"The natural bond of brotherhood is severed as flax that falls asunder at the touch of fire. Let the lot of bitter poverty be mine, and the hand of man blight every hope of earthly enjoyment, and I would prefer it to the condition of any man who lives at ease, and shares in every fancied pleasure, that the toil, the sweat, and blood of slaves can procure. Alas for the tyrant slave-holder when God shall make his award to his poor, oppressed, and despised children, and to those who seek a transient and yet delusive means of present happiness by trampling his fellow and brother in the dust, and appropriating the soul and body of his own crushed victim to the gratification of his depraved appetites and passions. I would rather enter the gloomy cell of your friend Fairbanks, and spend every hour of this brief existence in all the bitterness that the hand of tyrants can inflict, than live in all pomp and splendor that the unpaid toil of slaves could lavish upon man. Yours, etc.,
"July 27th, 1860. R.B. REXFORD."
Our blacksmith, whom we called Charles Williams, proved to be an honest and industrious man.
We solicited over seventy dollars for a poor woman by the name of Jackson, from Marseilles, Kentucky, who had bought herself by washing and ironing of nights, after her mistress's work was done. During seven long years she did not allow herself to undress except to change. Her sleep was little naps over her ironing board. Seven years of night work brought the money that procured her freedom. She had a son and daughter nearly grow up, and to purchase their freedom she was now bending her day and night energies. Her first object was to purchase the son, as his wages would aid her to accumulate more readily the amount required for the daughter, as she had the promise of both of her children. But her economizing to purchase the son first for the sake of his help failed, as the master's indebtness compelled him to sell one of them, and market was found for the girl of sixteen. Nine hundred dollars was offered, and the distressed mother had but four hundred dollars to pay.
She had trusted in her Lord and Savior in all these years of toiling, and now must she see that daughter sold down the river? In her distress she went from house to house, to plead for a buyer who would advance the five hundred dollars, and take a mortgage on her until she could make it. At length she found a Baptist deacon who purchased her daughter, and she paid him the four hundred dollars. He was to keep her until the mortgage was redeemed by the mother, who was compelled to abandon her first project, and bend her energies toward making the five hundred dollars. After working very hard one year, she was able to pay but one hundred and fifty dollars to ward the mortgage, when her health began to fail. The deacon told her the money was coming too slowly, and that he could not wait longer than another year, before he would have to sell her to get his money back. "Weeping and prayer was my meat and drink day and night. Oh! must I see my poor chile' go after all my hope to save her?" A merchant in that town by whom she had been employed, told her he would give her a little secret advice, which was, to go to Louisville as she had done before, but not to stop there, but to go on to Cincinnati, and he would give her a good recommendation to his brother, Mr. Ketcham, who was a merchant and knew the abolitionists. They would aid her in raising the three hundred and fifty dollars; but she must not let it be known that he had advised her, or that she was going North. Mr. Ketcham introduced her to Levi Coffin and lawyer John Jolliffe, who gave her letters of introduction to friends at Oberlin, and other places, and by the time she was sent to me she had over two hundred dollars toward the release of the mortgage on the daughter. As her health was poor from constant overwork and troubles incident to slave life, to give her rest I took her papers, and while calling on the friends of humanity, did not slight some of my Democratic friends, some of whom had some years previously told me if I would go to work and purchase the slaves they would aid me.
Consequently I called on one who was living in splendor within his massive pile of brick, and reminded him of the promise he made me on a certain occasion. Now was his opportunity, as I was assisting a mother to purchase her daughter. I gave him the line through which I had received the best of endorsements as to her industrious and honest Christian character, and what the friends had done for her upon whom I had called, and but for her poor health would have brought her with me. After listening attentively to all my statements, he arose from his chair, walked nervously to and fro across his room, as if striving to his utmost to brace against sympathy, and said, "Mrs. Haviland, I'll not give a penny to any one who will steal slaves; for you might just as well come to my barn and steal my horse or wheat as to help slaves to Canada, out of the reach of their owners."
"Did I do right," I asked, "in rescuing that Hamilton family from the grasp of those Tennessee slave-holders?"
"If I had taken a family under my wing, of course, I should calculate to protect them."
"That is not the answer I call for. I want from you a direct reply; did I do right, or wrong, in that case? You remember all the circumstances."
"Oh, yes, I remember it well, and as I tell you, if I had undertaken to protect a family I should do it."