Part 11 (1/2)
”Mason is aboard of her,” was the quiet reply. The befooled magistrate of the law, who had taken great care to bring handcuffs for his expected prisoner, acknowledged himself beaten; while the ”n.i.g.g.e.r-chasers” were glad to sneak off, followed by the shouts and jeers of the crowd.
”Pretty well done--for a Democrat,” said Mr. Russell to the Captain a few days afterwards. ”After your conversion to our principles you will make a good Abolitionist.”
Some years after the event above narrated, as Capt. Dobbins[66] was in the cabin of his vessel as she lay at Buffalo, a respectably-dressed black man was shown into the cabin. It was Mason, who had come to repay his benefactor with thanks and even with proffered money. He had settled somewhere back of Kingston, Ontario, on land which the Canadian Government at that time gave to actual settlers. He had married an amiable woman, and was prosperous and happy.
I give the following incident substantially as it was set down for me by Mr. Frank Henry:
In the summer of 1858 Mr. Jehiel Towner (now deceased) sent me a note from the city of Erie, asking me to call on him that evening. When night came I rode into town from my home in Harborcreek, and saw Mr. Towner.
”There are three 'pa.s.sengers' hidden in town, Henry,” said he, ”and we must land them somewhere on the Canada sh.o.r.e. You are just the man for this work; will you undertake to get them across?”
You must remember that we never had anything to do with ”runaway n.i.g.g.e.rs” in those days, nor even with ”fugitive slaves”; we simply ”a.s.sisted pa.s.sengers.” I knew well enough that there was a big risk in the present case, but I promised to do my part, and so after talking over matters a little I drove home.
The next night just about dusk a wagon was driven into my yard. The driver, one Hamilton Waters, was a free mulatto, known to everybody around Erie. He had brought a little boy with him as guide, for he was almost as blind as a bat. In his wagon were three of the strangest-looking ”pa.s.sengers” I ever saw; I can remember how oddly they looked as they clambered out of the wagon. There was a man they called Sam, a great strapping negro, who might have been forty years old. He was a loose-jointed fellow, with a head like a pumpkin, and a mouth like a cavern, its vast circ.u.mference always stretched in a glorious grin; for no matter how badly Sam might feel, or how frightened, the grin had so grown into his black cheeks that it never vanished. I remember how, a few nights after, when the poor fellow was scared just about out of his wits, his grin, though a little ghastly, was as broad as ever. Sam was one of the queerest characters I ever met. His long arms seemed all wrists, his legs all ankles; and when he walked, his nether limbs had a flail-like flop that made him look like a runaway windmill. The bases upon which rested this fearfully-and wonderfully-made superstructure were abundantly ample. On one foot he wore an old shoe--at least number twelve in size--and on the other a heavy boot; and his trousers-legs, by a grim fatality, were similarly unbalanced, for while the one was tucked into the boot-top, its fellow, from the knee down, had wholly vanished.
Sam wore a weather-beaten and brimless ”tile” on his head, and in his hand carried an old-fas.h.i.+oned long-barreled rifle. He set great store by his ”ole smooth bo',” though he handled it in a gingerly sort of way, that suggested a greater fear of its kicks than confidence in its aim.
Sam's companions were an intelligent-looking negro about twenty-five years old, named Martin, and his wife, a pretty quadroon girl, with thin lips and a pleasant voice, for all the world like _Eliza_ in ”Uncle Tom's Cabin.” She carried a plump little piccaninny against her breast, over which a thin shawl was tightly drawn. She was an uncommonly attractive young woman, and I made up my mind then and there that she shouldn't be carried back to slavery if I had any say in the matter.
The only persons besides myself who knew of their arrival were William P. Trimble and Maj. F. L. Fitch. The party was conducted to the old Methodist church in Wesleyville, which had served for a long time as a place of rendezvous and concealment. Except for the regular Sunday services, and a Thursday-night prayer-meeting, the church was never opened, unless for an occasional funeral, and so it was as safe a place as could well have been found. In case of unexpected intruders, the fugitives could crawl up into the attic and remain as safe as if in Liberia.
It was my plan to take the ”pa.s.sengers” from the mouth of Four-Mile Creek across the lake to Long Point light-house, on the Canada sh.o.r.e, but the wind hung in a bad quarter for the next two or three days, and our party had to keep in the dark. One rainy night, however--it was a miserable, drizzling rain, and dark as Egypt--I was suddenly notified that a sailboat was in readiness off the mouth of Four-Mile Creek. At first I was at a loss what to do. I didn't dare go home for provisions, for I had good reason to believe that my house was nightly watched by a cowardly wretch, whose only concern was to secure the $500 offered by Sam's former master for the capture of the slaves. In the vicinity lived a well-to-do farmer, a devoted pro-slavery Democrat. Notwithstanding his politics, I knew the man was the soul of honor, and possessed a great generous heart. So I marshaled my black brigade out of the church, and marched them off, through the rain, single file, to his house. In answer to our knock, our friend threw open the door; then, with a thousand interrogation points frozen into his face, he stood for a minute, one hand holding a candle above his head, the other shading his eyes, as he stared at the wet and s.h.i.+vering group of darkies, the very picture of dumfounded astonishment. In less time than it takes to tell it, however, he grasped the situation, hustled us all into the house and shut the door with a most expressive slam.
”What in ---- does all this mean?” was his pious e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.
He saw what it meant, and it needed but few words of explanation on my part. ”They are a party of fugitives from slavery,” said I, calling our friend by name. ”We are about to cross the lake to Canada; the party are dest.i.tute and closely pursued; their only crime is a desire for freedom.
This young woman and mother has been sold from her husband and child to a dealer in the far South, and if captured, she will be consigned to a life of shame.” The story was all too common in those days, and needed no fine words. The young girl's eyes pleaded more forcibly than any words I could have spoken.
”Well--what do you want of me?” demanded our host, trying hard to look fierce and angry.
”Clothing and provisions,” I replied.
”Now look here,” said he, in his gruffest voice, ”this is a bad job--bad job.” Then, turning to the negroes: ”Better go back. Canada is full of runaway n.i.g.g.e.rs now. They're freezin' and starvin' by thousands. Was over in Canada t'other day. Saw six n.i.g.g.e.rs by the roadside, with their heads cut off. Bones of n.i.g.g.e.rs danglin' in the trees. Crows pickin'
their eyes out. _You_ better go back, d'ye _hear_?” he added, turning suddenly towards Sam.
Poor Sam shook in his shoes, and his eyes rolled in terror. He fingered his cherished smooth-bore as though uncertain whether to shoot his entertainer, or save all his ammunition for Canada crows, while he cast a helpless look of appeal upon his companions. The young woman, however, with her keener insight, had seen through the sham brusqueness of their host; and although she was evidently appalled by the horrible picture of what lay before them across the lake, her heart told her it was immeasurably to be preferred to a return to the only fate which awaited her in the South. Her thoughts lay in her face, and our friend read them; and not having a stone in his broad bosom, but a big, warm, thumping old heart, was moved to pity and to aid. He set about getting a basket of provisions. Then he skirmished around and found a blanket and hood for the woman; all the time declaring that _he_ never would help runaway n.i.g.g.e.rs, no sir! and drawing (for Sam's especial delectation) the most horrible pictures of Canadian hospitality that he could conjure up. ”You'll find 'em on sh.o.r.e waitin' for ye,” said he; ”they'll catch ye and kill ye and string ye up for a scare-crow.” Seeing that Sam was coatless, he stripped off his own coat and bundled it upon the astonished darky with the consoling remark: ”When they get hold of _you_ they'll tan your black hide, stretch it for drum-heads, and beat 'G.o.d Save the Queen' out of ye every day in the year.”
All being in readiness, our benefactor plunged his hand into his pocket, and pulling it out full of small change thrust it into the woman's hands, still urging them to go back to the old life. At the door Sam turned back and spoke for the first time:
”Look 'e hyar, Ma.s.sa, you's good to we uns an' 'fo' de Lo'd I tank yer.
Ef enny No'then gemmen hankah fur my chances in de Souf, I' zign in dair favo'. 'Fo' de good Lo'd I tank ye, Ma.s.sa, I does, _shuah_!”
Here Sam's feelings got the better of him, and we were hurrying off, when our entertainer said:
”See here, now, Henry, remember you were never at my house with a lot of d.a.m.ned n.i.g.g.e.rs in the night. Do you understand?”
”All right, sir. You are the last man who would ever be charged with Abolitionism, and that's the reason why we came here tonight. Mum is the word.”
The rain had stopped and the stars were s.h.i.+ning in a cheerful way as we all trudged down the wet road to the lake sh.o.r.e. Our boat was found close in sh.o.r.e, and Martin and his wife had waded out to it, while Sam and I stood talking in low tones on the beach. Suddenly a crash like the breaking of fence-boards was heard on the bank near by, and to the westward of us. We looked up quickly and saw the form of a man climb over the fence and then crouch down in the shadow. Up came Sam's rifle, and with a hurried aim he fired at the moving object. His old gun was trusty and his aim true, and had it not been for a lucky blow from my hand, which knocked the gun upwards just as he fired, and sent the ball whistling harmlessly over the bank, there'd have been one less mean man in the world, and we should have had a corpse to dispose of. I scrambled up the bank, with my heart in my mouth, I'll confess, just in time to see the sneak scurry along in the direction of the highway. I watched a long time at the creek after the boat left, and seeing no one astir started for home. By the time I reached the Lake road the moon had come up, and a fresh carriage-track could be plainly seen. I followed it down the road a short distance, when it turned, ran across the sod, and ended at the fence, which had been freshly gnawed by horses. It then turned back into the highway, followed up the crossroad to Wesleyville, and thence came to the city.
The fugitives reached the promised land in safety, and I heard from them several times thereafter. The man Sam subsequently made two or three successful trips back to the old home, once for a wife and afterwards for other friends. He made some money in the Canada oil fields, and some time after sent me $100, $50 for myself to invest in books, and $50 for the fishermen who carried them safely across to Long Point and liberty.