They drove on without speaking until they had passed the last of the houses. Rhoda’s thoughts were busy with the woman beside her, wondering what awful pressure of desperation had sent her, with these little ones clinging to her hands, upon the perilous road toward freedom. The fugitive was a good-looking young mulatto, not much older than herself. In her speech and manner Rhoda had already noted the lack of a certain suppressed fire which she had seen in some of the refugees, and especially in the slave whose emancipation papers she had won from Jefferson Delavan. In this one there was instead a patient, pleading resignation which seemed to her eloquent of the wrongs of the helpless race. It appealed to her from the big, mournful eyes of the child when, mutely trustful, he let her take him from his mother’s arm and lay him upon the bed. It was tugging mightily at her heartstrings as they drove down the dim road, her eyes on the faint track that gradually opened out of the darkness. Her heart was all one sweet compassion and brooding tenderness. But she did not speak until they were well past the last house of the town and beyond chance of any wakeful ear.
“Have you come very far? Has it been hard?” she asked in subdued tones.
“Yes, miss, it’s seemed a long way.” The woman used good English, and her gentle manner showed that she must have been well trained. “But I reckon it wasn’t really so far. It’s just a week ago to-night that I took out. We’ve had to hide in the daytime and walk at night, mostly. Once a man met us and hid us in a wagon under some hay and took us right far. Sometimes I had to carry both the children and then I couldn’t come so fast. Andy was right good for such a little fellow. He’d run most all the time. I told him we were going to see his pappy and he’s been expecting to find him every time we stop.”
“Your husband has got away, then? Is he in Canada?”
“Yes, miss. He took out last June.”
“Did they follow you? Were you afraid of being caught and taken back?”
“Eleven of us left at the same time, from three plantations. We kept together the first night, and then we divided. I wanted to come the same way my husband had. The man who came down there and told us how to go and what to do said it would be safer for us to divide, and he said that if I thought I could make the trip alone it would be better for me, because they wouldn’t think I’d leave the others. He told me not to be afraid, so I wasn’t.”
The quick tears sprang to Rhoda’s eyes at thought of this childlike trust and simple steadfastness. “Do you know who the man was?” she asked.
“No, miss, I don’t know his name. He was a young man and so kind looking you knew right away that you could trust him. He came out from Lexington about two weeks ago and we all thought he was just after birds. He wanted to get bird skins and he paid some of the children who could catch birds in snares, so the skins would be whole. But after a day or two word was whispered round that he wanted to see the slaves who would like to be free.”
Rhoda nodded. “Yes, I know him! He was here only a month ago, getting names of people who would help the runaway slaves and what they would do for them. He was at our house and went right on down into Kentucky to let the slaves know how they can escape from slavery. His name is Alexander Wilson.”