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

by Laura S. Haviland

CHAPTER VII.

CHRISTIAN AND EDUCATIONAL WORK.

Very many incidents of interest we must pass over; but, suffice to say, there was seldom a week passed without a slave or slaves leaving a boat or otherwise crossing the river in quest of freedom.

I met on the street a sister White, who was much distressed about her son, who was almost gone with consumption, and yet was unwilling to see any minister or religious person, to say any thing to him about a preparation for the change. "Do, please, go with me now to see my dying son Harvey. May he'll listen to you."

I went to her house, and found him too weak to talk much. The mother introduced me as her friend who had called on her. I took his emaciated hand, and said, "I see you are very low and weak, and I do not wish to worry you with talking, but you have but little hope of being restored to health I should judge from your appearance."

He turned his head on his pillow as he said, "I can never be any better—I can't live."

"Then your mind has been turned toward the future, and may the enlightening influence of the Holy Spirit lead you to the Great Physician of souls, who knows every desire of the heart, and is able to save to the uttermost, even at the eleventh hour." I saw the starting tear as he looked earnestly at me, while I was still holding his feverish hand in mine. "Will it be too much for you, in your weak condition, if I should read to you a few of the words of our Lord and Savior?"

"O no, I'd like to hear you."

I opened to John xiv; and upon reading a few verses I saw that the impression made was deepening, and asked if it would worry him too much if I should spend a few moments in prayer.

"O no, I'd like to hear you pray."

Placing my hand on his forehead, I implored divine aid in leading this precious soul to the cleansing fountain, and that his faith might increase, and in its exercise be enabled to secure the pearl of great price.

As I arose from his bedside, he reached out both hands for mine, and said, "I want you to come to-morrow." He wept freely; and I left with the burden of that precious soul upon my heart.

The mother and sister, who were both professors of religion, stood near the door weeping for joy over the consent of the dear son and brother to listen to the few words of reading and prayer.

The day following I met the sick man again, and as soon as I entered his mother's room she said, "O, how thankful we are to God for this visit to my poor boy! He seems in almost constant prayer for mercy. Early this morning he spoke of your coming to-day."

As I entered his room he threw up both hands, saying, "God will have mercy on poor me, won't he?"

"Most certainly," I responded; "his word is nigh thee, even in thy heart, and in thy mouth."

"Do pray for me," he requested.

I read a few words from the Bible, and followed with prayer, in which he joined with a few ejaculations. I left him much more hopeful than on the previous day.

The next morning his sister came for me in great haste, saying,
"Brother Harvey wants to see you, quick."

It was not yet sunrise; but I hastened to obey the message, as I supposed he was dying. Not a word passed between us until we reached her brother's room. Upon opening his door he exclaimed, "Glory, glory to God, Mrs. Haviland! Come to me quick, I want to kiss you; for God brought me out of darkness this morning about the break of day. O hallelujah! Glory to Jesus! He shed his blood for poor me; and I shouted louder than I could talk for a good many days. O, how I wish I had strength to tell every body that I am happier in one minute than I ever knew in all my life put together!"

He became quite exhausted in shouting and talking, and I advised him to rest now in the arms of the beloved Savior.

"Yes, I am in his arms. Glory to his name for what he has done for me! I want you to see my cousin George; he is sick, and not able to come to see me to-day."

I told him I would within a few days, and left him, with his cup of salvation overflowing.

About two hours before he died he looked at his mother, smiling, and said, "There's Mary; don't you see her, standing at the foot of my bed?"

"No, my son, mother don't see her."

"O, how beautiful she looks! It seems as if you must see her," and he looked very earnestly at the object. "There, she's gone now." Fifteen minutes before he breathed his last he said, "Here she is again, and so beautiful! Mother, can't you see her?"

"No, son, I can't see her."

"Beautiful, beautiful she is. There, she's gone again." Just as the soul took its flight, he upraised both hands, with a smile, and said, "Here she is, with two angels with her. They've come for me;" and the hands dropped as the breath left him, with the smile retained, on his countenance.

The sister Mary, that died a number of years previously, was about four years old; and his mother told me she had not heard her name mentioned in the family for months before Harvey's death.

My time was fully occupied in caring for the sick and dying, as cholera had become very prevalent and fatal. Among the many who died with that disease were Levi and Catherine Coffin's daughter Anna, about ten years of age, and a lady, the mother of three children, whose dying request was that I should take charge of her children until the return of their father, who was in California.

A few weeks passed, and my promise to Harvey White was forgotten, until one morning it rushed upon me with such force that I trembled. I hastened to see him, and, to my surprise, he too was very near to death with consumption, and without hope. His mother was a widow, also an earnest Christian; but her son George would not allow her or any of the ministers of her acquaintance to talk with him on the subject of religion. But he was glad to hear that his cousin Harvey had died so happy; and she thought if I should tell him about Harvey he would listen to me. He could speak but little above a whisper, I told him of my reading to Harvey, and asked if he would like to hear me read the same to him. He said he would; and I read the same words, and told him how earnestly his cousin Harvey had prayed, and God, who hears and answers prayer, answered him, and he died a happy Christian. His feelings became tender, and I knelt by his bedside in supplication. As I was about to leave, he said:

"There is a difficulty in my way, and I think you can remove it; but I am more rested early in the morning, and if you can come to-morrow morning I will tell you what it is."

I told him I would be there if life and health were spared.

The following morning I met him more rested. He said:

"I have tried to pray to God; then it seems as if Jesus Christ stands there, and if I pray to Jesus it don't feel quite clear, because I want to go to head-quarters, and I am confused, and don't know where to go or what to do, and so I've given it all up; for it's all dark before me, and I've concluded to die in the dark."

This sorrowful condition of unbelief brought secret prayer for divine guidance in words to place the divinity of the Lord Jesus as clearly as possible before him. I read a few passages where he manifested his power by miracles, "that ye may know that the Son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins." He heard me attentively, and suddenly exclaimed:

"Now I see it; now I see it; now I've got a foothold. Now I can pray. I want you to pray for me."

He followed in earnest prayer. At the close he raised his clasped hands: "I've found him; I've got him. O, how I wish I could have voice and strength to tell you how happy I am! I want to go to my Savior; he is my all. But I can not tell it here; I will tell it in glory. It's all light now; the darkness, is all gone."

He seemed much exhausted, and took leave of his mother and mister, and sank into a stupor, and quietly passed away that afternoon.

I felt under renewed obligations to praise Him for his loving kindness in reminding me, so vividly of the promise I made to that dying young man, Harvey White. How careful we should be to attend, to every little errand as we are passing through our life-work. I felt to upbraid myself for being so inattentive to that request. Had that precious soul left the shores of time without hope in Christ, I could never have forgiven myself for my neglect. There are neglected duties that dot my life here and there with regrets, that have been lessons to teach the necessity of greater faithfulness in the Master's work.

The daughter of John Hatfield came to me with the word that there was a woman at their house who wished to see me. Her father being a member of the vigilance committee I went without delay, and found the woman in great distress of mind. She said she was a slave, but had the privilege of working in Cincinnati at house-cleaning, washing, or any jobs she could get, by paying her mistress three dollars per week. In this way she had managed to lay aside for herself over twenty dollars during nearly two years. She had a husband and nine children, "An' las' year," said she, "missus was gwine to sell my oldes' gal an' her baby to get money to keep her two gals in school Norf somewhars, an' she tuck her baby an' run off for Canada, an' now she says she's got to sell my Mary;" and her tears came as from a fountain.

"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 pass, 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 God 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 God 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 passed 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 class 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 class-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 God, 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 nobody 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 God 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 God! 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 niggers 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 God, 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 God to keep de ferryman from axin' me for my pass. 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 Gods 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 pass. If he did I's gwine to say, 'Dis white boy my pass;' but he didn't say a word, an' I praise God 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 emancipation. 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: "God 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 institute 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 basement of Zion Church, Toledo. The expenses were paid from the school fund.

With several fugitives, I started on my way to Toledo from Cincinnati, and spent a day at our friend William Beard's. From thence we were taken to Newport, Indiana, where was a meeting appointed in behalf of Calvin Fairbanks, in which I gave a sketch of my visit to Louisville jail in his behalf. I read the letter I had received from his lawyer on leaving Cincinnati, containing a proposition to do the best he could for him, and with that object in view he staved off the case to the next session of their court. At the close of the meeting fifteen dollars were raised, Bishop Quinn, of the African Methodist Episcopal Church, giving one-third of it. As there was a fall of snow a foot deep, the friends concluded to take us across a swamp, which would save a number of miles; and as there were indications of a thaw, one man offered his team and double sleigh if a certain colored man would go that night and drive it. We were soon well protected from the prospective inclement weather, with the buffalo-robe presented to me, and quilts around the balance of our load.

The shifting wind brought quite a snow-storm, that covered us over about three inches deep. My company being very cold, I advised to stop at a house, the dim light of which was so tempting to the shivering company. I went to the door and asked permission to enter, giving our number, and our object in going through the swamp before a break-up. The two old people granted the favor; but when the old lady saw the color of my company she became rather suspicious. Said she, "If these are slaves we don't want any trouble, because you know the Fugitive-slave Law makes a deal of trouble in some places." I assured her they would have none of that character on our account, for these young people were going with me to attend my school. When we were warmed and the horses fed, we left our kind friends to borrow no more trouble for fear of being disturbed with slave-hunters.

About three o'clock we came to a large half-finished frame house, brilliantly lighted, and the man seemed to be preparing his team for leaving. I called with our driver to see if we could warm ourselves and feed the team, giving our reason for crossing the swamp to save distance, and as there were indications of a thaw in the afternoon, we chose to come through that night. The man said that was his reason for going for a load of lumber so early—he fearing a break-up. They were very kind, and insisted on our resting till daylight, and taking a warm breakfast. The invitation was accepted with gratitude. I spent my time in conversing with our kind hostess, while my company slept an hour.

At nine o'clock we reached Carthaginia. The first one we met was a colored woman, of whom I inquired where we could find a place to tarry for a night, and find provender for our horses. She took in our situation at once, and pointed to a large frame house in sight, the house of Samuel Jones, half a mile distant. While she was giving this information, a man ahead of us, with his carriage, stopped and turned back, saying, "There is Mr. Jones now, coming to see you, I reckon." As he came to us, I told him of the inquiry I made for a resting-place. "And that is my house for you and barn for your horses," he said. After giving each of us a shake of the hand, he said, turning to me, "I know you, though I never saw you before, and I will tell you of a circumstance, after we get home, whereby you will recognize me." We followed him to his very comfortable home. We were soon seated at a luxurious table. Breakfast being over, he related a circumstance in which I had taken a deep interest, and by corresponding, the release from slavery of his relative was effected.

Brother Jones gave me ten dollars for brother Fairbanks, in the Kentucky prison. Here we took leave of our conductor, Henry Marshal, and a team and teamster were provided to take us on by way of Bellefontaine. The anticipated warmer weather overtook us, and with a wagon we left Carthaginia. Streams with floating ice made fording difficult, especially Mosquito Creek; but our driver and Simon measured the depth of water, and with rails pushed the floating ice from the ford, to enable me to drive through. Working as they did with all their might to keep the cakes of ice from running against the horses and from impeding the wheels, when we reached the swift current of the stream a cake blocked the wagon so as to stop the horses a few moments. One horse became discouraged and began to lie down. At this the three women jumped upon a large floating cake, from which they reached the shore with the help of the men. Our teamster found his way into the wagon; and by pushing and crowding this way and that he loosened the wheel, and with continued urging and Simon's wading to the horses' heads, they finally pulled through. We drove to a house, where the men changed their socks, and rubbed their horses with straw, they said, two hours, and then fed them. We pursued our journey without further difficulties to our school in Toledo.

Often did my whilom slave scholars refer to the excitement at Mosquito Creek ford. I found the prejudice here very bitter against a colored school; but the colored people had combined their weak forces and built a church, designed for school, as well as their occasional meetings. My school averaged nearly twenty scholars during the term, at the close of which we put in a petition for a support from the school fund. But a majority of two ruled against us; for, although the State law required them to support this school, they had already complied with the requirement.

Although I had designed to return home and re-open Raisin Institute, yet to press the board of education into its duty I reopened their school for the second term; and every time that board met I met with them with my petition, informing them, at their first refusal to adopt the school, that this petition of the importunate widow would stand before them until it was granted. They frequently inquired of the colored people how long I was going to teach for them. The answer every time was, as I told them, until the board of education took it. In their discussions in the board I understood it was frequently remarked by our opposers "that the end of that negro school would be when Mrs. Haviland left, and that wouldn't be long, for the negroes were too poor to pay her." But it was not for money that I taught their school, but to see justice meted out to them.

There were fifteen families of the lower class of Irish who lived in shanties near the canal that ran within a few rods of our school-house, and as the most of our school passed them, or would have to go half a mile farther, we got from one man in particular a systematic cursing; beginning with cursing my feet, and cursing every toe on them, and cursing every nail on every toe, and so on, to cursing my head, and cursing every hair on it. This regular set of curses were for me every time I passed when he was in his cabin, and frequently a number of others standing by would join him. But as he or some of the others were so often drunk, it was a long time before I could find the suitable opportunity to go to their cabins and have a talk with them, as I desired. As some of their company were so boisterously furious, the children did not dare pass them unless I was with them, for in addition to cursing they were stoned.

When the second term was two-thirds through I proposed a picnic for the school and its friends, and had the scholars declaim a few pieces. An eloquent speech delivered in the House of Lords, when immediate emancipation was discussed in the English parliament, was well committed and declaimed by one of the young men. A number of the colored people feared a mob, but the majority were willing to risk any measure I thought best to adopt. I trained them thoroughly in speaking, and they trained themselves in singing, and the school selected a little girl to be crowned as their queen of May, and on the 25th of May we marched through town to a grove, with two beautiful banners. The one borne by the young woman who walked by my side bore the motto, "God is love," and next to it all the girls followed in couples. Then followed the young men and boys in the same manner, headed by the banner, upon which was inscribed, "Knowledge is power." I instructed the children and young people to walk straight forward, and not even turn their heads to the right or left, and not to notice by look or word any remark that might be made, not even to talk to each other until we reached our little stand in the woods. Not a word of disrespect was heard, and some of the white people who drove out with their carriages told me they had not seen such order in marching in any of the May picnics that the white schools had had that Spring. They were highly delighted with our exercises. At the next session of the board my school was recognized as a public one, and the chairman, Rev. Dr. Smyth, was authorized to hire me to teach the next term. He met me on the street and said, "Mrs. Havilland, the importunate widow's prayer is answered; your petition is granted at last, and I am instructed to hire you for the next term."

"Then my work is finished with this term," said I. "My object is accomplished. I have business at home that I hoped to have entered upon when I closed last term; but as your board refused to do its duty I continued, although I have not averaged twenty-five cents a week during the six months, as a large majority of the colored people here are very poor."

"I know that, and I have contended from the first that they ought to have a school; but I am surprised at your not remaining in the school, as you shall have a fair compensation now."

I told him I would give him the name of a competent teacher, who was now working himself through college at Oberlin—John Mitchel—a worthy Christian young man of their own color, with whom they could correspond and secure his services. His parents were living in Toledo, and he would be pleased to accept the position. I thanked the board through their chairman for the favor they had granted in behalf of the colored people in Toledo.

It being the seventh day of the week, as I was passing my Irish friends, and all quiet, and a company sitting on the grass in the shade of their cabins, I accepted this as my long-sought opportunity to talk with them. Addressing a group of half a dozen women, I said: "I have long desired to talk with you, as I am confident you do not understand me in teaching this colored school. I have felt it my duty to aid the most neglected class of people. We are apt to indulge in prejudices against certain classes or nations of people. Some people are prejudiced against the German people. They'll say he's nobody but a Dutchman, he's not worth noticing; and others are prejudiced against the Irish, and will say, 'They are nobody but Irish people, they are not worth noticing;' and others are prejudiced against black people: 'They are nobody but negroes, and they are not worth noticing. And then there are some who are prejudiced against soldiers, or sailors, as classes of men. People are too apt to despise other nations and classes of men. All this is wrong; God made us all as it pleased him, and it is not for us to find fault with our Heavenly Father, who loves all the human family alike. As we acknowledge the fatherhood of God, we should also acknowledge the brotherhood of man in all nations and classes."

Said one man to his friend sitting by, "In faith, Pat, that's good doctrine." "Yes, indade, that's the doctrine Father Mathew prached, ye know." "Jamie, that's all right," said another. One of the women concluded she would know the truth of the reports they had gotten up among themselves.

"An' did ye not marry a nagur?"

"Why, no! my husband was a white man, who died a number of years ago."

"And was he a black man?"

"He was a white man, and he left me with eight children, all under age, and the youngest and the oldest have followed their father."

"In fath, ye've seen a dale of trouble, I'm sure; and we heard that black man we often saw comin' from schule with ye an' that yellow lass an' boy was your chilther."

"That mulatto girl and boy live near my boarding-place, and they generally come and go with me to school and return; and that black man is a young man who has never had the privilege of going to school and learning to read and write and the use of figures, until I opened this school. Now he can read, write, and can use figures to good advantage."

"But it's a pity we didn't know ye before. We've been hearin' all this about ye, an' not a bit of it true. Our people was about to set fire to your schule-house—in faith, they said they'd give ye a dressin' of tar an' fithers, an' our praste forbid it."

"I knew nothing of that," said I; "but I wanted you to understand me before I left, which will be in four weeks. Then they will have a fine young colored man from Oberlin College to teach their school."

"But what a pity that is, for I'm sure they'll not get another such a tacher as you. Indade, I'm sorry to hear you're to lave us; I'd like to have my little gal go to your schule, if ye'll take 'er."

The man who was the systematic curser came to his door: "Indade, missus, we didn't know ye; an' now we'll fight for ye, an' we are sorry we didn't know ye for so long."

When I left them I shook hands with them all, for by the time our conversation closed about all their little community had convened, and I took occasion to speak highly of Father Mathew, the great temperance reformer of Ireland; and my little congregation pronounced as strong blessings upon me as they had curses. Even my systematic curser was among my best friends after that, and my scholars, as well as myself, were treated with the utmost respect ever after, and two of them sent for me when very sick and not expected to live, one of whom died a few days after. As she was in great distress of mind, I read to her some of those precious promises of our Savior, from which she drew great consolation. It would seem to many like casting pearls before swine to turn aside to present the truth to such ignorant and disliking people, but it is ours to obey these little impressions, and leave the result with the All-wise Director.

During my work in Toledo I called on a colored woman to solicit a little change for a very sick man who was very low with consumption, and was being cared for by a very poor family, and as she gave me twenty-five cents a beautiful white girl was sitting by, who gave another quarter. After school I called again and inquired for that young woman who gave for that sick man, without giving me time to ask for her mite, and to my surprise, found she was an inmate of a house of ill-fame, and tried to make Mrs. Buck promise not to tell me where she was living; for if I knew it I would never speak to her. I sent for her to meet me the following day after school, at her house. I found her sitting in the parlor waiting for me. As I took her by the hand, placing the other on her head, I said, "My dear girl, you are an unhappy child." And she burst into a flood of tears, and as soon as she could sufficiently command her feelings to relate her history I found she was compelled by her stepfather to live away from home. She had lived a year or more with a worthy woman, who kept a boarding-house in Cleveland; and there came to board a few weeks a fine appearing young man, who professed great affection for her, and proposed marriage. He told her his father was a very wealthy merchant in Toledo, and he was there on business for his father. After he had won her affections he proposed to take her to Toledo, and place her in a boarding-house until she could make up two rich silk dresses and other clothing suitable for her, as he was not willing his folks should know he was marrying a poor girl. He could easily take a dress pattern from each bolt of silk and his father never know it, and any other goods she needed. As his father was going to New York for a new supply of goods, he would supply her with other goods to make up until his father's new goods came, then he would hire a dressmaker to make up her silk dresses. All this she fully believed, as from a true and faithful lover, to whom she had given her heart's best and purest affections. She said, "A number of days I hesitated, because I wanted to tell my mother all about it, but he persisted in leaving Cleveland secretly, and return on our bridal trip to surprise my mother and that cruel stepfather. At last I foolishly consented, to my ruin and sorrow, for I haven't seen one moment of peace since I was deserted by that man;" and again bathed herself in tears. Recovering herself, she continued, "I wouldn't have my mother know this for the world. She is a good Christian woman. She's a Methodist, and has seen a sight of trouble with my stepfather; and, if she knew this, it would break her heart." On further inquiry I found he brought her to this house as an excuse to keep her secluded until they were about to be married, when he would pay her board a few days in the finest hotel in the city. "The next day after our arrival he brought me a beautiful lawn dress-pattern and a package of other material for me to make up while waiting for his father's goods. And not till then had he offered in word or act any thing amiss from a perfect gentleman. It was the next day after our arrival in this city, and to this house, that he proposed to live two weeks as if we were married, as it would be about a week or two at longest when the goods would be here, and he would get one of two dressmakers to prepare me for my wedding. I cried two days over this proposition, and by this time I had learned the character of this house. Here I was, a stranger to every body, but still had confidence in my new friend; and again, to my bitter sorrow, I yielded. But day after day of anxious waiting passed until two weeks expired, and no new goods yet, but another lawn dress-pattern came for me to make for myself, and another two weeks rolled away with only hearing (he said) that the goods were on the way. But at the close of the third two weeks he was missing. Daily I waited his coming. At length I went on the street. I inquired for his name and the name of his father's store, when, to my utter astonishment, no such store or names were found in the city. Here in a strange place, deserted, ruined, and filled with shame, I had no heart to go to my friends." She had been here six months. I advised her not to remain in this house another twenty-four hours.

"But what shall I do? Mrs. Cassaday will lock me up if she knows I am going to leave her. She called me a fool for giving you that quarter; she says these Christians are down on us; and if any of us should die, there wouldn't one of them come to pray for us. I told her I believed you would," I told her to pack her trunk, and if she was down town near the time for the boat to leave for Cleveland, to call a drayman to take her trunk to the boat and follow it, if possible, before Mrs. Cassaday came in. I told her how to manage in going to her old employer, and to tell her you were deceived by that young man, but you found him untruthful. "As you say Mrs. Cassaday kept you sewing most of the time, you can tell her you were employed most of time in sewing; but do not, at present, tell her or your mother of the life you have lived, and place of your residence while here." She promised she would gladly take my advice, and leave for Cleveland the first opportunity. As we parted she leaned her head upon my shoulder, with fast dropping tears, and said, "I shall always thank you for acting the part of a mother in helping me away from this horrible place." The following morning she called to leave word with Mrs. Buck, that fortunately for her Mrs. Cassaday was out just in time for her to call a drayman, that had just gone with her trunk to the boat, and she was now on her way to Cleveland, happier than she had been in six months, and that she should do, in all respects, as I had advised. Here was a beautiful girl decoyed and led from the paths of virtue by an artful, designing, and licentious young man, who basely sought her ruin by winning the affections of an innocent girl. Hundreds and thousands of these girls are in like manner led astray, and might be saved if mothers in Israel would take them by the hand of sympathy and lift them from the mire of this moral pollution.

At another time a request was left with my hostess to go to see a very sick woman, who was thought nigh unto death; but for a little girl that heard the request I should not have received it. She said, these poor white trash would curse me in health, and when they thought they were going to die, they were ready then to send for me to pray for them; and, as I was tired enough to rest after teaching all day, she did not think I ought to go for their calls. I told her if she would be so kind as to deliver all errands of that character I would be very thankful, and hastened to the bedside of an old soldier of the cross, who, with her aged companion, were visiting their children. She said she did not expect to remain much longer in this world of checkered scenes; but her son had been here a short time only, and had not formed any acquaintances among Christian people, and their hired girl said "she was passing your school-house one morning and heard you opening your school with prayer, and I told her to find your boarding-place, and leave word for you to come after your school closed, as I wanted to hear the voice of prayer once more." I read a chapter and offered prayer by her bedside. She and her weeping husband and children thanked me for the call, and desired me to call the day following, after school. I found her somewhat improved, and the next door neighbor said Dutch Mary was in the adjoining room, and seemed much affected, and said that was the first she heard read from the Bible in seven years, and the first prayer she had heard in that time, and she would be glad to see me, but she would not disgrace me by coming to her house. Then the woman told her she would ask me to see her in her room, and send for her when I came to see the sick woman.

I met her in great distress of mind. She told me of the wicked life she had spent during the last seven years of her widowhood, and wanted to know if I thought there was any hope whatever for her. "Do you think God can forgive me? I have never so much as opened my Bible that lies in the bottom of my chest all these seven years, until yesterday I went home and took my Bible for the first time to read in these years; and I felt so condemned after I read awhile that I laid it back, and didn't know whether it was of any use; for I have lived such a wretched life so long I doubt whether God can forgive me, for I feel worse and worse. Do you believe he can?"

"Certainly he is able to save to the uttermost. It is the enlightening influence of God's Holy Spirit that is showing you the exceeding sinfulness of sin."

I read to her the readiness of the Lord Jesus to forgive sin. "How ready to bless the humble and contrite heart! Only believe this with all thy heart, and the blood of Jesus is sufficient to wash away every stain that sin has made. Though they be as scarlet, he will make them white as snow." We knelt together, and she too offered earnest prayer for strength to live the new life, which she firmly resolved to do.

I saw her a week later, and she said she informed those men with whom she had committed those darkest of sins of her firm resolution to live a virtuous life, and she locked her door; but they persisted in troubling her through the night, threatening to tear her house down or burn it.

"Three nights I suffered from them. But by constant prayer, believing God would take care of me, I was delivered from them. And I have plenty of washing, ironing, and house-cleaning to do; and I get along so much better than I expected I could. I do want to go to meeting; but so many know of my wicked life I am afraid to go inside of a church."

I told her to go to whichever Church she felt most at home, and the Lord would open the way for her, and enable her to bring up her little girl of eight years in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.

At the close of my school I left this field, so white to the harvest, to enter, as I supposed, upon a field of home missions. At the expiration of a year I visited Toledo, and inquired of one who occasionally employed Dutch Mary, but knew nothing of my experience with her, how she was prospering. The cheering reply was, "Splendidly; I haven't heard a disparaging word of her for months, and there used to be hard stories about her." I heard she had united with the Baptist Church, and I think she is trying to live a Christian. If she had not left town on a visit to her friends I should have seen her, but the report I heard of her was heart-cheering. May God bless her, and all who are receiving life-giving power who were dead in trespasses and sin.