The Underground Railroad by William Still (best fiction books of all time txt) 📖

consulting together, sure enough, the man came in, and was most glad to have the opportunity thus afforded, of secreting himself.

I have not strength to dictate much more, although many other instances occur to me of most remarkable providential occurrences, of the escape of fugitives within my knowledge. I used to say that I was the owner of half-a-horse that was in active service, near the Susquehanna River. This horse I owned jointly with another friend of the slave, dedicating the animal to the service of the Underground Rail Road.

It was customary for the agent at Havre de Grace, bringing a fugitive to the river, to kindle a fire (as it was generally in the night), to give notice to a person living on the opposite side of the river. This person well understood the signal, and would come across in his boat and receive the fugitive.

An aged colored couple, residing in Brooklyn, came over to my office, in New York City, and said that they had just heard from Wilmington, N.C., that their two sons (about twenty-five or twenty-six years of age), who were slaves, were about to be sold, for one thousand dollars each; and they hoped I should be able and willing to assist them in raising the money.

I told them that I had scruples about putting money into the hands of slave-holders, but I would give them something that might be of as much value. I then pointed out a way by which their sons might reach the city.

In about three weeks, one of the young men came to my office. Give me, said I, some particulars of your escape. "I am," said he, "a builder, and planned and erected the hotel at Wilmington, and some other houses. I used to hire my time of my master, and was accustomed to ride about the country attending to my business. I borrowed a pass from a man about my size and complexion. I then went to the rail road office, and asked for a ticket for Fredericksburg. From there I came on directly to Washington. I had not been questioned before; but here, I was taken up and carried before a magistrate. He examined me by the description in my pass; complexion, height, etc., then read 'and a scar under his left knee.' When I heard that, my heart sank within me; for I had no scar there that I knew. 'Pull up the boy's trowsers,' said the justice to the constable. He did so. and said 'here's a scar!' 'All right,' said the justice, 'no mistake, let him go.' Glad was I. I got a ticket for Baltimore, and there for another town, and finally reached here."

You asked me to give an account of the sums that I have expended for the Underground Rail Road, etc. I must be excused from doing this, as if I could now ascertain, I should not think it worth while to mention. I must now conclude my narrative, by giving, with some additions, an account of an interesting escape from Slavery, which was written by my wife, more than fifteen years ago, for Frederic Douglass' paper.

[On page 177 the narrative of "The Fleeing Girl of Fifteen" is so fully written out, that it precludes the necessity of reproducing a large portion of this story.]

In the evening a friend arrived, bringing with him a bright, handsome boy, whom he called Joe. Most heartily was "Joe" welcomed, and deep was the thrill which we felt, as we looked upon him and thought of the perils he had escaped. The next day was Thanksgiving-day, and my house was thronged with guests. In an upper room, with a comfortable fire, and the door locked, sat "Joe," still in boy's clothes, to be able to escape at the first intimation of danger, but with a smile and look of touching gratitude, whenever any one of the family who was in the secret, left the festive group to look in upon the interesting stranger. Not one of us can ever forget the deep abhorrence of Slavery, and thanksgiving to Almighty God, that we felt that day as we moved among the guests, who were wholly ignorant of the occupant of that upper room. Some curiosity was indeed excited among the little grandchildren, who saw slices of turkey and plum pudding sent up stairs. It was "Joe's" first Thanksgiving dinner in a free State.

As she brought nothing away with her, it was necessary, the next day, to procure a complete wardrobe for a girl, which was carefully packed for her to take with her.

The second day after "Joe's" arrival, the Rev. Mr. Freeman, pastor of a colored church in Brooklyn, agreed to accompany her to her uncle Brown's in Canada West, and we saw them depart, knowing the danger that would beset both on the way. The following is part of a letter from Mr. F., giving an account of their journey. After stating that they left New York, in the cars at five o'clock, P.M., and through the providence of God, went on their way safely and speedily, with none to molest or to make them afraid, he says:

"On reaching Rochester, I began to ask myself 'how shall we get over Niagara Falls?' I was not sure that the cars ran across the Suspension Bridge; besides, I felt that we were in more danger here, than we had been at any other place. Knowing that there was a large reward offered for Joe's apprehension, I feared there might be some lurking spy ready to pounce upon us. But when we arrived at the Bridge, the conductor said: 'Sit still; this car goes across.' You may judge of my joy and relief of mind, when I looked out and was sure that we were over! Thank God, I exclaimed, we are safe in Canada!

Having now a few minutes before the cars would start again, I sat down and hastily wrote a few lines, to inform friends at home of our safe arrival. As soon as possible, I ran to the post-office with my letter, paid the postage, and while I was waiting for my change, the car bell rang. I quickly returned, and in a few minutes, we were on our way to Chatham (200 miles West). That place we reached between seven and eight o'clock, Saturday evening. When we got out, we met a gentleman who asked me if I wanted a boarding-house. I said yes; and he invited me to go with him. I asked him if there was any way for us to get to Dresden that night. He answered, 'No, it is a dark night, and a muddy road, and no conveyance can be got tonight.' I soon found that we must stay in Chatham until Monday morning.

On our way to the boarding-house, the gentleman said to me: 'Is this your son with you?' I answered, no; and then I asked him, if he knew a man living in D., by the name of Bradley. He replied that he was very well acquainted with him, and then inquired if that young man was Mr. Bradley's brother. I said, no—not exactly a brother. He must have thought it strange that I did not give him a more definite answer to his question.

When we reached the house, we found several boarders in the sitting-room and a few neighbors. I had already told him my name, but with regard to Joe, I had not yet had a chance to explain. I, of course, was introduced to those who were in the room, but Joe—well, Joe took a seat, and did not seem to be troubled about an introduction. As the landlord was going out of the room, I asked permission to speak with him alone. He took me into another room, and I said to him: 'That young man, as you call him, is a young woman, and has come dressed in this manner, all the way from Washington City. She would be very glad now to be able to change her clothes.'

He was greatly surprised, and would hardly believe that it was so; but said, 'I will call my wife.' She came, and I guess all the women in the house came with her. They soon disappeared, and Joe with them, who, after being absent a while, returned, and was introduced as Miss Ann Maria Weems. The whole company were on their feet, shook hands, laughed, and rejoiced, declaring that this beat all they had ever seen before. Chatham contains, I was told, more than three thousand fugitives. The weather there, is not colder than in New York.

The next morning was the Sabbath, but this I must pass and hasten to D., the residence of Mr. Bradley. We started early Monday morning. As a part of the road was very bad, we did not reach there till a late hour. As we were passing along, and getting near to the place, we met two colored men who were talking together—one on horseback, and the other on foot. I inquired of them, if they could tell me how far it was to Mr. Bradley's. The man on horseback said it was about a mile further, and then proceeded to give directions. After he had done this, he said: 'I reckon I am the one that you want to find, my name is Bradley.' Well, I replied, probably you are the man. Just then Ann Maria turned her head around. As soon as he saw her face, he exclaimed: 'My Lord! Maria, is that you? Is that you? My child, is it you? We never expected to see you again! We had given you up; O, what will your aunt say? It will kill her! She will die! It will kill her.'

I told him, that as I was obliged to leave again soon, I must proceed. 'Well,' said he, 'you go on; I am just going over to M., and will be back in a few minutes.' We started for his house, and he towards M., but we had only gone a short distance, when he overtook us, exclaiming: 'I can't go to M.,' and began talking to Ann Maria, asking her all about her friends and relatives, whom they had left behind, and about his old master, and his wife's master, from whom they had run away four years before. As we approached the house, he said: 'I will go and open the gate, and have a good fire to warm you.' When he came up to the gate, he met his wife, who was returning from a store or neighbor's house, and he said to her, 'That's Ann Maria coming yonder.' She stopped until we came to the gate; the tears were rolling from her eyes, and she exclaimed: 'Ann Maria, is it you?' The girl leaped from the wagon, and they fell on each other's necks, weeping and rejoicing. Such a scene I never before witnessed. She, who had been given up as lost, was now found! She, who but a short time before, had been, as they supposed, a slave for life, was now free.

We soon entered the house, and after the first gush of feeling had somewhat subsided, they both began a general inquiry about the friends they had left behind. Every now and then, the aunt would break out: 'My child, you are here! Thank God, you are free! We were talking about you today, and saying, we shall never see you again; and now here you are with us.' I remained about an hour and a half with them, took dinner, and then started for home, rejoicing that I had been to a land where colored men are free.

This Mr. Bradley, who ran away with himself and wife about four years ago from the land of whips and chains, is