very kindly," I said, "if you think it prudent; but if not, I shall not urge you in the least."

"I reckon there can be no harm done. Come on, we'll go," and I followed him into the jail, and he called for Fairbanks.

I met him under circumstances that had caused such bitter prejudices against him that there was no shadow of probability that any thing like justice would be shown him. Besides, there were forty sad faces before me, of persons who, the jailer told me, had committed no crime, but were placed there for safe keeping, as they had been purchased in different places for the lower market. A gang was being prepared by a trader, and these were all shades, from the ebony black to those with fair skin, straight hair, and blue eyes, with hardly a vestige of African descent. With this scene before me, I could not restrain tears, neither were Calvin's eyes dry. As he held my hand in both of his, he said:

"Let us keep good courage. I think I shall be released after my trial. I want you to see my lawyer, Mr. Thruston; he says he will take my case through for six hundred dollars."

I told him I had no power to indemnify a lawyer. And after I received his note urging me to see him, I sent a note back by the keeper to that effect.

"But if you can see him, he may fall in his price two hundred or three hundred dollars. Don't leave without seeing him."

I told him I would have seen him if he had been in town on receiving his note, and yet I could see no important benefit in securing an interview with the lawyer, as his figures, unless greatly reduced, were beyond our reach in Cincinnati.

"Perhaps he may reduce them if you see him."

With these beseeching words, with tearful eyes that brought tears to the eyes of the colonel as well, the colonel said at once:

"I think you ought to comply with Fairbanks's request, and stay over one more trip. You can stop with us and be welcome. If you choose to call on Dr. Field, as Fairbanks has suggested, you can do so; but I reckon it's your duty to see his lawyer."

Dr. Field was a practical abolitionist. Like Dr. Brisbane and James G. Birney, he emancipated his own slaves, and left Louisville on account of slavery, and made a home in Jeffersonville, on the Indiana side of the river.

As it was now ten minutes, double the time suggested by the jailer while we were on our way to the jail, I turned to the keeper, and told him as my interview was prolonged beyond its limit, I would go; and on taking leave of Calvin he pointed to four men standing a few feet from him, and said, "Do you know those men?"

I looked up and nodded to them a recognition. They were fugitives who had been recaptured by virtue of the fugitive slave law passed in 1850, some of whom had made their escape from slavery many years before. One, whose name was Baker, with whom I was well acquainted, had hair straighter and skin fairer than very many of our Anglo-Saxon race. These four answered to the nod, smiling through their tears. They had enjoyed a taste of freedom, and now were to be hurled back to a dark life of bondage more bitter to them than ever before. But not a word could I utter to them. The slight bow, as I was turning away, was all; and yet that was sufficient to set on fire a world of iniquity in the four officers in front of the iron grates through which we conversed with Calvin Fairbanks. These officers beckoned to the jailer as we were passing through to the outer gate, and upon his opening it, he said, "Will you please pass through the yard into our apartments alone?"

"Certainly," I responded; and turning to me, he remarked, "Those officers beckoned to see me a moment."

I drew my arm from his, that he had so politely tendered in going to and from Calvin. In passing through the yard I met their slave man, who said, in a low tone, "Did you see Fairbanks?"

I answered, in a like tone, "I did."

"Glory!" he cried, just loud enough for me to hear.

Near the door I was met by Mary, who said but little above a whisper, "Did you see him?" As I gave a nod, she said, "Good, good!" clapping her hands for joy.

I waited in the parlor for the return of the jailer, as he had said he would go to the river with me. He soon came in, pale and trembling with excitement.

"Mrs. Haviland, those officers are all boiling over with excitement. They wanted to know if I didn't see how just the sight of you was like an electric shock all over that crowd of slaves." "Didn't you see those four runaways cry at the sight of her?" said one of the officers. I told them my attention was all taken up with your conversation with Fairbanks, and noticed nothing of others.

"They say it is very evident that you are a dangerous person, and deserve to be here in this jail just as much as Fairbanks, and they are for arresting you at once; and I don't know, Mrs. Haviland, that it will be in my power to protect you. There have been threats in the papers every day since you've been here; and Shotwell has had his officers out hunting in every hotel for you; but we have kept it carefully from the public that you were with me, until now these officers are determined to arrest you."

Said I: "Colonel Buckner, should your officers come in this moment I have nothing to fear. The God of Daniel is here at this hour. Should I be arrested, you wouldn't keep me in your jail three days. I have no more fear than if I were in my own room in Cincinnati."

His trembling voice became quiet; and more calmly he said:

"Well, it is a glorious thing to feel like you do; but I reckon you'd better go over the river to Dr. Field's, and when Mr. Thruston comes into the city I'll send him over to see you. I advise you not to set foot on the Kentucky shore again, as I know it will not be safe. There is this morning a great excitement jail over town about you. So one of the officers told me. But I'll go to the river with you right soon."

We started for the door, when he halted: "I don't think I had better go with you now, as these officers may come out and make trouble, and I reckon you'd be safer alone."

"Very well, I have no hesitancy whatever in going alone;" and I bode him "good-bye."

As I was opening the door he reached his hand to return the
"Good-bye—God bless you!" and I left the jail and jailer.

I passed a large hotel, with perhaps fifteen or twenty men standing on the sidewalk in front. All seemed in a perfect buzz of excitement,—When I saw this company of men, the first thought was to pass over on the other side. "But I will neither turn to the right nor the left, but pass through their midst," was an impression that I followed; and so busily engaged were they in their excited conversation that they hardly looked to see the little passer-by, the subject of their thoughts and words. Said one:

"Great excitement in town to-day."

"Yes, sir; you can see a group of men at every street corner."

I smiled to myself, as I thought, "Little do you think this is the little old woman you are troubling yourselves over."

I soon was in Jeffersonville inquiring for Dr. Field's residence, and was shown the house across the street, and upon its front porch stood a little group—the doctor and family, with two ministers—watching me; and as I opened the gate and inquired if this was Dr. Field's residence:

"Yes, I am the Jason," said the doctor. "We're been looking for you,
Mrs. Haviland, every day since you've been in Louisville."

This was an unexpected salutation, and I felt at home again as I clasped their warm hands of friendship.

"How is it that you have knowledge of me?"

"Just walk in, and I'll show you the papers; haven't you seen them?"

I told him I had not, and knew nothing of it until just as I was leaving; the jailer told me there had been threats in the daily papers to arrest me. When I read these little scurrilous articles, calculated to inflame an already inflamed public, I wondered, as well as the doctor, that they had not found my whereabouts and made trouble. I hoped my Cincinnati friends had not seen this, as I had written them the reason of my delay, and sent the letter by the same boat that brought me to Louisville. I enjoyed sweet rest with these Christian friends, and attended with them their afternoon meeting. The minister who preached was as earnest an abolitionist as the doctor, and brother Proctor preached as radical an abolition sermon as I ever listened to; it seemed like an oasis in a desert.

The day following I sent a note to Lawyer Thruston's office, and received in reply the statement that his illness had prevented his leaving his room during two weeks past, and urged me to come and see him without delay, and he would stand between me and all harm. The doctor said, as he was a lawyer of influence in their city, he advised me to go; and as it was snowing a little, he gave me an umbrella, with which I might screen myself while passing the jail, as well as be sheltered from the snow. I found the lawyer very affable in his manners, and he said they would do the best they could for Fairbanks, and we might pay what we could. I returned without difficulty to our "Jason."

I wrote a little article under the caption of "Correction," and sent it to both the Commercial and Louisville Courier. It was inserted, with the following editorial note:

"Notwithstanding the pretended laudability of her errand to our city, we are still satisfied it was out of no good motive, as birds of a feather will flock together."

Most assuredly I was thankful to see the return of "Ben Franklin, No. 2," which took me from that nest of unclean birds to those of more congenial and harmless habits. My anxious friends in Cincinnati had not received either of any letters, and had read only these threatening cards in the Cincinnati Commercial, copied from Louisville dailies, that caused great anxiety. I sent a letter by both trips that this boat made during the week I was in Louisville, and Colonel Buckner took both and said he would sec them delivered at the boat.

While on the boat a gentleman and his wife among the passengers were returning to their Eastern home, with whom I formed a pleasant acquaintance. Among other topics of discussion was the value of hygiene and hydropathy, in which a Louisville physician joined, narrating his observations of the system during a practice of fifteen years in Louisville. As he seemed to be an intelligent and social gentleman, we all seemed to enjoy our new acquaintances. I remarked to him that there seemed to exist quite an excitement in his city during the week past, over an old lady who took a few articles of under-clothes and a quilt or two to Fairbanks.

"O, yes; were you in the city?"

"I was, and was surprised at the excitement produced by her presence."

"Well, I suppose Shotwell did make a great stir over his loss of a house-servant. I understand be spent three hundred dollars in his effort to find that woman, as he thought she knew where his slave was. I have forgotten her name."

"Mrs. Haviland, from Cincinnati, was the one threatened in your dailies," I replied.

"Ob, yes, that was the name. I heard you say you are going to
Cincinnati; do you know any thing of that lady?"

"I do; I have been acquainted with her from childhood."

"You have! What sort of a lady is she?"

"Well, if you should see her, you wouldn't think it worth while to raise all this breeze over her, or any thing she could do. She is a little, insignificant looking woman, anyhow; and yet I think she is conscientious in what she does."

"There wouldn't have been such a stir but for Mr. Shotwell, who felt himself wronged in the loss of his house servant;"

"But he is considered one of your most influential citizens, I am told."

"Yes, madam; I reckon we'll have to excuse him, for he is quite nervous and angry over Fairbanks."

After quite a lengthy conversation on this subject, my new lady friend, to whom I had related a portion of my Louisville experience, was waiting for an opportunity to put a joke on the Louisville doctor, and called me by name. At this the astonished doctor said:

"I reckon this is not Mrs. Haviland, is it?"

"That is the name by which I am called."

"Is this indeed the lady we've been talking about, and of whose appearance you gave such a brilliant description?" And he laughed heartily. "Well, well, Mrs. Haviland, don't judge our city by this little flurry of excitement; for we have good, substantial people in our town, and I hope you'll visit our city again sometime, and you'll find it's true. I reckon if those excited men had arrested you, there would have rallied to your aid a different class of men; for your errand was perfectly proper, and you would have been borne out in it, too, by the more sensible people of our city."

But my Cincinnati friends were not so confident of my safety. Said Levi Coffin, as I met him, "Dr. Brisbane has said it was most likely that we should find thee in prison; and our friend, James G. Birney, is also very much discouraged, and said he was sorry thou went at this time of excitement, of both North and South, over the lynching of Williams near Baltimore, the binding of Conklin and throwing him into the river, and now the illegal capture of Calvin Fairbanks in Indiana, and taking him over into Kentucky and lodging him in jail there. But they have no regard or respect for law. As we knew all this, we have all been exceedingly anxious for thy safety."

It was a season of rejoicing with us all that our suffering brother in prison had received present relief; and no threats were put in execution in regard to myself. I realized an answer to prayer before I left for that prison, and not a moment while in Louisville did I in the least doubt the keeping power to be stronger than the power of darkness. Our friend, James G. Birney, being feeble in health, sent for me to spend a day in his family; and a rich feast I enjoyed in listening to the experience of that noble Christian man. Worthy was he to have presided over our nation.

Excitement does not cease, though the base is changed. Tidings came to us that fourteen newly-arrived fugitives were housed in the basement of Zion Baptist Church. I repaired at once to see what was needed for their journey, and found a very sick babe, two months old. The mother said it was very sick before they left, and she did not expect it to live, but their arrangements were made to go for freedom, and she would rather bury her child on the way than to stay behind till it left her. It died that night, and they were provided with a respectable coffin, and the company, with others, formed a funeral procession to the burying-ground. After the burial the thirteen fugitives were taken to the Quaker settlement, twenty-five miles distant, and from thence were forwarded to Canada. The colored members of our vigilance committee informed me that an infant died in that basement once before, and they took up a part of the floor and buried the child in the grave prepared for it, to avoid suspicion; for its parents were the slaves of a wealthy Kentuckian, who was making great efforts to capture the family.