Chapter L: Maria Child (7)

It was contrary to law for white men in the Southern States to sell anything secretly to slaves; but there were always enough ready to do it for the sake of getting money,--especially as they knew that no colored man was allowed to testify against a white man. William was skilful and diligent at his trade; and though his wages all went to his master, he had contrived to lay up money by doing jobs for others in extra hours. He therefore found little difficulty in buying the various articles of a gentleman's dress, at different times and in different parts of the town. He had previously made Ellen a chest of drawers, with locks and key; and as she was a favorite and trusted slave, she was allowed to keep it for her own use in the little room where she slept. As fast as the articles were bought they were secretly conveyed to her, and she locked them up. The next important thing was to obtain leave of absence for a few days. It was near Christmas-time, when kind slaveholders sometimes permit favorite slaves to be absent on a visit to friends or relatives. But Ellen's services were very necessary to her mistress, and she had to ask many times before she could obtain a written permission to be gone for a few days. The cabinet-maker for whom William worked was persuaded to give him a similar paper, but he charged him to be sure and return as soon as the time was up, because he should need him very much. There was still another difficulty in the way. Travellers were required to register their names at the custom-houses and hotels, and to sign a certificate for the slaves who accompanied them. When Ellen remembered this, it made her weep bitterly to think that she could not write. But in a few moments she wiped her eyes and said, with a smile, "I will poultice my right hand and put it in a sling, and then there will be a good excuse for asking the officers to write my name for me." When she was dressed in her disguise, William thought she could easily pass for a white gentleman, only she looked young enough for a mere boy; he therefore bought a pair of green spectacles to make her look older. She, on her part, was afraid that the smoothness of her chin might betray her; she therefore resolved to tie a bandage round her face, as if she were troubled with toothache.

In four days after they first thought of the plan, all was in readiness. They sat up all night, whispering over to each other the parts they were to act in case of various supposable difficulties. William cut off Ellen's glossy black hair, according to the fashion of gentlemen. When all was carefully arranged, they knelt together and prayed that God would protect them through their perilous undertaking. They raised the latch of the door very softly, and looked out and listened. Nobody was stirring abroad, and all was still. But Ellen trembled and threw herself on her husband's breast. There she wept for a few moments, while he tried to comfort her with whispered words of encouragement, though he also felt that they were going forth into the midst of terrible dangers. She soon recovered her calmness, and said, "Let us go." They stepped out on tiptoe, shook hands in silence, and parted to go to the railway station by different routes. William deemed it prudent to take a short cut across the fields, to avoid being recognized; but his wife, who was now to pass for his young master, went by the public road. Under the name of Mr. William Johnson, she purchased tickets for herself and slave for Savannah, which was about two hundred miles off. The porter who took charge of the luggage at the station had formerly wished to marry Ellen; but her disguise was so complete that he called her "Young massa," and respectfully obeyed her orders concerning the baggage. She gave him a bit of money for his trouble, and he made his best bow.

The moment William arrived at the station, he hid himself in the "negro car" assigned to servants. It was lucky that he did so; for, just before the train started, he saw upon the platform the cabinet-maker, who had given him a pass for quite a different purpose than an excursion to Savannah. He was looking round, as if searching for some one; and William afterward heard that he suspected him of attempting to escape. Luckily, the train started before he had time to examine the "negro car."

Ellen had a narrow escape on her part; for a gentleman who took the seat beside her proved to be Mr. Cray, who frequently visited at her master's house, and who had known her ever since she was a child. Her first thought was that he had come to seize her and carry her back; but it soon became evident that he did not recognize her in a gentleman's dress, with green spectacles, bandaged face, and her arm in a sling. After the cars started, he remarked, "It is a very fine morning, sir." Ellen, being afraid that her voice would betray her, continued to look out of the window, and made no reply. After a little while, he repeated the remark in a louder tone. The passengers who heard him began to smile, and Mr. Cray turned away, saying, "I shall not trouble that deaf fellow any more." To her great relief, he left the cars at the next station.

They arrived at Savannah early in the evening, and William having brought his master something to eat, they went on board a steamer bound for Charleston, South Carolina. Mr. Johnson, as Ellen was now called, deemed it most prudent to retire to his berth immediately. William, fearing this might seem strange to the other passengers, made a great fuss warming flannels and opodeldoc at the stove, informing them that his young master was an invalid travelling to Philadelphia in hopes of getting cured. He did not tell them the disease was Slavery; he called it inflammatory rheumatism. The next morning, at breakfast, Mr. Johnson was seated by the captain of the boat, and, as his right hand was tied in a sling, his servant, William, cut up his food for him. The captain remarked, "You have a very attentive boy, sir; but I advise you to watch him like a hawk when you get North. Several gentlemen have lately lost valuable niggers among them cut-throat Abolitionists."

A hard-looking slave-trader, with red eyes, and bristly beard, was sitting opposite. He laid down a piece of chicken he was eating, and with his thumbs stuck in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, said: "I wouldn't take a nigger North under no consideration. Now, if you'd like to sell that 'ere boy, I'll pay you for him in silver dollars, on this 'ere board. What do you say, stranger?" Mr. Johnson replied, "I do not wish to sell him, sir; I could not get on well without him." "You'll _have_ to get on without him, if you take him to the North," continued the slave-trader. "I am an older cove than you are, and I reckon I have had more dealings with niggers. I tell you, stranger, that boy will never do you any good if you take him across Mason and Dixon's line. I can see by the cut of his eye that he is bound to run away as soon as he can get a chance." Mr. Johnson replied, "I think not, sir. I have great confidence in his fidelity." Whereupon the slave-trader began to swear about niggers in general. A military officer, who was also travelling with a servant, said to Mr. Johnson: "Excuse me, sir, for saying I think you are likely to spoil that boy of yours by saying 'thank you' to him. The only way to make a nigger toe the mark, and to keep him in his place, is to storm at him like thunder. Don't you see that when I speak to my Ned, he darts like lightning? If he didn't, I'd skin him."

When the steamboat arrived at Charleston, the hearts of the fugitives beat almost loud enough to be heard; they were so afraid their flight had been discovered, and a telegraph sent from Savannah to have them arrested. But they passed unnoticed among the crowd. They took a carriage and drove to a fashionable hotel, where the invalid gentleman received every attention befitting his supposed rank. He was seated at a luxurious table in a brilliant dining-room, while William received some fragments of food on a broken plate, and was told to go into the kitchen. Mr. Johnson gave some pieces of money to the servants who waited upon him; and they said to William, "Your massa is a big-bug. He is de greatest gentleman dat has been dis way dis six months."

Notwithstanding the favorable impression he had made, Mr. Johnson found some difficulty in obtaining tickets to Philadelphia for himself and his slave. The master of the ticket-office refused to write the invalid gentleman's name for him. But the military officer who had breakfasted with him stepped up and said he knew the gentleman, and all was right. The captain of the North Carolina steamer hearing this, and not wishing to lose a passenger, said, "I will register the gentleman's name, and take the responsibility upon myself." Mr. Johnson thanked him politely, and the captain remarked: "No disrespect was intended to you, sir; but they are obliged to be very strict in Charleston. Some Abolitionist might take a valuable nigger along with him, and try to pass him off as his slave."

They arrived safely at Wilmington, North Carolina, and took the cars to Richmond, Virginia. On the way, an elderly lady in the cars, seeing William on the platform, cried out, in great excitement, "There goes my nigger Ned!" Mr. Johnson said, very politely, "No, madam, that is my boy." But the lady, without paying any attention to what he said, called out, "Ned, you runaway rascal, come to me, sir." On nearer inspection she perceived that she was mistaken, and said to Mr. Johnson: "I beg your pardon, sir. I was sure it was my Ned. I never saw two black pigs look more alike."

From Petersburg, a Virginia gentleman with two handsome daughters were in the same car with Mr. Johnson. Supposing him to be a rich, fashionable young Southerner, they were very attentive and sympathizing. The old gentleman told him he knew how to pity him, for he had had inflammatory rheumatism himself. He advised him to lie down to rest; which he was very willing to do, as a good means of avoiding conversation. The ladies took their extra shawls and made a comfortable pillow for his head, and their father gave him a piece of paper which he said contained directions for curing the rheumatism. The invalid thanked him politely; but not knowing how to read, and fearing he might hold the paper upside down, prudently put it in his pocket. When they supposed him to be asleep, one of the ladies said, "Papa, he seems to be a very nice young gentleman"; and the other responded, "I never felt so much for any gentleman in my life."

At parting the Virginian gave him his card and said: "I hope you will call upon me when you return. I should be much pleased to see you, and so would my daughters." He gave ten cents to William, and charged him to be attentive to his master. This he promised to do, and he very faithfully kept his word.

They arrived at Baltimore with the joyful feeling that they were close upon the borders of a Free State. William saw that his master was comfortably placed in one of the best cars, and was getting into the servants' car when a man tapped him on the shoulder and asked where he was going. William replied humbly, "I am going to Philadelphia, sir, with my master, who is in the next car." "Then you had better get him out, and be mighty quick about it," said the man; "for the train is going to start, and no man is allowed to take a slave past here till he has satisfied the folks in the office that he has a right to take him along."

William felt as if he should drop down on the spot; but he controlled himself, and went and asked his master to go back to the office. It was a terrible fright. As Mr. Johnson stepped out he whispered, in great agitation, "O William, is it possible we shall have to go back to Slavery, after all we have gone through?" It was very hard to satisfy the station-master. He said if a man carried off a slave that did not belong to him, and the rightful owner could prove that he escaped on that road, they would be obliged to pay for the slave. Mr. Johnson kept up a calm appearance, though his heart was in his throat. "I bought tickets at Charleston to pass us through to Philadelphia," said he; "therefore you have no right to detain us here." "Right or no right, we shall not let you go," replied the man. Some of the spectators sympathized with the rich young Southerner, and said it was a pity to detain him when he was so unwell. While the man hesitated, the bell rang for the cars to start, and the fugitives were in an agony. "I don't know what to do," said the man. "It all seems to be right; and as the gentleman is so unwell, it is a hard case for him to be stopped on the way. Clerk, run and tell the conductor to let this gentleman and his slave pass."

They had scarcely time to scramble into the cars, before the train started. It was eight o'clock in the evening, and they expected to arrive in Philadelphia early the next morning. They did not know that on the way the passengers would have to leave the cars and cross the river Susquehanna in a ferry-boat. They had slept very little for several nights before they left Georgia, and they had been travelling day and night for four days. William, overcome with fatigue, and feeling that their greatest dangers were now over, fell sound asleep on a heap of baggage. When they arrived at the ferry, it was cold, dark, and rainy; and for the first time during their hazardous journey the invalid found no faithful servant at hand when the cars stopped. He was in great distress, fearing that William had been arrested or kidnapped. He anxiously inquired of the passengers whether they had seen his boy. There were a good many Northerners on board, and, supposing his slave had run away, they rather enjoyed his perplexity. One gruffly replied, "I am no slave-hunter." Another smiled as he said, "I guess he is in Philadelphia before now."

When they had crossed the ferry one of the guard found William still sound asleep on the baggage, which had been rolled into the boat. He shook him and bawled out: "Wake up, you boy! Your master has been half scared to death. He thought you had run away." As soon as William was enough awake to understand what had happened, he said, "I am sure my good master does not think that of me." He hastened to explain to Mr. Johnson how he happened to be out of the way. He was received with a great leap of the heart; but the passengers only thought that the master was very glad to recover his lost property. Some of them took a convenient opportunity to advise William to run away when they reached Philadelphia. He replied, "I shall never run away from such a good master as I have." They laughed, and said, "You will think differently when you get into a Free State." They told him how to proceed in case he wanted to be free, and he thanked them. A colored man also entered into conversation with him, and told him of a certain boarding-house in Philadelphia, the keeper of which was very friendly to slaves who wanted their freedom.

On Christmas-day, just as morning was about to dawn, they came in sight of the flickering lights of Philadelphia. William procured a cab as quick as possible, hurried their baggage into it, and told the driver to take them to the boarding-house which had been recommended to them. While Ellen had been obliged to act the part of Mr. Johnson, she had kept her mind wonderfully calm and collected. But now that she was on free soil she broke down with the excess of her emotions. "Thank God, William, we are safe, we are safe!" she exclaimed; and sinking upon her husband's breast, she burst into a passion of tears. When they arrived at the boarding-house, she was so faint she had no further occasion to act being an invalid. As soon as a room was provided, they entered and fastened the door. Then kneeling down side by side, folded in each other's arms, with tears flowing freely, they thanked God for having brought them safely through their dangerous journey, and having permitted them to live to see this happy Sabbath day, which was Christmas-day also.

When they had rested and refreshed themselves with a wash, Ellen put on her womanly garments and went to the sitting-room. When the landlord came at their summons, he was very much surprised and perplexed. "Where is your master?" inquired he; and when William pointed to his wife, he thought it was a joke; for he could not believe she was the same person who came into the house in the dress of a gentleman. He listened to their singular story with great interest and sympathy. He told them he was afraid it would not be safe for them to remain in Philadelphia, but he would send for some Abolitionists who knew the laws better than he did. Friends soon came, and gave them a hearty welcome; but they all agreed that it would not be safe for them to remain long in Philadelphia, and advised them to go to Boston. Barclay Ivens, a kind-hearted Quaker farmer, who lived some distance in the country, invited them to rest a few weeks at his house. They went accordingly. But Ellen, who had not been accustomed to receive such attentions from white people, was a little flurried when they arrived. She had received the impression that they were going to stay with colored people; and when she saw a white lady and three daughters come out to the wagon to meet her, she was much disturbed, and said to William, "I thought they were colored people." "It is all the same as if they were," replied he. "They are our good friends." "It is _not_ all the same," said Ellen, decidedly. "I have no faith in white people. They will be sending us back into Slavery. I am going right off." She had not then become acquainted with the Abolitionists. She had heard her master and other Southerners talk about them as very bad men, who would make slaves believe they were their friends, and then sell them into distant countries. The Quaker lady saw that she was afraid, and she went up to her and took her very kindly by the hand, saying: "How art thou, my dear? We are very glad to see thee and thy husband. We have heard about thy marvellous escape from Slavery. Come in and warm thyself. I dare say thou art cold and hungry after thy journey." Ellen thanked her, and allowed herself to be led into the house. Still she did not feel quite safe in that strange place, away from all her people. When Mrs. Ivens attempted to remove her bonnet, she said, "No, I thank you. I am not going to stop long." "Poor child!" said the good Quaker mother, "I don't wonder thou art timid. But don't be afraid. Thou art among friends who would as soon sell their own daughters into Slavery as betray thee. We would not harm a hair of thy head for the world." The kindly face and the motherly tones melted the heart of the poor frightened fugitive, and the tears began to flow. They stayed several weeks in that hospitable house, and the son and daughters took so much pains to teach them to read and write, that before they left they could spell a little, and write their names quite legibly. They were strongly urged to stay longer, and would have done so had they not been very desirous to be earning their own living. When they left this excellent family it seemed like parting with near and dear relatives.

In Boston they were introduced to William Lloyd Garrison, Wendell Phillips, Francis Jackson, Rev. Theodore Parker, and other good men, who had for years been laboring for the emancipation of the slaves. The fugitives made a favorable impression on strangers at first sight. They both looked intelligent and honest. William had a very manly air, and Ellen was modest and ladylike in her manners.

Their marriage in Georgia had been, like other slave marriages, without a certificate; therefore they were desirous to have the ceremony performed again, with all the forms of law, now that they were in a free land. They were accordingly married by the Rev. Mr. Parker, at the house of a respectable colored citizen of Boston, named Lewis Hayden. Mr. Crafts was employed at his trade, and his wife obtained work as a seamstress. They lived in Boston two years, during which time they established an excellent character by their honest industry and correct deportment. They earned a comfortable living, and might have laid by some money if circumstances had permitted them to remain in Massachusetts.

But in 1850 the Congress of the United States, under the influence of slaveholders, passed a very wicked act called the Fugitive Slave Bill. There was in Boston at that time a celebrated lawyer named Daniel Webster. He wanted to be President of the United States, and for many years no man had been able to get elected to that office unless he pleased the slaveholders. He accordingly used his great influence to help the passage of the bill, and advised the people of Massachusetts to get over their scruples about hunting slaves. He died without being President; and I hope God forgave the great sin into which his ambition led him. By that cruel act of Congress, everybody, all over the country, was required to send back fugitive slaves to their masters. Whoever concealed them or helped them in any way became liable to a year's imprisonment and a fine of a thousand dollars, besides paying the price of the slave. In all the Northern cities there were many honest, industrious colored people who had escaped from Slavery years before, and were now getting a comfortable living. Many of them had married at the North and reared families. But when slaveholders gained this victory over the conscience of the North, they were compelled to leave their business and their homes, and hide themselves wheresoever they could. Mr. and Mrs. Crafts had many zealous friends in Boston, but the friends of the slaveholders were more numerous. For some time past, Southerners had been rather reluctant to hunt slaves in Massachusetts, because the public opinion of the people was so much opposed to Slavery, that they found it a difficult and disagreeable job. But after the passage of that unrighteous bill, they and their pro-slavery accomplices at the North became more bold.

One day, while Mr. Crafts was busy in his shop, he received a visit from a man by the name of Knight, who used to work in the same shop with him in Georgia. He professed to be much pleased to see William again, and invited him to walk round the streets and show him the curiosities of Boston. Mr. Crafts told him he had work to do, and was very busy. The next day he tried again; but finding Mr. Crafts still too busy to walk with him, he said: "I wish you would come to see me at the United States Hotel, and bring your wife with you. She would like to hear from her mother. If you want to send letters to Georgia, I will take them for you." This was followed by a badly spelled note to Mr. Crafts, informing him that he was going to leave Boston early the next morning, and if he wanted to send a letter to Georgia he must bring it to him at the hotel after tea. Mr. Crafts smiled that he should think him silly enough to walk into such an open trap. Mr. Knight had told him that he came to Boston alone; but when he questioned the hotel-servant who brought the note, he was told that a Mr. Hughes from Georgia accompanied him. Mr. Hughes was a notorious slave-catcher, and the jailer of Macon. Mr. Crafts continued to work at his shop; but he kept the door locked, and a loaded pistol beside him.

Finding that his intended victim was too much on his guard to be caught by trickery, Mr. Hughes applied to the United States Court in Boston and obtained a warrant to arrest William and Ellen Crafts as fugitive slaves. This produced tremendous excitement. The Abolitionists were determined that they should not be carried back into Slavery. They had people everywhere on the watch, and employed lawyers to throw all manner of difficulties in the way of the slave-hunters, whose persons and manners were described in the newspapers in a way by no means agreeable to them. The colored people held large meetings, and passed various spirited resolutions, among which was the following: "_Resolved_, Man wills us slaves, but God wills us free. We will as God wills. God's will be done." Two hundred of them armed themselves and vowed that they would defend William and Ellen Crafts to the death. Mr. Crafts said very calmly, but very resolutely, that they should never take him alive. Hughes the slave-catcher swore: "I'll have 'em if I stay in Boston to all eternity. If there a'n't men enough in Massachusetts to take 'em, I'll bring men from Georgia." Merchants in Boston, thinking only of their trade with the South, sympathized with those men engaged in such a base calling; and the United States officials did all they could to help them. But though they received countenance and aid from many influential men in Boston, those hirelings of Slavery could not help feeling ashamed of their business. They complained that the boys in the streets hooted after them, and that wherever they made their appearance, people called out, "There go the slave-hunters!" They heard that the Abolitionists were preparing to arrest them and try them as kidnappers; and the number of colored people who watched their movements with angry looks made them wish themselves back in Georgia. During all this commotion, the conduct of Mr. Crafts excited universal admiration. He was resolute, but very calm. If there had been any law to protect him, he would have appealed to the law, rather than have harmed a hair of any man's head; but left defenceless as he was among a pack of wolves hunting him and his innocent wife, he was determined to defend his freedom at any cost.

Ellen was secretly conveyed out of the city. Mr. and Mrs. Ellis Gray Loring of Boston were excellent people, always kind to the poor and true friends to the oppressed slaves. They spent their summers in the neighboring town of Brookline. A Boston physician, who was an Abolitionist, carried Ellen to their house in the evening. Mr. and Mrs. Loring were both absent from home for a few days, but a lady who was staying in the house received her with great kindness. She stayed there two days, assisting the lady very industriously and skilfully with her needle. Her mind was full of anxiety about her husband, whom she had left in the city exposed to the most fearful danger. She was very wakeful through the night, listening to every noise. As soon as she became drowsy, she would wake with a sudden start from some bad dream. She dreamed that she and William were running from the Georgia slave-catcher, and that Daniel Webster was close behind them, pointing a pistol at them. It was a sad thing that a man of such intellectual ability as Mr. Webster, and with so much influence in society, should make such bad use of his great power that he haunted the dreams of the poor and the oppressed. Ellen rose in the morning with a feeling of weariness and a great load upon her heart. But she kept back the tears that were ready to flow, and was so quiet and sweet-tempered that she completely gained the hearts of her protectors. Early the next evening, the same friend who carried Ellen from the city brought her husband to her. He also had been sleepless, and was worn down with fatigue and anxiety. They were advised to retire to rest immediately, to remain in their room with the door locked, and be careful not to show themselves at the window. They followed these directions, and the lady was hoping they would both have peaceful and refreshing slumber, when Ellen came to say that her husband wanted to speak with her. She found him standing by the fireplace looking very sad, but with a dignified calmness that seemed to her truly noble in the midst of such dreadful danger. As she entered he said, "Ellen has just told me that Mr. and Mrs. Loring are absent from home. If we should be found in his house, he would be liable to imprisonment and a heavy fine. It is wrong for us to expose him to this danger without his knowledge and consent. We must seek shelter elsewhere." The lady replied: "Mr. Loring would feel troubled to have you leave his house under such circumstances. He is the best and kindest of men, and a great friend of the colored people." "That makes it all the more wrong for us to bring him into trouble on our account, without his knowledge," replied Mr. Crafts. Ellen had kept up bravely all day, but now her courage began to fail. She looked up with tears swimming in her handsome eyes and said: "O William, it is so dark and rainy to-night, and it seems so safe here! We may be seen and followed, if we go out. You said you didn't sleep last night. I started up from a little nap, dreaming that Daniel Webster was chasing us with a loaded pistol. I thought of all manner of horrid things that might be happening to you, and I couldn't sleep any more. Don't you think we might stay here just this one night?" He looked at her with pity in his eyes, but said, very firmly, "Ellen, it wouldn't be right." Without another word she prepared to go, though the tears were falling fast. The lady, finding his mind too fixed to be changed by her persuasions, sent a guide with them to the house of Mr. Philbrick, a worthy, kind-hearted gentleman, who lived about half a mile off. She herself told me the story; and she said she never felt so much respect and admiration for any human beings as she did for those two hunted slaves when she saw them walk out into the darkness and rain because they thought it wrong to endanger, without his consent, a friend of their persecuted people. She felt anxious lest the slave-catcher or his agents might seize them on the road, and it was a great relief to her mind when the guide returned and said Mr. Philbrick received them gladly.

After a few more days of peril they were secretly put on board a vessel, which conveyed them to England. They carried letters which introduced them to good people, who contributed money to put them to school for a while. Their intelligence, industry, and good conduct confirmed the favorable impression made by their first appearance. In 1860, Mr. Crafts published a little book giving an account of their "Running a Thousand Miles for Freedom." They have now been living in England fifteen years. By their united industry and good management they earned a comfortable living, and laid by a little, year after year, until they had enough to buy a small house in the village of Hammersmith, not far from the great city of London. There they keep their children at the best of schools, and pay taxes which help to support the poor in the country which protected them in their time of danger and distress.

The honesty, energy, and good sense of Mr. Crafts inspired so much respect and confidence in England, that the Quakers and other benevolent people, who wish to do good to Africa, also merchants, who want to open trade with that region, sent him out there with a valuable cargo of goods, in November, 1862. The mission he is performing is very important to the well-being of the world, as you will see by the following explanation.

Africa is four thousand miles across the Atlantic Ocean from the United States. It is inhabited by numerous tribes of black people, each tribe with a separate government. These tribes vary in degrees of intelligence and civilization; but they are generally of a peaceable and kindly disposition, unless greatly provoked by wrongs from others. Where they are safe from attack they live in little villages of huts, and raise yams, rice, and other grain for food. They weave coarse cloth from cotton, merely by means of sticks stuck in the ground, and in some places they color it with gay patterns. They make very pretty baskets and mats from grasses, and some of the tribes manufacture rude tools of iron and ornaments of gold. But a constant state of warfare has hindered the improvement of the Africans; for men have very little encouragement to build good houses, and make convenient furniture, and plant grain, if enemies are likely to come any night and burn and trample it all to the ground. These continual wars have been largely caused by the slave-trade. Formerly the African chiefs sold men into Slavery only in punishment for some crime they had committed, or to work out a debt they had failed to pay, or because they were prisoners taken in war. These customs were barbarous enough, but they were not so bad as what they were afterward taught to do by nations calling themselves Christians. In various countries of Europe and America there were white people too proud and lazy to work, but desirous to dress in the best and live on the fat of the land. They sent ships out to Africa to bring them negroes, whom they compelled to work without wages, with coarse, scanty food, and scarcely any clothing. They grew rich on the labor of these poor creatures, and spent their own time in drinking, gambling, and horse-racing. Slave-traders, in order to supply them with as many negroes as they wanted, would steal all the men, women, and children they could catch on the coast of Africa; and would buy others from the chiefs, paying them mostly in rum and gunpowder. This made the different tribes very desirous to go to war with each other, in order to take prisoners to sell to the slave-traders; and the more rum they drank, the more full of fight they were. This mean and cruel business has been carried on by white men four hundred years; and all that while African villages have been burned in the night, and harvests trampled, and men, women, and children carried off to hopeless Slavery in distant lands. This continual violence, and intercourse with such bad white men as the slave-traders, kept the Africans barbarous; and made them much more barbarous than they would otherwise have been. Such a state of things made it impossible for them to improve, as they would have done if the nations called Christians had sent them spelling-books and Bibles instead of rum, teachers instead of slave-traders, and tools and machinery instead of gunpowder.

Of all the African chiefs the King of Dahomey is the most powerful. He sends armed men all about the country to carry off people and sell them to Europeans and Americans. In that bad way he has grown richer than other chiefs, and more hard-hearted. Benevolent people in England have long desired to stop the ravages of the slave-trade and to teach the Africans better things. The dearth of cotton in the United States, occasioned by the Rebellion of the planters, turned the attention of English merchants in the same direction. It was accordingly agreed to send Mr. Crafts to Dahomey to open a trade, and try to convince the king that it would be more profitable to him to employ men in raising cotton than to sell them for slaves. He was well received by the King of Dahomey, who shows a disposition to be influenced by his judicious counsels. This is a great satisfaction to Mr. Crafts, desirous as he is of elevating people of his own color. Numbers who were destined to be sold into foreign Slavery are already employed in raising cotton in their native land. Wars will become less frequent; and the African tribes will gradually learn that the arts of peace are more profitable, as well as more pleasant. This will bring them into communication with a better class of white men; and I hope that, before another hundred years have passed away, there will be Christian churches all over Africa, and school-houses for the children.

Mr. Crafts sold all the goods he carried out in the first vessel, and managed the business so well that he was sent out with another cargo. He is now one of the most enterprising and respected merchants in that part of the world; and his labors produce better results than mere money, for they are the means of making men wiser and better. How much would have been lost to himself and the world if he had remained a slave in Georgia, not allowed to profit by his own industry, and forbidden to improve his mind by learning to read!

Mr. M. D. Conway, the son of a slaveholder in Virginia, but a very able and zealous friend of the colored people, recently visited England, and sent the following letter to Boston, where it was read with great interest by the numerous friends of William and Ellen Crafts:--

"LONDON, October 29th, 1864.

"A walk one pleasant morning across a green common, then through a
quiet street of the village called Hammersmith, brought me to the
house of an American whom I respect as much as any now in Europe;
namely, William Crafts, once a slave in Georgia, then a hunted
fugitive in Massachusetts, but now a respected citizen of England,
and the man who is doing more to redeem Africa from her cruel
superstitions than all other forces put together. He lately came
home from Dahomey, the ship-load of goods that he had taken out to
Africa from Liverpool having been entirely sold. The merchants who
sent him are preparing another cargo for him, and he will probably
leave the country this week. His theory is, that commerce is to
destroy the abominations in the realm of Dahomey. He is very black,
but he finds the color which was so much against him in America a
leading advantage to him in Africa. Ellen, his wife, told us that
she was too white to go with him. He was absent on business in
Liverpool, and thus, to my regret, I missed the opportunity of
seeing him. There was a pretty little girl, and three unusually
handsome boys. They all inherit the light complexion and beauty of
their mother. We found Mrs. Crafts busy packing her husband's trunk
for his next voyage. She showed us a number of interesting things
which he had brought from Africa. Among them were birds of bright
plumage, a belt worn by the Amazons in war, a sword made by the
Africans, breastpins, and other excellent specimens of work in
metals. I remembered that years ago the sight of similar things
inspired Clarkson with his strong faith in the improvability of the
African race.

"William and Ellen Crafts own the house in which they live. After
that brave flight of a thousand miles for freedom, after the
dangers which surrounded them in Massachusetts, it did my heart
good to see them enjoying their own simple but charming home, to
see them thus living under their own vine and fig-tree, none daring
to molest or make them afraid.

"M. D. CONWAY."

Mrs. Crafts has used her needle diligently to make garments for the colored people of the United States emancipated by President Lincoln's Proclamation. She has had the pleasure of hearing that her mother is among them, healthy, and still young looking for her years. As soon as arrangements can be made she will go to England to rejoin her daughter, whom she has not seen since her hazardous flight from Georgia.

I think all who read this romantic but true story will agree with me in thinking that few white people have shown as much intelligence, moral worth, and refinement of feeling as the fugitive slaves William and Ellen Crafts.

* * * * *

In February, 1861, the Emperor of Russia proclaimed freedom to twenty-three millions of serfs. Finding their freedom was not secure in the hands of their former masters, he afterward completed the good work by investing the freedmen with civil and political rights; including the right to testify in court, the right to vote, and the right to hold office.

SPRING.

BY GEORGE HORTON.

Hail, thou auspicious vernal dawn!
Ye birds, proclaim that winter's gone!
Ye warbling minstrels, sing!
Pour forth your tribute as ye rise,
And thus salute the fragrant skies,
The pleasing smiles of spring!

Coo sweetly, O thou harmless dove,
And bid thy mate no longer rove
In cold hybernal vales!
Let music rise from every tongue,
Whilst winter flies before the song
Which floats on gentle gales.

Ye frozen streams, dissolve and flow
Along the valley sweet and slow!
Divested fields, be gay!
Ye drooping forests, bloom on high,
And raise your branches to the sky;
And thus your charms display!

Thou world of heat! thou vital source!
The torpid insects feel thy force,
Which all with life supplies.
Gardens and orchards richly bloom,
And send a gale of sweet perfume,
To invite them as they rise.

Near where the crystal waters glide
The male of birds escorts his bride,
And twitters on the spray;
He mounts upon his active wing,
To hail the bounty of the spring,
The lavish pomp of May.

THE GOOD GRANDMOTHER.

BY HARRIET JACOBS.

I had a great treasure in my maternal grandmother, who was a remarkable woman in many respects. She was the daughter of a planter in South Carolina, who, at his death, left her and her mother free, with money to go to St. Augustine, where they had relatives. It was during the Revolutionary War, and they were captured on their passage, carried back, and sold to different purchasers. Such was the story my grandmother used to tell me. She was sold to the keeper of a large hotel, and I have often heard her tell how hard she fared during childhood. But as she grew older she evinced so much intelligence, and was so faithful, that her master and mistress could not help seeing it was for their interest to take care of such a valuable piece of property. She became an indispensable person in the household, officiating in all capacities, from cook and wet-nurse to seamstress. She was much praised for her cooking; and her nice crackers became so famous in the neighborhood that many people were desirous of obtaining them. In consequence of numerous requests of this kind, she asked permission of her mistress to bake crackers at night, after all the household work was done; and she obtained leave to do it, provided she would clothe herself and the children from the profits. Upon these terms, after working hard all day for her mistress, she began her midnight bakings, assisted by her two oldest children. The business proved profitable; and each year she laid by a little, to create a fund for the purchase of her children. Her master died, and his property was divided among the heirs. My grandmother remained in the service of his widow, as a slave. Her children were divided among her master's children; but as she had five, Benjamin, the youngest, was sold, in order that the heirs might have an equal portion of dollars and cents. There was so little difference in our ages, that he always seemed to me more like a brother than an uncle. He was a bright, handsome lad, nearly white; for he inherited the complexion my grandmother had derived from Anglo-Saxon ancestors. His sale was a terrible blow to his mother; but she was naturally hopeful, and she went to work with redoubled energy, trusting in time to be able to purchase her children. One day, her mistress begged the loan of three hundred dollars from the little fund she had laid up from the proceeds of her baking. She promised to pay her soon; but as no promise or writing given to a slave is legally binding, she was obliged to trust solely to her honor.

In my master's house very little attention was paid to the slaves' meals. If they could catch a bit of food while it was going, well and good. But I gave myself no trouble on that score; for on my various errands I passed my grandmother's house, and she always had something to spare for me. I was frequently threatened with punishment if I stopped there; and my grandmother, to avoid detaining me, often stood at the gate with something for my breakfast or dinner. I was indebted to her for all my comforts, spiritual or temporal. It was _her_ labor that supplied my scanty wardrobe. I have a vivid recollection of the linsey-woolsey dress given me every winter by Mrs. Flint. How I hated it! It was one of the badges of Slavery. While my grandmother was thus helping to support me from her hard earnings, the three hundred dollars she lent her mistress was never repaid. When her mistress died, my master, who was her son-in-law, was appointed executor. When grandmother applied to him for payment, he said the estate was insolvent, and the law prohibited payment. It did not, however, prohibit him from retaining the silver candelabra which had been purchased with that money. I presume they will be handed down in the family from generation to generation.

My grandmother's mistress had always promised that at her death she should be free; and it was said that in her will she made good the promise. But when the estate was settled, Dr. Flint told the faithful old servant that, under existing circumstances, it was necessary she should be sold.

On the appointed day the customary advertisement was posted up, proclaiming that there would be "a public sale of negroes, horses, &c." Dr. Flint called to tell my grandmother that he was unwilling to wound her feelings by putting her up at auction, and that he would prefer to dispose of her at private sale. She saw through his hypocrisy, and understood very well that he was ashamed of the job. She was a very spirited woman; and if he was base enough to sell her, after her mistress had made her free by her will, she was determined the public should know it. She had, for a long time, supplied many families with crackers and preserves; consequently "Aunt Marthy," as she was called, was generally known; and all who knew her respected her intelligence and good character. It was also well known that her mistress had intended to leave her free, as a reward for her long and faithful services. When the day of sale came, she took her place among the chattels, and at the first call she sprang upon the auction-block. She was then fifty years old. Many voices called out: "Shame! shame! Who's going to sell _you_, Aunt Marthy? Don't stand there. That's no place for _you_." She made no answer, but quietly awaited her fate. No one bid for her. At last a feeble voice said, "Fifty dollars." It came from a maiden lady, seventy years old, the sister of my grandmother's deceased mistress. She had lived forty years under the same roof with my grandmother; she knew how faithfully she had served her owners, and how cruelly she had been defrauded of her rights, and she resolved to protect her. The auctioneer waited for a higher bid; but her wishes were respected; no one bid above her. The old lady could neither read nor write; and when the bill of sale was made out, she signed it with a cross. But of what consequence was that, when she had a big heart overflowing with human kindness? She gave the faithful old servant her freedom.

My grandmother had always been a mother to her orphan grandchildren, as far as that was possible in a condition of Slavery. Her perseverance and unwearied industry continued unabated after her time was her own, and she soon became mistress of a snug little home, and surrounded herself with the necessaries of life. She would have been happy, if her family could have shared them with her. There remained to her but three children and two grandchildren; and they were all slaves. Most earnestly did she strive to make us feel that it was the will of God; that He had seen fit to place us under such circumstances, and though it seemed hard, we ought to pray for contentment. It was a beautiful faith, coming from a mother who could not call her children her own. But I and Benjamin, her youngest boy, condemned it. It appeared to us that it was much more according to the will of God that we should be free, and able to make a home for ourselves, as she had done. There we always found balsam for our troubles. She was so loving, so sympathizing! She always met us with a smile, and listened with patience to all our sorrows. She spoke so hopefully, that unconsciously the clouds gave place to sunshine. There was a grand big oven there, too, that baked bread and nice things for the town; and we knew there was always a choice bit in store for us. But even the charms of that old oven failed to reconcile us to our hard lot. Benjamin was now a tall, handsome lad, strongly and gracefully made, and with a spirit too bold and daring for a slave.

One day his master attempted to flog him for not obeying his summons quickly enough. Benjamin resisted, and in the struggle threw his master down. To raise his hand against a white man was a great crime, according to the laws of the State; and to avoid a cruel, public whipping, Benjamin hid himself and made his escape. My grandmother was absent, visiting an old friend in the country, when this happened. When she returned, and found her youngest child had fled, great was her sorrow. But, with characteristic piety, she said, "God's will be done." Every morning she inquired whether any news had been heard from her boy. Alas! news did come,--sad news. The master received a letter, and was rejoicing over the capture of his human chattel.

That day seems to me but as yesterday, so well do I remember it. I saw him led through the streets in chains to jail. His face was ghastly pale, but full of determination. He had sent some one to his mother's house to ask her not to come to meet him. He said the sight of her distress would take from him all self-control. Her heart yearned to see him, and she went; but she screened herself in the crowd, that it might be as her child had said.