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SCENES IN THE LIFE OF HARRIET TUBMAN.



BY



SARAH H. BRADFORD.





AUBURN:

W. J. MOSES, PRINTER.



1869.





[Illustration: HARRIET TUBMAN.]





Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869,



BY WILLIAM G. WISE,



In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Northern District

of New York.



STEREOTYPED BY

DENNIS BRO'S & CO.,

AUBURN, N. Y.









INTRODUCTION.





The following little story was written by Mrs. Sarah H. Bradford, of

Geneva, with the single object of furnishing some help to the subject of

the memoir. Harriet Tubman's services and sufferings during the

rebellion, which are acknowledged in the letters of Gen. Saxton, and

others, it was thought by many, would justify the bestowment of a

pension by the Government. But the difficulties in the way of procuring

such relief, suggested other methods, and finally the present one. The

narrative was prepared on the eve of the author's departure for Europe,

where she still remains. It makes no claim whatever to literary merit.

Her hope was merely that the considerably numerous public already in

part acquainted with Harriet's story, would furnish purchasers enough to

secure a little fund for the relief of this remarkable woman. Outside

that circle she did not suppose the memoir was likely to meet with much

if any sale.



In furtherance of the same benevolent scheme, and in order to secure the

whole avails of the work for Harriet's benefit, a subscription has been

raised more than sufficient to defray the entire cost of publication.

This has been effected by the generous exertions of Wm. G. Wise, Esq.,

of this city. The whole amount was contributed by citizens of Auburn,

with the exception of two liberal subscriptions by Gerrit Smith, Esq.,

and Mr. Wendell Phillips.



Mr. Wise has also consented, at Mrs. Bradford's request, to act as

trustee for Harriet; and will receive, invest, and apply, for her

benefit, whatever may accrue from the sale of this book.



The spirited wood-cut likeness of Harriet, in her costume as scout, was

furnished by the kindness of Mr. J. C. Darby, of this city.



S. M. H.



AUBURN, Dec. 1, 1868.



[Illustration: Decoration]









PREFACE.





It is proposed in this little book to give a plain and unvarnished

account of some scenes and adventures in the life of a woman who, though

one of earth's lowly ones, and of dark-hued skin, has shown an amount of

heroism in her character rarely possessed by those of any station in

life. Her name (we say it advisedly and without exaggeration) deserves

to be handed down to posterity side by side with the names of Joan of

Arc, Grace Darling, and Florence Nightingale; for not one of these women

has shown more courage and power of endurance in facing danger and death

to relieve human suffering, than has this woman in her heroic and

successful endeavors to reach and save all whom she might of her

oppressed and suffering race, and to pilot them from the land of Bondage

to the promised land of Liberty. Well has she been called "_Moses_," for

she has been a leader and deliverer unto hundreds of her people.



Worn down by her sufferings and fatigues, her health permanently

affected by the cruelties to which she has been subjected, she is still

laboring to the utmost limit of her strength for the support of her aged

parents, and still also for her afflicted people--by her own efforts

supporting two schools for Freedmen at the South, and supplying them

with clothes and books; never obtruding herself, never asking for

charity, except for "her people."



It is for the purpose of aiding her in ministering to the wants of her

aged parents, and in the hope of securing to them the little home which

they are in danger of losing from inability to pay the whole amount

due--which amount was partly paid when our heroine left them to throw

herself into the work of aiding our suffering soldiers--that this little

account, drawn from her by persevering endeavor, is given to the friends

of humanity.



The writer of this story has till very lately known less personally of

the subject of it, than many others to whom she has for years been an

object of interest and care. But through relations and friends in

Auburn, and also through Mrs. Commodore Swift of Geneva, and her

sisters, who have for many years known and esteemed this wonderful

woman, she has heard tales of her deeds of heroism which seemed almost

too strange for belief, and were invested with the charm of romance.



During a sojourn of some months in the city of Auburn, while the war was

in progress, the writer used to see occasionally in her Sunday-school

class the aged mother of Harriet, and also some of those girls who had

been brought from the South by this remarkable woman. She also wrote

letters for the old people to commanding officers at the South, making

inquiries about Harriet, and received answers telling of her untiring

devotion to our wounded and sick soldiers, and of her efficient aid in

various ways to the cause of the Union.



By the graphic pen of Mrs. Stowe, the incidents of such a life as that

of the subject of this little memoir might be wrought up into a tale of

thrilling interest, equaling, if not exceeding, anything in her

world-renowned "Uncle Tom's Cabin;" but the story of Harriet Tubman

needs not the drapery of fiction; the bare unadorned facts are enough to

stir the hearts of the friends of humanity, the friends of liberty, the

lovers of their country.



There are those who will sneer, there are those who have already done

so, at this _quixotic attempt_ to make a heroine of a black woman, and a

slave; but it may possibly be that there are some natures, though

concealed under fairer skins, who have not the capacity to comprehend

such general and self-sacrificing devotion to the cause of others as

that here delineated, and therefore they resort to scorn and ridicule,

in order to throw discredit upon the whole story.



Much has been left out which would have been highly interesting, because

of the impossibility of substantiating by the testimony of others the

truth of Harriet's statements. But whenever it has been possible to find

those who were cognizant with the facts stated, they have been

corroborated in every particular.



A few years hence and we seem to see a gathering where the wrongs of

earth will be righted, and Justice, long delayed, will assert itself,

and perform its office. Then not a few of those who had esteemed

themselves the wise and noble of this world, "will begin with shame to

take the lowest place;" while upon Harriet's dark head a kind hand will

be placed, and in her ear a gentle voice will sound, saying: "Friend!

come up higher!"



S. H. B.





The following letters to the writer from those well-known and

distinguished philanthropists, Hon. Gerrit Smith and Wendell Phillips,

and one from Frederick Douglass, addressed to Harriet, will serve as the

best introduction that can be given of the subject of this memoir to its

readers:





_Letter from Hon. Gerrit Smith._





     PETERBORO, June 13, 1868.



     MY DEAR MADAME: I am happy to learn that you are to speak to the

     public of Mrs. Harriet Tubman. Of the remarkable events of her life

     I have no _personal_ knowledge, but of the truth of them as she

     describes them I have no doubt.



     I have often listened to her, in her visits to my family, and I am

     confident that she is not only truthful, but that she has a rare

     discernment, and a deep and sublime philanthropy.



     With great respect your friend,



     GERRIT SMITH.





_Letter from Wendell Phillips._





     JUNE 16, 1868.



     DEAR MADAME: The last time I ever saw John Brown was under my own

     roof, as he brought Harriet Tubman to me, saying: "Mr. Phillips, I

     bring you one of the best and bravest persons on this

     continent--_General_ Tubman, as we call her."



     He then went on to recount her labors and sacrifices in behalf of

     her race. After that, Harriet spent some time in Boston, earning

     the confidence and admiration of all those who were working for

     freedom. With their aid she went to the South more than once,

     returning always with a squad of self-emancipated men, women, and

     children, for whom her marvelous skill had opened the way of

     escape. After the war broke out, she was sent with indorsements

     from Governor Andrew and his friends to South Carolina, where in

     the service of the Nation she rendered most important and efficient

     aid to our army.



     In my opinion there are few captains, perhaps few colonels, who

     have done more for the loyal cause since the war began, and few men

     who did before that time more for the colored race, than our

     fearless and most sagacious friend, Harriet.



     Faithfully yours,



     WENDELL PHILLIPS.





_Letter from Frederick Douglass._





     ROCHESTER, August 29, 1868.



     DEAR HARRIET: I am glad to know that the story of your eventful

     life has been written by a kind lady, and that the same is soon to

     be published. You ask for what you do not need when you call upon

     me for a word of commendation. I need such words from you far more

     than you can need them from me, especially where your superior

     labors and devotion to the cause of the lately enslaved of our land

     are known as I know them. The difference between us is very marked.

     Most that I have done and suffered in the service of our cause has

     been in public, and I have received much encouragement at every

     step of the way. You on the other hand have labored in a private

     way. I have wrought in the day--you in the night. I have had the

     applause of the crowd and the satisfaction that comes of being

     approved by the multitude, while the most that you have done has

     been witnessed by a few trembling, scared, and foot-sore bondmen

     and women, whom you have led out of the house of bondage, and whose

     heartfelt "_God bless you_" has been your only reward. The midnight

     sky and the silent stars have been the witnesses of your devotion

     to freedom and of your heroism. Excepting John Brown--of sacred

     memory--I know of no one who has willingly encountered more perils

     and hardships to serve our enslaved people than you have. Much that

     you have done would seem improbable to those who do not know you

     as I know you. It is to me a great pleasure and a great privilege

     to bear testimony to your character and your works, and to say to

     those to whom you may come, that I regard you in every way truthful

     and trustworthy.



     Your friend,



     FREDERICK DOUGLASS.









SOME SCENES



IN THE



LIFE OF HARRIET TUBMAN.





Harriet Tubman, known at various times, and in various places, by many

different names, such as "Moses," in allusion to her being the leader

and guide to so many of her people in their exodus from the Land of

Bondage; "the Conductor of the Underground Railroad;" and "Moll

Pitcher," for the energy and daring by which she delivered a fugitive

slave who was about to be dragged back to the South; was for the first

twenty-five years of her life a slave on the eastern shore of Maryland.

Her own master she represents as never unnecessarily cruel; but as was

common among slaveholders, he often hired out his slaves to others, some

of whom proved to be tyrannical and brutal to the utmost limit of their

power.



She had worked only as a field-hand for many years, following the oxen,

loading and unloading wood, and carrying heavy burdens, by which her

naturally remarkable power of muscle was so developed that her feats of

strength often called forth the wonder of strong laboring men. Thus was

she preparing for the life of hardship and endurance which lay before

her, for the deeds of daring she was to do, and of which her ignorant

and darkened mind at that time never dreamed.



The first person by whom she was hired was a woman who, though married

and the mother of a family, was still "Miss Susan" to her slaves, as is

customary at the South. This woman was possessed of the good things of

this life, and provided liberally for her slaves--so far as food and

clothing went. But she had been brought up to believe, and to act upon

the belief, that a slave could be taught to do nothing, and _would_ do

nothing but under the sting of the whip. Harriet, then a young girl, was

taken from her life in the field, and having never seen the inside of a

house better than a cabin in the negro quarters, was put to house-work

without being told how to do anything. The first thing was to put a

parlor in order. "Move these chairs and tables into the middle of the

room, sweep the carpet clean, then dust everything, and put them back in

their places!" These were the directions given, and Harriet was left

alone to do her work. The whip was in sight on the mantel-piece, as a

reminder of what was to be expected if the work was not done well.

Harriet fixed the furniture as she was told to do, and swept with all

her strength, raising a tremendous dust. The moment she had finished

sweeping, she took her dusting cloth, and wiped everything "so you could

see your face in 'em, de shone so," in haste to go and set the table for

breakfast, and do her other work. The dust which she had set flying only

settled down again on chairs, tables, and the piano. "Miss Susan" came

in and looked around. Then came the call for "Minty"--Harriet's name was

Araminta at the South.



She drew her up to the table, saying, "What do you mean by doing my work

this way, you--!" and passing her finger on the table and piano, she

showed her the mark it made through the dust. "Miss Susan, I done sweep

and dust jus' as you tole me." But the whip was already taken down, and

the strokes were falling on head and face and neck. Four times this

scene was repeated before breakfast, when, during the fifth whipping,

the door opened, and "Miss Emily" came in. She was a married sister of

"Miss Susan," and was making her a visit, and though brought up with the

same associations as her sister, seems to have been a person of more

gentle and reasonable nature. Not being able to endure the screams of

the child any longer, she came in, took her sister by the arm, and said,

"If you do not stop whipping that child, I will leave your house, and

never come back!" Miss Susan declared that "she _would_ not mind, and

she slighted her work on purpose." Miss Emily said, "Leave her to me a

few moments;" and Miss Susan left the room, indignant. As soon as they

were alone, Miss Emily said: "Now, Minty, show me how you do your work."

For the sixth time Harriet removed all the furniture into the middle of

the room; then she swept; and the moment she had done sweeping, she took

the dusting cloth to wipe off the furniture. "Now stop there," said Miss

Emily; "go away now, and do some of your other work, and when it is time

to dust, I will call you." When the time came she called her, and

explained to her how the dust had now settled, and that if she wiped it

off now, the furniture would remain bright and clean. These few words an

hour or two before, would have saved Harriet her whippings for that day,

as they probably did for many a day after.



While with this woman, after working from early morning till late at

night, she was obliged to sit up all night to rock a cross, sick child.

Her mistress laid upon her bed with a whip under her pillow, and slept;

but if the tired nurse forgot herself for a moment, if her weary head

dropped, and her hand ceased to rock the cradle, the child would cry

out, and then down would come the whip upon the neck and face of the

poor weary creature. The scars are still plainly visible where the whip

cut into the flesh. Perhaps her mistress was preparing her, though she

did not know it then, by this enforced habit of wakefulness, for the

many long nights of travel, when she was the leader and guide of the

weary and hunted ones who were escaping from bondage.



"Miss Susan" got tired of Harriet, as Harriet was determined she should

do, and so abandoned her intention of buying her, and sent her back to

her master. She was next hired out to the man who inflicted upon her the

life-long injury from which she is suffering now, by breaking her skull

with a weight from the scales. The injury thus inflicted causes her

often to fall into a state of somnolency from which it is almost

impossible to rouse her. Disabled and sick, her flesh all wasted away,

she was returned to her _owner_. He tried to sell her, but no one would

buy her. "Dey said dey wouldn't give a sixpence for me," she said.



"And so," she said, "from Christmas till March I worked as I could, and

I _prayed_ through all the long nights--I groaned and prayed for ole

master: 'Oh Lord, convert master!' 'Oh Lord, change dat man's heart!'

'Pears like I prayed all de time," said Harriet; "'bout my work,

everywhere, I prayed an' I groaned to de Lord. When I went to de

horse-trough to wash my face, I took up de water in my han' an' I said,

'Oh Lord, wash me, make me clean!' Den I take up something to wipe my

face, an' I say, 'Oh Lord, wipe away all my sin!' When I took de broom

and began to sweep, I groaned, 'Oh Lord, wha'soebber sin dere be in my

heart, sweep it out, Lord, clar an' clean!'" No words can describe the

pathos of her tones, as she broke out into these words of prayer, after

the manner of her people. "An' so," said she, "I prayed all night long

for master, till the first of March; an' all the time he was bringing

people to look at me, an' trying to sell me. Den we heard dat some of us

was gwine to be sole to go wid de chain-gang down to de cotton an' rice

fields, and dey said I was gwine, an' my brudders, an' sisters. Den I

changed my prayer. Fust of March I began to pray, 'Oh Lord, if you ant

nebber gwine to change dat man's heart, kill him, Lord, an' take him out

ob de way.'



"Nex' ting I heard old master was dead, an' he died jus' as he libed.

Oh, then, it 'peared like I'd give all de world full ob gold, if I had

it, to bring dat poor soul back. But I couldn't pray for him no longer."



The slaves were told that their master's will provided that none of them

should be sold out of the State. This satisfied most of them, and they

were very happy. But Harriet was not satisfied; she never closed her

eyes that she did not imagine she saw the horsemen coming, and heard the

screams of women and children, as they were being dragged away to a far

worse slavery than that they were enduring there. Harriet was married at

this time to a free negro, who not only did not trouble himself about

her fears, but did his best to betray her, and bring her back after she

escaped. She would start up at night with the cry, "Oh, dey're comin',

dey're comin', I mus' go!"



Her husband called her a fool, and said she was like old Cudjo, who when

a joke went round, never laughed till half an hour after everybody else

got through, and so just as all danger was past she began to be

frightened. But still Harriet in fancy saw the horsemen coming, and

heard the screams of terrified women and children. "And all that time,

in my dreams and visions," she said, "I seemed to see a line, and on the

other side of that line were green fields, and lovely flowers, and

beautiful white ladies, who stretched out their arms to me over the

line, but I couldn't reach them nohow. I always fell before I got to the

line."



One Saturday it was whispered in the quarters that two of Harriet's

sisters had been sent off with the chain-gang. That morning she started,

having persuaded three of her brothers to accompany her, but they had

not gone far when the brothers, appalled by the dangers before and

behind them, determined to go back, and in spite of her remonstrances

dragged her with them. In fear and terror, she remained over Sunday, and

on Monday night a negro from another part of the plantation came

privately to tell Harriet that herself and brothers were to be carried

off that night. The poor old mother, who belonged to the same mistress,

was just going to milk. Harriet wanted to get away without letting her

know, because she knew that she would raise an uproar and prevent her

going, or insist upon going with her, and the time for this was not

yet. But she must give some intimation to those she was going to leave

of her intention, and send such a farewell as she might to the friends

and relations on the plantation. These communications were generally

made by singing. They sang as they walked along the country roads, and

the chorus was taken up by others, and the uninitiated knew not the

hidden meaning of the words--





     When dat ar ole chariot comes,

      I'm gwine to lebe you;

     I'm boun' for de promised land,

      I'm gwine to lebe you.





These words meant something more than a journey to the Heavenly Canaan.

Harriet said, "Here, mother, go 'long; I'll do the milkin' to-night and

bring it in." The old woman went to her cabin. Harriet took down her

sun-bonnet, and went on to the "big house," where some of her relatives

lived as house servants. She thought she could trust Mary, but there

were others in the kitchen, and she could say nothing. Mary began to

frolic with her. She threw her across the kitchen, and ran out, knowing

that Mary would follow her. But just as they turned the corner of the

house, the master to whom Harriet was now hired, came riding up on his

horse. Mary darted back, and Harriet thought there was no way now but

to sing. But "the Doctor," as the master was called, was regarded with

special awe by his slaves; if they were singing or talking together in

the field, or on the road, and "the Doctor" appeared, all was hushed

till he passed. But Harriet had no time for ceremony; her friends must

have a warning; and whether the Doctor thought her "_imperent_" or not,

she must sing him farewell. So on she went to meet him, singing:





     I'm sorry I'm gwine to lebe you,

      Farewell, oh farewell;

     But I'll meet you in the mornin',

      Farewell, oh farewell.





The Doctor passed, and she bowed as she went on, still singing:





     I'll meet you in the mornin',

      I'm boun' for de promised land,

     On the oder side of Jordan,

      Boun' for de promised land.





She reached the gate and looked round; the Doctor had stopped his horse,

and had turned around in the saddle, and was looking at her as if there

might be more in this than "met the ear." Harriet closed the gate, went

on a little way, came back, the Doctor still gazing at her. She lifted

up the gate as if she had not latched it properly, waved her hand to

him, and burst out again:





     I'll meet you in the mornin',

      Safe in de promised land,

     On the oder side of Jordan,

      Boun' for de promised land.





And she started on her journey, "not knowing whither she went," except

that she was going to follow the north star, till it led her to liberty.

Cautiously and by night she traveled, cunningly feeling her way, and

finding out who were friends; till after a long and painful journey she

found, in answer to careful inquiries, that she had at last crossed that

magic "line" which then separated the land of bondage from the land of

freedom; for this was before _we_ were commanded by law to take part in

the iniquity of slavery, and aid in taking and sending back those poor

hunted fugitives who had manhood and intelligence enough to enable them

to make their way thus far towards freedom.



"When I found I had crossed dat _line_," she said, "I looked at my hands

to see if I was de same pusson. There was such a glory ober ebery ting;

de sun came like gold through the trees, and ober the fields, and I felt

like I was in Heaben."



But then came the bitter drop in the cup of joy. She said she felt like

a man who was put in State Prison for twenty-five years. All these

twenty-five years he was thinking of his home, and longing for the time

when he would see it again. At last the day comes--he leaves the prison

gates--he makes his way to his old home, but his old home is not there.

The house has been pulled down, and a new one has been put up in its

place; his family and friends are gone nobody knows where; there is no

one to take him by the hand, no one to welcome him.



"So it was with me," she said. "I had crossed the line. I was _free_;

but there was no one to welcome me to the land of freedom. I was a

stranger in a strange land; and my home, after all, was down in

Maryland; because my father, my mother, my brothers, and sisters, and

friends were there. But I was free, and _they_ should be free. I would

make a home in the North and bring them there, God helping me. Oh, how I

prayed then," she said; "I said to de Lord, 'I'm gwine to hole stiddy on

to _you_, an' I _know_ you'll see me through.'"



She came to Philadelphia, and worked in hotels, in club houses, and

afterwards at Cape May. Whenever she had raised money enough to pay

expenses, she would make her way back, hide herself, and in various ways

give notice to those who were ready to strike for freedom. When her

party was made up, they would start always on Saturday night, because

advertisements could not be sent out on Sunday, which gave them one day

in advance.



Then the pursuers would start after them. Advertisements would be posted

everywhere. There was one reward of $12,000 offered for the head of the

woman who was constantly appearing and enticing away parties of slaves

from their master. She had traveled in the cars when these posters were

put up over her head, and she heard them read by those about her--for

she could not read herself. Fearlessly she went on, trusting in the

Lord. She said, "I started with this idea in my head, 'Dere's _two_

things I've got a _right_ to, and dese are, Death or Liberty--one or

tother I mean to have. No one will take me back alive; I shall fight for

my liberty, and when de time has come for me to go, de Lord will let dem

kill me." And acting upon this simple creed, and firm in this trusting

faith, she went back and forth _nineteen times_, according to the

reckoning of her friends. She remembers that she went eleven times from

Canada, but of the other journeys she kept no reckoning.



While Harriet was working as cook in one of the large hotels in

Philadelphia, the play of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" was being performed for

many weeks every night. Some of her fellow-servants wanted her to go and

see it. "No," said Harriet, "I haint got no heart to go and see the

sufferings of my people played on de stage. I've heard 'Uncle Tom's

Cabin' read, and I tell you Mrs. Stowe's pen hasn't begun to paint what

slavery is as I have seen it at the far South. I've seen de _real ting_,

and I don't want to see it on no stage or in no teater."



I will give here an article from a paper published nearly a year ago,

which mentions that the price set upon the head of Harriet was much

higher than I have stated it to be. When asked about this, Harriet said

she did not know whether it was so, but she heard them read from one

paper that the reward offered was $12,000.



"Among American women," says the article referred to, "who has shown a

courage and self-devotion to the welfare of others, equal to Harriet

Tubman? Hear her story of going down again and again into the very jaws

of slavery, to rescue her suffering people, bringing them off through

perils and dangers enough to appall the stoutest heart, till she was

known among them as 'Moses.'



"_Forty thousand dollars_ was not too great a reward for the Maryland

slaveholders to offer for her.



"Think of her brave spirit, as strong as Daniel's of old, in its

fearless purpose to serve God, even though the fiery furnace should be

her portion. I have looked into her dark face, and wondered and admired

as I listened to the thrilling deeds her lion heart had prompted her to

dare. 'I have heard their groans and sighs, and seen their tears, and I

would give every drop of blood in my veins to free them,' she said.



"The other day, at Gerrit Smith's, I saw this heroic woman, whom the pen

of genius will yet make famous, as one of the noblest Christian hearts

ever inspired to lift the burdens of the wronged and oppressed, and what

do you think she said to me? She had been tending and caring for our

Union black (and white) soldiers in hospital during the war, and at the

end of her labors was on her way home, coming in a car through New

Jersey. A white man, the conductor, thrust her out of the car with such

violence that she has not been able to work scarcely any since; and as

she told me of the pain she had and still suffered, she said she did not

know what she should have done for herself, and the old father and

mother she takes care of, if Mr. Wendell Phillips had not sent her $60,

that kept them warm through the winter. She had a letter from W. H.

Seward to Maj.-Gen. Hunter, in which he says, 'I have known her long,

and a nobler, higher spirit, or truer, seldom dwells in the human

form.'"



It will be impossible to give any connected account of the different

journeys taken by Harriet for the rescue of her people, as she herself

has no idea of the dates connected with them, or of the order in which

they were made. She thinks she was about 25 when she made her own

escape, and this was in the last year of James K. Polk's administration.

From that time till the beginning of the war, her years were spent in

these journeyings back and forth, with intervals between, in which she

worked only to spend the avails of her labor in providing for the wants

of her next party of fugitives. By night she traveled, many times on

foot, over mountains, through forests, across rivers, mid perils by

land, perils by water, perils from enemies, "perils among false

brethren." Sometimes members of her party would become exhausted,

foot-sore, and bleeding, and declare they could not go on, they must

stay where they dropped down, and die; others would think a voluntary

return to slavery better than being overtaken and carried back, and

would insist upon returning; then there was no remedy but force; the

revolver carried by this bold and daring pioneer would be pointed at

their heads. "Dead niggers tell no tales," said Harriet; "Go on or die;"

and so she compelled them to drag their weary limbs on their northward

journey.



At one time she collected and sent on a gang of thirty-nine fugitives in

the care of others, as from some cause she was prevented from

accompanying them. Sometimes, when she and her party were concealed in

the woods, they saw their pursuers pass, on their horses, down the high

road, tacking up the advertisements for them on the fences and trees.



"And den how we laughed," said she. "_We_ was de fools, and _dey_ was de

wise men; but we wasn't fools enough to go down de high road in de broad

daylight." At one time she left her party in the woods, and went by a

long and roundabout way to one of the "stations of the Underground

Railway," as she called them. Here she procured food for her famished

party, often paying out of her hardly-gained earnings, five dollars a

day for food for them. But she dared not go back to them till night, for

fear of being watched, and thus revealing their hiding-place. After

nightfall, the sound of a hymn sung at a distance comes upon the ears

of the concealed and famished fugitives in the woods, and they know that

their deliverer is at hand. They listen eagerly for the words she sings,

for by them they are to be warned of danger, or informed of safety.

Nearer and nearer comes the unseen singer, and the words are wafted to

their ears:





     Hail, oh hail ye happy spirits,

      Death no more shall make you fear,

     No grief nor sorrow, pain nor anger (anguish)

      Shall no more distress you there.



     Around him are ten thousan' angels,

      Always ready to 'bey comman'.

     Dey are always hobring round you,

      Till you reach the hebbenly lan'.



     Jesus, Jesus will go wid you;

      He will lead you to his throne;

     He who died has gone before you,

      Trod de wine-press all alone.



     He whose thunders shake creation;

      He who bids the planets roll;

     He who rides upon the temple, (tempest)

      An' his scepter sways de whole.



     Dark and thorny is de desert,

      Through de pilgrim makes his ways,

     Yet beyon' dis vale of sorrow,

      Lies de fiel's of endless days.





I give these words exactly as Harriet sang them to me to a sweet and

simple Methodist air. "De first time I go by singing dis hymn, dey don't

come out to me," she said, "till I listen if de coast is clar; den when

I go back and sing it again, dey come out. But if I sing:





     Moses go down in Egypt,

      Till ole Pharo' let me go;

     Hadn't been for Adam's fall,

      Shouldn't hab to died at all,





den dey don't come out, for dere's danger in de way."



And so by night travel, by hiding, by signals, by threatening, she

brought the people safely to the land of liberty. But after the passage

of the Fugitive Slave law, she said, "I wouldn't trust Uncle Sam wid my

people no longer; I brought 'em all clar off to Canada."



Of the very many interesting stories told me by Harriet, I cannot

refrain from telling to my readers that of _Joe_, who accompanied her

upon her seventh or eighth journey from Maryland to Canada.



Joe was a noble specimen of a negro, and was hired out by his master to

a man for whom he worked faithfully for six years, saving him the

expense of an overseer, and taking all trouble off his hands. At length

this man found him so absolutely necessary to him, that he determined to

buy him at any cost. His master held him proportionably high. However,

by paying a thousand dollars down for him, and promising to pay another

thousand in a certain time, Joe passed into the hands of his new

master.



As may be imagined, Joe was somewhat surprised when the first order

issued from his master's lips, was, "Now, Joe, strip and take a

whipping!" Joe's experience of _whippings_, as he had seen them

inflicted upon others, was not such as to cause him particularly to

desire to go through the same operation on his own account; and he,

naturally enough, demurred, and at first thought of resisting. But he

called to mind a scene which he had witnessed a few days before, in the

field, the particulars of which are too horrible and too harassing to

the feelings to be given to my readers, and he thought it best to

submit; but first he tried remonstrance.



"Mas'r," said he, "habn't I always been faithful to you? Habn't I worked

through sun an' rain, early in de mornin', and late at night; habn't I

saved you an oberseer by doin' his work; hab you anyting to complain of

agin me?"



"No, Joe; I've no complaint to make of you; you're a good nigger, and

you've always worked well; but the first lesson my niggers have to learn

is that I am _master_, and that they are not to resist or refuse to obey

anything I tell 'em to do. So the first thing they've got to do, is to

be whipped; if they resist, they get it all the harder; and so I'll go

on, till I kill 'em, but they've got to give up at last, and learn that

I'm master."



Joe thought it best to submit. He stripped off his upper clothing, and

took his whipping without a word; but as he drew his clothes up over his

torn and bleeding back, he said, "Dis is de last!" That night he took a

boat and went a long distance to the cabin of Harriet's father, and

said, "Next time Moses comes, let me know." It was only a week or two

after that, that the mysterious woman whom no one could lay their finger

on appeared, and men, women, and children began to disappear from the

plantations. One fine morning Joe was missing, and his brother William,

from another plantation; Peter and Eliza, too, were gone; and these made

part of Harriet's next party, who began their pilgrimage from Maryland

to Canada, or as they expressed it, from "Egypt to de land of Canaan."



Their adventures were enough to fill a volume; they were pursued; they

were hidden in "potato holes," while their pursuers passed within a few

feet of them; they were passed along by friends in various disguises;

they scattered and separated, to be led by guides by a roundabout way,

to a meeting-place again. They were taken in by Sam Green, the man who

was afterwards sent to State Prison for ten years for having a copy of

"Uncle Tom's Cabin" in his house; and so, hunted and hiding and

wandering, they came at last to the long bridge at the entrance of the

city of Wilmington, Delaware. The rewards posted up everywhere had been

at first five hundred dollars for Joe, if taken within the limits of the

United States; then a thousand, and then fifteen hundred dollars, "an'

all expenses clar an' clean, for his body in Easton Jail." Eight hundred

for William, and four hundred for Peter, and twelve thousand for the

woman who enticed them away. The long Wilmington Bridge was guarded by

police officers, and the advertisements were everywhere. The party were

scattered, and taken to the houses of different colored friends, and

word was sent secretly to Thomas Garrett, of Wilmington, of their

condition, and the necessity of their being taken across the bridge.

Thomas Garrett is a Quaker, and a man of a wonderfully large and

generous heart, through whose hands, Harriet tells me, two thousand

self-emancipated slaves passed on their way to freedom. He was always

ready, heart and hand and means, in aiding these poor fugitives, and

rendered most efficient help to Harriet on many of her journeys back and

forth. A letter received a few days since by the writer, from this

noble-hearted philanthropist, will be given presently.



As soon as Thomas Garrett heard of the condition of these poor people,

his plan was formed. He engaged two wagons, filled them with

bricklayers, whom of course he paid well for their share in the

enterprise, and sent them across the bridge. They went as if on a

frolic, singing and shouting. The guards saw them pass, and of course

expected them to re-cross the bridge. After nightfall (and fortunately

it was a dark night) the same wagons went back, but with an addition to

their party. The fugitives were on the bottom of the wagons, the

bricklayers on the seats, still singing and shouting; and so they passed

by the guards, who were entirely unsuspicious of the nature of the load

the wagons contained, or of the amount of property thus escaping their

hands. And so they made their way to New York. When they entered the

anti-slavery office there, Joe was recognized at once by the description

in the advertisement. "Well," said Mr. Oliver Johnson, "I am glad to

see the man whose head is worth fifteen hundred dollars." At this Joe's

heart sank. If the advertisement had got to New York, that place which

it had taken them so many days and nights to reach, he thought he was in

danger still. "And how far is it now to Canada?" he asked. When told how

many miles, for they were to come through New York State, and cross the

Suspension Bridge, he was ready to give up. "From dat time Joe was

silent," said Harriet; "he sang no more, he talked no more; he sat wid

his head on his hand, and nobody could 'muse him or make him take any

interest in anyting." They passed along in safety, and at length found

themselves in the cars, approaching Suspension Bridge. The rest were

very joyous and happy, but Joe sat silent and sad. Their

fellow-passengers all seemed interested in and for them, and listened

with tears, as Harriet and all their party lifted up their voices and

sang:





           I'm on my way to Canada,

            That cold and dreary land;

           The sad effects of slavery,

            I can't no longer stand.

           I've served my master all my days,

            Widout a dime's reward;

           And now I'm forced to run away,

            To flee the lash abroad.

     Farewell, ole master, don't think hard of me,

     I'll travel on to Canada, where all the slaves are free.



           The hounds are baying on my track,

            Ole master comes behind,

           Resolved that he will bring me back,

            Before I cross de line;

           I'm now embarked for yonder shore,

            There a man's a man by law;

           The iron horse will bear me o'er,

            To shake de lion's paw.

     Oh, righteous Father, wilt thou not pity me,

     And aid me on to Canada where all the slaves are free.



           Oh, I heard Queen Victoria say,

            That if we would forsake

           Our native land of slavery,

            And come across the lake;

           That she was standin' on de shore,

            Wid arms extended wide,

           To give us all a peaceful home

            Beyond de rolling tide.

       Farewell, ole master, etc.





The cars began to cross the bridge. Harriet was very anxious to have her

companions see the Falls. William, Peter, and Eliza came eagerly to look

at the wonderful sight; but Joe sat still, with his head upon his hand.



"Joe, come look at de Falls! Joe, you fool you, come see de Falls! its

your last chance." But Joe sat still and never raised his head. At

length Harriet knew by the rise in the center of the bridge, and the

descent on the other side, that they had crossed "the line." She sprang

across to Joe's seat, shook him with all her might, and shouted, "Joe,

you've shook de lion's paw!" Joe did not know what she meant. "Joe,

you're _free_!" shouted Harriet. Then Joe's head went up, he raised his

hands on high, and his face, streaming with tears, to heaven, and broke

out in loud and thrilling tones:





     "Glory to God and Jesus too,

      One more soul is safe!

     Oh, go and carry de news,

      One more soul got safe."





"Joe, come and look at de Falls!" called Harriet.





     "Glory to God and Jesus too,

      One more soul got safe."





was all the answer. The cars stopped on the other side. Joe's feet were

the first to touch British soil, after those of the conductor.



Loud roared the waters of Niagara, but louder still ascended the anthem

of praise from the overflowing heart of the freeman. And can we doubt

that the strain was taken up by angel voices, and that through the

arches of Heaven echoed and re-echoed the strain:





     Glory to God in the Highest,

     Glory to God and Jesus too,

      One more soul is safe.





"The ladies and gentlemen gathered round him," said Harriet, "till I

couldn't see Joe for the crowd, only I heard 'Glory to God and Jesus

too!' louder than ever." William went after him, and pulled him,

saying, "Joe, stop your noise! you act like a fool!' Then Peter ran in

and jerked him mos' off his feet,--"Joe, stop your hollerin'! Folks'll

think you're crazy!" But Joe gave no heed. The ladies were crying, and

the tears like rain ran down Joe's sable cheeks. A lady reached over her

fine cambric handkerchief to him. Joe wiped his face, and then he spoke.



"Oh! if I'd felt like dis down South, it would hab taken _nine_ men to

take me; only one more journey for me now, and dat is to Hebben!" "Well,

you ole fool you," said Harriet, with whom there seems but one step from

the sublime to the ridiculous, "you might a' looked at the Falls fust,

and den gone to Hebben afterwards." She has seen Joe several times

since, a happy and industrious freeman in Canada.



When asked, as she often is, how it was possible that she was not afraid

to go back, with that tremendous price upon her head, Harriet always

answers, "Why, don't I tell you, Missus, t'wan't _me_, 'twas _de Lord_!

I always _tole_ him, 'I trust to you. I don't know where to go or what

to do, but I expect you to lead me,' an' he always did." At one time she

was going down, watched for everywhere, after there had been a meeting

of slaveholders in the court-house of one of the large cities of

Maryland, and an added reward had been put upon her head, with various

threats of the different cruel devices by which she should be tortured

and put to death; friends gathered round her, imploring her not to go on

directly in the face of danger and death, and this was Harriet's answer

to them:



"Now look yer! John saw the city, didn't he? Yes, John saw the city.

Well, what did he see? He saw twelve gates--three of dose gates was on

de north--three of 'em was on the east--and three of 'em was on de

west--but dere was three of 'em on de _South_ too; an' I reckon if dey

kill me down dere, I'll git into one of dem gates, don't you?"



Whether Harriet's ideas of the geographical bearings of the gates of the

Celestial City, as seen in the Apocalyptic vision, were correct or not,

we cannot doubt that she was right in the deduction her faith drew from

them; and that _somewhere_, whether north, south, east, or west, to our

dim vision, there is a gate to be opened for Harriet, where the welcome

will be given, "Come in thou blessed of my Father."



Many of the stories told me by Harriet, in answer to questions, have

been corroborated by letters, some of which will appear in this book.

Of others, I have not been able to procure confirmation, owing to

ignorance of the address of those conversant with the facts. I find

among her papers, many of which are defaced by being carried about with

her for years, portions of letters addressed to myself, by persons at

the South, and speaking of the valuable assistance Harriet was rendering

our soldiers in the hospital, and our armies in the field. At this time

her manner of life, as related by herself, was this:



"Well, Missus, I'd go to de hospital, I would, early eb'ry mornin'. I'd

get a big chunk of ice, I would, and put it in a basin, and fill it with

water; den I'd take a sponge and begin. Fust man I'd come to, I'd thrash

away de flies, an' dey'd rise, dey would, like bees roun' a hive. Den

I'd begin to bathe der wounds, an' by de time I'd bathed off three or

four, de fire and heat would have melted de ice and made de water warm,

an' it would be as red as clar blood. Den I'd go an' git more ice, I

would, an' by de time I got to de nex' ones, de flies would be roun' de

fust ones black an' thick as eber." In this way she worked, day after

day, till late at night; then she went home to her little cabin, and

made about fifty pies, a great quantity of ginger-bread, and two casks

of root beer. These she would hire some contraband to sell for her

through the camps, and thus she would provide her support for another

day; for this woman never received pay or pension, and never drew for

herself but twenty days' rations during the four years of her labors. At

one time she was called away from Hilton Head, by one of our officers,

to come to Fernandina, where the men were "dying off like sheep," from

dysentery. Harriet had acquired quite a reputation for her skill in

curing this disease, by a medicine which she prepared from roots which

grew near the waters which gave the disease. Here she found thousands of

sick soldiers and contrabands, and immediately gave up her time and

attention to them. At another time, we find her nursing those who were

down by hundreds with small-pox and malignant fevers. She had never had

these diseases, but she seems to have no more fear of death in one form

than another. "De Lord would take keer of her till her time came, an'

den she was ready to go."



When our armies and gun-boats first appeared in any part of the South,

many of the poor negroes were as much afraid of "de Yankee Buckra" as

of their own masters. It was almost impossible to win their confidence,

or to get information from them. But to Harriet they would tell

anything; and so it became quite important that she should accompany

expeditions going up the rivers, or into unexplored parts of the

country, to control and get information from those whom they took with

them as guides.



Gen. Hunter asked her at one time if she would go with several gun-boats

up the Combahee River, the object of the expedition being to take up the

torpedoes placed by the rebels in the river, to destroy railroads and

bridges, and to cut off supplies from the rebel troops. She said she

would go if Col. Montgomery was to be appointed commander of the

expedition. Col. Montgomery was one of John Brown's men, and was well

known to Harriet. Accordingly, Col. Montgomery was appointed to the

command, and Harriet, with several men under her, the principal of whom

was J. Plowden, whose pass I have, accompanied the expedition. Harriet

describes in the most graphic manner the appearance of the plantations

as they passed up the river; the frightened negroes leaving their work

and taking to the woods, at sight of the gun-boats; then coming to peer

out like startled deer, and scudding away like the wind at the sound of

the steam-whistle. "Well," said one old negro, "Mas'r said de Yankees

had horns and tails, but I nebber beliebed it till now." But the word

was passed along by the mysterious telegraphic communication existing

among these simple people, that these were "Lincoln's gun-boats come to

set them free." In vain, then, the drivers used their whips, in their

efforts to hurry the poor creatures back to their quarters; they all

turned and ran for the gun-boats. They came down every road, across

every field, just as they had left their work and their cabins; women

with children clinging around their necks, hanging to their dresses,

running behind, all making at full speed for "Lincoln's gun-boats."

Eight hundred poor wretches at one time crowded the banks, with their

hands extended towards their deliverers, and they were all taken off

upon the gun-boats, and carried down to Beaufort.



"I nebber see such a sight," said Harriet; "we laughed, an' laughed, an'

laughed. Here you'd see a woman wid a pail on her head, rice a smokin'

in it jus as she'd taken it from de fire, young one hangin' on behind,

one han' roun' her forehead to hold on, 'tother han' diggin' into de

rice-pot, eatin' wid all its might; hold of her dress two or three more;

down her back a bag wid a pig in it. One woman brought two pigs, a

white one, an' a black one; we took 'em all on board; named de white pig

Beauregard, an' de black pig Jeff Davis. Sometimes de women would come

wid twins hangin' roun' der necks; 'pears like I nebber see so many

twins in my life; bags on der shoulders, baskets on der heads, and young

ones taggin' behin', all loaded; pigs squealin', chickens screamin',

young ones squallin'." And so they came pouring down to the gun-boats.

When they stood on the shore, and the small boats put out to take them

off, they all wanted to get in at once. After the boats were crowded,

they would hold on to them so that they could not leave the shore. The

oarsmen would beat them on their hands, but they would not let go; they

were afraid the gun-boats would go off and leave them, and all wanted to

make sure of one of these arks of refuge. At length Col. Montgomery

shouted from the upper deck, above the clamor of appealing tones,

"Moses, you'll have to give 'em a song." Then Harriet lifted up her

voice and sang:





     "Of all the whole creation in the east or in the west,

     The glorious Yankee nation is the greatest and the best,

     Come along! Come along! don't be alarmed,

     Uncle Sam is rich enough to give you all a farm."





At the end of every verse, the negroes in their enthusiasm would throw

up their hands and shout "Glory," and the row-boats would take that

opportunity to push off; and so at last they were all brought on board.

The masters fled; houses and barns and railroad bridges were burned,

tracks torn up, torpedoes destroyed, and the expedition was in all

respects successful.



This fearless woman was often sent into the rebel lines as a spy, and

brought back valuable information as to the position of armies and

batteries; she has been in battle when the shot was falling like hail,

and the bodies of dead and wounded men were dropping around her like

leaves in autumn; but the thought of fear never seems to have had place

for a moment in her mind. She had her duty to perform, and she expected

to be taken care of till it was done.



Would that instead of taking them in this poor way at second-hand, my

readers could hear this woman's graphic accounts of scenes she herself

witnessed, could listen to her imitations of negro preachers in their

own very peculiar dialect, her singing of camp-meeting hymns, her

account of "experience meetings," her imitations of the dances, and the

funeral ceremonies of these simple people. "Why, der language down dar

in de far South is jus' as different from ours in Maryland, as you can

think," said she. "Dey laughed when dey heard me talk, an' I could not

understand dem, no how." She described a midnight funeral which she

attended; for the slaves, never having been allowed to bury their dead

in the day time, continued the custom of night funerals from habit.



The corpse was laid upon the ground, and the people all sat round, the

group being lighted up by pine torches.



The old negro preacher began by giving out a hymn, which was sung by

all. "An' oh! I wish you could hear 'em sing, Missus," said Harriet.

"Der voices is so sweet, and dey can sing eberyting we sing, an' den dey

can sing a great many hymns dat we can't nebber catch at all."



The old preacher began his sermon by pointing to the dead man, who lay

in a rude box on the ground before him.



"_Shum?_ Ded-a-de-dah! _Shum, David?_ Ded-a-de-dah! Now I want you all

to _flec'_ for moment. Who ob all dis congregation is gwine next to lie

ded-a-de-dah? You can't go nowheres, my frien's and bredren, but Deff'll

fin' you. You can't dig no hole so deep an' bury yourself dar, but God

A'mighty's far-seein' eye'll fine you, an' Deff'll come arter you. You

can't go into that big fort (pointing to Hilton Head), an' shut

yourself up dar; dat fort dat Sesh Buckner said de debil couldn't take,

but Deff'll fin' you dar. All your frien's may forget you, but Deff'll

nebber forget you. Now, my bredren, prepare to lie ded-a-de-dah!"



This was the burden of a very long sermon, after which the whole

congregation went round in a sort of solemn dance, called the "spiritual

shuffle," shaking hands with each other, and calling each other by name

as they sang:





     My sis'r Mary's boun' to go;

     My sis'r Nanny's boun' to go;

     My brudder Tony's boun' to go;

     My brudder July's boun' to go.





This to the same tune, till every hand had been shaken by every one of

the company. When they came to Harriet, who was a stranger, they sang:





     Eberybody's boun' to go!





The body was then placed in a Government wagon, and by the light of the

pine torches, the strange, dark procession moved along, singing a rude

funeral hymn, till they reached the place of burial.



Harriet's account of her interview with an old negro she met at Hilton

Head, is amusing and interesting. He said, "I'd been yere seventy-three

years, workin' for my master widout even a dime wages. I'd worked

rain-wet sun dry. I'd worked wid my mouf full of dust, but would not

stop to get a drink of water. I'd been whipped, an' starved, an' I was

always prayin', 'Oh! Lord, come an' delibber us!' All dat time de birds

had been flyin', an' de rabens had been cryin', and de fish had been

sunnin' in de waters. One day I look up, an' I see a big cloud; it

didn't come up like as de clouds come out far yonder, but it 'peared to

be right ober head. Der was tunders out of dat, an' der was lightnin's.

Den I looked down on de water, an' I see, 'peared to me a big house in

de water, an' out of de big house came great big eggs, and de good eggs

went on trou' de air, an' fell into de fort; an' de bad eggs burst

before dey got dar. Den de Sesh Buckra begin to run, an de neber stop

running till de git to de swamp, an' de stick dar an' de die dar. Den I

heard 'twas the Yankee ship[1] firin' out de big eggs, an dey had come

to set us free. Den I praise de Lord. He come an' put he little finger

in de work, an' dey Sesh Buckra all go; and de birds stop flyin', and de

rabens stop cryin', an' when I go to catch a fish to eat wid my rice,

de's no fish dar. De Lord A'mighty'd come and frightened 'em all out of

de waters. Oh! Praise de Lord! I'd prayed seventy-three years, an' now

he's come an' we's all free."



The last time Harriet was returning from the war, with her pass as

hospital nurse, she bought a half-fare ticket, as she was told she must

do; and missing the other train, she got into an emigrant train on the

Amboy Railroad. When the conductor looked at her ticket, he said, "Come,

hustle out of here! We don't carry niggers for half-fare." Harriet

explained to him that she was in the employ of Government, and was

entitled to transportation as the soldiers were. But the conductor took

her forcibly by the arm, and said, "I'll make you tired of trying to

stay here." She resisted, and being very strong, she could probably have

got the better of the conductor, had he not called three men to his

assistance. The car was filled with emigrants, and no one seemed to take

her part. The only words she heard, accompanied with fearful oaths,

were, "Pitch the nagur out!" They nearly wrenched her arm off, and at

length threw her, with all their strength, into a baggage-car. She

supposed her arm was broken, and in intense suffering she came on to New

York. As she left the car, a delicate-looking young man came up to her,

and, handing her a card, said, "You ought to sue that conductor, and if

you want a witness, call on me." Harriet remained all winter under the

care of a physician in New York; he advised her to sue the Railroad

company, and said that he would willingly testify as to her injuries.

But the card the young man had given her was only a visiting card, and

she did not know where to find him, and so she let the matter go.



The writer here finds it necessary to apologize for the very desultory

and hasty manner in which this little book is written. Being herself

pressed for time, in the expectation of soon leaving the country, she is

obliged to pen down the material to be used in the short and interrupted

interviews she can obtain with Harriet, and also to use such letters and

accounts as may be sent her, as they come, without being able to work

them in, in the order of time. A very material assistance is to be

rendered her by the kind offer of an account of Harriet's services

during the war, written by Mr. Charles P. Wood, of Auburn, and kindly

copied by one of Harriet's most faithful and most efficient friends,

Mrs. S. M. Hopkins, of that place.



It was a wise plan of our sagacious heroine to leave her old parents

till the last to be brought away. They were pensioned off as too old to

work, had a cabin, and a horse and cow, and were quite comfortable. If

Harriet had taken them away before the young people, these last would

have been sold into Southern slavery, to keep them out of her way. But

at length Harriet heard that the old man had been betrayed by a slave

whom he had assisted, but who had turned back, and when questioned by

his wife, told her the story of his intended escape, and of the aid he

had received from "Old Ben." This woman, hoping to curry favor with her

master, revealed the whole to him, and "Old Ben" was arrested. He was to

be tried the next week, when Harriet appeared upon the scene, and, as

she says, "saved dem de expense ob de trial," and removed her father to

a higher court, by taking him off to Canada. The manner of their escape

is detailed in the following letter from Thomas Garrett, the Wilmington

Quaker:





     WILMINGTON, 6th Mo., 1868.



     MY FRIEND: Thy favor of the 12th reached me yesterday, requesting

     such reminiscences as I could give respecting the remarkable labors

     of Harriet Tubman, in aiding her colored friends from bondage. I

     may begin by saying, living as I have in a slave State, and the

     laws being very severe where any proof could be made of any one

     aiding slaves on their way to freedom, I have not felt at liberty

     to keep any written word of Harriet's or my own labors, except in

     numbering those whom I have aided. For that reason I cannot furnish

     so interesting an account of Harriet's labors as I otherwise could,

     and now would be glad to do; for in truth I never met with any

     person, of any color, who had more confidence in the voice of God,

     as spoken direct to her soul. She has frequently told me that she

     talked with God, and he talked with her every day of her life, and

     she has declared to me that she felt no more fear of being arrested

     by her former master, or any other person, when in his immediate

     neighborhood, than she did in the State of New York, or Canada, for

     she said she never ventured only where God sent her, and her faith

     in a Supreme Power truly was great.



     I have now been confined to my room with indisposition more than

     four weeks, and cannot sit to write much; but I feel so much

     interested in Harriet that I will try to give some of the most

     remarkable incidents that now present themselves to my mind. The

     date of the commencement of her labors, I cannot certainly give;

     but I think it must have been about 1845; from that time till 1860,

     I think she must have brought from the neighborhood where she had

     been held as a slave, from 60 to 80 persons, from Maryland, some 80

     miles from here. No slave who placed himself under her care, was

     ever arrested that I have heard of; she mostly had her regular

     stopping places on her route; but in one instance, when she had two

     stout men with her, some 30 miles below here, she said that God

     told her to stop, which she did; and then asked him what she must

     do. He told her to leave the road, and turn to the left; she

     obeyed, and soon came to a small stream of tide water; there was no

     boat, no bridge; she again inquired of her Guide what she was to

     do. She was told to go through. It was cold, in the month of March;

     but having confidence in her Guide, she went in; the water came up

     to her arm-pits; the men refused to follow till they saw her safe

     on the opposite shore. They then followed, and if I mistake not,

     she had soon to wade a second stream; soon after which she came to

     a cabin of colored people, who took them all in, put them to bed,

     and dried their clothes, ready to proceed next night on their

     journey. Harriet had run out of money, and gave them some of her

     under-clothing to pay for their kindness. When she called on me two

     days after, she was so hoarse she could hardly speak, and was also

     suffering with violent toothache. The strange part of the story we

     found to be, that the master of these two men had put up the

     previous day, at the railroad station near where she left, an

     advertisement for them, offering a large reward for their

     apprehension; but they made a safe exit. She at one time brought as

     many as seven or eight, several of whom were women and children.

     She was well known here in Chester County and Philadelphia, and

     respected by all true abolitionists. I had been in the habit of

     furnishing her and those that accompanied her, as she returned from

     her acts of mercy, with new shoes; and on one occasion when I had

     not seen her for three months, she came into my store. I said,

     "Harriet, I am glad to see thee! I suppose thee wants a pair of new

     shoes." Her reply was "I want more than that." I, in jest, said, "I

     have always been liberal with thee, and wish to be; but I am not

     rich, and cannot afford to give much." Her reply was: "God tells me

     you have money for me." I asked her "if God never deceived her?"

     She said, "No!" "Well! how much does thee want?" After studying a

     moment, she said: "About twenty-three dollars." I then gave her

     twenty-four dollars and some odd cents, the net proceeds of five

     pounds sterling, received through Eliza Wigham, of Scotland, for

     her. I had given some accounts of Harriet's labor to the

     Anti-Slavery Society of Edinburgh, of which Eliza Wigham was

     Secretary. On the reading of my letter, a gentleman present said he

     would send Harriet four pounds if he knew of any way to get it to

     her. Eliza Wigham offered to forward it to me for her, and that was

     the first money ever received by me for her. Some twelve months

     after, she called on me again, and said that God told her I had

     some money for her, but not so much as before. I had, a few days

     previous, received the net proceeds of one pound ten shillings from

     Europe for her. To say the least, there was something remarkable in

     these facts, whether clairvoyance, or the divine impression on her

     mind from the source of all power, I cannot tell; but certain it

     was she had a guide within herself other than the written word, for

     she never had any education. She brought away her aged parents in a

     singular manner. They started with an old horse, fitted out in

     primitive style with a _straw collar_, a pair of old chaise wheels,

     with a board on the axle to sit on, another board swung with ropes,

     fastened to the axle, to rest their feet on. She got her parents,

     who were both slaves belonging to different masters, on this rude

     vehicle to the railroad, put them in the cars, turned Jehu herself,

     and drove to town in a style that no human being ever did before or

     since; but she was happy at having arrived safe. Next day, I

     furnished her with money to take them all to Canada. I afterwards

     sold their horse, and sent them the balance of the proceeds. I

     believe that Harriet succeeded in freeing all her relatives but one

     sister and her three children. Etc., etc.



     Thy friend,



     THOS. GARRETT.





Friend Garrett probably refers here to those who passed through his

hands. Harriet was obliged to come by many different routes on her

different journeys, and though she never counted those whom she brought

away with her, it would seem, by the computation of others, that there

must have been somewhere near three hundred brought by her to the

Northern States and Canada.





     Extracts from a letter written by Mr. Sanborn, Secretary of the

     Massachusetts Board of State Charities.





     MY DEAR MADAME: Mr. Phillips has sent me your note, asking for

     reminiscences of Harriet Tubman, and testimonials to her

     extraordinary story, which all her New England friends will, I am

     sure, be glad to furnish.



     I never had reason to doubt the truth of what Harriet said in

     regard to her own career, for I found her singularly truthful. Her

     imagination is warm and rich, and there is a whole region of the

     marvelous in her nature, which has manifested itself at times

     remarkably. Her dreams and visions, misgivings and forewarnings,

     ought not to be omitted in any life of her, particularly those

     relating to John Brown.



     She was in his confidence in 1858-9, and he had a great regard for

     her, which he often expressed to me. She aided him in his plans,

     and expected to do so still further, when his career was closed by

     that wonderful campaign in Virginia. The first time she came to my

     house, in Concord, after that tragedy, she was shown into a room in

     the evening, where Brackett's bust of John Brown was standing. The

     sight of it, which was new to her, threw her into a sort of ecstacy

     of sorrow and admiration, and she went on in her rhapsodical way to

     pronounce his apotheosis.



     She has often been in Concord, where she resided at the houses of

     Emerson, Alcott, the Whitneys, the Brooks family, Mrs. Horace

     Mann, and other well known persons. They all admired and respected

     her, and nobody doubted the reality of her adventures. She was too

     _real_ a person to be suspected. In 1862, I think it was, she went

     from Boston to Port Royal, under the advice and encouragement of

     Mr. Garrison, Governor Andrew, Dr. Howe, and other leading people.

     Her career in South Carolina is well known to some of our officers,

     and I think to Colonel Higginson, now of Newport, R. I., and

     Colonel James Montgomery, of Kansas, to both of whom she was useful

     as a spy and guide, if I mistake not. I regard her as, on the

     whole, the most extraordinary person of her race I have ever met.

     She is a negro of pure or almost pure blood, can neither read nor

     write, and has the characteristics of her race and condition. But

     she has done what can scarcely be credited on the best authority,

     and she has accomplished her purposes with a coolness, foresight,

     patience, and wisdom, which in a _white man_ would have raised him

     to the highest pitch of reputation.



     I am, dear Madame, very truly your servant,



     F. B. SANBORN.





Of the "dreams and visions" mentioned in this letter, the writer might

have given many wonderful instances; but it was thought best not to

insert anything which, with any, might bring discredit upon the story.

When these turns of somnolency come upon Harriet, she imagines that her

"spirit" leaves her body, and visits other scenes and places, not only

in this world, but in the world of spirits. And her ideas of these

scenes show, to say the least of it, a vividness of imagination seldom

equaled in the soarings of the most cultivated minds.



Not long since, the writer, on going into Harriet's room in the morning,

sat down by her and began to read that wonderful and glorious

description of the heavenly Jerusalem in the two last chapters of

Revelations. When the reading was finished, Harriet burst into a

rhapsody which perfectly amazed her hearer--telling of what she had seen

in one of these visions, sights which no one could doubt had been real

to her, and which no human imagination could have conceived, it would

seem, unless in dream or vision. There was a wild poetry in these

descriptions which seemed to border almost on inspiration, but by many

they might be characterized as the ravings of insanity. All that can be

said is, however, if this woman is insane, there has been a wonderful

"method in her madness."



At one time, Harriet was much troubled in spirit about her three

brothers, feeling sure that some great evil was impending over their

heads. She wrote a letter, by the hand of a friend, to a man named Jacob

Jackson, who lived near there. Jacob was a free negro, who could both

read and write, and who was under suspicion at that time, as it was

thought he had something to do with the disappearance of so many slaves.

It was necessary, therefore, to be very cautious in writing to him.

Jacob had an adopted son, William Henry Jackson, also free, who had come

South; and so Harriet determined to sign her letter with his name,

knowing that Jacob would be clever enough to understand, by her peculiar

phraseology, what meaning she intended to convey to him. She, therefore,

after speaking of indifferent matters, said, "Read my letter to the old

folks, and give my love to them, and tell my brothers to be always

_watching unto prayer_, and when the _good old ship of Zion comes along,

to be ready to step aboard_."



The letter was signed "William Henry Jackson." Jacob was not allowed to

have his letters till the self-elected inspectors had had the reading of

them, and studied into their secret meaning. They, therefore, got

together, wiped their glasses, and got them on, and proceeded to a

careful perusal of this mysterious document. What it meant, they could

not imagine; William Henry Jackson had no parents or brothers, and the

letter was incomprehensible. White genius having exhausted itself, black

genius was called in, and Jacob's letter was at last handed to him.

Jacob saw at once what it meant, but tossed it down, saying, "Dat letter

can't be meant for me, no how. I can't make head nor tail of it," and

walked off and took immediate measures to let Harriet's brothers know

secretly that she was coming, and they must be ready to start at a

moment's notice for the North. When Harriet arrived there, it was the

day before Christmas, and she found her three brothers, who had

attempted to escape, were advertised to be sold on Christmas day to the

highest bidder, to go down to the cotton and rice fields with the

chain-gang. Christmas came on Sunday, and therefore they were not to be

sold till Monday. Harriet arrived on Saturday, and gave them secret

notice to be ready to start Saturday night, immediately after dark, the

first stopping-place to be their father's cabin, forty miles away. When

they assembled, their brother John was missing; but when Harriet was

ready, the word was "Forward!" and she "nebber waited for no one." Poor

John was almost ready to start, when his wife was taken ill, and in an

hour or two, another little inheritor of the blessings of slavery had

come into the world. John must go off for a "Granny," and then he would

not leave his wife in her present circumstances. But after the birth of

the child, he began to think he must start; the North and Liberty, or

the South and life-long Slavery--these were the alternatives, and this

was his last chance. He tried again and again to steal out of the door,

but a watchful eye was on him, and he was always arrested by the

question, "Where you gwine, John?" At length he told her he was going to

try to see if he couldn't get hired out on Christmas to another man. His

wife did not think that he was to be sold. He went out of the door, and

stood by the corner of the house, near her bed, listening. At length, he

heard her sobbing and crying, and not being able to endure it, he went

back. "Oh! John," said his wife, "you's gwine to lebe me; but, wherebber

you go, remember me an' de chillen." John went out and started at full

speed for his father's cabin, forty miles away. At daybreak, he overtook

the others in the "fodder house," near the cabin of their parents.

Harriet had not seen her mother there for six years, but they did not

dare to let the old woman know of their being in her neighborhood, or of

their intentions, for she would have raised such an uproar in her

efforts to detain them with her, that the whole plantation would have

been alarmed. The poor old woman had been expecting the boys all day, to

spend Christmas with her as usual. She had been hard at work, had killed

a pig, and put it to all the various uses to which sinner's flesh is

doomed, and had made all the preparations her circumstances admitted of,

to give them a sumptuous entertainment, and there she sat watching. In

the night, when Harriet and two of her brothers and two other men, who

had escaped with them, arrived at the "fodder house," they were

exhausted and famished. They sent the two strange men up to the house to

try and speak to "Old Ben," their father, but not to let their mother

know of their being in the neighborhood. The men succeeded in rousing

old Ben, who came out, and as soon as he heard their story, he gathered

together a quantity of provisions, and came down to the fodder house,

and slipped them inside the door, taking care not to _see_ his

children. Up among the ears of corn they lay, and one of them he had

not seen for six years. It rained very hard all that Sunday, and there

they lay all day, for they could not start till night. At about

daybreak, John joined them. There were wide chinks in the boards of the

fodder house, and through them they could see their father's cabin; and

all day long, every few minutes, they would see the old woman come out,

and, shading her eyes with her hand, take a long look down the road to

see if her children were coming, and then they could almost hear her

sigh as she turned into the house, disappointed.



Two or three times the old man came down, and pushed food inside the

door, and after nightfall he came to accompany them part of the way upon

their journey. When he reached the fodder house, he tied his

handkerchief tight over his eyes, and two of his sons taking him by each

arm, he accompanied them some miles upon their journey. They then bade

him farewell, and left him standing blind-fold in the middle of the

road. When he could no longer hear their footsteps, he took off the

handkerchief, and turned back.



But before leaving, they had gone up to the cabin to take a silent

farewell of the poor old mother. Through the little window of the cabin,

they saw the old woman sitting by her fire with a pipe in her mouth, her

head on her hand, rocking back and forth as she did when she was in

trouble, and wondering what new evil had come to her children. With

streaming eyes, they watched her for ten or fifteen minutes; but time

was precious, and they must reach their next station before daybreak,

and so they turned sadly away.



When the holidays were over, and the men came for the three brothers to

sell them, they could not be found. The first place to search was of

course the plantation where all their relatives and friends lived. They

went to the "big house," and asked the "Doctor" if he had seen anything

of them. The Doctor said, "No, they mostly came up there to see the

other niggers when they came for Christmas," but they hadn't been round

at all. "Have you been down to Old Ben's?" the Doctor asked. "Yes."

"What does Old Rit say?" "Old Rit says not one of 'em came this

Christmas. She was looking for 'em most all day, and most broke her

heart about it." "What does Old Ben say?" "Old Ben says that he hasn't

seen one of his children this Christmas." "Well, if Old Ben says that,

they haven't been round." And so the man-hunters went off disappointed.



One of the other brothers, William Henry, had long been attached to a

girl named Catherine, who lived with another master; but her master

would not let her marry him. When William Henry made up his mind to

start with Harriet, he determined to bring Catherine with him. And so he

went to a tailor's, and bought a new suit of men's clothes, and threw

them over the garden fence of Catherine's master. The garden ran down to

a run, and Catherine had been notified where to find the clothes. When

the time had come to get ready, Catherine went to the foot of the garden

and dressed herself in the suit of men's clothes. She was soon missed,

and all the girls in the house were set to looking for Catherine.

Presently they saw coming up through the garden, as if from the river, a

well-dressed little darkey, and they all stopped looking for Catherine

to stare at him. He walked directly by them round the house, and went

out of the gate, without the slightest suspicion being excited as to who

he was. In a fortnight from that time, the whole party were safe in

Canada.



William Henry died in Canada, but Catherine has been seen and talked

with by the writer, at the house of the old people.





Of the many letters, testimonials, and passes, placed in the hands of

the writer by Harriet, the following are selected for insertion in this

book, and are quite sufficient to verify her statements.





_A Letter from Gen. Saxton to a Lady of Auburn._





     ATLANTA, GA., March 21, 1868.



     MY DEAR MADAME: I have just received your letter informing me that

     Hon. Wm. H. Seward, Secretary of State, would present a petition to

     Congress for a pension to Harriet Tubman, for services rendered in

     the Union Army during the late war. I can bear witness to the value

     of her services in South Carolina and Florida. She was employed in

     the hospitals and as a spy. She made many a raid inside the enemy's

     lines, displaying remarkable courage, zeal, and fidelity. She was

     employed by General Hunter, and I think by Generals Stevens and

     Sherman, and is as deserving of a pension from the Government for

     her services as any other of its faithful servants.



     I am very truly yours,



     RUFUS SAXTON, Bvt. Brig.-Gen. U. S. A.





_Letter from Hon. Wm. H. Seward._





     WASHINGTON, July 25, 1868.



     MAJ.-GEN. HUNTER--



     MY DEAR SIR: Harriet Tubman, a colored woman, has been nursing our

     soldiers during nearly all the war. She believes she has a claim

     for faithful services to the command in South Carolina with which

     you are connected, and she thinks that you would be disposed to see

     her claim justly settled.



     I have known her long, and a nobler, higher spirit, or a truer,

     seldom dwells in the human form. I commend her, therefore, to your

     kind and best attentions.



     Faithfully your friend,



     WILLIAM H. SEWARD.





_Letter from Col. James Montgomery._





     ST. HELENA ISLAND, S. C., July 6, 1863.



     HEADQUARTERS COLORED BRIGADE.



     BRIG.-GEN. GILMAN, Commanding Department of the South--



     GENERAL: I wish to commend to your attention, Mrs. Harriet Tubman,

     a most remarkable woman, and invaluable as a scout. I have been

     acquainted with her character and actions for several years.



     Walter D. Plowden is a man of tried courage, and can be made

     highly useful.



     I am, General, your most ob't servant,



     JAMES MONTGOMERY, Col. Com. Brigade.





_Letter from Mrs. Gen. A. Baird._





     PETERBORO, Nov. 24, 1864.



     The bearer of this, Harriet Tubman, a most excellent woman, who has

     rendered faithful and good services to our Union army, not only in

     the hospital, but in various capacities, having been employed under

     Government at Hilton Head, and in Florida; and I commend her to the

     protection of all officers in whose department she may happen to

     be.



     She has been known and esteemed for years by the family of my

     uncle, Hon. Gerrit Smith, as a person of great rectitude and

     capabilities.



     MRS. GEN. A. BAIRD.





_Letter from Hon. Gerrit Smith._





     PETERBORO, N. Y., Nov. 4, 1867.



     I have known Mrs. Harriet Tubman for many years. Seldom, if ever,

     have I met with a person more philanthropic, more self-denying,

     and of more bravery. Nor must I omit to say that she combines with

     her sublime spirit, remarkable discernment and judgment.



     During the late war, Mrs. Tubman was eminently faithful and useful

     to the cause of our country. She is poor and has poor parents. Such

     a servant of the country should be well paid by the country. I hope

     that the Government will look into her case.



     GERRIT SMITH.





_Testimonial from Gerrit Smith._





     PETERBORO, Nov. 22, 1864.



     The bearer, Harriet Tubman, needs not any recommendation. Nearly

     all the nation over, she has been heard of for her wisdom,

     integrity, patriotism, and bravery. The cause of freedom owes her

     much. The country owes her much.



     I have known Harriet for many years, and I hold her in my high

     esteem.



     GERRIT SMITH.





_Certificate from Henry K. Durrant, Acting Asst. Surgeon, U. S. A._





     I certify that I have been acquainted with Harriet Tubman for

     nearly two years; and my position as Medical Officer in charge of

     "contrabands" in this town and in hospital, has given me frequent

     and ample opportunities to observe her general deportment;

     particularly her kindness and attention to the sick and suffering

     of her own race. I take much pleasure in testifying to the esteem

     in which she is generally held.



     HENRY K. DURRANT,

     Acting Assistant Surgeon, U. S. A.

     In charge "Contraband" Hospital.



     Dated at Beaufort, S. C., the 3d day of May, 1864.



     I concur fully in the above.



     R. SAXTON, Brig.-Gen. Vol.





The following are a few of the passes used by Harriet throughout the

war. Many others are so defaced that it is impossible to decipher them.





     HEADQUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF THE SOUTH, HILTON HEAD, PORT ROYAL,

     S. C., Feb. 19, 1863.



     Pass the bearer, Harriet Tubman, to Beaufort and back to this

     place, and wherever she wishes to go; and give her free passage at

     all times, on all Government transports. Harriet was sent to me

     from Boston by Gov. Andrew of Mass., and is a valuable woman. She

     has permission, as a servant of the Government, to purchase such

     provisions from the Commissary as she may need.



     D. HUNTER, Maj.-Gen. Com.





General Gillman, who succeeded General Hunter in command of the

Department of the South, appends his signature to the same pass.





     HEADQUARTERS OF THE DEPARTMENT OF THE SOUTH, July 1, 1863.



     Continued in force.



     I. A. GILLMAN, Brig.-Gen. Com.



     BEAUFORT, Aug. 28, 1862.





     Will Capt. Warfield please let "Moses" have a little Bourbon

     whiskey for medicinal purposes.



     HENRY K. DURRANT, Act. Ass. Surgeon.





     WAR DEPARTMENT, WASHINGTON, D. C.,

     March 20, 1865.



     Pass Mrs. Harriet Tubman (colored) to Hilton Head and Charleston,

     S. C., with free transportation on a Government transport.



     By order of the Sec. of War.



     LOUIS H., Asst. Adj.-Gen., U. S. A.



     To Bvt. Brig.-Gen. Van Vliet, U. S. Q. M., N. Y.



     Not transferable.





     WAR DEPARTMENT, WASHINGTON, D. C.,

     July 22, 1865.



     Permit Harriet Tubman to proceed to Fortress Monroe, Va., on a

     Government transport. Transportation will be furnished free of

     cost.



     By order of the Secretary of War.



     L. H., Asst. Adj.-Gen.



     Not transferable.





_Appointment as Nurse._





     SIR:--I have the honor to inform you that the Medical Director

     Department of Virginia has been instructed to appoint Harriet

     Tubman nurse or matron at the Colored Hospital, Fort Monroe, Va.



     Very respectfully, your obdt. servant,



     V. K. BARNES, Surgeon-General.



     HON. WM. H. SEWARD,



     Secretary of State, Washington, D. C.





     _Names of Harriet's Assistants, Scouts, or Pilots._



     Scouts who are residents of Beaufort, and well acquainted with the

     main land: Peter Barns, Mott Blake, Sandy Selters, Solomon Gregory,

     Isaac Hayward, Gabriel Cohen, George Chrisholm.



     Pilots who know the channels of the rivers in this vicinity, and

     who acted as such for Col. Montgomery up the Combahee River:

     Charles Simmons, Samuel Hayward.



     App'd, R. SAXTON, Brig.-Gen.





At this point the following good and kind letter from Rev. Henry Fowler

is received:





     AUBURN, June 23, 1868.



     MY DEAR FRIEND:--I wish to say to you how gratified I am that you

     are writing the biography of Harriet Tubman. I feel that her life

     forms part of the history of the country, and that it ought not to

     depend upon tradition to keep it in remembrance. Had not the

     pressure of professional claims prevented, I should have aspired to

     be her historian myself; but my disappointment in this regard is

     more than met by the satisfaction experienced in hearing that you

     are the chosen Miriam of this African "Moses;" the name by which

     she was known among her emancipated followers from the land of

     bondage. Blessed be God! a "Greater than Moses" has at last broken

     every bond.



     As ever, with warm regard, your friend,



     HENRY FOWLER.





The following account of the subject of this memoir is cut from the

_Boston Commonwealth_ of 1863, kindly sent the writer by Mr. Sanborn:



"It was said long ago that the true romance of America was not in the

fortunes of the Indian, where Cooper sought it, nor in the New England

character, where Judd found it, nor in the social contrasts of Virginia

planters, as Thackeray imagined, but in the story of the fugitive

slaves. The observation is as true now as it was before war, with swift,

gigantic hand, sketched the vast shadows, and dashed in the high lights

in which romance loves to lurk and flash forth. But the stage is

enlarged on which these dramas are played, the whole world now sit as

spectators, and the desperation or the magnanimity of a poor black woman

has power to shake the nation that so long was deaf to her cries. We

write of one of these heroines, of whom our slave annals are full,--a

woman whose career is as extraordinary as the most famous of her sex can

show.



"Araminta Ross, now known by her married name of Tubman, with her

sounding Christian name changed to Harriet, is the grand-daughter of a

slave imported from Africa, and has not a drop of white blood in her

veins. Her parents were Benjamin Ross and Harriet Greene, both slaves,

but married and faithful to each other. They still live in old age and

poverty, but free, on a little property at Auburn, N. Y., which their

daughter purchased for them from Mr. Seward, the Secretary of State. She

was born, as near as she can remember, in 1820 or in 1821, in Dorchester

County, on the Eastern shore of Maryland, and not far from the town of

Cambridge. She had ten brothers and sisters, of whom three are now

living, all at the North, and all rescued from slavery by Harriet,

before the War. She went back just as the South was preparing to secede,

to bring away a fourth, but before she could reach her, she was dead.

Three years before, she had brought away her old father and mother, at

great risk to herself.



"When Harriet was six years old, she was taken from her mother and

carried ten miles to live with James Cook, whose wife was a weaver, to

learn the trade of weaving. While still a mere child, Cook set her to

watching his musk-rat traps, which compelled her to wade through the

water. It happened that she was once sent when she was ill with the

measles, and, taking cold from wading in the water in this condition,

she grew very sick, and her mother persuaded her master to take her

away from Cook's until she could get well.



"Another attempt was made to teach her weaving, but she would not learn,

for she hated her mistress, and did not want to live at home, as she

would have done as a weaver, for it was the custom then to weave the

cloth for the family, or a part of it, in the house.



"Soon after she entered her teens she was hired out as a field hand, and

it was while thus employed that she received a wound which nearly proved

fatal, from the effects of which she still suffers. In the fall of the

year, the slaves there work in the evening, cleaning up wheat, husking

corn, etc. On this occasion, one of the slaves of a farmer named

Barrett, left his work, and went to the village store in the evening.

The overseer followed him, and so did Harriet. When the slave was found,

the overseer swore he should be whipped, and called on Harriet, among

others, to help tie him. She refused, and as the man ran away, she

placed herself in the door to stop pursuit. The overseer caught up a

two-pound weight from the counter and threw it at the fugitive, but it

fell short and struck Harriet a stunning blow on the head. It was long

before she recovered from this, and it has left her subject to a sort

of stupor or lethargy at times; coming upon her in the midst of

conversation, or whatever she may be doing, and throwing her into a deep

slumber, from which she will presently rouse herself, and go on with her

conversation or work.



"After this she lived for five or six years with John Stewart, where at

first she worked in the house, but afterwards 'hired her time,' and Dr.

Thompson, son of her master's guardian, 'stood for her,' that is, was

her surety for the payment of what she owed. She employed the time thus

hired in the rudest labors,--drove oxen, carted, plowed, and did all the

work of a man,--sometimes earning money enough in a year, beyond what

she paid her master, 'to buy a pair of steers,' worth forty dollars. The

amount exacted of a woman for her time was fifty or sixty dollars--of a

man, one hundred to one hundred and fifty dollars. Frequently Harriet

worked for her father, who was a timber inspector, and superintended the

cutting and hauling of great quantities of timber for the Baltimore

ship-yards. Stewart, his temporary master, was a builder, and for the

work of Ross used to receive as much as five dollars a day sometimes, he

being a superior workman. While engaged with her father, she would cut

wood, haul logs, etc. Her usual 'stint' was half a cord of wood in a

day.



"Harriet was married somewhere about 1844, to a free colored man named

John Tubman, but she had no children. For the last two years of slavery

she lived with Dr. Thompson, before mentioned, her own master not being

yet of age, and Dr. T.'s father being his guardian, as well as the owner

of her own father. In 1849 the young man died, and the slaves were to be

sold, though previously set free by an old will. Harriet resolved not to

be sold, and so, with no knowledge of the North--having only heard of

Pennsylvania and New Jersey--she walked away one night alone. She found

a friend in a white lady, who knew her story and helped her on her way.

After many adventures, she reached Philadelphia, where she found work

and earned a small stock of money. With this money in her purse, she

traveled back to Maryland for her husband, but she found him married to

another woman, and no longer caring to live with her. This, however, was

not until two years after her escape, for she does not seem to have

reached her old home in her first two expeditions. In December, 1850,

she had visited Baltimore and brought away her sister and two children,

who had come up from Cambridge in a boat, under charge of her sister's

husband, a free black. A few months after she had brought away her

brother and two other men, but it was not till the fall of 1851 that she

found her husband and learned of his infidelity. She did not give way to

rage or grief, but collected a party of fugitives and brought them

safely to Philadelphia. In December of the same year, she returned, and

led out a party of eleven, among them her brother and his wife. With

these she journeyed to Canada, and there spent the winter, for this was

after the enforcement of Mason's Fugitive Slave Bill in Philadelphia and

Boston, and there was no safety except 'under the paw of the British

Lion,' as she quaintly said. But the first winter was terribly severe

for these poor runaways. They earned their bread by chopping wood in the

snows of a Canadian forest; they were frost-bitten, hungry, and naked.

Harriet was their good angel. She kept house for her brother, and the

poor creatures boarded with her. She worked for them, begged for them,

prayed for them, with the strange familiarity of communion with God

which seems natural to these people, and carried them by the help of God

through the hard winter.



"In the Spring she returned to the States, and as usual earned money by

working in hotels and families as a cook. From Cape May, in the fall of

1852, she went back once more to Maryland, and brought away nine more

fugitives.



"Up to this time she had expended chiefly her own money in these

expeditions--money which she had earned by hard work in the drudgery of

the kitchen. Never did any one more exactly fulfill the sense of George

Herbert--





     "A servant with this clause

     Makes drudgery divine."





"But it was not possible for such virtues long to remain hidden from the

keen eyes of the Abolitionists. She became known to Thomas Garrett, the

large-hearted Quaker of Wilmington, who has aided the escape of three

thousand fugitives; she found warm friends in Philadelphia and New York,

and wherever she went. These gave her money, which she never spent for

her own use, but laid up for the help of her people, and especially for

her journeys back to the 'land of Egypt,' as she called her old home. By

reason of her frequent visits there, always carrying away some of the

oppressed, she got among her people the name of 'Moses,' which it seems

she still retains.



"Between 1852 and 1857, she made but two of these journeys, in

consequence partly of the increased vigilance of the slaveholders, who

had suffered so much by the loss of their property. A great reward was

offered for her capture, and she several times was on the point of being

taken, but always escaped by her quick wit, or by 'warnings' from

Heaven--for it is time to notice one singular trait in her character.

She is the most shrewd and practical person in the world, yet she is a

firm believer in omens, dreams, and warnings. She declares that before

her escape from slavery, she used to dream of flying over fields and

towns, and rivers and mountains, looking down upon them 'like a bird,'

and reaching at last a great fence, or sometimes a river, over which she

would try to fly, 'but it 'peared like I wouldn't hab de strength, and

jes as I was sinkin' down, dare would be ladies all drest in white ober

dere, and dey would put out dere arms and pull me 'cross.' There is

nothing strange in this, perhaps, but she declares that when she came

North she remembered these very places as those she had seen in her

dreams, and many of the ladies who befriended her were those she had

been helped by in her visions.



"Then she says she always knows when there is danger near her,--she

does not know how, exactly, but ''pears like my heart go flutter,

flutter, and den dey may say "Peace, Peace," as much as dey likes, _I

know its gwine to be war!_' She is very firm on this point, and ascribes

to this her great impunity, in spite of the lethargy before mentioned,

which would seem likely to throw her into the hands of her enemies. She

says she inherited this power, that her father could always predict the

weather, and that he foretold the Mexican war.



"In 1867 she made her most venturesome journey, for she brought with her

to the North her old parents, who were no longer able to walk such

distances as she must go by night. Consequently she must hire a wagon

for them, and it required all her ingenuity to get them through Maryland

and Delaware safe. She accomplished it, however, and by the aid of her

friends she brought them safe to Canada, where they spent the winter.

Her account of their sufferings there--of her mother's complaining and

her own philosophy about it--is a lesson of trust in Providence better

than many sermons. But she decided to bring them to a more comfortable

place, and so she negotiated with Mr. Seward--then in the Senate--for a

little patch of ground with a house on it, at Auburn, near his own

home. To the credit of the Secretary of State it should be said, that

he sold her the property on very favorable terms, and gave her some time

for payment. To this house she removed her parents, and set herself to

work to pay for her purchase. It was on this errand that she first

visited Boston--we believe in the winter of 1858-9. She brought a few

letters from her friends in New York, but she could herself neither read

nor write, and she was obliged to trust to her wits that they were

delivered to the right persons. One of them, as it happened, was to the

present writer, who received it by another hand, and called to see her

at her boarding-house. It was curious to see the caution with which she

received her visitor until she felt assured that there was no mistake.

One of her means of security was to carry with her the daguerreotypes of

her friends, and show them to each new person. If they recognized the

likeness, then it was all right.



"Pains were taken to secure her the attention to which her great

services to humanity entitled her, and she left New England with a

handsome sum of money towards the payment of her debt to Mr. Seward.

Before she left, however, she had several interviews with Captain Brown,

then in Boston. He is supposed to have communicated his plans to her,

and to have been aided by her in obtaining recruits and money among her

people. At any rate, he always spoke of her with the greatest respect,

and declared that 'General Tubman,' as he styled her, was a better

officer than most whom he had seen, and could command an army as

successfully as she had led her small parties of fugitives.



"Her own veneration for Captain Brown has always been profound, and

since his murder, has taken the form of a religion. She had often risked

her own life for her people, and she thought nothing of that; but that a

white man, and a man so noble and strong, should so take upon himself

the burden of a despised race, she could not understand, and she took

refuge from her perplexity in the mysteries of her fervid religion.



"Again, she laid great stress on a dream which she had just before she

met Captain Brown in Canada. She thought she was in 'a wilderness sort

of place, all full of rocks and bushes,' when she saw a serpent raise

its head among the rocks, and as it did so, it became the head of an old

man with a long white beard, gazing at her 'wishful like, jes as ef he

war gwine to speak to me,' and then two other heads rose up beside him,

younger than he,--and as she stood looking at them, and wondering what

they could want with her, a great crowd of men rushed in and struck down

the younger heads, and then the head of the old man, still looking at

her so 'wishful.' This dream she had again and again, and could not

interpret it; but when she met Captain Brown, shortly after, behold, he

was the very image of the head she had seen. But still she could not

make out what her dream signified, till the news came to her of the

tragedy of Harper's Ferry, and then she knew the two other heads were

his two sons. She was in New York at that time, and on the day of the

affair at Harper's Ferry, she felt her usual warning that something was

wrong--she could not tell what. Finally she told her hostess that it

must be Captain Brown who was in trouble, and that they should soon hear

bad news from him. The next day's newspaper brought tidings of what had

happened.



"Her last visit to Maryland was made after this, in December, 1860; and

in spite of the agitated condition of the country, and the greater

watchfulness of the slaveholders, she brought away seven fugitives, one

of them an infant, which must be drugged with opium to keep it from

crying on the way, and so revealing the hiding place of the party. She

brought these safely to New York, but there a new difficulty met her. It

was the mad winter of compromises, when State after State, and

politician after politician, went down on their knees to beg the South

not to secede. The hunting of fugitive slaves began again. Mr. Seward

went over to the side of compromise. He knew the history of this poor

woman; he had given his enemies a hold on him, by dealing with her; it

was thought he would not scruple to betray her. The suspicion was an

unworthy one, for though the Secretary could betray a cause, he could

not surely have put her enemies on the track of a woman who was thus in

his power, after such a career as hers had been. But so little

confidence was then felt in Mr. Seward, by men who had voted for him and

with him, that they hurried Harriet off to Canada, sorely against her

will.



"She did not long remain there. The war broke out, for which she had

been long looking, and she hastened to her New England friends to

prepare for another expedition to Maryland, to bring away the last of

her family.



"Before she could start, however, the news came of the capture of Port

Royal. Instantly she conceived the idea of going there and working

among her people on the islands and the mainland. Money was given her,

a pass was secured through the agency of Governor Andrew, and she went

to Beaufort. There she has made herself useful in many ways--has been

employed as a spy by General Hunter, and finally has piloted Col.

Montgomery on his most successful expedition. We gave some notice of

this fact last week. Since then we have received the following letter,

dictated by her, from which it appears that she needs some contributions

for her work. We trust she will receive them, for none has better

deserved it. She asks nothing for herself, except that her wardrobe may

be replenished, and even this she will probably share with the first

needy person she meets.



"'BEAUFORT, S. C., June 30, 1863.



* * * "'Last fall, when the people here became very much alarmed for

fear of an invasion from the rebels, all my clothes were packed and sent

with others to Hilton Head, and lost; and I have never been able to get

any trace of them since. I was sick at the time, and unable to look

after them myself. I want, among the rest, a _bloomer_ dress, made of

some coarse, strong material, to wear on _expeditions_. In our late

expedition up the Combahee River, in coming on board the boat, I was

carrying _two pigs_ for a poor sick woman, who had a child to carry, and

the order "double quick" was given, and I started to run, stepped on my

dress, it being rather long, and fell and tore it almost off, so that

when I got on board the boat, there was hardly anything left of it but

shreds. I made up my mind then I would never wear a long dress on

another expedition of the kind, but would have a _bloomer_ as soon as I

could get it. So please make this known to the ladies, if you will, for

I expect to have use for it very soon, probably before they can get it

to me.



"'You have, without doubt, seen a full account of the expedition I refer

to. Don't you think we colored people are entitled to some credit for

that exploit, under the lead of the brave Colonel Montgomery? We

weakened the rebels somewhat on the Combahee River, by taking and

bringing away _seven hundred and fifty-six_ head of their most valuable

live stock, known up in your region as "contrabands," and this, too,

without the loss of a single life on our part, though we had good reason

to believe that a number of rebels bit the dust. Of these seven hundred

and fifty-six contrabands, nearly or quite all the able-bodied men have

joined the colored regiments here.



"'I have now been absent two years almost, and have just got letters

from my friends in Auburn, urging me to come home. My father and mother

are old and in feeble health, and need my care and attention. I hope the

good people there will not allow them to suffer, and I do not believe

they will. But I do not see how I am to leave at present the very

important work to be done here. Among other duties which I have, is that

of looking after the hospital here for contrabands. Most of those coming

from the mainland are very destitute, almost naked. I am trying to find

places for those able to work, and provide for them as best I can, so as

to lighten the burden on the Government as much as possible, while at

the same time they learn to respect themselves by earning their own

living.



"'Remember me very kindly to Mrs. ---- and her daughters; also, if you

will, to my Boston friends, Mrs. C., Miss H., and especially to Mr. and

Mrs. George L. Stearns, to whom I am under great obligations for their

many kindnesses. I shall be sure to come and see you all if I live to go

North. If you write, direct your letter to the care of C.'"



In the Spring of 1860, Harriet Tubman was requested by Mr. Gerrit Smith

to go to Boston to attend a large Anti-Slavery meeting. On her way, she

stopped at Troy to visit a cousin, and while there, the colored people

were one day startled with the intelligence that a fugitive slave, by

the name of Charles Nalle, had been followed by his master (who was his

younger brother, and not one grain whiter than he), and that he was

already in the hands of the officers, and was to be taken back to the

South. The instant Harriet heard the news, she started for the office of

the U. S. Commissioner, scattering the tidings as she went. An excited

crowd were gathered about the office, through which Harriet forced her

way, and rushed up stairs to the door of the room where the fugitive was

detained. A wagon was already waiting before the door to carry off the

man, but the crowd was even then so great, and in such a state of

excitement, that the officers did not dare to bring the man down. On the

opposite side of the street stood the colored people, watching the

window where they could see Harriet's sun-bonnet, and feeling assured

that so long as she stood there, the fugitive was still in the office.

Time passed on, and he did not appear. "They've taken him out another

way, depend upon that," said some of the colored people. "No," replied

others, "there stands 'Moses' yet, and as long as she is there, he is

safe." Harriet, now seeing the necessity for a tremendous effort for his

rescue, sent out some little boys to cry _fire_. The bells rang, the

crowd increased, till the whole street was a dense mass of people. Again

and again the officers came out to try and clear the stairs, and make a

way to take their captive down; others were driven down, but Harriet

stood her ground, her head bent down, and her arms folded. "Come, old

woman, you must get out of this," said one of the officers; "I must have

the way cleared; if you can't get down alone, some one will help you."

Harriet, still putting on a greater appearance of decrepitude, twitched

away from him, and kept her place. Offers were made to buy Charles from

his master, who at first agreed to take twelve hundred dollars for him;

but when that was subscribed, he immediately raised the price to fifteen

hundred. The crowd grew more excited. A gentleman raised a window and

called out, "Two hundred dollars for his rescue, but not one cent to his

master!" This was responded to by a roar of satisfaction from the crowd

below. At length the officers appeared, and announced to the crowd that

if they would open a lane to the wagon, they would promise to bring the

man down the front way.



The lane was opened, and the man was brought out--a tall, handsome,

intelligent _white_ man, with his wrists manacled together, walking

between the U. S. Marshal and another officer, and behind him his

brother and his master, so like him that one could hardly be told from

the other. The moment they appeared, Harriet roused from her stooping

posture, threw up a window, and cried to her friends: "Here he

comes--take him!" and then darted down the stairs like a wild-cat. She

seized one officer and pulled him down, then another, and tore him away

from the man; and keeping her arms about the slave, she cried to her

friends: "Drag us out! Drag him to the river! Drown him! but don't let

them have him!" They were knocked down together, and while down she tore

off her sun-bonnet and tied it on the head of the fugitive. When he

rose, only his head could be seen, and amid the surging mass of people

the slave was no longer recognized, while the master appeared like the

slave. Again and again they were knocked down, the poor slave utterly

helpless, with his manacled wrists streaming with blood. Harriet's

outer clothes were torn from her, and even her stout shoes were all

pulled from her feet, yet she never relinquished her hold of the man,

till she had dragged him to the river, where he was tumbled into a boat,

Harriet following in a ferry-boat to the other side. But the telegraph

was ahead of them, and as soon as they landed he was seized and hurried

from her sight. After a time, some school children came hurrying along,

and to her anxious inquiries they answered, "He is up in that house, in

the third story." Harriet rushed up to the place. Some men were

attempting to make their way up the stairs. The officers were firing

down, and two men were lying on the stairs, who had been shot. Over

their bodies our heroine rushed, and with the help of others burst open

the door of the room, dragged out the fugitive, whom Harriet carried

down stairs in her arms. A gentleman who was riding by with a fine

horse, stopped to ask what the disturbance meant; and on hearing the

story, his sympathies seemed to be thoroughly aroused; he sprang from

his wagon, calling out, "That is a blood-horse, drive him till he

drops." The poor man was hurried in; some of his friends jumped in after

him, and drove at the most rapid rate to Schenectady.



This is the story Harriet told to the writer. By some persons it seemed

too wonderful for belief, and an attempt was made to corroborate it.

Rev. Henry Fowler, who was at the time at Saratoga, kindly volunteered

to go to Troy and ascertain the facts. His report was, that he had had a

long interview with Mr. Townsend, who acted during the trial as counsel

for the slave, that he had given him a "rich narration," which he would

write out the next week for this little book. But before he was to begin

his generous labor, and while engaged in some kind efforts for the

prisoners at Auburn, he was stricken down by the heat of the sun, and is

for a long time debarred from labor.





FUGITIVE SLAVE RESCUE IN TROY.



From the Troy Whig, April 28, 1859.



Yesterday afternoon, the streets of this city and West Troy were made

the scenes of unexampled excitement. For the first time since the

passage of the Fugitive Slave Law, an attempt was made here to carry its

provisions into execution, and the result was a terrific encounter

between the officers and the prisoner's friends, the triumph of mob

law, and the final rescue of the fugitive. Our city was thrown into a

grand state of turmoil, and for a time every other topic was forgotten,

to give place to this new excitement. People did not think last evening

to ask who was nominated at Charleston, or whether the news of the

Heenan and Sayers battle had arrived--everything was merged into the

fugitive slave case, of which it seems the end is not yet.



Charles Nalle, the fugitive, who was the cause of all this excitement,

was a slave on the plantation of B. W. Hansborough, in Culpepper County,

Virginia, till the 19th of October, 1858, when he made his escape, and

went to live in Columbia, Pennsylvania. A wife and five children are

residing there now. Not long since he came to Sandlake, in this county,

and resided in the family of Mr. Crosby until about three weeks ago.

Since that time, he has been employed as coachman by Uri Gilbert, Esq.,

of this city. He is about thirty years of age, tall, quite

light-complexioned, and good-looking. He is said to have been an

excellent and faithful servant.



At Sandlake, we understand that Nalle was often seen by one H. F.

Averill, formerly connected with one of the papers of this city, who

communicated with his reputed owner in Virginia, and gave the

information that led to a knowledge of the whereabouts of the fugitive.

Averill wrote letters for him, and thus obtained an acquaintance with

his history. Mr. Hansborough sent on an agent, Henry J. Wall, by whom

the necessary papers were got out to arrest the fugitive.



Yesterday morning about 11 o'clock, Charles Nalle was sent to procure

some bread for the family by whom he was employed. He failed to return.

At the baker's, he was arrested by Deputy United States Marshal J. W.

Holmes, and immediately taken before United States Commissioner Miles

Beach. The son of Mr. Gilbert, thinking it strange that he did not come

back, sent to the house of William Henry, on Division Street, where he

boarded, and his whereabouts was discovered.



The examination before Commissioner Beach was quite brief. The evidence

of Averill and the agent was taken, and the Commissioner decided to

remand Nalle to Virginia. The necessary papers were made out and given

to the Marshal.



By this time it was two o'clock, and the fact began to be noised abroad

that there was a fugitive slave in Mr. Beach's office, corner of State

and first Streets. People in knots of ten or twelve collected near the

entrance, looking at Nalle, who could be seen at an upper window.

William Henry, a colored man, with whom Nalle boarded, commenced talking

from the curb-stone in a loud voice to the crowd. He uttered such

sentences as, "There is a fugitive slave in that office--pretty soon you

will see him come forth. He is going to be taken down South, and you

will have a chance to see him. He is to be taken to the depot, to go to

Virginia in the first train. Keep watch of those stairs, and you will

have a sight." A number of women kept shouting, crying, and by loud

appeals excited the colored persons assembled.



Still the crowd grew in numbers. Wagons halted in front of the locality,

and were soon piled with spectators. An alarm of fire was sounded, and

hose carriages dashed through the ranks of men, women, and boys; but

they closed again, and kept looking with expectant eyes at the window

where the negro was visible. Meanwhile, angry discussions commenced.

Some persons agitated a rescue, and others favored law and order. Mr.

Brockway, a lawyer, had his coat torn for expressing his sentiments, and

other melees kept the interest alive.



All at once there was a wild hulloa, and every eye was turned up to see

the legs and part of the body of the prisoner protruding from the

second-story window, at which he was endeavoring to escape. Then arose a

shout! "Drop him!" "Catch him!" "Hurrah!" But the attempt was a

fruitless one, for somebody in the office pulled Nalle back again, amid

the shouts of a hundred pair of lungs. The crowd at this time numbered

nearly a thousand persons. Many of them were black, and a good share

were of the female sex. They blocked up State Street from First Street

to the alley, and kept surging to and fro.



Martin I. Townsend, Esq., who acted as counsel for the fugitive, did not

arrive in the Commissioner's office until a decision had been rendered.

He immediately went before Judge Gould, of the Supreme Court, and

procured a writ of habeas corpus in the usual form, _returnable_

immediately. This was given Deputy Sheriff Nathaniel Upham, who at once

proceeded to Commissioner Beach's office, and served it on Holmes. Very

injudiciously, the officers proceeded at once to Judge Gould's office,

although it was evident they would have to pass through an excited,

unreasonable crowd. As soon as the officers and their prisoner emerged

from the door, an old negro, who had been standing at the bottom of the

stairs, shouted, "Here they come," and the crowd made a terrific rush at

the party.



From the office of Commissioner Beach, in the Mutual Building, to that

of Judge Gould, in Congress Street, is less than two blocks, but it was

made a regular battle-field. The moment the prisoner emerged from the

doorway, in custody of Deputy-Sheriff Upham, Chief of Police Quin,

Officers Cleveland and Holmes, the crowd made one grand charge, and

those nearest the prisoner seized him violently, with the intention of

pulling him away from the officers, but they were foiled; and down First

to Congress Street, and up the latter in front of Judge Gould's

chambers, went the surging mass. Exactly what did go on in the crowd, it

is impossible to say, but the pulling, hauling, mauling, and shouting,

gave evidences of frantic efforts on the part of the rescuers, and a

stern resistance from the conservators of the law. In front of Judge

Gould's office the combat was at its height. No stones or other missiles

were used; the battle was fist to fist. We believe an order was given to

take the prisoner the other way, and there was a grand rush towards the

West, past First and River Streets, as far as Dock Street. All this time

there was a continual melee. Many of the officers were hurt--among them

Mr. Upham, whose object was solely to do his duty by taking Nalle before

Judge Gould in accordance with the writ of habeas corpus. A number in

the crowd were more or less hurt, and it is a wonder that these were not

badly injured, as pistols were drawn and chisels used.



The battle had raged as far as the corner of Dock and Congress Streets,

and the victory remained with the rescuers at last. The officers were

completely worn out with their exertions, and it was impossible to

continue their hold upon him any longer. Nalle was at liberty. His

friends rushed him down Dock Street to the lower ferry, where there was

a skiff lying ready to start. The fugitive was put in, the ferryman

rowed off, and amid the shouts of hundreds who lined the banks of the

river, Nalle was carried into Albany County.



As the skiff landed in West Troy, a negro sympathizer waded up to the

waist, and pulled Nalle out of the boat. He went up the hill alone,

however, and there who should he meet but Constable Becker? The latter

official seeing a man with manacles on, considered it his duty to arrest

him. He did so, and took him in a wagon to the office of Justice

Stewart, on the second floor of the corner building near the ferry. The

Justice was absent.



When the crowd on the Troy bank had seen Nalle safely landed, it was

suggested that he might be recaptured. Then there was another rush made

for the steam ferry-boat, which carried over about 400 persons, and left

as many more--a few of the latter being soused in their efforts to get

on the boat. On landing in West Troy, there, sure enough, was the

prisoner, locked up in a strong office, protected by Officers Becker,

Brown and Morrison, and the door barricaded.



Not a moment was lost. Up stairs went a score or more of resolute

men--the rest "piling in" promiscuously, shouting and execrating the

officers. Soon a stone flew against the door--then another--and bang,

bang! went off a couple of pistols, but the officers who fired them took

good care to aim pretty high. The assailants were forced to retreat for

a moment. "They've got pistols," said one. "Who cares?" was the reply;

"they can only kill a dozen of us--come on." More stones and more

pistol-shots ensued. At last the door was pulled open by an immense

negro, and in a moment he was felled by a hatchet in the hands of

Deputy-Sheriff Morrison; but the body of the fallen man blocked up the

door so that it could not be shut, and a friend of the prisoner pulled

him out. Poor fellow! he might well say, "Save me from my friends."

Amid the pulling and hauling, the iron had cut his arms, which were

bleeding profusely, and he could hardly walk, owing to fatigue.



He has since arrived safely in Canada.





     Statements made by Martin I. Townsend, Esq., of Troy, who was

     counsel for the fugitive, Charles Nalle.





Nalle is an octoroon; his wife has the same infusion of Caucasian blood.

She was the daughter of her master, and had, with her sister, been bred

by him in his family, as his own child. When the father died, both of

these daughters were married and had large families of children. Under

the highly Christian national laws "Old Virginny," these children were

the slaves of their grandfather. The old man died, leaving a will,

whereby he manumitted his daughters and their children, and provided for

the purchase of the freedom of their husbands. The manumission of the

children and grandchildren took effect; but the estate was insufficient

to purchase the husbands of his daughters, and the father of his

grandchildren. The manumitted, by another Christian, "conservative,"

and "national" provision of law, were forced to leave the State, while

the slave husbands remained in slavery. Nalle and his brother-in-law

were allowed for a while to visit their families outside Virginia about

once a year, but were at length ordered to provide themselves with new

wives, as they would be allowed to visit their former ones no more. It

was after this that Nalle and his brother-in-law started for the land of

freedom, guided by the steady light of the north star. Thank God,

neither family now need fear any earthly master or the bay of the

blood-hound dogging their fugitive steps.



Nalle returned to Troy with his family about July, 1860, and resided

with them there for more than seven years. They are all now residents of

the city of Washington, D. C. Nalle and his family are persons of

refined manners, and of the highest respectability. Several of his

children are red-haired, and a stranger would discover no trace of

African blood in their complexions or features. It was the head of this

family whom H. F. Averill proposed to doom to returnless exile and

life-long slavery.



When Nalle was brought from Commissioner Beach's office into the street,

Harriet Tubman, who had been standing with the excited crowd, rushed

amongst the foremost to Nalle, and running one of her arms around his

manacled arm, held on to him without ever loosening her hold through the

more than half-hour's struggle to Judge Gould's office, and from Judge

Gould's office to the dock, where Nalle's liberation was accomplished.

In the melee, she was repeatedly beaten over the head with policemen's

clubs, but she never for a moment released her hold, but cheered Nalle

and his friends with her voice, and struggled with the officers until

they were literally worn out with their exertions, and Nalle was

separated from them.



True, she had strong and earnest helpers in her struggle, some of whom

had white faces as well as human hearts, and are now in Heaven. But she

exposed herself to the fury of the sympathizers with slavery, without

fear, and suffered their blows without flinching. Harriet crossed the

river with the crowd, in the ferry-boat, and when the men who led the

assault upon the door of Judge Stewart's office, were stricken down,

Harriet and a number of other colored women rushed over their bodies,

brought Nalle out, and putting him in the first wagon passing, started

him for the West.



A livery team, driven by a colored man, was immediately sent on to

relieve the other, and Nalle was seen about Troy no more until he

returned a free man by purchase from his master. Harriet also

disappeared, and the crowd dispersed. How she came to be in Troy that

day, is entirely unknown to our citizens; and where she hid herself

after the rescue, is equally a mystery. But her struggle was in the

sight of a thousand, perhaps of five thousand spectators.



This woman of whom you have been reading is poor, and partially disabled

from her injuries; yet she supports cheerfully and uncomplainingly

herself and her old parents, and always has several poor children in her

house, who are dependent entirely upon her exertions. At present she has

three of these children for whom she is providing, while their parents

are working to pay back money borrowed to bring them on. She also

maintains by her exertions among the good people of Auburn, two schools

of freedmen at the South, providing them teachers and sending them

clothes and books. She never asks for anything for herself, but she does

ask the charity of the public for "her people."





     For them her tears will fall,

      For them her prayers ascend;

     To them her toils and cares be given,

      Till toils and cares will end.





If any persons are disposed to aid her in her benevolent efforts, they

may send donations to Rev. S. M. Hopkins, Professor in the Auburn

Theological Seminary, who will make such disposition of the funds sent

as may be designated by the donors.



[Illustration: Decoration]



FOOTNOTE:



[1] The Wabash









APPENDIX.





A few circumstances having come out in conversation with Harriet, they

are added here, as they may be of interest to the reader.



On asking Harriet particularly as to the age of her mother, she

answered, "Well, I'll tell you, Missis. Twenty-three years ago, in

Maryland, I paid a lawyer $5 to look up the will of my mother's first

master. He looked back sixty years, and said it was time to give up. I

told him to go back furder. He went back sixty-five years, and there he

found the will--giving the girl Ritty to his grand-daughter (Mary

Patterson), to serve her and her offspring till she was forty-five years

of age. This grand-daughter died soon after, unmarried; and as there was

no provision for Ritty, in case of her death, she was actually

emancipated at that time. But no one informed her of the fact, and she

and her dear children remained in bondage till emancipated by the

courage and determination of this heroic daughter and sister. The old

woman must then, it seems, be ninety-eight years of age, and the old man

has probably numbered as many years. And yet these old people, living

out beyond the toll-gate, on the South Street road, Auburn, come in

every Sunday--more than a mile--to the Central Church. To be sure, deep

slumbers settle down upon them as soon as they are seated, which

continue undisturbed till the congregation is dismissed; but they have

done their best, and who can doubt that they receive a blessing.

Immediately after this they go to class-meeting at the Methodist Church.

Then they wait for a third service, and after that start out home

again."



On asking Harriet where they got anything to eat on Sunday, she said, in

her quiet way, "Oh! de ole folks nebber eats anyting on _Sunday_,

Missis! We nebber has no food to get for dem on Sunday. Dey always

fasts; and dey nebber eats anyting on Fridays. Good Friday, an' five

Fridays hand gwine from Good Friday, my fader nebber eats or drinks, all

day--fasting for de five bleeding wounds ob Jesus. All the oder Fridays

ob de year he nebber eats till de sun goes down; den he takes a little

tea an' a piece ob bread." "But is he a Roman Catholic, Harriet?" "Oh

no, Misses; he does it for _conscience;_ we was taught to do so down

South. He says if he denies himself for the sufferings of his Lord an'

Master, Jesus will sustain him."



It has been mentioned that Harriet never asks anything for herself, but

whenever her people were in trouble, or she felt impelled to go South to

guide to freedom friend or brother, or father and mother, if she had not

time to work for the money, she was persistent till she got it from

somebody. When she received one of her _intimations_ that the old people

were in trouble, and it was time for her to go to them, she asked the

Lord where she should go for the money. She was in some way, as she

supposed, directed to the office of a certain gentleman in New York.

When she left the house of her friends to go there, she said, "I'm gwine

to Mr. ----'s office, an' I ain't gwine to lebe there, an' I ain't gwine

to eat or drink till I git enough money to take me down after the ole

people."



She went into this gentleman's office.



"What do you want, Harriet?" was the first greeting.



"I want some money, sir."



"You do? How much do you want?"



"I want twenty dollars, sir."



"_Twenty dollars?_ Who told you to come here for twenty dollars?"



"De Lord tole me, sir."



"Well, I guess the Lord's mistaken this time."



"I guess he isn't, sir. Anyhow I'm gwine to sit here till I git it."



So she sat down and went to sleep. All the morning and all the afternoon

she sat there still, sleeping and rousing up--sometimes finding the

office full of gentlemen--sometimes finding herself alone. Many

fugitives were passing through New York at that time, and those who came

in supposed that she was one of them, tired out and resting. Sometimes

she would be roused up with the words, "Come, Harriet, you had better

go. There's no money for you here." "No, sir. I'm not gwine till I git

my twenty dollars."



She does not know all that happened, for deep sleep fell upon her; but

probably her story was whispered about, and she roused at last to find

herself the happy possessor of _sixty dollars_, which had been raised

among those who came into the office. She went on her way rejoicing, to

bring her old parents from the land of bondage. She found that her

father was to be tried the next Monday, for helping off slaves; so, as

she says, she "removed his trial to a higher court," and hurried him off

to Canada. One more little incident, which, it is hoped, may not be

offensive to the young lady to whom it alludes, may be mentioned here,

showing Harriet's extreme delicacy in asking anything for herself. Last

winter ('67 and '68), as we all know, the snow was very deep for months,

and Harriet and the old people were completely snowed-in in their little

home. The old man was laid up with rheumatism, and Harriet could not

leave home for a long time to procure supplies of corn, if she could

have made her way into the city. At length, stern necessity compelled

her to plunge through the drifts to the city, and she appeared at the

house of one of her firm and fast friends, and was directed to the room

of one of the young ladies. She began to walk up and down, as she always

does when in trouble. At length she said, "Miss Annie?" "What, Harriet?"

A long pause; then again, "Miss Annie?" "Well, what _is_ it, Harriet?"

This was repeated four times, when the young lady, looking up, saw her

eyes filled with tears. She then insisted on knowing what she wanted.

And with a great effort, she said, "Miss Annie, could you lend me a

quarter till Monday? I never asked it before." Kind friends immediately

supplied all the wants of the family, but on Monday Harriet appeared

with the quarter she had borrowed.



But though so timid for herself, she is bold enough when the wants of

her race are concerned. Even now, while friends are trying to raise the

means to publish this little book for her, _she_ is going around with

the greatest zeal and interest to raise a subscription for her

Freedmen's Fair. She called on Hon. Wm. H. Seward, the other day, for a

subscription to this object. He said, "Harriet, you have worked for

others long enough. It is time you should think of yourself. If you ask

for a donation for _yourself_, I will give it to you; but I will not

help you to rob yourself for others."



Harriet's charity for all the human race is unbounded. It embraces even

the slaveholder--it sympathizes even with Jeff. Davis, and rejoices at

his departure to other lands, with some prospect of peace for the

future. She says, "I tink dar's many a slaveholder'll git to Heaven. Dey

don't know no better. Dey acts up to de light dey hab. You take dat

sweet little child (pointing to a lonely baby)--'pears more like an

angel dan anyting else--take her down dere, let her nebber know nothing

'bout niggers but they was made to be whipped, an' she'll grow up to use

the whip on 'em jus' like de rest. No, Missus, its because dey don't

know no better." May God give the people to whom the story of this woman

shall come, a like charity, so that through their kindness the last days

of her stormy and troubled life may be calm and peaceful.



[Illustration: Decoration]









WOMAN-WHIPPING,



ETHICALLY AND ESTHETICALLY CONSIDERED.



BY S. M. HOPKINS,



PROFESSOR IN THE AUBURN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY.









ESSAY ON WOMAN-WHIPPING.





The subject of the preceding memoir appears to have retained all her

life a feeling recollection of the effects of the whip in the hands of

her youthful mistress. Considering the vigor and frequency of the

application, this is not strange. Infinite cuffs and thwacks, more or

less, pass into oblivion; but a flogging with a raw-hide is not easily

forgotten. A slave's experience of the whip, however, was not confined

to his or to _her_ early days. A slave race must be controlled by fear

and pain: and the discipline, it was naturally thought, could not begin

too early. From childhood to old age they were liable to stripes, for

any reason or for no reason. If the slave was guilty of no fault, he

might be whipped, as appears from the preceding narrative, merely to

impress him with a salutary sense of the master's right and disposition

to whip.



A Northern man, born and bred under the influences of freedom and the

protection of law, and made acquainted with slavery in its old palmy

days, can never forget his sensations at his first sight of a

slave-whipping. The utmost he has ever seen in the way of corporal

punishment has been the switching of some obstreperous child by

competent authority; a discipline administered with prudence and

moderation; drawing no blood and leaving no scar. He now sees an adult

person stripped to the skin, his arms tied at their utmost stretch above

his head, or across some object which binds him into a posture the best

adapted to feel the full force of each blow. The instrument of suffering

is not a birch twig or a ferule, but a twisted raw-hide, or heavy "black

snake;" either of them highly effective weapons in the hands of a stout

executioner. Our Northern novice stands horror-stricken and paralyzed

for a moment; but at the second or third blow, and the piteous scream of

_Oh Lord! Massa!_ which follows, he digs his fingers into his ears, and

rushes to the furthest corner of his tent or dwelling, to escape the

scene. Even if he _could_ have endured the sight and sound a while

longer, he dared not. The horror in his face, and perhaps the

irrepressible word or act of interference was too sure to bring upon

himself the vengeance due to a "d--d Abolitionist." The little knot of

Southern _habitués_ look on with critical inspection, squirting

tobacco-juice, with their hands in their pockets.



If the subject is a woman, the interest rises higher, and the crowd

would be greater. There is a refinement of cruelty in the whipping of a

woman which used to stimulate agreeably the dull sensibilities of a

Southern mob. A dish of torture had to be peppered very high to please

the palates of those epicures in brutality. The helplessness and terror

of the victim, the exposure of her person, the opportunity for coarse

jests at her expense, all combined to make it a scene of rare enjoyment.

How the "chivalric" mind can endure the loss of such gratifications it

is difficult to conceive. The Romans were weaned from crucifixions and

gladiatorial combats very gradually. The process of ameliorating

criminal law and humanizing public sentiment went on for more than two

centuries. It was full four hundred years after the epoch of our

redemption when the monk Telemachus threw himself between the hired

swordsmen, whom a Christian audience was applauding, and laid down his

own life to wind up the spectacle. But the bloody morsel has been

snatched from the mouths of the "chivalry" at one clutch. No wonder

their mortification vents itself in weeping and wailing, and knashing

of teeth, and in such miscellaneous atrocities as their "Ku-Klux-Klans"

can venture to inflict on helpless freedmen and radicals.[2]



A recent Southern paper (the _Virginia Advertiser_) finds a providential

provision for the enslavement of the negro race in the thickness of

their skulls, enabling them to bear without injury the blows inflicted

in sudden rage by their masters; a suggestive confession, by the way, of

the influence of slavery on the tempers of the slaveholders. The whole

race must be prepared, it seems, for blows on the head with whatever

weapon came to hand! But admitting the thickness of the skulls, it

appears from an incident in the preceding pages, as well as from other

known instances, that the inventive genius of the slave-whipping

chivalry contrived to baffle the humane designs of Providence--a negro

skull well padded with wool might bear without injury the blow of a

boot-jack or a hammer, and yet prove insufficient to resist the impact

of a musket-ball or a ten-pound weight. It is of no avail to plate a

vessel with six inches of iron, if she is to be pounded with bolts that

can mash an eight-inch armor. Apparently, Divine Providence stopped

short of the necessary security for the predestined slave race. It

should have arranged for a progressive thickening of the negro cranium

to meet the increase of violence on the part of the master; until at

length slavery might be encountered with a difficulty like that which

besets naval gunnery, viz., what would be the result if an infrangible

African skull should be beaten by an irresistable Caucasian club?



But even this Virginia _laudator temporis acti_, this melancholy mourner

at the tomb of defunct slavery, does not allege any such Providential

thickening of the negro cuticle as to amount to a satisfactory anæthesis

against whipping. It has never been proven that a Virginia paddle or a

Georgia raw-hide well applied did not make the blood spirt as freely

through a black skin as through a white one; nor has any Southern savant

of the Nott and Gliddon school shown that there was not the same

_relative_ delicacy of organization in the slave woman as in the free. A

black woman was, relatively to the black man, the more delicate subject

for the whip; something more sensitive to the shame of stripping, more

liable to terror, and of rather softer fiber; so that the lash went

deeper both into soul and sense than in the case of her sable brother.



And this fact made the black woman a very suitable subject for the whip

in the hands of the Southern lady. To succeed in slave-whipping as in

any other fine art, the Horatian canon must be regarded, which requires

us to take a subject suited to our strength. It would have been

unreasonable, in ordinary cases, to expect a "dark-eyed daughter of the

South" to flog handsomely a stalwart negro man; she sometimes did it,

after he had been well tied up. But the slave girl was exactly suited to

her flagellating capacities. A good many women, North as well as South,

manifest a tendency to become tyrants in their own households, and love

to bully their servants. But this is an evil of a mitigated nature in

Northern society. The stupidest "help" in the kitchen knows she is safe

from any other lash than her mistress' tongue, and is commonly an adept

at the business of answering back again.



But the Southern mistress was a domestic devil with horns and claws;

selfish, insolent, accustomed to be waited on for everything. She grew

up with the instinct of tyranny--to punish violently the least neglect

or disobedience in her servants. The variable temper of girlhood, not

ugly unless thwarted, became in the "Southern matron" a chronic fury.

She was her own "overseer," and, like that out-door functionary, had her

own scepter, which she did not bear in vain. The raw-hide lay upon the

shelf within easy reach, and her arm was vigorous with exercise. The

breaking of a plate, the spilling of a cup, the misplacing of a pin in

her dress, or any other misadventure in the chapter of accidents, was

promptly illustrated with numerous cuts. The lash well laid on the

shoulders of a black _femme-de-chambre_, or screaming child, was an

agreeable titillation of the nervous sensibilities of the languid

creole; a headache, or a heartache, transferred itself through the

medium of the raw-hide to the back of Phillis or Araminta. They no doubt

whipped sometimes, like Mr. Squeers, for the mere fun of the thing. It

is an exquisite pleasure to a cowardly nature to have some creature to

torment; and there is this nemesis about cruelty that it engenders an

appetite which, like that for alcoholic stimulents, for ever demands

increased indulgence. It was the vindictive woman's nature in the South

that protracted and gave added ferocity to the rebellion. These

woman-whipping wives and mothers it was who hounded on the masculine

chivalry to the work of exterminating the "accursed Yankees," and thus

made their own punishment so much sorer than it need have been.



The mention of these amiable Southern characteristics cannot fail to

recall that highly suggestive scene of the Malebolge, with the

illustration of Gustave Doré, in which the tempters and destroyers of

women are seen scourged with Whips, in the hands of demons; especially

when we remember that the whipping of slave women to make them consent

to their own dishonor, was one of the usages of the patriarchal

chivalry. There is not a scene in which the imaginings of Dante have

been better seconded by the pencil of the great French artist: the

flying wretches hurrying in opposite directions, as the crowds in the

Jubilee year trampled each other, going and returning across the St.

Angelo Bridge; among them the bat-winged fiends with whips, lashing

right and left! In the throng are female figures: women who in life

tortured and corrupted other women. What terror in face and attitude!

How desperately they grapple with the rocks to lift themselves out of

reach of the scourge! And these two demons in the foreground! What an

absolute idealization of muscular ferocity! Every sinewy line in their

cantour displays the force of a fallen demi-god; their very tails curl

with delight in their ministry of vengeance.





     Ahi; come facen levar le berze,

     Alle prime percosse, e gia nessuno,

     Le second aspettava ne le terze!





Ah! how they make them skip! There is Legree and Tom Gordon, and Madame

de Schlangenbad, from Louisiana, and Mrs. Crawley (_née_ Sharp) from

South Carolina, squirming under the torture! A very instructive, if not

agreeable exhibition!



But this fury in celestial Southern bosoms was merely institutional. Dip

the gentlest nature into the element of irresponsible power, and it

becomes in time covered over with a foul incrustation of cruelty. Those

beastly Roman ladies of Juvenal's time, who could order a slave woman to

be whipped to death without condescending to give any other reason than

their _sic volo, sic jubeo_, were not naturally worse than others. Take

any Roman or Southern girl of ten years of age, put a whip in her hands,

and a helpless slave child at her mercy; let her see nothing but

brutality to inferiors all around her, and by the time she is ready to

be married, she can hold up her thumb to the standing gladiator in the

arena, or beg her lover to bring her back from Bull Run a ring from the

bones of some Yankee soldier. It is a publicly known private fact,

illustrative of the influence of slavery on the female character, that

when a certain Northern clergyman applied to her father for the hand of

a celebrated Maryland heiress, the reply was, "You are quite welcome to

her! but I think it only fair to tell you that if I were going to storm

hell, I should put her in the advance."



There is every reason to hope, therefore, that the Southern character,

both male and female, will become gradually ameliorated by the changed

condition under which it will hereafter be formed. It is a common error,

one in which the Southern people themselves share, that there is

something in their climate to nurse and to justify their "high spirit,"

_anglicé_ their quarrelsomeness and brutality of temper. It is very

pleasant to lay off upon Nature or Providence what belongs only to will

or institutions. A man indulges in violent passions with little

restraint or remorse, so long as he can persuade himself he is merely

what certain positive natural laws make him. What an opiate for a

conscience defiled with lust and blood, to think that this is only

natural to the "sunny South." But in fact, the people of warm,

temperate, and tropical regions are most commonly gentle of mood; the

climate acts as an anodyne, and soothes them into a peaceful equilibrium

of the passions. The negroes of the Southern States are not passionate

or vindictive--well for their late masters and present persecutors that

they are not! What they may become from the treatment they are

experiencing from those preternatural and predestinated fools, is

another question.



The only reason the "chivalry" are bad-tempered and quarrelsome, is

found in that despotism in which they have been nursed, and which

associates the idea of personal dignity with an instant resort to

violence at any contradiction. But for slavery, the people of

Mississippi would have been no more addicted to street fights, dueling,

midnight assassinations, etc., than the people of Massachusetts. That

the former have any advantage in respect to courage, has been

sufficiently disproved by the rebellion. Whether the ex-Confederate

ladies may or may not be able to "fire the Southern heart" for another

attempt to overthrow the Government, it will at least never be done

under the persuasion that one Southerner is equal to five or any other

number above unity, of Yankees.



The traditions of slavery, indeed, will remain to keep alive among the

late slaveholding caste, the insolent and unchristian temper on which

they have prided themselves. But having no more helpless dependants to

storm at and abuse, their valor will needs submit to gradual

modifications. Some degree of self-government will become a necessity.

It may require several generations; but _institutions_ ceasing to

corrupt them, the loss of wealth, the necessity of work and a new Gospel

of peace, better than their old slaveholding Christianity, will

gradually educate them into a law-abiding, orderly, and virtuous people.



The Southern woman will of course share early in this beneficent

change--no longer perverted into a she-devil by the possession of

unrestrained power, and paying just wages to servants, who, if not

suited with their work, can leave without having to run off; her gentler

virtues will have a chance to assert themselves. Her striking qualities

will subside into a charming vivacity of temper. She will become a

gracious and pious mater-familias; she will perhaps in time learn to

apply to her own children a portion of that discipline of which her

slaves enjoyed a monopoly. In short, there neither is nor ever was any

reason, slavery excepted, why the Southern whites should not possess a

character for industry, peacefulness, and religion, equal to that of

the rural districts of New York and New England.



Thank God that we have lived to see such awful barbarisms extinct! In

fifty years the last woman-whipper at the South will be as dead as

Cleopatra; as dead as the pre-Adamite brute organizations. History will

be ashamed to record their doings. The fictions in which they are

enbalmed will be lost in the better coming era of morals and letters. By

the time the South has been overflowed and regenerated by a beneficent

inundation of Northern "carpet-baggers," with Yankee capital and

enterprise, it will be forgotten that a race capable of the crimes

referred to in the preceding story, ever existed.



[Illustration: Decoration]



FOOTNOTE:



[2] It is curiously illustrative of the mixed childishness and ferocity

which characterizes the Southern civilization, that this secret

association of ruffians, organized to terrorize the loyal South, styles

itself by an absurd, mis-spelled name, and goes about on its nightly

work of murder in harlequin costume, with one of its leaders acting the

part of ghost, to frighten the superstitious blacks. Some more

courageous freedman occasionally makes a _bona fide_ ghost of this

masquerade.









LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS



TO THE



PUBLISHING FUND.





GERRIT SMITH,           Peterboro, N. Y.,      $25 00



WENDELL PHILLIPS,       Boston, Mass.,          25 00



J. S. SEYMOUR,          Auburn, N. Y.,          25 00



D. M. OSBORNE,             "     "              25 00



CHAS. P. WOOD,             "     "              25 00



WM. H. SEWARD, JR.,        "     "              25 00



J. N. KNAPP,               "     "              25 00



RUFUS SARGENT,             "     "              25 00



H. IVISON,              New York                25 00



TIMOTHY L. BARKER,      San Francisco, Cal.,    20 00



WM. G. WISE,            Auburn, N. Y.,          10 00



G. I. LETCHWORTH,          "     "              10 00



S. L. BRADLEY              "     "              10 00



I. F. TERRILL              "     "              10 00



ABIJAH FITCH,              "     "              10 00



T. M. POMEROY, M. C.,      "     "              10 00



F. L. GRISWOLD,            "     "              10 00



CYRENUS WHEELER,           "     "              10 00



JOHN CHEDELL,              "     "              10 00



DAVID WRIGHT,              "     "              10 00



JOSIAH BARBER,             "     "              10 00



GEO. E. BARBER,            "     "              10 00



S. WILLARD, M. D.,         "     "              10 00



RICHARD STEEL,             "     "               5 00



C. H. MERRIMAN,            "     "               5 00



J. LEWIS GRANT,            "     "               5 00



A. H. GOSS,                "     "               5 00



CHRISTOPHER MORGAN,        "     "               5 00



J. M. HURD,                "     "               5 00



W. J. SUTTON,              "     "               5 00



WM. A. KIRBY,              "     "               5 00



THOS. MCCREA,              "     "               5 00



J. N. STARIN,              "     "               5 00



C. P. FORD,                "     "               5 00





[Illustration: Decoration]