“Lend me your hammer that I may get the door open,” said the slaveholder.
“Let me see the warrant again.” And after reading it over once more, he said, “I see nothing in this paper which says I must supply thee with tools to open my door; if thou wishest to go in thou must get a hammer elsewhere.”
The sheriff said: “I will go to a neighboring farm and borrow something which will introduce us to Miss Dinah;” and he immediately went off in search of tools.
In a short time the officer returned, and they commenced an assault and battery upon the barn door, which soon yielded; and in went the slaveholder and officer, and began turning up the hay and using all other means to find the lost property; but, to their astonishment, the slave was not there. After all hopes of getting Dinah were gone, the slave-owner, in a rage, said to the Friend:
“My Nigger is not here.”
“I did not tell thee there was anyone here.”
“Yes, but I saw her go in, and you shut the door behind her, and if she wa’nt in the barn what did you nail the door for?”
“Can not I do what I please with my own barn door? Now I will tell thee. Thou need trouble thyself no more, for the person thou art after entered the front door and went out the back door, and is a long way from here by this time. Thou and thy friend must be somewhat fatigued by this time; won’t thee go in and take a little dinner with me?”
We need not say that this cool invitation of the good Quaker was not accepted by the slaveholders.
George in the meantime had been taken to a Friend’s dwelling some miles away, where, after laying aside his female attire, and being snugly dressed up in a straight-collared coat, and pantaloons to match, he was again put on the right road towards Canada.