CHAPTER V.
THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY.
As my married children had charge of the farm, and the younger ones were in school, and well provided for, I spent a few months in mission work and nursing the sick. My dear friends, Levi and Catherine Coffin, had given me a very cordial invitation to make their house my home whenever I was in Cincinnati. Soon after my arrival, at early dawn, nine slaves crossed the river, and were conducted to one of our friends on Walnut Hills for safety, until arrangements could be made to forward them to Victoria's domain. I called on them to see what was needed for their Northern march, and found them filled with fear lest they should be overtaken. As there was a prospect before them of being taken down the river, they concluded to "paddle their own canoe." They had with them their five little folks, that seemed as full of fear as were their trembling parents. A little girl of five years raised the window-shade to look out. When her mother discovered her she exclaimed, in a half-smothered voice, "Why, Em! you'll have us all kotched, if you don't mind;" and the little thing dropped behind a chair like a frightened young partridge hiding under a leaf at the mother's alarm of danger. While making our plans, we were greatly relieved, to find that the well known Quaker conductor, William Beard, was in the city, with a load of produce from his farm. This covered market-wagon was a safe car, that had borne many hundreds to his own depot, and was now ready for more valuable freight before the city should be filled with slave-hunters. But few weeks elapsed before we learned of the safe arrival of these two families that we fitted for their journey to Canada.
One of our vigilance committee came early one morning to inform us that there were two young men just arrived, who were secreted in the basement of Zion Baptist Church (colored). As their home was only twenty-five miles from the river, it was necessary to make all possible speed in removing them before Kentucky slave-hunters should block our track. I took their measures, to procure for each a Summer suit, and went to our store of new and second-hand clothing, at Levi Coffin's, where anti-slavery women met tri-monthly, to spend a day in making and repairing clothing for fugitive slaves. In early evening I took a large market-basket, with a suit for each, and had them conducted to a safer hiding-place, until a way opened for them to go to a Friends' settlement, about eighty miles distant, where George chose to remain and work a few months. But James would not risk his liberty by tarrying, and censured George for running such a risk. "You needn't think your new name's gwine to save you when ole massa comes."
But little did James understand the deep-hidden reason that kept his friend George behind. He worked faithfully nearly a year, kept the suit I gave him for his Sunday suit, and used his old Kentucky suit for his work, patching them himself, until patch upon patch nearly covered the old brown jeans of his plantation wear. When warm weather again returned, without revealing his design of going back to his master in Kentucky, for he knew his abolition friends would discourage his project, he took the eighty dollars he had earned since he left his master, and wore the suit of clothes he brought away, and in the darkness of night went to his wife's cabin. Here he gave a full history of the kind friends who had paid good wages for his work, and said he was going to take all to his master, and tell him he was sick of freedom; "and you mus' be mighty mad," he went on, "'case I come back; and say, 'If he's a mind to make sich a fool of his self, as to be so jubus, 'case I talked leetle while wid Jake, long time ago, as to run off an' leave me, he may go. He needn't think I'll take 'im back; I won't have nothin' to say to 'im, never!' Ad' I'll quarrel 'bout you too; an' when all ov 'em is done fussin' 'bout me comin' back, I'll steal to you in a dark night, an' lay a plan to meet on Lickin' River; an' we'll take a skiff an' muffle oars till we get to the Ohio; an' I knows jus' whar to go in any dark night, an' we 'll be free together. I didn't tell Jim I's gwine to make massa b'leve all my lies to get you; for I tell you, Liz, I ain't got whole freedom without you."
Before eight o'clock A. M. George stood before his master, with his old name and old plantation suit, presenting him with the eighty dollars he had earned for his master since he had left his home, that he never wanted to leave again. For he had found "abolitioners the greates' rascals I ever seen. I wants no more ov' em. They tried hard to git me to Canada; but I got all I wants of Canada, An' I tell you, Massa Carpenter, all I wants is one good stiddy home. I don't want this money; it's yourn."
His master was well pleased, and told all his neighbors how happy his Tom was to get back again, and gave all the money he had earned since he had been gone. It was a long time before neighboring planters had the confidence in Tom that his master had, and they told him that Tom should never step his foot on their plantations; but he told them all that he had perfect confidence in Tom's honesty. "He came back perfectly disgusted with abolitionists; he said they will work a fellow half to death for low wages. And he even patched his old suit, himself, that he wore off. And I have found the reason why he left. He and Liz had a quarrel, and now he don't care a fig about her; and I heard yesterday that her master says he'll shoot him if he dares to come on his plantation. But he needn't worry; for you couldn't hire Tom to go near Liz."
Tom's master told him all the planters were afraid of him, and said he would play a trick on him yet.
"I'll stay at home, then, and won't even go out to meetin's, till all ov 'em will see I means what I says."
"That's right, Tom; they don't know you like I do. Bat I told them 't would do all the niggers good just to hear your story about the meanness of abolitionists. You know, Tom, that was just what I told you, that they pretended to be your friends, but they were your worst enemies."