The son-in-law now entered, and after walking across the floor a few times, with sighs and groans and bemoaning his dire calamities, said his father wished the letter written.
He returned to his father and the doctor went for writing material.
They closed the door behind them for a consultation, I supposed.
The reader will remember that during all this time I knew nothing of the experience of James Martin with this afflicted trio, but had been compelled to grope my way blindly. As the doctor and son-in-law went out my son came in. He had overheard something about the writing, and said, excitedly: "Don't write, mother; there is no sick man here. That tall man is Elsie's master, and they threatened James's life when they had him up stairs."
"Daniel, I know there is no sick man here," I said; "but they do not think I dream of any plot. It is now midnight, and it is not wise to let them know that we distrust them. Sit down and let us talk naturally."
The doctor now returned with writing material, and I sat down to write while he conversed with my son on the weather and kindred topics. Now my intention in writing to Hamilton was to serve these slaveholders by defeating them. I knew, too, that disguising my hand-writing was not enough to reveal to the Hamilton's that the letter was a sham, and whatever I wrote would be subjected to the perusal of my employers before it was sent. At this hour, too, a messenger could not probably be secured, even for twenty dollars. But as I seated myself at the table and took my pen in the manner in which I could appear to serve the slaveholders, but in reality defeat them, it came to me like a flash, and I cheerfully wrote all they dictated, not omitting the fact (?) that a council of physicians had decided that John Bayliss could not live to exceed three days; and after handing it to the doctor and son-in-law to read, I requested permission to add a few lines on my own responsibility, which was readily granted, as I explained to them that Elsie would not be prepared with regard to clothing, either for herself or children, to be away so long, and I could easily loan her sufficient garments.
This, of course, was as happy a thought for them as for myself, and was so received. "Indeed, madam," said the son-in-law, "that will be very kind in you. They can get ready so much quicker." So I added to my letter to Willis as follows: "Tell Elsie to take for herself the black alpaca dress in the south bed-room, and the two pink gingham aprons and striped flannel dresses in the bureau in the west room for the little girls. To come to Adrian, take the double team and farm wagon." I signed my name and handed the letter to the delighted stranger. He then gave my son a lighted sperm candle to light us over to the Indiana House, at that time the best hotel in Toledo, and kept by Salter Cleveland and wife, anti-slavery friends of ours. This light, however, served them to follow us, as well as guide us to our haven of safety.
After settling ourselves with our friends to tell our adventures I had a chance to hear James Martin's story. After the failure of my son to follow James and the porter up stairs, James was of course entirely in the hands of the enemy. At the head of the stairs they were met by an elderly gentleman with a lamp, who offered to conduct James to the sick room, and he was told to enter the first right hand door. On opening the door he found no one inside. "Oh," said his guide, "they have moved him to the next room, as was suggested by the council of physicians this afternoon; we will find him there; and opening the door the stranger assumed an attitude of command and told him to go in." James, however, replied: "I shall not go in, sir; you can see as well as I that the room is empty." The stranger gave a surprised look at the interior of the room and said: "Oh, I guess they moved him to the farther room, as some one suggested, after all. As there is no other room he can be in, you will certainly find him there."
By this time, of course, James began thoroughly to distrust his conductor, and hesitated about going farther; but desiring to make all the discoveries possible, and thinking if violence was attempted he could run down stairs to us, he passed on to the third door, and throwing it wide open found this room also empty.
He was about turning back when two other men suddenly appeared through a door at the left, and the three surrounded him, one leveling a revolver at his head, another at his breast, and the third pointing a dirk at his side, all indulging in an indiscriminate volley of oaths and threats. Said his grey-haired guide (who afterwards proved to be John P. Chester, Elsie's master, the same who had enacted to me the role of the sympathetic physician), "If you stir or speak one word we'll kill you. Go into that room, or you're a dead mail." In this position they entered the room and locked the door. "Now, Hamilton, we've got you, damn you."
"My name is not Hamilton, but James Martin," was James' reply.