Apropos of the lamentable exhibitions of mob-violence, court-house burning, Sabbath desecration and election frauds presented by Cincinnati in the past few years, it may not be amiss to give a little exhibition of the spirit there manifested by the men of a past generation and see whence some of her present unenviable reputation comes. The city was well known to be intensely pro-slavery and to her came many a haughty Southron for purposes of business or pleasure, bringing with him more or less of his chattels as attendants. Among the comers of the summer of 1843, was a man named Scanlan, visiting his brother-in-law, one Hawkins. He brought with his family a pretty slave girl named Lavinia, some ten years old.
Before the party left New Orleans, the mother of the girl, a slave in that city, had given her the following admonitory instruction:—“Now ’Vinya, yer Massa’s gwine for ter take yer Norf, an’ wen yer gets to Sinsnate, chile, yer free, an’ he’ll sen’ some good anj’l for to hide yer un’er him wing; an’ if you doan go wid him, but kum back to dis Souf wid yer ol’ Massa, dis very han’ll take yer black skin right off yer back shuah. Mebbe wen yer safe in dat free lan’, yer ol’ muder’ll fin’ yer thar if the good Lor’ be willin’.” Then she placed around the neck of the girl a small gold chain which was to be continually worn, that if they ever chanced to meet in Canada, the mother might know her child.
Once in Cincinnati, Lavinia began looking carefully for some “good anj’l,” but instead, soon found two in the person of a colored man and his wife living near Mr. Hawkins’. To those she carefully committed her mother’s counsel and threat. These parties entered heartily into her proposition to escape, and one night dressed her in a suit of boy’s clothes and took her to the head of Spring street, near the foot of Sycamore Hill, and gave her in charge of Samuel Reynolds, a well-known Quaker, where she was successfully concealed for a number of days whilst Scanlan was raging about and as far as possible instituting a vigorous search.
Not far from Mr. Reynolds was the home of Edward Harwood in whose family resided John H. Coleman, a dealer in marble. The Harwoods and Colemans were ardent Abolitionists and ready to stand by any panting fugitive to the last. Mrs. Harwood’s house stood on a side hill with a steep grade in front, and the narrow yard was reached by a flight of some twenty steps, whilst the side and rear were easily accessible.
After a time Mrs. Harwood, who had become much interested in Lavinia, took her home, where she was carefully concealed during the day, but allowed a little exercise in the dusk of the evening in the front yard, which was so high above the street as to be unobservable.
One evening when the girl was thus engaged the great house dog, Swamp, which always accompanied her kept up such a growling and snarling, as induced the men to think there might be foul play brewing and they went out several times but could detect nothing. Finally one of them said, “That child had better come in; some one may be watching for her,” upon which Mrs. Coleman put her head out of the window and calling her by name, bade her come in, after which all was quiet for the night.
Dinner over the next day, the gentlemen had taken their departure down town, the ladies were busy about their work; an invalid gentleman was reclining in an easy chair and the girl had fallen asleep up-stairs, when a man suddenly appeared at the top of the flight of steps and very uncermoniously entered the front door which was open, and looking hurriedly around roughly demanded, “Where’s my child? I want my child, and if you don’t give her up there’ll be trouble.”
It needed no further evidence to convince the ladies it was Scanlan, an impression which had seized them both even before he had spoken, but then they were not the kind to be scared by his bluster, and Mrs. Coleman replied with spirit “You have no child here and if you were a gentleman you would not be here yourself.”
At this Scanlan turned upon her and whilst his fists were clinched and his face livid with rage, exclaimed, “I tell you she is here, my slave girl, Lavinia; I saw her last night myself; and if it had not been for you, madam, and that devilish dog there, I should have gotten her then. I had her nearly within my grasp when you bade her come in. I say where is my child? Give her up.”
“You have no child here,” coolly replied Mrs. Coleman again.