Harriet, The Moses of Her People by Sarah H. Bradford

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She held a hurried consultation with her brothers, in which she so
wrought upon their fears, that they expressed themselves as
willing to start with her that very night, for that far North,
where, could they reach it in safety, freedom awaited them. But
she must first give some intimation of her purpose to the friends
she was to leave behind, so that even if not understood at the
time, it might be remembered afterward as her intended farewell.
Slaves must not be seen talking together, and so it came about
that their communication was often made by singing, and the words
of their familiar hymns, telling of the heavenly journey, and the
land of Canaan, while they did not attract the attention of the
masters, conveyed to their brethren and sisters in bondage
something more than met the ear. And so she sang, accompanying the
words, when for a moment unwatched, with a meaning look to one and
another:

"When dat ar ole chariot comes,
I'm gwine to lebe you,
I'm boun' for de promised land,
Frien's, I'm gwine to lebe you."

Again, as she passed the doors of the different cabins, she lifted
up her well-known voice; and many a dusky face appeared at door or
window, with a wondering or scared expression; and thus she
continued:

"I'm sorry, frien's, to lebe you,
Farewell! oh, farewell!
But I'll meet you in de mornin',
Farewell! oh, farewell!

"I'll meet you in de mornin',
When you reach de promised land;
On de oder side of Jordan,
For I'm boun' for de promised land."

The brothers started with her, but the way was strange, the north
was far away, and all unknown, the masters would pursue and
recapture them, and their fate would be worse than ever before;
and so they broke away from her, and bidding her goodbye, they
hastened back to the known horrors of slavery, and the dread of
that which was worse.

Harriet was now left alone, but after watching the retreating
forms of her brothers, she turned her face toward the north, and
fixing her eyes on the guiding star, and committing her way unto
the Lord, she started again upon her long, lonely journey. Her
farewell song was long remembered in the cabins, and the old
mother sat and wept for her lost child. No intimation had been
given her of Harriet's intention, for the old woman was of a most
impulsive disposition, and her cries and lamentations would have
made known to all within hearing Harriet's intended escape. And
so, with only the North Star for her guide, our heroine started on
the way to liberty, "For," said she, "I had reasoned dis out in my
mind; there was one of two things I had a _right_ to, liberty, or
death; if I could not have one, I would have de oder; for no man
should take me alive; I should fight for my liberty as long as my
strength lasted, and when de time came for me to go, de Lord would
let dem take me."

And so without money, and without friends, she started on through
unknown regions; walking by night, hiding by day, but always
conscious of an invisible pillar of cloud by day, and of fire by
night, under the guidance of which she journeyed or rested.
Without knowing whom to trust, or how near the pursuers might be,
she carefully felt her way, and by her native cunning, or by God
given wisdom, she managed to apply to the right people for food,
and sometimes for shelter; though often her bed was only the cold
ground, and her watchers the stars of night.

After many long and weary days of travel, she found that she had
passed the magic line, which then divided the land of bondage from
the land of freedom. But where were the lovely white ladies whom
in her visions she had seen, who, with arms outstretched, welcomed
her to their hearts and homes. All these visions proved deceitful:
she was more alone than ever; but she had crossed the line; no one
could take her now, and she would never call any man "Master"
more.

"I looked at my hands," she said, "to see if I was de same person
now I was free. Dere was such a glory ober eberything, de sun came
like gold trou de trees, and ober de fields, and I felt like I was
in heaven." But then came the bitter drop in the cup of joy. She
was alone, and her kindred were in slavery, and not one of them
had the courage to dare what she had dared. Unless she made the
effort to liberate them she would never see them more, or even
know their fate.

"I knew of a man," she said, "who was sent to the State Prison for
twenty-five years. All these years he was always thinking of his
home, and counting by years, months, and days, the time till he
should be free, and see his family and friends once more. The
years roll on, the time of imprisonment is over, the man is free.
He leaves the prison gates, he makes his way to his old home, but
his old home is not there. The house in which he had dwelt in his
childhood had been torn down, and a new one had been put up in its
place; his family were gone, their very name was forgotten, there
was no one to take him by the hand to welcome him back to life."

"So it was wid me," said Harriet, "I had crossed de line of which
I had so long been dreaming. I was free; but dere was no one to
welcome me to de land of freedom, I was a stranger in a strange
land, and my home after all was down in de old cabin quarter, wid
de ole folks, and my brudders and sisters. But to dis solemn
resolution I came; I was free, and dey should be free also; I
would make a home for dem in de North, and de Lord helping me, I
would bring dem all dere. Oh, how I prayed den, lying all alone on
de cold, damp ground; 'Oh, dear Lord,' I said, 'I haint got no
friend but _you_. Come to my help, Lord, for I'm in trouble!'"

It would be impossible here to give a detailed account of the
journeys and labors of this intrepid woman for the redemption of
her kindred and friends, during the years that followed. Those
years were spent in work, almost by night and day, with the one
object of the rescue of her people from slavery. All her wages
were laid away with this sole purpose, and as soon as a sufficient
amount was secured, she disappeared from her Northern home, and as
suddenly and mysteriously she appeared some dark night at the door
of one of the cabins on a plantation, where a trembling band of
fugitives, forewarned as to time and place, were anxiously
awaiting their deliverer. Then she piloted them North, traveling
by night, hiding by day, scaling the mountains, fording the
rivers, threading the forests, lying concealed as the pursuers
passed them. She, carrying the babies, drugged with paregoric, in
a basket on her arm. So she went _nineteen_ times, and so she
brought away over three hundred pieces of living and breathing
"property," with God given souls.

The way was so toilsome over the rugged mountain passes, that
often the _men_ who followed her would give out, and foot-sore,
and bleeding, they would drop on the ground, groaning that they
could not take another step. They would lie there and die, or if
strength came back, they would return on their steps, and seek
their old homes again. Then the revolver carried by this bold and
daring pioneer, would come out, while pointing it at their heads
she would say, "Dead niggers tell no tales; you go on or die!" And
by this heroic treatment she compelled them to drag their weary
limbs along on their northward journey.

But the pursuers were after them. A reward of $40,000 was offered
by the slave-holders of the region from whence so many slaves had
been spirited away, for the head of the woman who appeared so
mysteriously, and enticed away their property, from under the very
eyes of its owners. Our sagacious heroine has been in the car,
having sent her frightened party round by some so-called
"Under-ground Railway," and has heard this advertisement, which was
posted over her head, read by others of the passengers. She never
could read or write herself, but knowing that suspicion would be
likely to fall upon any black woman traveling North, she would
turn at the next station, and journey towards the South. Who would
suspect a fugitive with such a price set upon her head, of rushing
at railway speed into the jaws of destruction? With a daring
almost heedless, she went even to the very village where she would
be most likely to meet one of the masters to whom she had been
hired; and having stopped at the Market and bought a pair of live
fowls, she went along the street with her sun-bonnet well over her
face, and with the bent and decrepit air of an aged, woman.
Suddenly on turning a corner, she spied her old master coming
towards her. She pulled the string which tied the legs of the
chickens; they began to flutter and scream, and as her master
passed, she was stooping and busily engaged in attending to the
fluttering fowls. And he went on his way, little thinking that he
was brushing the very garments of the woman who had dared to steal
herself, and others of his belongings.

At one time the pursuit was very close and vigorous. The woods
were scoured in all directions, every house was visited, and every
person stopped and questioned as to a band of black fugitives,
known to be fleeing through that part of the country. Harriet had
a large party with her then; the children were sleeping the sound
sleep that opium gives; but all the others were on the alert, each
one hidden behind his own tree, and silent as death. They had been
long without food, and were nearly famished; and as the pursuers
seemed to have passed on, Harriet decided to make the attempt to
reach a certain "station of the underground railroad" well known
to her; and procure food for her starving party. Under cover of
the darkness, she started, leaving a cowering and trembling group
in the woods, to whom a fluttering leaf, or a moving animal, were
a sound of dread, bringing their hearts into their throats. How
long she is away! has she been caught and carried off, and if so
what is to become of them? Hark! there is a sound of singing in
the distance, coming nearer and nearer.

And these are the words of the unseen singer, which I wish I could
give you as I have so often heard them sung by herself:

Hail, oh hail, ye happy spirits,
Death no more shall make you fear,
Grief nor sorrow, pain nor anguish,
Shall no more distress you dere.

Around Him are ten thousand angels
Always ready to obey command;
Dey are always hovering round you,
Till you reach de heavenly land.

Jesus, Jesus will go wid you,
He will lead you to his throne;
He who died, has gone before you,
Trod de wine-press all alone.

He whose thunders shake creation,
He who bids de planets roll;
He who rides upon the tempest,
And whose scepter sways de whole.

Dark and thorny is de pathway,
Where de pilgrim makes his ways;
But beyond dis vale of sorrow,
Lie de fields of endless days.

The air sung to these words was so wild, so full of plaintive
minor strains, and unexpected quavers, that I would defy any white
person to learn it, and often as I heard it, it was to me a
constant surprise. Up and down the road she passes to see if the
coast is clear, and then to make them certain that it is _their_
leader who is coming, she breaks out into the plaintive strains of
the song, forbidden to her people at the South, but which she and
her followers delight to sing together:

Oh go down, Moses,
Way down into Egypt's land,
Tell old Pharaoh,
Let my people go.

Oh Pharaoh said he would go cross,
Let my people go,
And don't get lost in de wilderness,
Let my people go.

Oh go down, Moses,
Way down into Egypt's land,
Tell old Pharaoh,
Let my people go.

You may hinder me here, but you can't up dere,
Let my people go,
He sits in de Hebben and answers prayer,
Let my people go!

Oh go down, Moses,
Way down into Egypt's land,
Tell old Pharaoh,
Let my people go.

And then she enters the recesses of the wood, carrying hope and
comfort to the anxious watchers there. One by one they steal out
from their hiding places, and are fed and strengthened for another
night's journey.

And so by night travel, by signals, by threatenings, by
encouragement, through watchings and fastings, and I may say by
direct interpositions of Providence, and miraculous deliverances,
she brought her people to what was then their land of Canaan; the
State of New York. But alas! this State did not continue to be
their refuge. For in 1850, I think, the Fugitive Slave Law was put
in force, which bound the people north of Mason and Dixon's line,
to return to bondage any fugitive found in their territories.

"After that," said Harriet, "I wouldn't trust Uncle Sam wid my
people no longer, but I brought 'em all clar off to Canada."

On her seventh or eighth journey, she brought with her a band of
fugitives, among whom was a very remarkable man, whom I knew only
by the name of "Joe." Joe was a noble specimen of a negro,
enormously tall, and of splendid muscular development. He had been
hired out by his master to another planter, for whom he had worked
for six years, saving him all the expense of an overseer, and
taking all trouble off from his hands. He was such a very valuable
piece of property, and had become so absolutely necessary to the
planter to whom he was hired, that he determined to buy him at any
cost. His old master held him proportionately high. But by paying
one thousand dollars down, and promising to pay another thousand
in a certain time, the purchase was made, and this chattel passed
over into the hands of a new owner.

The morning after the purchase was completed, the new master came
riding down on a tall, powerful horse into the negro quarter, with
a strong new rawhide in his hand, and stopping before Joe's cabin,
called to him to come out. Joe was just eating his breakfast, but
with ready obedience, he hastened out at the summons. Slave as he
was, and accustomed to scenes of brutality, he was surprised when
the order came, "Now, Joe, strip, and take a licking." Naturally
enough, he demurred at first, and thought of resisting the order;
but he called to mind a scene he had witnessed a few days before
in the field, the particulars of which are too horrible to be
given here, and he thought it the wisest course to submit; but
first he tried a gentle remonstrance.

"Mas'r," said he, "habn't I always been faithful to you? Habn't I
worked through sun an' rain, early in de mornin' an' late at
night; habn't I saved you an oberseer by doin' his work? hab you
anything to complain agin me?"

"No, Joe, I have no complaint to make of you. You're a good
nigger, an' you've always worked well. But you belong to _me_ now;
you're _my_ nigger, and the first lesson my niggers have to learn
is that I am master and they belong to me, and are never to resist
anything I order them to do. So I always begin by giving them a
good licking. Now strip and take it."

Joe saw that there was no help for him, and that for the time he
must submit. He stripped off his clothing, and took his flogging
without a word, but as he drew his shirt up over his torn and
bleeding back, he said to himself: "Dis is de first an' de last."
As soon as he was able he took a boat, and under cover of the
night, rowed down the river, and made his way to the cabin of "Old
Ben," Harriet's father, and said to him: "Nex' time _Moses_ comes,
let me know."

It was not long after this time, that the mysterious woman
appeared--the woman on whom no one could lay his finger--and men,
women, and children began to disappear from the plantations. One
fine morning Joe was missing, and call as loud as he might, the
master's voice had no power to bring him forth. Joe had certainly
fled; and his brother William was gone, and Peter and Eliza. From
other plantations other slaves were missing, and before their
masters were awake to the fact, the party of fugitives, following
their intrepid leader, were far on their way towards liberty.

The adventures of this escaping party would of themselves fill a
volume. They hid in potato holes by day, while their pursuers
passed within a few feet of them; they were passed along by
friends in various disguises; they scattered and separated; some
traveling by boat, some by wagons, some by cars, others on foot,
to meet at some specified station of the under-ground railroad.
They met at the house of Sam Green,[A] the man who was afterwards
sent to prison for ten years for having a copy of "Uncle Tom's
Cabin" in his house. And so, hunted and hiding and wandering, they
found themselves at last at the entrance of the long bridge which
crosses the river at Wilmington, Delaware.

[Footnote A: In mentioning to me the circumstances of Sam Green's
imprisonment, Harriet, who had no acquaintance with books, merely
mentioned the fact as it had come to her own knowledge. But I have
lately come across a book in the Astor Library which confirms the
story precisely as she stated it. It is in a book by Rev. John
Dixon Long, of Philadelphia. He says, "Samuel Green, a free
colored man of Dorchester County, Maryland, was sentenced to ten
years' confinement in the Maryland State Prison, at the spring
term of the County Court held in Cambridge, Md.

"What was the crime imputed to this man, born on American soil, a
man of good moral character, a local preacher in the Methodist
Episcopal Church; a husband and a father? Simply this: A copy of
'Uncle Tom's Cabin' _had been found in his possession_. It was not
proved that he had ever read it to the colored people."]

No time had been lost in posting up advertisements and offering
rewards for the capture of these fugitives; for Joe in particular
the reward offered was very high. First a thousand dollars, then
fifteen hundred, and then two thousand, "an' all expenses clar an'
clean for his body in Easton Jail." This high reward stimulated
the efforts of the officers who were usually on the lookout for
escaping fugitives, and the added rewards for others of the party,
and the high price set on Harriet's head, filled the woods and
highways with eager hunters after human prey. When Harriet and her
companions approached the long Wilmington Bridge, a warning was
given them by some secret friend, that the advertisements were up,
and the bridge was guarded by police officers. Quick as lightning
the plans were formed in her ready brain, and the terrified party
were separated and hidden in the houses of different friends, till
her arrangements for their further journey were completed.

There was at that time residing in Wilmington an old Quaker, whom
I may call _my_ "friend," for though I never saw his face, I have
had correspondence with him in reference to Harriet and her
followers. This man, whose name was Thomas Garrett, and who was
well known in those days to the friends of the slave, was a man of
a wonderfully large and generous heart, through whose hands during
those days of distress and horror, no less than three thousand
self-emancipated men, women and children passed on their way to
freedom. He gave heart, hand, and means to aid these poor
fugitives, and to our brave Harriet he often rendered most
efficient help in her journeys back and forth.

He was the proprietor of a very large shoe establishment; and not
one of these poor travelers aver left his house without a present
of a new pair of shoes and other needed help. No sooner had this
good man received intelligence of the condition of these poor
creatures, than he devised a plan to elude the vigilance of the
officers in pursuit, and bring Harriet and her party across the
bridge. Two wagons filled with bricklayers were engaged, and sent
over; this was a common sight there, and caused no remark. They
went across the bridge singing and shouting, and it was not an
unexpected thing that they should return as they went. After
nightfall (and, fortunately, the night was very dark) the same
wagons recrossed the bridge, but with an unlooked-for addition to
their party. The fugitives were lying close together on the bottom
of the wagons; the bricklayers were on the seats, still singing
and shouting; and so they passed the guards, who were all
unsuspicious of the nature of the load contained in the wagons, or
of the amount of property thus escaping their hands.

The good man, Thomas Garrett, who was in a very feeble state of
health when he last wrote me, and has now gone to his reward,
supplied them with all needed comforts, and sent them on their way
refreshed, and with renewed courage. And Harriet here set up her
Ebenezer, saying, "Thus far hath the Lord helped me!" But many a
danger, and many a fright, and many a deliverance awaited them,
before they reached the city of New York. And even there they were
not safe, for the Fugitive Slave Law was in operation, and their
only refuge was Canada, which was now their promised land.

They finally reached New York in safety: and this goes almost
without saying, for I may as well mention here that of the three
hundred and more fugitives whom Harriet piloted from slavery, not
one was ever recaptured, though all the cunning and skill of white
men, backed by offered rewards of large sums of money, were
brought into requisition for their recovery.

As they entered the anti-slavery office in New York, Mr. Oliver
Johnson rose up and exclaimed, "Well, Joe, I am glad to see the
man who is worth $2,000 to his master." At this Joe's heart sank.
"Oh, Mas'r, how did you know me!" he panted. "Here is the
advertisement in our office," said Mr. Johnson, "and the
description is so close that no one could mistake it." And had he
come through all these perils, had he traveled by day and night,
and suffered cold and hunger, and lived in constant fear and
dread, to find that far off here in New York State, he was
recognized at once by the advertisement? How, then, was he ever to
reach Canada?

"And how far off is Canada?" he asked. He was shown the map of New
York State, and the track of the railroad, for more than three
hundred miles to Niagara, where he would cross the river, and be
free. But the way seemed long and full of dangers. They were
surely safer on their own tired feet, where they might hide in
forests and ditches, and take refuge in the friendly underground
stations; but here, where this large party would be together in
the cars, surely suspicion would fall upon them, and they would be
seized and carried back. But Harriet encouraged him in her cheery
way. He must not give up now. "De Lord had been with them in six
troubles, and he would not desert them in de seventh." And there
was nothing to do but to go on. As Moses spoke to the children of
Israel, when compassed before and behind by dangers, so she spake
to her people, that they should "go forward."

Up to this time, as they traveled they had talked and sung hymns
together, like Pilgrim and his friends, and Joe's voice was the
loudest and sweetest among them; but now he hanged his harp upon
the willows, and could sing the Lord's songs no more.

"From dat time," in Harriet's language, "Joe was silent; he talked
no more; he sang no more; he sat wid his head on his hand, an'
nobody could 'rouse him, nor make him take any intrust in
anything."

They passed along in safety through New York State, and at length
found themselves approaching the Suspension Bridge. They could see
the promised land on the other side. The uninviting plains of
Canada seemed to them,

"Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood,
All dressed in living green;"

but they were not safe yet. Until they reached the center of the
bridge, they were still in the power of their pursuers, who might
at any pause enter the car, and armed with the power of the law,
drag them back to slavery. The rest of the party were happy and
excited; they were simple, ignorant creatures, and having implicit
trust in their leader, they felt safe when with her, and no
immediate danger threatened them. But Joe was of a different
mould. He sat silent and sad, always thinking of the horrors that
awaited him if recaptured. As it happened, all the other
passengers were people who sympathized with them, understanding
them to be a band of fugitives, and they listened with tears, as
Harriet and all except poor Joe lifted up their voices and sang:

I'm on the way to Canada,
That cold and dreary land,
De sad effects of slavery,
I can't no longer stand;
I've served my Master all my days,
Widout a dime reward,
And now I'm forced to run away,
To flee de lash, abroad;
Farewell, ole Master, don't think hard of me,
I'm traveling on to Canada, where all de slaves are free.

De hounds are baying on my track,
Ole Master comes behind,
Resolved that he will bring me back,
Before I cross the line;
I'm now embarked for yonder shore,
Where a man's _a man_ by law,
De iron horse will bear me o'er,
To "shake de lion's paw;"
Oh, righteous Father, wilt thou not pity me.
And help me on to Canada, where all de slaves are free.

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