A Woman's Life-Work Labors and Experiences

Our last chapter left us rejoicing in success, but how soon did deepest sorrow take its place. A dream seemed sent to prepare me for the severe ordeal so near at hand. I thought I was standing in our front yard looking eastward and an angel sitting on a bay horse appeared in the place of the sun's rising, coming to earth on some mission, gliding over the tree tops toward our house, where were father, mother, my sister Phoebe, and my husband, who held in his arms our little babe.

I started to inform them that an angel was coming to earth on some errand, when his advance was so rapid I was likely to lose sight of him, and halted to watch his flight. He seemed to alight in our yard near me, and smiled as he said, "Follow thou me." "I will," I responded, as soon as I bid Charles and our folks farewell. The beautiful personage assumed a firmer tone, as he said, "Let the dead bury their dead, but follow thou me." At this command I responded, "I will," and followed him to the graveyard, where he left me. And I awoke with that angelic figure, with that sweet, yet solemn, voice ringing in my ear.

I related the dream, with its clear impression in my mind, to my husband, who replied, "That is a significant dream, and I think indicates death. I think we shall be called to part with our infant daughter Lavina; and it is quite evident that consumption is fast hastening our sister Phoebe to her long home." She was my own sister, who married my husband's brother, Daniel Haviland. He continued his remarks, by making suggestions as to the course we would feel it best to pursue about a burying-place for our little daughter, in case of a refusal of Friends to allow a plain marble slab, with her name and date of birth and death in their burying-ground; and suggested the corner of our orchard as a pleasant place, to which I assented. After spending half an hour in this conversation, he went out to his work. I prayed for my Savior's hand to lead me in whatever trial it was necessary for me to pass through.

Little did I think of the heavier stroke which was first to fall. A few days after this dream I was charging myself with being visionary; yet a few of these most impressive dreams, I believe, have been designed for our instruction. My husband was seized with a heavy cold, accompanied by a severe cough, that was increasing; yet he was able to be about the house and barn, giving directions, as to outdoor work, but nothing appeared alarming, when I was aroused by a startling dream of a coffin being brought into our front room by four men, of whom I inquired who was dead. The answer was, "A connection of yours." "I want to see him, for that coffin appears to be for a small man," was my reply. "He is a small man," was the rejoinder, "and you shall see him." Upon this, the closed coffin was brought to me, and I arose and followed the pall-bearers to the graveyard. As the people were standing around the open grave to see the coffin lowered, I saw a little child standing on the very edge of the grave opposite to me. I exclaimed, "Do take that child away, for it will cave into the grave after its father!" At that instant the light sand under its feet gave way, and, as it struck the coffin, the loud, hollow sound awoke me, trembling as with a fit of ague, and with the strong impression that I was soon to part with my beloved companion and infant daughter, although both were sweetly sleeping by my side. With this thrill through my whole being, I resorted to prayer for their restoration to health, if consistent with the divine will.

Although my husband had enjoyed good health a number of years, and had not for seven years previously called upon a physician, yet I now resolved to persuade him to call for one at once. As the clock struck four, and as I was leaving the bed to light the fire, my husband awoke, and said he had enjoyed the most refreshing sleep he had had since taking this cold, and felt so well he thought he soon should be rid of it. Whenever I spoke the chattering of my teeth revealed my agitation, and he expressed fear lest I should be ill from the hard chill. But little did he understand the upheavings of my troubled heart. Soon a severe paroxysm of coughing gave the opportunity to suggest the idea of sending for a physician. At length he consented, as he said, to please me, as he thought this cough would soon give way. But while I went to our boy's study room to awaken our son Harvey to go for the doctor, a severe pain in the region of the lungs was cutting every breath.

The doctor was soon with us, but he thought there were no discouraging symptoms apparent. I seat for Father Haviland, who also thought, as did the doctor, that I was unreasonably troubled; but during the following night he expressed doubts of recovery himself, and requested his will to be written, which was done. As his fever increased, great effort was made to control our feelings in his presence. At one time, as he awoke, he discovered fast-falling tears, and said: "Do not weep for me, my dear wife; remember those beautiful lines:

'God moves in mysterious way,

His wonders to perform.'

We are not to

'Judge the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust him for his grace;

Behind a frowning providence

He hides a smiling face'

Our separation will be short at longest. Then we shall be reunited where there is no sorrow-no more dying-in that glorious home. Two days ago there seemed a little cloud; but prayer was answered, and the cloud was all removed. The overshadowing now is that of peace and love." He called for the children. Looking upon us all, he said, "O, how dear you all are to me!" Calling each by name, he gave advice and exhortations as none but a departing husband and father could leave with his family-a legacy more precious than all the golden treasures of earth. Then he added: "I want you, my dear children, to promise me that you will meet your father in heaven. Will you meet me there?" Taking our little babe in his hands, he kissed it and said, "Dear little Lavina will soon be with her father," and closed with the prayer: "O Lord, I commit my dear wife and children into thy bands. Thou art the widow's God, and a loving Father to fatherless children."

The words of the dying Christian, beginning

"What's that steals, that steals upon my frame?

Is it death-is it death?"

were sung by his bedside, and as the last line,

"All is well-all is well,"

was reached, he raised his hands, and repeated, "O, hallelujah to the Lamb!" Then, turning to me, he added, "My dear, I want these lines sung at my funeral." His last words were, "Come, Lord Jesus, thy servant is ready," and with a sweet smile his happy spirit was wafted home, March 13, 1845.

His disease was inflammatory erysipelas, at that time entirely new, and not understood by our physicians. It passed through our portion of the State, a sweeping epidemic, in the Spring of 1845, and proved fatal in most cases. My dear mother, who was with us during this week of sorrow, was taken home with the same disease, and in one week her happy spirit took its flight to God who gave it. She, too, left us hi the triumphs of faith. She had not left us an hour before brother Daniel came for me to go to his dying wife, as she was calling for mother, and he did not dare inform her that mother was dangerously ill. I took my little emaciated babe upon a pillow, and went to my dear sister, who was so soon to leave us. Her first query was, "How is our dear mother?"

"Mother is a happy spirit in heaven," was the reply, "and sister Phoebe will soon meet her there."

Her reply was: "It is well; but I had hoped to meet her once more in this world-yet we'll soon meet, to part no more forever. She soon followed brother Charles; but I trust we will all meet one day, an unbroken band. O how I wish I could see brother Ira!" an absent brother for whom she had often expressed great anxiety in regard to his spiritual and everlasting welfare.

The same burden of soul for the same brother had also rested on the heart of our sainted mother, whose funeral took place two days later. Within one week sister Phoebe died in peace. Here was the third wave of sorrow rolling over us.

From this house of mourning I was removed to my home with the same disease that had taken my husband and mother; and a number of our neighbors Were going the same way. My father and father-in-law thought me dangerously ill-chills and fever, with stricture of the lungs, that made respiration painful. They were very anxious to have the best help that could be obtained at once; "for," said father, "what is done for thee must be done quickly" I told him that every one who had been taken with this disease had died, as physicians of each school did not understand it. But I would return to my home, as they suggested; but felt most easy to trust myself with water treatment, and would like to take a shower-bath every two hours, and try that treatment twelve hours. This was done, and every bath brought relief to respiration, and my lungs became entirely free, though my neck and throat were still badly swollen and inflamed. Cold applications, frequently applied, soon overcame that difficulty, and in three days the disease seemed entirely conquered.

A relapse from taking cold, however, threw me into a stupor; but I was aroused by an expression of a neighbor, as he said: "She is not conscious, and never will be, unless something is done; and if she were a sister of mine a doctor would be here as soon as I could bring him."

"I will see if I can get an expression from her," said my brother

Harvey.

"If we can only learn mother's wish it shall be granted," said my anxious son Harvey.

As I heard their remarks a strong impression came over me that if I were placed in charge of a physician I should not live two days, but if I could tell them to shower my head and neck often I would recover. As I looked upon my anxious fatherless children around my bed I made an effort to speak, but my parched and swollen tongue could not for some time utter a word. The answer to earnest prayer came from Him who numbers even the very hairs of our head. As my brother took my hand, saying, "If you wish a physician press my hand, or if you wish water treatment move your head on the pillow," I could not move my head in the least, and my only hope was to say no. When asked if I wished a doctor sent for, I prayed that my tongue might utter words of direction for the sake of my fatherless children, and said, "No."

"Do you want cold compresses, or shall we gently shower over a thin cloth on the swollen and inflamed portion of your neck and head?"

"Shower."

"Cold or tepid?"

"Well."

"If you mean well-water, how much?"

"Big pitcher."

"How often?"

"Twenty minutes."

Said my son Harvey, "It shall be done, if I sit by her every minute to-night."

I felt a positive impression that my Heavenly Father had answered my prayer directly, and granted an assurance, in the token of recovery, and I praised the Lord for his "loving kindness, O, how free." With this assurance I fell back in a stupor, except a dreamy consciousness of their showering, which was faithfully done, with the assistance of my brother. At twelve o'clock I awoke, and inquired where all the people were that filled the room a little while before, and was surprised to learn the hour of night. They said, as my breathing became more natural, the neighbors had left and the children retired.

I could speak easily, and the purple appearance of the skin had disappeared. In the morning the pain was entirely gone, but the soreness was still severe. But with frequent changes of compresses during the day, the swelling very much subsided. I wondered why father did not come, as he had not been to see me since sister Phoebe's funeral. My brother informed me that he had a chill during the funeral, and had not been able to leave. As he had a few fits of the ague some weeks previously, I supposed it was a return of that disease. The day following brother Sala came, and in reply to my inquiry after my father, said he was no better, but sent me a request to be very careful of myself, and hoped I would soon recover, and left in seeming haste to see brother Patchin. But I sent for him to come and tell me more about father. He soon came with brother Patchin and brother Dolbeare. He then told me that father had the same disease that had taken my husband and our mother, and he also said that it was father's request that for the sake of my large family of children, who were recently bereft of their father, that I would give up the idea of coming to see him.

But I could not be satisfied without going to see my dear father once more, and yet, the pleading of my dear children was almost too much to forego. "We have just lost our father; now what should we do if our mother should be taken from us?" "But if I am rolled in quilts and laid on a bed in the wagon, I am confident I can be taken to father's house safely"-distant nearly three miles. In this way I was taken to my dying father, though unable to walk across the room without assistance. As soon as he learned of my coming, he directed them to lay me on the bed until I was rested. In a few minutes he sent them to bring me to him. As my son and brother led me to his bedside, he placed the cold purple fingers over my pulse, and said, "I am so glad to see thee, but I feared it would be too much for thee to bear. There is a little feverish excitement about thee yet. I am more concerned for thee than for the rest of my children, on account of thy large family, that will so much need their mother's counsel and care. I want to say to thee, Look up to the widow's God for guidance, for wisdom from him is so much needed, with the heavy responsibilities now resting upon thee. Do not allow these bereavements to crush thy feeble frame. I have feared they had already seriously affected thy health. I know thy anxiety to bring up thy children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. And he will grant ability to lead them to the Lamb of God, who shed his precious blood for us all." With other advice, he became weary, and said, "Now take her back to the other room, and lay her on the bed until rested." And during the few hours he lived he frequently sent for me to talk a few minutes at a time, watching my pulse each time, until within a few moments of the last farewell to earth.

There were six of his children present, to whom he gave his farewell blessing, leaving a bright evidence that all was well with him. "In me there is no merit. I am fully trusting in the merit of my crucified Savior, who shed his own precious blood for my redemption. I can say with Job, 'I know that my Redeemer lives,' and because he lives I shall live also." His last words, almost with his last breath, were, "Here she comes," and left this tabernacle for the building not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. Father and mother were lovely in their lives, and in their death were only two weeks divided. It seemed that my last earthly prop was gone. Three weeks later my youngest child followed her father and grandparents to the spirit home. Within six weeks, five of my nearest and dearest ones were taken from me.

There was hardly a family within two miles of us but was bereft of one or two loved ones by this epidemic. Five widows (myself included) at one time were standing around the death-bed of a near neighbor. Our female principal at that time, Emily Galpin, was taken with this epidemic, and died after three days' illness. A few hours previous to her death she requested a season of prayer, in which her husband, Rev. Charles Galpin, led. Her prospect was bright, and, clearly foreseeing the ransomed throng she was soon to join, said she, "Oh! how vain, how transitory, does all earthly treasure appear at this hour-a mere bubble upon the water." About a half an hour before she left us, she said, "Hark! don't you hear that beautiful music? Oh! what music; I never heard anything like it! Don't you hear it?" "No, we do not hear it." Being in an ecstasy, she exclaimed, "Look at that heavenly choir. Don't you see them? Don't you hear that sweetest of all music?" "We do not see them nor hear them." "There-they have left." A few minutes before her happy spirit took its flight, she again looked up very earnestly. "There they are again. Oh, how sweet! how beautiful!" And taking leave of her husband and two children, sister and brother-in-law, and of all present, committing her dear ones to the keeping of the Lord Jesus, with the request that the two lines,

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in thee,"

be placed upon the marble slab to mark her resting place, she fell asleep in Jesus.

Such fatality never before, nor since, visited Raisin as is 1845. In those days of sorrow commingled with the rest of faith, that brought peace and joy even in affliction, my only reliance was the widow's God, for wisdom I so much needed in the double responsibilities now resting upon me.

After the death of my sweet babe, twenty-two months of age, and my restoration to health, I looked over amounts of indebtedness with dates when due. I made an estimate of costs of harvesting and marketing the twenty acres of wheat and other grains, and what must be retained for family use; and found I would be able to reach only about half the amount due the following Autumn. I called on all our creditors within reach to inform them of probabilities, unless I could find sale for a portion of the stock. But none of the creditors wanted any of it. Said one, to whom the largest amount was due, "You do not think of taking your husband's business and carrying it forward, do you?" I replied, "I thought of trying to do the best I could with it." With a look of surprise, he said firmly, "You are very much mistaken, Mrs. Haviland; you can not do any such thing; you had much better appoint some man in whom you have confidence to transact your business for you." I informed him I had seven minor children left me, and I found seven hundred dollars of indebtedness, and it would cost money to hire an agent Then, I ought to know just where I stand, to enable me to look closely to expenditures. "Well, you can try it, but you'll find your mistake before six months have passed, and you'll see you had better have taken my advice." I knew I was not accustomed to business of this sort. All the other creditors whom I had seen spoke very kindly. Although these words were not unkindly spoken, yet they were saddening to my already sad heart.

I was too timid to go to the probate judge with any sort of ease for instruction. In looking around me for some female friend to accompany me, I could find but very few who were not undergoing like trials with myself, consequently I must submit to these new experiences, as whatever was right for me to do was proper. I depended upon an all wise guiding Hand, who is ever ready to reach it forth to the trusting child. I wrote to one, a few miles distant, to whom was due eighty dollars the ensuing Fall, that forty dollars would be all I should be able to meet. He called in a few days, and introduced himself saying that he had received a statement from me that I could only pay him the coming Fall fifty per cent on the eighty-dollar note he held against my husband. Said he, in a hurried manner, "I called to let you know that I must have it all when it is due, as I have a payment to make on my farm at that time, and I have depended on that" I told him I would gladly pay him every penny of it the coming Fall, but it would be impossible, as there were other demands equally pressing. "Very well, that is all I have to say, madam; I can not accept any such arrangement; I shall put in a way to bring it. Good-by."

He left in haste for me to ponder all these things over, in doubts as to my ability to meet all these rough places of outside life. Perhaps I had better leave this business with some man to deal with men. But prayer to the widow's God and comforting promises were my companions. Here was my only refuge and shelter in these storms. As I retired with a burdened heart, that I was endeavoring to cast at the feet of my Savior, the widow's burden-bearer, I had a sweet dream of an angelic host, that filled my room with a halo of glory, settled on every face, and those nearest my bed appeared in the form of persons dressed in beautiful attire; others were sweet faces that looked upon me with smiles of peace. As one took my hand, a familiar feeling sprang up, that gave me confidence to ask for the name. "My name is Supporter." And looking at the one standing near, "And what is his name?" "That is a woman, and her name is Influencer-of-hearts." Pointing to another still more glorious in appearance, "And who is that one?" "That is Searcher-of-hearts." "Then you all bear the name of your missions to earth, do you?" "We do," replied Supporter. As I looked over this host that filled my room I burst into a flood of tears for joy. I exclaimed, "Oh! what missions are yours! so many wayward hearts to influence, so much of sin and wickedness that reigns in this world to search out." At this said Searcher of hearts, "Support her, for she needs it" "I do," and he reached for my other hand, and as both of my hands were held by Supporter, I realized a wave of strength to pass over me, filling my soul. I awoke in an ecstacy. Yea, I will cast my care on Jesus and not forget to pray. Calm and sweet was this confidence in being cared for, and supported by an almighty arm.

A few days after I saw the exacting man coming through my gate, which, for a moment, caused a dread; but the second thought was, all, all is with my Savior. I met him with the usual greeting, and said, "You have called to see about that claim you have against me." "Yes, I have called to inform you that I shall not want any thing from you next Fall, and perhaps shall not want more than half next year, as I have received one hundred dollars that I had supposed was lost, and as I was coming within two miles I thought I would call and let you know of my conclusion." While I thanked him for the favor, secret praise ascended to Him who melts away the mountain that seems impassable, making a way where there seemed no way.

This may seem a small matter, but for me at that time it was a reason for rejoicing at this unexpected turn of affairs. It was but one of many similar cases, and none can more fully realize the blessing of these reliefs than the widow of nearly two-score years, who never previous to widowhood knew the burden of outside work in providing for a large family, which was now added to continued care of the Raisin Institute. Many night plans, for day execution, were made. I soon found sale for forty acres of the one hundred and sixty, which relieved me of the most pressing demands.

At times responsibilities were so great, and burdens so crushing, that I was almost ready to falter. My greatest anxiety was to guide my dear children aright. The four older ones had resolved to follow the dear Redeemer, but the slippery paths of youth were theirs to walk in. The consideration of these multiform cares at one time seemed of crushing weight. I questioned whether the burden I had so often left at the foot of the cross I had not taken up again, and whether I had as fully consecrated self, with my dear children, to the Lord as he required. I was endeavoring fully to yield all into my Redeemer's hands for safe-keeping. This was my constant prayer, yet this heavy burden during a few days seemed unfitting me for the every-day duties devolving upon me. In family devotion I opened to the fifty-fourth chapter of Isaiah, where I found precious promises that I accepted for my own, and the heavy burden for my children was uplifted. Never did I experience greater liberty in prayer, or exercise a stronger faith. Surely the silver lining to this cloud appears. "All thy children shall be taught of the Lord" were precious words. I was afflicted and tossed with tempest, but a sweet promise followed. All the way through that chapter the Comforter appeared with rich promises. With these before me I could freely leave all my burden with the Lord. I saw by the eye of faith all my seven children made acquainted with their Creator in the days of their youth. Although I never ceased asking, yet there has seemed an accompanying assurance. When from ten to sixteen years of age, my seven children yielded by living experience to the Savior's loving invitation, "Come unto me," that hour and day was victorious through faith. That weight of burden never again returned! The entire yielding all into the care and keeping power of Him who doeth all things well, at that hour was complete. I could say, "He leadeth me," without a shadow of doubt.

As fugitive-slaves were still making their resting-place with us, I hired one of them, named George Taylor, a few months through hay-making and harvest. He had made his escape from a Southern master who was about to sell him farther south. Once before he had made an unsuccessful attempt at freedom, but was captured and placed in irons, until they made deep sores around his ankles. As he appeared very submissive, the sorest ankle was relieved. Being so badly crippled, he was thought safe. But supplying himself with asafetida, which he occasionally rubbed over the soles of his shoes, to elude the scent of bloodhounds, he again followed the north star, and finally reached our home. His ankles were still unhealed. He had succeeded in breaking the iron with a stone, during the first and second days of his hiding in the woods. He was an honest Christian man of the Baptist persuasion.

MARRIAGE OF TWO CHILDREN.

On June 6, 1846, my oldest son, Harvey S., was married to Huldah West, of Adrian, and my oldest daughter, Esther M., was at the same hour married to Almon Camburn, of Franklin, both of our own county. The mother's earnest prayer was, that these children might prove each other's burden-sharers, thereby doubling the joys, as well as dividing the sorrows, of life. My daughter's husband was one of our students, and in some of her studies a classmate.

We were fortunate in again securing brother Patchin to finish the academic year in our institution. Though the cloud looked dark that overhung our institution, by the sudden deaths of my husband, and sister Emily Galpin, which caused her bereaved husband to leave as soon as his place could be filled by a successor, we had the consciousness that our school was taking a deep hold on the minds of the community at large, as well as exercising a marked influence upon the young people who were enjoying its privileges. We found an increasing interest in abolition principles throughout our community. In this we praised God and took courage.

This chapter introduces the reader to representatives of a large proportion of slave-owners of the Southern States, who were perverted by a system well-named "the sum of all villainies."

Willis Hamilton, an emancipated slave, the hero of this narrative, who fled to Canada with his slave wife, Elsie, to seek for her the protection of the British lion from the merciless talons of the freedom-shrieking American eagle, was emancipated three years previous to the date of this chapter, together with nineteen others (the reputed goods and chattels of John Bayliss, a Baptist deacon, near Jonesborough, Tennessee). Slaveholder though he was, John Bayliss evidently thought his black people had souls as well as those of white skins, for he allowed his house servants to remain in the dining-room during evening family worship, thus giving them instruction which, as the sequel will show, made the slave the teacher of the master; for one morning, as "Aunt Lucy," an old and privileged servant, was passing through his room, she said:

"Massa John, I's bin thinkin' a heap o' dat ar what you read in the

Bible t' other night."

"Ah, what's that, Aunt Lucy?" said the deacon.

"It's to do oder folks as you'd want 'em to do to you, or somehow dat fashion. I tell you, Massa John, 't would be mighty hard for you white folks to work great many years and get noffin'. Den, if you dies, whar'd we go to? I specks we'd go down de riber, like Jones's poor people did las' week."

"Well, well, Aunt Lucy, that was too bad; but Jones was in debt, and I suppose they had to be sold."

"O yes, I s'pose so; but dat you read in de Bible sort o' sticks to me-I can't help it," said this faithful old mother in Israel, as she went out to her work.

In a moment or two Mrs. Bayliss entered the room, and the deacon said:

"Wife, what kind of a text do you think Aunt Lucy has just given me?"

"Text?"

"Yes, text."

"What's got into her head now?"

"She says she's been thinking about what I read in prayer-time the other evening, referring to the golden rule, and that it sort o' sticks to her. She spoke, of the excitement over Jones's black people who were sent down the river the other day; and I tell you, the way she applied her text, it 'sort o' sticks' to me."

"O hush!" indignantly exclaimed Mrs. Bayliss. "Aunt Lucy's mighty religious, and has so many notions of her own she's not worth minding, any how."

"But she asked me what would become of my black people if I should die, and if I thought they would ever be torn apart as Jones's were. I tell you, wife, I have witnessed such scenes too often to feel right in risking a contingency of that kind," said the deacon, gravely.

"Don't be a fool, now, John Baybss," angrily exclaimed his wife, "about

Aunt Lucy's fuss over Jones's niggers."

"Well," said the deacon, "I don't wonder at her feeling grieved; they belonged to her Church, and many of them were her relatives."

Here, for the time being, the conversation ended; but the soul of John Bayliss, awakened by the simple, straight-forward speech of his bond-woman, refused to be quieted, and he made this the subject of earnest prayer until the path of duty became so clear before him that he could not do otherwise than manumit his twenty slaves, although bitterly opposed by his wife (who refused to free the three held in her own right).

Elsie, the wife of Willis Hamilton, belonged to a neighboring planter. She was sold to a drover for the Southern market, and was being torn from her husband and two little daughters. Willis, in his agony, went from house to house, imploring some one to buy her, so that she might remain near her family. Finally one Dr. John P. Chester, who was about opening a hotel, agreed to purchase Elsie for $800, if Willis would pay $300 in work in the house, and fare the same as the other servants in board and clothing. With these conditions Willis gladly complied; but after they had spent a few months in their new home Deacon Bayliss examined their article of agreement and found it to be illegal. He told Willis that Dr. Chester could sell Elsie at any time, and he could establish no claim to her, even had he paid the $300, which, at the wages he was receiving, would take him nearly nine years to earn, with the interest, and advised him to leave Dr. Chester and work for wages, as he had done since his manumission. This advice was immediately acted upon, Willis being permitted to spend his nights with his wife. Every thing passed off pleasantly for a few weeks, until one of the house-servants told Elsie that she overheard Master John sell both her and Willis to a slave-trader, who would the following night convey them to the river with a drove ready for New Orleans. Frantic as the poor woman was with terror and grief at this information, she managed to perform her duties as usual until supper-time; and when all were seated at the table she slipped out unobserved, ran through a corn-field into the woods, sending word to Willis by a fellow-servant to meet her at a certain log. The moment Willis received the message he hastened to her with flying feet; and here the wretched husband and wife, but a few days before so full of plans for a pleasant future, held their council in tears.

Willis, in his sudden fright and excitement, could only exclaim: "What shall we do? Where shall we go?" Elsie, cooler and more composed, suggested going to Deacon Bayliss for advice. This Willis quickly did, and soon returned, it having been arranged that he should bring Elsie there and secrete her in the attic until the excitement of the hunt was over. After this they assumed the names of Bill and Jane, a brother and sister who answered to their own description of color and size on Willia's free papers-the whole list of the twenty slaves emancipated by Deacon Bayliss being recorded on each paper.

After five weeks hiding at the southern terminus of the "Underground Railroad," they took up their line of march for Canada. In a Quaker settlement in Indiana they found friends to whom they revealed their true relationship, and here they spent a year with a Quaker family named Shugart. But the slight protection afforded by the laws of Indiana did not tend to give them a feeling of security, and so they started again for the promised land with their infant daughter Louisa. On this journey they were assisted on their way, and made easy and comfortable compared with their hasty flight from Tennessee, from whence they walked with swollen and blistered feet, and every nerve strung to its utmost tension from the fear of pursuit by their Southern persecutors.

As times were hard in Canada, Elsie consented to come to Michigan with her husband if he could find a Quaker neighborhood. In their search they found our house, and my husband, Charles Haviland, Jr., after learning their condition, leased Willis twenty acres of ground, mostly openings, for ten years, for the improvements he would make thereon. Here they lived for three years, when one day Elsie saw a strange man peering through the fence.

Her first thought was "a Southerner," and snatching her two Little ones she ran for our house, only a few rods distant. The man pursued her, and she called for help to a neighbor in sight, at which the skulking sneak took himself off to the woods. This incident so thoroughly aroused their fears that they took another farm, a few miles distant, for three years; then a farm near Ypsilanti for a few years; from whence they removed to Monroe, where they induced a friend to write to Willis's old friend and master, Deacon Bayliss, making inquiries after their two daughters, who were left behind in slavery. They received a prompt reply, purporting to come from Bayliss, informing them that their daughters were still living where they left them. He would see them, he said, by the time he received their next letter, which he hoped would be soon, that he might be the happy bearer of glad news to the children from their father and mother. He professed great joy at hearing from them, wished them to write all the particulars about themselves, but cautioned them to write to no one but him, and all would be safe. He requested them to inform him in what town they were living, as he noticed their letter was dated in one town, mailed in another, and he was directed to address them in a third. Their friend, however, strictly cautioned them not to reveal their definite whereabouts, but to answer all other queries. Willis wrote that as his farm lease had expired there, he would have to seek another farm, and did not know where he would be, but to address a letter as before and it would be forwarded to him.

Their next move was to return to their first Michigan home on my premises, a few months after the death of my husband, taking up their abode in the little log-house built for them a few years before, and working my land on shares. Another letter was soon received from their friend Deacon Bayliss, as they supposed, and they urged me to reply; but I firmly refused to write to any one in the land of the slaveholder, lest the message should fall into the hands of enemies, and advised them to leave their daughters in the hands of the Lord, who would yet provide a way of deliverance for them as he had for their parents. In their great anxiety, however, to hear from their children, from whom they had been separated so many years, their plea was strong and persistent: but I remained immovable to all their entreaties, and told them of a slave family, who, after living twenty years in Indiana, had but recently been captured and returned to hopeless bondage. Upon this they yielded to me for the time being, but in a few weeks came again with pleadings made eloquent by suffering. As they had felt the vice-like grip of the peculiar system on their own hearts and lives, they realized too keenly the fate that might any time overtake their daughters. But I still resisted all their entreaties, and in a few days after they applied to J. F. Dolbeare, one of the trustees of Raisin Institute, who, thinking there was no danger, wrote all they desired, telling the supposed Deacon Bayliss all their past life in the free States and all their plans for the future. This they kept from me for a time, but Elsie's heart refused to be quieted, and she finally told me about it, first telling her husband she believed it their duty "For," she says, "I have thought more about it since Aunt Laura told me she dreamed of three poisonous green vipers which she poked so near the fire that their sacks were burned to a crisp and the poison all ran out, so that she thought them powerless for harm, but they still kept their threatening attitude; and who knows but these vipers may be slaveholders?" Willis said he had felt like telling me all the while, and both came to me with their story.

I much regretted this unwise step, but forbore all criticism, and told them we would hope for the best. A few days after a stranger appeared at our gate and inquired for a stray horse, which he said left him at Tecumseh. None having been seen he made similar inquiries at Hamilton's.

He also asked for a glass of water, and while receiving it, says to

Elsie: "Auntie, where does this road lead to, that crosses the river

east?" "To Palmyra," she replied, and frightened at being addressed as

"Auntie," in the Southern style, hastened into her house.

The second night after this, at eleven o'clock, a carriage drove up to a log-house on one of the cross roads, and three men appeared simultaneously, two at the front and one at the rear window, but quickly disappeared. They had evidently mistaken their place, as it was a white family up with a sick child. It was a dark night, and there was a dug way ten feet deep perpendicular, near the fence to which their team was hitched, which the valiant and mysterious trio did not discover, and when they re-entered their carriage and attempted to turn around they tumbled into it, horses, carriage, and all. This little incident so disarranged their plans that they were until daylight returning to Adrian (only six miles distant), with their broken trappings and bruised horses. They told the liveryman, Mr. Hurlburt, that their horses took fright and ran off a steep bank, and begged him to fix the damages as low as possible, as they were from home, belated, etc. Mr. Hurlburt assessed them thirty dollars; but he afterwards said, had he known their business he would have doubled it.

Three days after this fortunate mishap Willis Hamilton received a letter inclosing three dollars, purporting to be from John Bayliss, who had come up into Ohio on business, and was on his way to visit them when he was suddenly taken very Ill, and was pronounced by the physicians in a critical condition-in fact, they gave him but little encouragement for recovery, and he desired Willis to come and visit him, and bring his wife and children, as he might want him for two weeks. He closed by saying:

"Whether I get better or die, I am resigned, and can say the Lord's

will be done. I shall have every train watched until you come. God

bless you

"Respectfully yours, JOHN BAYLISS"

Of course I was given this letter to read, and I suggested the utmost caution in obeying this request, for, as the old rat in the fable said, there might be "concealed mischief in this heap of meal" I called for the other two letters, and found they were written by the same hand Willis says: "Oh! I know the old boss too well, he's true as steel; he won't have anything to do with trap business. Besides, I've got my free papers, and I'm not afraid to go, but I wont take my wife and children" I proposed that Mr. Dolbeare or some neighbor go with him That pleased him, but Mr. Dolbeare could not go. As my son Daniel and I were going to Adrian, I proposed to get either Mr. Backus or Mr. Peters, both strong anti-slavery friends in the city, to accompany him to Toledo. As we were about starting, Joseph Gibbons, a neighbor, came with the suggestion that Willis remain at home, and James Martin, who was about his color and size, go in his stead; as Gibbons agreed with me in believing there was a deep laid plot. To this all parties agreed, and Willis gave me the letter and the three dollars towards the fare of whoever should go with James, who was an intelligent young colored man in our institution. Everything being in readiness we now started for Adrian, where we arrived just in time to jump on board the train, and consequently had no leisure to seek out and make the proposed arrangements with our above mentioned friends, but sent word back to Willis that we would return the following morning.

Once fairly settled on our journey the responsibility so suddenly thrust upon me made me cry out in my heart for wisdom beyond my own, and I prayed for a guiding hand to direct our actions in case we should find ourselves in the camp of the enemy, face to face with traffickers in human souls and bodies, who considered no scheme too vile or desperate for them to undertake, the success of which would in any way subserve their own interests.

We arrived at Toledo at 7 P. M., and as we left the cars James was, addressed by a man with the question: "Is your name Willis Hamilton?" (and without waiting for a reply), "Is your wife with you?"

"No, sir," said James.

"Perhaps I am mistaken," said the questioner, who was the porter of the

Toledo hotel.

"Who do you wish to see?" said James.

"Willis Hamilton is the man I am sent for, by his old friend John Bayliss, who is at the Toledo hotel, so ill that he is not expected to live."

"Where is this Mr. Bayliss from?" said James.

"Tennessee, I believe."

"Very well, if there is such a man here I want to see him."

"Come with me, and I'll take you to his room," said the porter.

While this conversation was passing between the porter and James we were following in the rear, but apparently paying no attention to them. Our plan was for Daniel to keep James in sight if possible, and whatever he heard of the sick man to report to me in the parlor. We entered the hotel nearly together. I was shown into the parlor and James was taken up a flight of stairs from the bar-room. Daniel was following, when the porter told him the bar-room for gentlemen was below. He said, "I am taking this man to see a friend of his who is very sick, and no strangers are allowed to enter the room." Of course, my son could do nothing but return, so no further observations could be taken by us until the reappearance of James. For two long hours we neither saw nor heard anything of him, and becoming very anxious and restless I told Daniel to ask for James Martin, as he had business with him. Twice he made this request, but the porter only said, "Yes, yes, you shall see him in a minute," and dodged from room to room to keep out of sight.

Growing desperate, I finally told my son to tell the porter "if that young colored man is not forthcoming at once, a writ of habeas corpus will be served on him in fifteen minutes, as we must see him immediately. Also tell Mr. Woodward, the proprietor, that your mother is here with a message for Mr. John Bayliss, who we understand is very ill at this house." Mr. Woodward instantly summoned the porter, and we heard him say in an excited undertone: "There's trouble ahead unless that young black fellow comes down immediately; tell them to send him down at once." In a moment the porter, three gentlemen, and James made their appearance, evidently to the surprise of twenty half drunken Irishmen who had been chattering all the evening, but were now so still you could have heard a pin drop, to see Hamilton (as the sequel shows they supposed) brought down so publicly and without fetters. It afterwards transpired that Willis Hamilton, upon coming down stairs, was to have been put into a close carriage, sent away, and his family then sent for under the plea that he was detained with his sick friend, and this was the intelligent crowd who were to aid in the success of the plan.

I had seen a carriage stand fifteen or twenty minutes at the bar-room door and finally leave without a passenger, and Daniel saw the same carriage at the rear door equally long, which also left there empty. Upon coming down James Martin evidently took in the situation at a glance, for, giving my son a pinch, he said: "Mr. Haviland, let us go into the dining-room and call for supper." This was to give the drunken rabble time to leave so that he could relate his adventures with the Southerners after supper. But by this time the porter came to me to inquire if I wished to see Mr. Bayliss, the sick man. I replied in the affirmative, upon which he said: "He is very low; no stranger has been allowed to enter his room for three days, but his doctor is here. Would you like to see him?" "I would," I replied. A tall gentleman now entered the room and addressed me: "Madam, are you the lady who wished to see me?" "I am, if you are the physician who has charge of John Bayliss of Tennessee, who we learn is very ill, by a letter which Willis Hamilton received yesterday."

"I am Dr. Taylor of this city, and have the case of Mr. Bayliss in my care. His son-in-law is here taking care of him, and they are all greatly disappointed at not seeing Hamilton this evening, as Mr. Bayliss has sent for him and his family, and they can not imagine why he does not come."

"Well, I can tell you why. We feared a trap, as Willis's wife was formerly a slave."

"I don't see," said the doctor, "how you could suspect any thing wrong in that letter, as I understand they have written them before, and you should have compared the letters to see if they were written by the same person."

"We did so, and found they were written by the same person. But there are other points to consider: 1st, John Bayliss stands somewhat in the relation of a slaveholder, as in a former letter he spoke of three aged slaves living with him, and wished Hamilton and wife to stay with him two weeks if he lived, which was doubtful, and wished them to be sure and bring their children, though we all know that four little noisy children are not agreeable companions in a sick-room."

Here my learned doctor gave his head a vigorous scratch, and said: "Well, madam, Mr. Bayliss is probably childish from age, and his severe illness makes him more so. A nervous temperament like his, affected by disease, often enfeebles the mind, as body and mind are in close relationship philosophically. Now, he is just childish enough to want to see those children playing around his room, and he says he would make them handsome presents; and as money seems to be plenty with him and apparently no object, I judge they would be well paid for coming."

I did not appear to question this view of the case, but inquired how long Deacon Bayliss had been ill.

"About seven days, madam," replied the doctor.

"What seems to be the nature of the disease?"

"It was at first a violent attack of bilious fever, but for the last three days it has assumed a fearful form of typhus."

I told him that Hamilton and his wife were both very anxious about their old friend, and wished me to see him personally, and give him their reasons for not coming.

"I should be glad," said the doctor, "to allow you to see him, were it not for his extreme nervousness, but I dare not risk it. It seems hard to think the dying request of this poor old man can not be granted. He seems to consider this family almost next to his own."

"Yes," I said, "it is also hard and humiliating to humane and patriotic Americans that a system of human bondage exists in this country which causes these horrible fears and suspicions to loom up like specters before the mental vision of this persecuted and down-trodden race."

"That is very true," said Dr. Taylor; "slavery is the darkest spot on our national escutcheon. But in this case there is no cause for suspicion; for I am sure there is no plot with regard to the Hamilton family, and I call God to witness that every word I tell you is truth. As to the three slaves you spoke of, he told me during the first of his sickness that he emancipated all his slaves, twenty in number, but that his wife had three in her right, which she refused to free, and these have always remained in the family. He manumitted his slaves from purely conscientious scruples; and I believe that if there is a Christian that walks God's earth he is one, for he has manifested such patience and resignation during his severe illness that he has entirely won my affections. Now, don't you think you can induce Hamilton to bring his family here? I do not believe he will live three days."

"I will be honest with you," I replied. "Although you have talked like a candid man, I do not believe I could transfer sufficient confidence to the family to induce them to come unless I should see him, as they charged me over and again."

At this my tender-hearted Aesculapius sighed deeply, and said: "I am sorry that they or their friends should entertain any distrust, as I fear he may not be conscious two days longer. A council of physicians was called this afternoon, and three out of the four gave it as their opinion that he could not survive, at the longest, beyond three days; and I believe him liable to drop away within twenty-four hours, although it is barely possible he may live a week."

"Well," I replied, "one cause of suspicion, both with my neighbors and myself was that, although the letters from John Bayliss were all written by the same hand, the last one was equally well written as the others, although he was represented as so very low, with little hope of recovery."

Here my ready-tongued doctor very thoughtfully placed his hand to his forehead, but in a moment replied: "I will tell you how that was. His fever was off at the time, which enabled him to carry a steady hand."

"Well, of course," I replied, "we do not know that any plan exists to remand these people back to slavery, but we only judged of the possibilities. And for my part I do not believe in regarding the wicked enactments of men which contravene the laws of eternal right given by God, who made of one blood all nations who dwell upon the face of the earth, and of Christ, who left the realms of glory to bring blessings to mankind, and a part of whose mission was to unloose the heavy burdens and let the oppressed go free. And in view of the golden rule given by the great Lawgiver, I would not for my right hand become instrumental in returning one escaped slave to bondage. I firmly, believe in our Declaration of Independence, that all men are created free and equal, and that no human being has a right to make merchandise of others born in humbler stations, and place them on a level with horses, cattle, and sheep, knocking them off the auction-block to the highest bidder, sundering family ties, and outraging the purest and tenderest feelings of human nature."

"That is all right," said the doctor, "and I understand your feelings. Slavery is the greatest curse upon our otherwise happy country. But in this case there need be no fear of any conspiracy to injure your colored friends; and I did hope, for the sake of Mr. Bayliss, they would come and visit him, and gratify his dying request."

He then gave me some of the alarming symptoms of his patient, enlarged on the sympathy he felt for him, and finally proposed to go up and consult with his son-in law on the propriety of allowing me to see him in his present exceedingly nervous state. He said if he was not spoken to perhaps I might be allowed to look at him, as he was kept under the influence of opiates, and was to-night in a heavy stupor, and not disposed to talk to any one.

"Would such an arrangement be any satisfaction to you?"

I replied that, while it was immaterial to me, it would probably satisfy the Hamilton family; and, after a few minutes' consultation in the sick-room, he returned with the conclusion that I might enter the room, but that no loud word must be spoken, nor the sound of a footfall permitted.

"But you can not see his face, as it is covered with cloths wet in vinegar to draw the fever out, and he is now in a doze, and I do not wish to disturb him."

He then described the terrible paroxysms, bordering on spasms, suffered by his patient, in which it took four men to hold him, and was eulogizing his wonderful fortitude and Christian patience, when the son-in-law suddenly came rushing into the room in his shirt-sleeves and stocking-feet, and exclaimed:

"Doctor, doctor, do come quick; father's got another spasm, and I don't know what to do."

"Yes, yes," said the doctor, "I'll come; don't leave your father a moment;" and jumped up, apparently in great excitement. But at the door he halted to tell me that these spasms indicated mortification, when the son-in-law again opened the door with a bang and the exclamation:

"Doctor, why don't you hurry? Father is vomiting again, and I'm afraid he is dying."

At this they both rushed frantically up-stairs. In about fifteen minutes the doctor returned, saying he had given his patient a double dose of an opiate, and would let him rest awhile. He then launched out into a description of his treatment of Mr. Bayliss; how he had blistered him, and performed a surgical operation on him which had given him great pain; said he was attending him to the neglect of his other patients, and after exhausting a large amount of eloquence on the subject returned to the sick chamber. In a few moments he came back with the information that I could now be admitted, and conducted me to the room.

As soon as we stepped within the door the doctor halted, but I stepped to the center of the room, as if I had forgotten that I was only just to enter, and gazed at the bed and then at the lounge opposite. The doctor stepped to my side and said, "That is he on the bed yonder." I stood a moment and took a mental inventory of the sick man, who appeared full six feet tall and very slender, not at all answering to the description of the short, heavily built John Bayliss, of two hundred pounds avoirdupois. Of course, a fit of sickness might reduce a man's flesh, but it did not appear to me as especially likely to increase his height. As his face was covered with wet cloths I could not see the round physiognomy of John Bayliss, but passing my hand over the face I found it long and thin featured. I whispered to the doctor that I would like to notice his pulse. He said I could do so on the jugular vein. I did so, and found the skin of this fever-stricken man to be the natural temperature, but I whispered to the doctor that I was not so accustomed to noticing the pulse in that locality as at the wrist. After some resistance by the sick man, who finally yielded with a long undertone groan, I found his wrist, and the full, strong, regular pulse of a well man. There was now no doubt in my mind that I was alone at this midnight hour, far from home, in a room with three slaveholders.

As I stepped from the bed the doctor asked me if I was satisfied. The thought flashed through my mind that I had always contended that deception was lying, and that no circumstances could justify it But other thoughts also came, and I replied that I was satisfied.

At this the son-in-law, who had apparently been sleeping on the lounge, roused himself and commenced rubbing his eyes, and looking at the doctor, said, "Oh, doctor, do you think father is any better?"

"I can not conscientiously give you any hope," replied the doctor.

"Oh, dear!" he exclaimed, "what shall I do? I am almost sick myself, taking care of him day and night. If I had only known that they were near Tecumseh, where I lost my horse, I would have seen them; but I hoped to have found him better when I returned, instead of which he was much worse."

At this I stepped towards him, and said: "If you are the gentleman who was inquiring for a horse in our neighborhood a few days ago, you called at Hamilton's house and asked for a drink of water."

"What, that place where a black woman brought me a glass of water?"

"Yes; that was Hamilton's wife."

"Is it possible! that little log house where there was a pile of pumpkins in the yard?"

"Yes," I said.

"Oh! if I had only known it," he exclaimed, "we would have had them here to help us. What trouble we have had. I reckon father will die, and I shall have to go home alone. God knows we have had a bad trip of it."

The careful doctor now began to fear we would disturb the patient, and we were about leaving the room when he suddenly exclaimed, "I want you to see what black bilious matter Mr. Bayliss vomited a while ago;" and, stepping back, he brought me a white bowl two-thirds full of what might have been the contents of a coffee-pot, with a bottle of black ink thrown in, and a few spittles floating on top. This, he told me, indicated mortification. We now passed into the parlor, where we could talk without disturbing the patient. "Now, madam, as you are fully satisfied with regard to Mr. Bayliss's illness, can't you do something to get the Hamiltons here?"

"I am willing," I replied, "to do all in my power, but see no better way than to inform them of the state of affairs upon my return, and the train will leave for Adrian at eight o'clock to-morrow morning." The doctor went up stairs to see what word they wished to send, and soon returned with the request that I should write to Hamilton to come immediately, and the porter would go with the letter for ten dollars, and his father would send another ten dollars to Willis. I still insisted that my original plan was the best, as the road through the cottonwood swamp was almost impassable.

The son-in-law now entered, and after walking across the floor a few times, with sighs and groans and bemoaning his dire calamities, said his father wished the letter written.

He returned to his father and the doctor went for writing material.

They closed the door behind them for a consultation, I supposed.

The reader will remember that during all this time I knew nothing of the experience of James Martin with this afflicted trio, but had been compelled to grope my way blindly. As the doctor and son-in-law went out my son came in. He had overheard something about the writing, and said, excitedly: "Don't write, mother; there is no sick man here. That tall man is Elsie's master, and they threatened James's life when they had him up stairs."

"Daniel, I know there is no sick man here," I said; "but they do not think I dream of any plot. It is now midnight, and it is not wise to let them know that we distrust them. Sit down and let us talk naturally."

The doctor now returned with writing material, and I sat down to write while he conversed with my son on the weather and kindred topics. Now my intention in writing to Hamilton was to serve these slaveholders by defeating them. I knew, too, that disguising my hand-writing was not enough to reveal to the Hamilton's that the letter was a sham, and whatever I wrote would be subjected to the perusal of my employers before it was sent. At this hour, too, a messenger could not probably be secured, even for twenty dollars. But as I seated myself at the table and took my pen in the manner in which I could appear to serve the slaveholders, but in reality defeat them, it came to me like a flash, and I cheerfully wrote all they dictated, not omitting the fact (?) that a council of physicians had decided that John Bayliss could not live to exceed three days; and after handing it to the doctor and son-in-law to read, I requested permission to add a few lines on my own responsibility, which was readily granted, as I explained to them that Elsie would not be prepared with regard to clothing, either for herself or children, to be away so long, and I could easily loan her sufficient garments.

This, of course, was as happy a thought for them as for myself, and was so received. "Indeed, madam," said the son-in-law, "that will be very kind in you. They can get ready so much quicker." So I added to my letter to Willis as follows: "Tell Elsie to take for herself the black alpaca dress in the south bed-room, and the two pink gingham aprons and striped flannel dresses in the bureau in the west room for the little girls. To come to Adrian, take the double team and farm wagon." I signed my name and handed the letter to the delighted stranger. He then gave my son a lighted sperm candle to light us over to the Indiana House, at that time the best hotel in Toledo, and kept by Salter Cleveland and wife, anti-slavery friends of ours. This light, however, served them to follow us, as well as guide us to our haven of safety.

After settling ourselves with our friends to tell our adventures I had a chance to hear James Martin's story. After the failure of my son to follow James and the porter up stairs, James was of course entirely in the hands of the enemy. At the head of the stairs they were met by an elderly gentleman with a lamp, who offered to conduct James to the sick room, and he was told to enter the first right hand door. On opening the door he found no one inside. "Oh," said his guide, "they have moved him to the next room, as was suggested by the council of physicians this afternoon; we will find him there; and opening the door the stranger assumed an attitude of command and told him to go in." James, however, replied: "I shall not go in, sir; you can see as well as I that the room is empty." The stranger gave a surprised look at the interior of the room and said: "Oh, I guess they moved him to the farther room, as some one suggested, after all. As there is no other room he can be in, you will certainly find him there."

By this time, of course, James began thoroughly to distrust his conductor, and hesitated about going farther; but desiring to make all the discoveries possible, and thinking if violence was attempted he could run down stairs to us, he passed on to the third door, and throwing it wide open found this room also empty.

He was about turning back when two other men suddenly appeared through a door at the left, and the three surrounded him, one leveling a revolver at his head, another at his breast, and the third pointing a dirk at his side, all indulging in an indiscriminate volley of oaths and threats. Said his grey-haired guide (who afterwards proved to be John P. Chester, Elsie's master, the same who had enacted to me the role of the sympathetic physician), "If you stir or speak one word we'll kill you. Go into that room, or you're a dead mail." In this position they entered the room and locked the door. "Now, Hamilton, we've got you, damn you."

"My name is not Hamilton, but James Martin," was James' reply.

"Damn you," rejoined Chester, "I know you; you were once a slave in

Tennessee."

"No, sir, I never was a slave, nor was I ever in a slave state. I was born and brought up in the State of New York."

"Then you're a d--d spy, and I've a great mind to shoot you this minute," said Chester.

"If you call me a spy because I came here to see Mr. John Bayliss for Mr. Hamilton, then you can do so, for this is why I am here, and I came here with no intention of harm to any one, I am entirely unarmed, I have not so much as a penknife with which to defend myself, but I tell you, gentlemen, I have friends here in this house."

At this they dropped their weapons as by an electric shock, and Chester exclaimed, "You shan't be hurt! you shan't be hurt!" Then turning to his son: "Tom, put up your pistol."

"But," says Tom, "I propose to search him and see whether he's clear of arms."

"No! you shan't do it. I reckon it's as he says."

James, seeing that they were thoroughly intimidated, now felt at his ease. The Southerners, of course, did not know but a posse of armed men awaited their actions instead of one little woman and a lad of seventeen. Chester now addressed James in a subdued tone and manner, asking him to sit down, "and I'll tell you all about it Mr. John Bayliss is here and he is very sick; he is not expected to live. But I am Elsie's master; my name is John P. Chester, and I bought her out of pure benevolence to save her from going down the river with a drove. Willis was going from house to house begging for some one to buy his wife, crying and taking on like he was nearly crazy, and I felt sorry for him, and told him if he would help me buy her by paying three hundred dollars in work for me, I could do it, and he entered into a written agreement with me that I was to feed and clothe him the same as my other servants, and give him a good price for his work; but before he had been with me a year he took my property and ran away with it, and now I want to get it back."

"Why don't you go and get it then?" said James.

"Oh, there's such a set of d--d abolitionists there I can't do it," said Chester. "Hamilton wrote to me that he had put in ten acres of wheat this fall on shares on a widow lady's farm, and that he had a yoke of oxen, two cows, pigs and chickens."

"Yes," said James, "that is all true."

"Well," said Chester, "you can have all he has there, besides any amount of money you please to name, if you will assist me in getting him and his family here. Will you do it?"

James replied, very carelessly, "Well, I don't know but I will for enough."

"You see," said Chester, "if I can get them here, I can get help from one place to another in Ohio, and when I strike Kentucky I'd be all right." In laying plans and making arrangements they consumed two hours' time, and, as the reader will remember, I became nervous and sent for James, after which I had my experience with the doctor and the sick man.

After finding ourselves quietly seated with our friends in their private parlor, before we had fairly finished relating our adventures, the night watch came in with the report that three men were pacing around the house at about equal distances, whom he suspected to be burglars. Orders were given to keep the outside rooms lighted, and if any attempt was made to enter to ring the alarm bell and assistance would be forthcoming. Morning light, however, revealed to the watchmen that their suspected burglars were the three Southerners, who had stopped at the Indiana House a few days, but not finding co-operation probable in their slave-hunting business, had changed their quarters to the Toledo Hotel. I recognized my doctor and the son-in-law; and the other, a tall, slender young man, of twenty-two, was my sick and suffering deacon, who an hour previous had been so near death's door. Their object, of course, in guarding the house, was to see that we sent no messenger to defeat the letter I bad so kindly written for them. But on this matter I gave myself no concern, as Elsie was as well acquainted with my wardrobe as I was, and would know at once that it contained no such articles as I mentioned; also, that the house had no south bedroom, and no bureau in the west room, neither was there a double team nor a farm wagon on the place. Consequently I had no fears that the letter was not faithfully fulfilling its mission.

A few minutes before we left the hotel for the 8 o'clock train to return home a colored man came to James, evidently quite excited, and said: "We have just heard there is a colored man here having trouble with slave-holders; if this is true, there are enough of us here to do whatever is necessary." James did not reply, but looked inquiringly at me. I replied, "There is trouble," and taking him into a back room, gave him a brief sketch of James's experience. I told him I did not think it probable that violence would be offered in daylight, but as Mr. Cleveland and son were both ill, we would like to know who our friends were at the depot. He assured me we should have all the aid we needed. "While at the depot," said he, "we shall watch both you and the slave-holders, and whatever you desire us to do, madam, say the word, and it shall be done." I thanked him, but did not think there would be any difficulty.

The three Southerners were at the depot as soon as we were. In the ticket office James gave up going, as he thought they intended going with us. But this I did not care for, and told James he must go now, as there was no other train until night, and there was no telling what they might do under cover of darkness. When we got to the cars the doctor and son-in-law jumped aboard, but the sick man was determined to take his seat with me, and followed my son and myself from coach to coach, and whenever we showed any signs of seating ourselves prepared to seat himself opposite. I looked at his snakish eyes, and concluded to leave my sick deacon to see James, who still lingered in the ticket office.

I again urged him to go with me, as I should take another coach when I returned and get rid of the Southerners. When I returned I ran past the coach I had left, and Daniel beckoned to me, saying, "Here, mother, this is the car we took." "Yes," I said, "but I see a lady ahead that I wish, to sit with." At this the sick man jumped up and exclaimed, "I'll be d--d if I don't take that seat then." But Daniel pressed his way past him, and noticed his heavily-laden overcoat pocket. By the time my son reached me there was no room near us for the sick deacon, so he returned to his first seat.

During all this time about a dozen men, black and white, were watching us closely. I beckoned the one who called on us at the hotel to come to our apartments, and told him to tell James to come immediately to my door. He came, and I opened the door and told him to enter, as the train was about moving. When he was inside he says: "I am afraid we will have trouble." Just then the conductor passed, and I said to him: "I suppose we will be perfectly safe here, should we have trouble on our way to Adrian." "Most certainly," he said (raising his voice to the highest pitch). "I vouch for the perfect safety and protection of every individual on board this train."

Near Sylvania, a small town ten miles from Toledo, the train halted to sand the track, and our chivalrous friends got off. Chester and his son Thomas, the sick deacon, stationed themselves about three feet from us; and Chester, pointing to James, said in a low, grim voice: "We'll see you alone some time;" and, turning to my son, "You, too, young man." Then directing his volley of wrath to me, he roared out: "But that lady there-you nigger stealer-you that's got my property and the avails of it-I'll show you, you nigger thief;" and drawing a revolver from his pocket, his son doing the same, they pointed them towards my face, Chester again bawling out, "You see these tools, do you? We have more of 'em here" (holding up a traveling bag), "and we know haw to use them. We shall stay about here three weeks, and we will have that property you have in your possession yet, you d--d nigger stealer. We understand ourselves. We know what we are about."

"Man, I fear neither your weapons nor your threats; they are powerless. You are not at home-you are not in Tennessee. And as for your property, I have none of it about me or on my premises. We also know what we are about; we also understand, not only ourselves, but you."

Pale and trembling with rage they still shook their pistols in my face, and Chester, in a choked voice, exclaimed: "I'll-I'll-I won't say much more to you-you're a woman-but that young man of yours; I'll give five hundred dollars if he'll go to Kentucky with me."

Just then the conductor appeared and cried out: "What are you doing here, you villainous scoundrels? We'll have you arrested in five minutes." At this they fled precipitately to the woods, and the last we saw of these tall and valiant representatives of the land of chivalry were their heels feat receding in the thicket.

Of course, this brave exhibition of rhetoric and valor called out innumerable questions from the passengers; and from there on to Adrian, though already terribly fatigued, we had to be continually framing replies and making explanations.

Among the people of Sylvania the news spread like wildfire, and it was reported that over forty men were at the depot with hand-spikes and iron bars, ready to tear up the track in case the Hamilton family had been found on the train bound for Toledo.

When we arrived at Adrian my oldest son, Harvey, and Willis were there to meet us; and when we told Willis that Elsie's old master and his son had but an hour previously pointed pistols at our heads and threatened our lives, he could hardly speak from astonishment. Harvey said my letter arrived before sunrise, but that no one believed I had any thing to do with it. However, as the porter swore he saw me write it, Professor Patchin and J. F. Dolbeare were sent for; but they also distrusted its validity and the truthfulness of the bearer.

Elsie had no faith in it at all. "If," said she, "the old man is so very sick, as he hasn't seen us for years, they could bring him any black man and woman, and call them Willis and Elsie, and he'd never know the difference; and as for that letter, Mrs. Haviland never saw it. I believe the slave-holders wrote it themselves. They thought, as she was a widow, she'd have a black dress, and you know she hasn't got one in the house. And where's the pink aprons and green striped dresses? And there's no south bed-room in this house. It's all humbug; and I sha'n't stir a step until I see Mrs. Haviland."

Said another: "These things look queer. There's no bureau in the west room."

The porter, seeing he could not get the family, offered Willis ten dollars if he would go to Palmyra with him, but he refused. He then offered it to my son Harvey if he would take Wills to Palmyra.

"No, sir; I shall take him nowhere but to Adrian, to meet mother," was

Harvey's reply.

After their arrival in Adrian the porter again offered the ten dollars, and Lawyer Perkins and others advised Harvey to take it and give it to Willis, as they would protect him from all harm. But when I came I told him not to touch it; and the porter, drawing near, heard my explanation of the letter, and the threatening remarks of the people, who declared that if slave-holders should attempt to take the Hamilton family or any other escaped slave from our city or county they would see trouble. He soon gave us the benefit of his absence, and we went home with thankful hearts that public sentiment had made a law too strong to allow avaricious and unprincipled men to cast our persecuted neighbors back into the seething cauldron of American slavery.

All that day our house was thronged with visitors, eager to hear the story which was agitating the whole community, but about midnight I told my friends that rest was a necessity, for never in my life was I so thoroughly exhausted from talking; but, as the next day wan-the Sabbath, I would in the evening meet all who chose to come in the Valley School-house (at that day the largest in the county) and tell them the whole story, and save repeating it so many times.

When the evening came we met a larger crowd than could find standing-room in the school-house, and report said there was a spy for the slave-holders under a window outside.

I related the whole story, omitting nothing, and was followed by Elijah Brownell, one of our ablest anti-slavery lecturers, with a few spirited remarks. He suggested that a collection should be taken up to defray our expenses to Toledo and return, and fourteen dollars was soon placed in my hands.

From a friend of our letter-carrier, the porter of the Toledo Hotel, we learned that the plans of the slave-holders accorded with those given James Martin in the sick-room. After getting the Hamilton family in their clutches they intended to gag and bind-them, and, traveling nights, convey them from one point to another until they reached Kentucky. This was precisely on the plan of our underground railroad, but happily for the cause of freedom, in this case at least, not as successful.

The citizens of Adrian appointed a meeting at the court-house, and sent for me to again tell the story of the slaveholder who had so deeply laid his plans to capture, not only his fugitive slave Elsie and her four children, but also her husband, who was a free man. Other meetings were called to take measures for securing the safety of the hunted family from the iron grasp of the oppressor, whose arm is ever strong and powerful in the cause of evil; and so great was public excitement that the chivalrous sons of the South found our Northern climate too warm for their constitutions, and betook themselves to the milder climate of Tennessee with as great speed as their hunted slave, with her husband, hastened away from there fifteen years before.

It may be asked how the Chesters discovered that Hamilton and his wife were in Michigan. We learned afterward that John P. Chester was the postmaster at Jonesborough, and receiving a letter at his office directed to John Bayliss, he suspected it to be from friends of his former slaves, and opened it. His suspicions being confirmed, he detained the letter, and both corresponded and came North in the assumed character of Bayliss. His schemes miscarried, as we have above narrated, and Bayliss probably never knew of the desperate game played in his name.

About two weeks after the departure of this noble trio I received a threatening letter from John P. Chester, to which I replied; and this was followed by a correspondence with his son, Thomas K. Chester (the sick deacon). From these letters we shall give a few extracts.

In a letter received under the date of December 3; 1846, John P. Chester writes: "I presume you do not want something for nothing; and inasmuch as you have my property in your possession, and are so great a philanthropist, you Hill feel bound to remunerate me for that property.... If there is any law of the land to compel you to pay for them I intend to have it."

In my reply, December 20, 1846, I wrote:

"First, convince me that you have property in my possession, and you shall have the utmost farthing. But if Willis Hamilton and family are property in my possession, then are Rev. John Patchin and wife, principals of Raisin Institute, and other neighbors, property in my possession, as I have dealing with each family, precisely in the same manner that I have with Willis Hamilton and family, and I do as truly recognize property in my other neighbors as in the Hamilton family. Prove my position fallacious, and not predicated on principles of eternal right, and they may be blown to the four winds of heaven. If carnal weapons can be brought to bear upon the spiritual you shall have the liberty to do it with the six-shooters you flourished toward my face in Sylvania, Ohio....

"As for my being compelled to pay you for this alleged property, to this I have but little to say, as it is the least of all my troubles in this lower world. I will say, However, I stand ready to meet whatever you may think proper to do in the case. Should you think best to make us another call, I could not vouch for your safety. The circumstances connected with this case have been such that great excitement has prevailed. A. number of my neighbors have kept arms since our return from Toledo. I can say with the Psalmist, 'I am for peace, but they are for war.'

"At a public meeting called the next evening after our return from the Toledo trip, fourteen dollars was placed in my hands as a remuneration for the assistance I rendered in examining your very sick patient. I found the disease truly alarming, far beyond the reach of human aid, much deeper than bilious fever, although it might have assumed a typhoid grade. The blister that you were immediately to apply on the back of the patient could not extract that dark, deep plague-spot of slavery, too apparent to be misunderstood."

I received a long list of epithets in a letter, bearing date, Jonesboro, Tennessee, February 7, 1847, from Thomas K. Chester, the sick deacon:

"I have thought it my duty to answer your pack of balderdash, ... that you presumed to reply to my father, as I was with him on his tour to Michigan, and a participant in all his transactions, even to the acting the sick man's part in Toledo ..., True it is, by your cunning villainies you have deprived us of our just rights, of our own property.... Thanks be to an all wise and provident God that, my father has more of that sable kind of busy fellows, greasy, slick, and fat; and they are not cheated to death out of their hard earnings by villainous and infernal abolitionists, whose philanthropy is interest, and whose only desire is to swindle the slave-holder out of his own property, and convert its labor to their own infernal aggrandizement.

"It is exceedingly unpleasant for me to indulge in abuse, particularly to a woman, and I would not now do it, did I not feel a perfect consciousness of right and duty.... Who do you think would parley with a thief, a robber of man's just rights, recognized by the glorious Constitution of our Union! Such a condescension would damn an honest man, would put modesty to the blush. What! to engage in a contest with you? a rogue, a damnable thief, a negro thief, an outbreaker, a criminal in the sight of all honest men; ... the mother, too, of a pusillanimous son, who permitted me to curse and damn you in Sylvania! I would rather be caught with another man's sheep on my back than to engage in such a subject, and with such an individual as old Laura Haviland, a damned nigger-stealer....

"You can tell Elsie that since our return my father bought her eldest daughter; that she is now his property, and the mother of a likely boy, that I call Daniel Haviland after your pretty son. She has plenty to eat, and has shoes in the Winter, an article Willis's children had not when I was there, although it was cold enough to freeze the horns off the cows.... What do you think your portion will be at the great day of judgment? I think it will be the inner temple of hell."

In my reply, dated Raisin, March 16, 1847, I informed the sick deacon that my letter to his father "had served as a moral emetic, by the mass of black, bilious, and putrid matter it bad sent forth. You must have been exercised with as great distress, as extreme pain, that was producing paroxysms and vomiting, that you had in your sick-room in the Toledo hotel, when your physician was so hastily called to your relief by your son-in-law, as the matter that lies before me in letter form is as 'black', and much more 'bilious,' and nearer 'mortification' than that I saw there."

"We thank you for the name's sake. May he possess the wisdom of a

Daniel of old, although his lot be cast in the lions' den; and, like

Moses, may he become instrumental in leading his people away from a

worse bondage than that of Egypt.

"According to your logic, we are not only robbing the slaveholder, but the poor slave of his valuable home, where he can enjoy the elevating and soul-ennobling privilege of looking 'greasy, slick, and fat'-can have the privilege of being forbidden the laborious task of cultivating his intellect-is forbidden to claim his wife and children as his own instead of the property of John P. Chester."

I pitied the young man, whose bitterness of hate seemed incorrigible, and gave advice which I deemed wholesome, although I yielded to the temptation of dealing somewhat in irony and sarcasm.

But the next letter from the sick deacon was filled and running over with vulgar blackguardism, that I would neither answer nor give to the public eye. It was directed to "Laura S. Haviland, Esq., or Dan." As it arrived in my absence, my son Daniel handed it to Rev. John Patchin, who became so indignant in reading the list of epithets that he proposed to reply.

The first sentence of his letter was:

"Sir,-As John Quincy Adams and Henry Clay were seated in Congress, they saw passing on the street a drove of jackasses. Said Henry Clay, 'There, Sir, Adams, is a company of your constituents as they come from the North.' 'All right; they are going South to teach yours,' was the quick reply. And I think one of those long-eared animals has strayed down your way, and your ma might have sent you to his school-I think, however, but a few weeks, or your epistolary correspondence with Mrs. Haviland would have been vastly improved."

From the report my son gave me of the short epistle, it was filled with sentenced couched in the same spirit throughout; "for," said he, "that rabid fire-eater has been treated in a manner too mild. He needs something more nearly like his own coin."

I shortly after received a few lines from Thomas K. Chester, informing me that he had my last letter struck off in hand-bills, and circulated in a number of the Southern States, "over its true signature, Laura S. Haviland, as you dictated and your daughter wrote it; for, as strange as it may appear, I have the handwriting of every one of your family, and also of Willis Hamilton. I distribute these hand-bills for the purpose of letting the South see what sort of sisters they have in the North." We learned from a number of sources that to this circular or hand-bill was attached a reward of $3,000 for my head.

As for the letter that Chester had richly earned, neither my daughter nor myself had the privilege of perusing it, as it was mailed before my return home. But I presume the indignant writer designed to close the unpleasant correspondence.

SECOND EFFORT TO RETAKE THE HAMILTON FAMILY.

After the passage of the famous Fugitive-slave Bill of 1850, turning the whole population of the North into slave-hunters, Thomas K. Chester, with renewed assurance, came to Lawyer Beacher's office, in Adrian, and solicited his services in capturing the Hamiltons, as he was now prepared to take legal steps in recovering his property. Said he:

"I ask no favors of Adrian or Raisin, as I have my posse of thirty men within a stone's throw of this city. All I ask is legal authority from you, Mr. Beacher, and I can easily get them in my possession."

"I can not aid you," said Mr. Beacher; "it would ruin my practice as a lawyer."

"I will give you $100, besides your fee," rejoined Chester.

"You have not enough money in your State of Tennessee to induce me to assist you in any way whatever."

"Will you direct me to a lawyer who will aid me?"

"I can not; I know of none in our State who could be hired to assist you. And I advise you to return to your home; for you will lose a hundred dollars where you will gain one, if you pursue it."

At this advice he became enraged, and swore he would have them this time, at any cost. "And if old Laura Haviland interferes I'll put her in prison. I acknowledge she outwitted us before; but let her dare prevent my taking them this time, and I'll be avenged on her before I leave this State."

"All the advice I have to give you is to abandon this scheme, for you will find no jail in this State that will hold that woman. And I request you not to enter my office again on this business, for if it were known to the public it would injure my practice; and I shall not recognize you on the street."

In a lower tone Chester continued, "I request you, Mr. Beacher, as a gentleman, to keep my name and business a secret." With a few imprecations he left the office.

My friend R. Beacher sent a dispatch to me at once by Sheriff Spafford, to secure the safety of the Hamilton family at once, if still on my premises, as my Tennessee correspondents were probably in or near Adrian. I informed him they were safe in Canada within six months after the visit from the Chesters. Mr. Beacher also advised me to make my property safe without delay, but this had been done two years previously. On receiving this information my friend Beacher replied, "Had I known this I would have sent for her, for I'd give ten dollars to see them meet." Mr. Chester heard that the Hamilton family had gone to Canada, but he did not believe it, as he also heard they had gone to Ypsilanti, in this State, where he said he should follow them.

We learned in the sequel that he went to Ypsilanti, and took rooms and board in a hotel, while calling on every colored family in town and for two or three miles around it, sometimes as a drover, at other times an agent to make arrangements for purchasing wood and charcoal. During four weeks he found a family that answered the description of the Hamilton family in color and number. He wrote to his father that he had found them under an assumed name, and requested him to send a man who could recognize them, as they had been away over eighteen years. The man was sent, and two weeks more were spent in reconnoitering. At length both were agreed to arrest David Gordon and wife, with their four children, as the Hamilton family, and applied for a warrant to take the family as escaped slaves. The United States Judge, Hon. Ross Wilkins, who issued the warrant, informed one of the most active underground railroad men, George De Baptist, of this claimant's business. He immediately telegraphed to a vigorous worker in Ypsilanti, who sent runners in every direction, inquiring for a Hamilton family. None could be found; and the conclusion was reached that they were newcomers and were closely concealed, and the only safe way was to set a watch at the depot for officers and their posse, and follow whithersoever they went, keeping in sight. This was done, and the place they found aimed for was David Gordon's. On entering the house the officer placed hand-cuffs on David Gordon, who in surprise asked, "What does this mean?"

Said the officer, "I understand your name is Willis Hamilton, once a slave in Tennessee."

Gordon replied, "No, sir, you are mistaken; I never was in that State; neither is my name Hamilton, but Gordon, and I have free papers from Virginia."

"Where are your papers? If they are good they shall save you."

Pointing to a trunk, "There they are; take that key and you'll find them."

While the officer was getting the papers, Chester went to the bed of the sick wife, placed a six-shooter at her head, and swore he'd blow her brains out in a moment if she did not say their name was Hamilton. "No, sir, our name is Gordon." Their little girl, standing by, cried out with fear. He turned to her, with pistol pointing toward her face, and swore he'd kill her that instant if she did not say her father's name was Willis Hamilton.

At this juncture, the officer's attention was arrested. "What are you about, you villain? You'll be arrested before you know it, if you are not careful. Put up that pistol instantly, and if these papers are good, I shall release this man, and return the warrant unserved."

He examined them and said, "These papers I find genuine." He then

removed the handcuffs from David Gordon, and with the discomfited

Thomas K. Chester and Tennessee companion returned to the depot for the

Detroit train.

While on their way they met a colored man that Chester swore was Willis Hamilton. Said the officer, "You know not what you are about; I shall arrest no man at your command."

On returning the unserved warrant to Judge Wilkins, Chester charged him with being allied with the "d--d abolitionist, old Laura Haviland, in running off that family to Malden, to keep me out of my property."

"I knew nothing of the family, or of your business, until you came into this office yesterday," replied the judge.

In a rage and with an oath, he replied, "I know, sir, your complicity in keeping slave-holders out of their property, and can prove it." He threw his hat on the floor and gave a stamp, as if to strengthen his oath.

The judge simply ordered him out of his office, instead of committing him to prison for contempt of court; and with his companion he went back to his Tennessee home, again defeated.

Thomas K. Chester wrote and had published scurrilous articles in Tennessee, and in a number of other Southern States. They were vigorously circulated until the following Congress, in which the grave charge was brought against the judge, "of being allied with Mrs. Haviland, of the interior of the State of Michigan, a rabid abolitionist, in keeping slaveholders out of their slave property." A vigorous effort was made by Southern members to impeach him, while his friends were petitioning Congress to raise his salary, Judge Wilkins was sent for to answer to these false charges. Although they failed to impeach him, yet on account of these charges the addition to his salary was lost.

When these false accusations were brought into Congress, and the judge was informed of the necessity of his presence to answer thereto, he inquired of Henry Bibb and others where I was. They informed him that I was absent from home. On my return from Cincinnati with a few underground railroad passengers, I learned of the trouble Judge Wilkins met, and I called on him. He told me of the pile of Southern papers he had received, with scurrilous articles, designed to prejudice Southern members of Congress against him. Said he, "Although they failed in the impeachment, they said they would come against me with double force next Congress, and should effect their object." Said the judge, "I want your address, for if they do repeat their effort, with the explanation you have now given, I think I can save another journey to Washington. The judge was never again called upon to defend himself on this subject, as their effort was not repeated; neither did their oft-repeated threat to imprison me disturb us."

DEATH OF THE CHESTERS

In the third year of the Rebellion, while in Memphis, Tennessee, on a mission to the perishing, I found myself in the city where my Tennessee correspondents lived a few years previous to their deaths. From a minister who had long been a resident of that city, and had also lived near Jonesboro, where they resided during the correspondence, I learned the following facts: A few years prior to the war John P. Chester removed with his family to Memphis, where he became a patroller. His son Thomas transacted business as a lawyer. I was shown his residence, and the office where John P. Chester was shot through the heart by a mulatto man, whose free papers he demanded, doubting their validity. Said the man, "I am as free as you are; and to live a slave I never shall." He then drew a six-shooter from its hiding-place and shot him through the heart. He fell, exclaiming, "O God, I'm a dead man." The man threw down the fatal weapon, saying to the bystanders, "Here I am, gentlemen, shoot me, or hang me, just as you please, but to live a slave to any man I never shall." He was taken by the indignant crowd, and hung on the limb of a tree near by, pierced with many bullets. I can not describe the feeling that crept over me, as I gazed upon the pavement where John P. Chester met his fate, and which I had walked over in going to officers' head-quarters from the steamer. Oh! what a life, to close with such a tragedy!

Thomas K. Chester being a few rods distant ran to assist his dying father, but his life was gone ere he reached him. A few months later he was brought from a boat sick with yellow fever, and died in one week from the attack in terrible paroxysms and ravings, frequently requiring six men to hold him on his bed. He was ill the same length of time that they falsely represented a few years before in the Toledo hotel. Said the narrator, "Thomas K. Chester's death was the most awful I ever witnessed. He cursed and swore to his last breath, saying he saw his father standing by his bed, with damned spirits waiting to take him away to eternal burnings."

After a long walk one day, I called at the former residence of the Chester family, and was seated in the front parlor. It is hard to imagine my feelings as I sat in the room where those two men had lain in death's cold embrace-men who had flourished toward my face the six-shooter. It was by this kind of deadly weapon the life of one was taken; and as nearly as words can describe the feigned sickness, the last week of the life of the other was spent. No wonder the blood seemed to curdle in my veins in contemplating the lives of these men, and their end. It is beyond the power of pen to describe the panorama that passed before me in these moments. The proprietor of the Toledo hotel lost custom by his complicity in their efforts to retake their alleged slave property. A few months after the hotel was burned to ashes.