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

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Oh I heard Queen Victoria say,
That if we would forsake,
Our native land of slavery,
And come across de lake;
Dat she was standing on de shore,
Wid arms extended wide,
To give us all a peaceful home,
Beyond de rolling tide;
Farewell, ole Master, don't think hard of me,
I'm traveling on to Canada, where all de slaves are free.

No doubt the simple creatures with her expected to cross a wide
lake instead of a rapid river, and to see Queen Victoria with her
crown upon her head, waiting with arms extended wide, to fold them
all in her embrace. There was now but "one wide river to cross,"
and the cars rolled on to the bridge. In the distance was heard
the roar of the mighty cataract, and now as they neared the center
of the bridge, the falls might be clearly seen. Harriet was
anxious to have her companions see this wonderful sight, and
succeeded in bringing all to the windows, except Joe. But Joe
still sat with his head on his hands, and not even the wonders of
Niagara could draw him from his melancholy musings. At length as
Harriet knew by the rise of the center of the bridge, and the
descent immediately after, the line of danger was passed; she
sprang across to Joe's side of the car, and shook him almost out
of his seat, as she shouted, "Joe! you've shook de lion's paw!"
This was her phrase for having entered on the dominions of
England. But Joe did not understand this figurative expression.
Then she shook him again, and put it more plainly, "Joe, you're in
Queen Victoria's dominions! You're a free man!"

Then Joe arose. His head went up, he raised his hands on high, and
his eyes, streaming with tears, to heaven, and then he began to
sing and shout:

"Glory to God and Jesus too,
One more soul got safe;
Oh, go and carry the news,
One more soul got safe."

"Joe, come and look at the falls!"

"Glory to God and Jesus too,
One more soul got safe."

"Joe! it's your last chance. Come and see de falls!"

"Glory to God and Jesus too,
One more soul got safe."

And this was all the answer. The train stopped on the other side;
and the first feet to touch British soil, after those of the
conductor, were those of poor Joe.

Loud roared the waters of Niagara, but louder still ascended the
Anthem of praise from the overflowing heart of the freeman. And
can we doubt that the strain was taken up by angel voices and
echoed and re-echoed through the vaults of heaven:

Glory to God in the highest,
Glory to God and Jesus too,
For all these souls now safe.

"The white ladies and gentlemen gathered round him," said Harriet,
"till I couldn't see Joe for the crowd, only I heard his voice
singing, 'Glory to God and Jesus too,' louder than ever." A sweet
young lady reached over her fine cambric handkerchief to him, and
as Joe wiped the great tears off his face, he said, "Tank de Lord!
dere's only one more journey for me now, and dat's to Hebben!" As
we bid farewell to Joe here, I may as well say that Harriet saw
him several times after that, a happy and industrious freeman in
Canada.[B]

[Footnote B: In my recent interview with Mr. Oliver Johnson he
told me of an interesting incident in the life of the good man,
Thomas Garrett.

He was tried twice for assisting in the escape of fugitive slaves,
and was fined so heavily that everything he possessed was taken
from him and sold to pay the fine. At the age of sixty he was left
without a penny, but he went bravely to work, and in some measure
regained his fortune; all the time aiding, in every way possible,
all stray fugitives who applied to him for help.

Again he was arrested, tried, and heavily fined, and as the Judge
of the United States Court pronounced the sentence, he said, in a
solemn manner: "Garrett, let this be a lesson to you, not to
interfere hereafter with the cause of justice, by helping off
runaway negroes.

The old man, who had stood to receive his sentence, here raised
his head, and fixing his eyes on "the Court," he said:

"Judge--thee hasn't left me a dollar, but I wish to say to thee,
and to all in this court room, that if anyone knows of a fugitive
who wants a shelter, and a friend, _send him to Thomas Garrett_,
and he will befriend him!"

[Not Luther before the Council at Worms was grander than this brave
old man in his unswerving adherence to principle. In those days
that tried men's souls there were many men like this old Quaker,
and many women too, who would have gone cheerfully to the fire and
the stake, for the cause of suffering humanity; men and women
_these_ "of whom the world was not worthy."]

On one of her journeys to the North, as she was piloting a company
of refugees, Harriet came, just as morning broke, to a town, where
a colored man had lived whose house had been one of her stations
of the under-ground, or unseen railroad. They reached the house,
and leaving her party huddled together in the middle of the
street, in a pouring rain, Harriet went to the door, and gave the
peculiar rap which was her customary signal to her friends. There
was not the usual ready response, and she was obliged to repeat
the signal several times. At length a window was raised, and the
head of a _white man_ appeared, with the gruff question, "Who are
you?" and "What do you want?" Harriet asked after her friend, and
was told that he had been obliged to leave for "harboring
niggers."

Here was an unforeseen trouble; day was breaking, and daylight was
the enemy of the hunted and flying fugitives. Their faithful
leader stood one moment in the street, and in that moment she had
flashed a message quicker than that of the telegraph to her unseen
Protector, and the answer came as quickly; in a suggestion to her
of an almost forgotten place of refuge. Outside of the town there
was a little island in a swamp, where the grass grew tall and
rank, and where no human being could be suspected of seeking a
hiding place. To this spot she conducted her party; she waded the
swamp, carrying in a basket two well-drugged babies (these were a
pair of little twins, whom I have since seen well grown young
women), and the rest of the company following. She ordered them to
lie down in the tall, wet grass, and here she prayed again, and
waited for deliverance. The poor creatures were all cold, and wet,
and hungry, and Harriet did not dare to leave them to get
supplies; for no doubt the man at whose house she had knocked, had
given the alarm in the town; and officers might be on the watch
for them. They were truly in a wretched condition, but Harriet's
faith never wavered, her silent prayer still ascended, and she
confidently expected help from some quarter or other.

It was after dusk when a man came slowly walking along the solid
pathway on the edge of the swamp. He was clad in the garb of a
Quaker; and proved to be a "friend" in need and indeed; he seemed
to be talking to himself, but ears quickened by sharp practice
caught the words he was saying:

"My wagon stands in the barn-yard of the next farm across the way.
The horse is in the stable; the harness hangs on a nail." And the
man was gone. Night fell, and Harriet stole forth to the place
designated. Not only a wagon, but a wagon well provisioned stood
in the yard; and before many minutes the party were rescued from
their wretched position, and were on their way rejoicing, to the
next town. Here dwelt a Quaker whom Harriet knew, and he readily
took charge of the horse and wagon, and no doubt returned them to
their owner. How the good man who thus came to their rescue had
received any intimation of their being in the neighborhood Harriet
never knew. But these sudden deliverances never seemed to strike
her as at all strange or mysterious; her prayer was the prayer of
faith, and she _expected_ an answer.

At one time, as she was on her way South for a party of slaves,
she was stopped not far from the southern shore of the Chesapeake
Bay, by a young woman, who had been for some days in hiding, and
was anxiously watching for "Moses," who was soon expected to pass
that way.

This girl was a young and pretty Mulatto, named Tilly, she had
been lady's maid and dressmaker, for her Mistress. She was engaged
to a young man from another plantation, but he had joined one of
Harriet's parties, and gone North. Tilly was to have gone also at
that time, but had found it impossible to get away. Now she had
learned that it was her Master's intention to give her to a Negro
of his own for his wife; and in fear and desperation, she made a
strike for freedom. Friends had concealed her, and all had been on
the watch for Moses.

The distress and excitement of the poor creature was so great, and
she begged and implored in such agonized tones that Harriet would
just see her safe to Baltimore, where she knew of friends who
would harbor her, and help her on her way, that Harriet determined
to turn about, and endeavor to take the poor girl thus far on her
Northward journey.

They reached the shore of Chesapeake Bay too late to leave that
night, and were obliged to hide for a night and day in the loft of
an old out-house, where every sound caused poor Tilly to tremble
as if she had an ague fit. When the time for the boat to leave
arrived, a sad disappointment awaited them. The boat on which they
had expected to leave was disabled, and another boat was to take
its place. At that time, according to the law of Slavery, no Negro
could leave his Master's land, or travel anywhere, without a pass,
properly signed by his owner. Of course this poor fugitive had no
pass; and Harriet's passes were her own wits; but among her many
friends, there was one who seemed to have influence with the clerk
of the boat, on which she expected to take passage; and she was
the bearer of a note requesting, or commanding him to take these
two women to the end of his route, asking no questions.

Now here was an unforeseen difficulty; the boat was not going; the
clerk was not there; all on the other boat were strangers. But
forward they must go, trusting in Providence. As they walked down
to the boat, a gang of lazy white men standing together, began to
make comments on their appearance.

"Too many likely looking Niggers traveling North, about these
days." "Wonder if these wenches have got a pass." "Where you
going, you two?" Tilly trembled and cowered, and clung to her
protector, but Harriet put on a bold front, and holding the note
given her by her friend in her hand, and supporting her terrified
charge, she walked by the men, taking no notice of their insults.

They joined the stream of people going up to get their tickets,
but when Harriet asked for hers, the clerk eyed her suspiciously,
and said: "You just stand aside, you two; I'll attend to your case
bye and bye."

Harriet led the young girl to the bow of the boat, where they were
alone, and here, having no other help, she, as was her custom,
addressed herself to the Lord. Kneeling on the seat, and
supporting her head on her hands, and fixing her eyes on the
waters of the bay, she groaned:

"Oh, Lord! You've been wid me in six troubles, _don't_ desert me
in the seventh!"

"Moses! Moses!" cried Tilly, pulling her by the sleeve. "Do go and
see if you can't get tickets now."

"Oh, Lord! You've been wid me in six troubles, _don't_ desert me
in the seventh."

And so Harriet's story goes on in her peculiarly graphic manner,
till at length in terror Tilly exclaimed:

"Oh, Moses! the man is coming. What shall we do?"

"Oh, Lord, you've been wid me in six troubles!"

Here the clerk touched her on the shoulder, and Tilly thought
their time had come, but all he said was:

"You can come now and get your tickets," and their troubles were
over.

What changed this man from his former suspicious and antagonistic
aspect, Harriet never knew. Of course she said it was "de Lord,"
but as to the agency he used, she never troubled herself to
inquire. She _expected_ deliverance when she prayed, unless the
Lord had ordered otherwise, and in that case she was perfectly
willing to accept the Divine decree.

When surprise was expressed at her courage and daring, or at her
unexpected deliverances, she would always reply: "Don't, I tell
you, Missus, 'twan't _me_, 'twas _de Lord_! Jes' so long as he
wanted to use me, he would take keer of me, an' when he didn't
want me no longer, I was ready to go; I always tole him, I'm gwine
to hole stiddy on to you, an' you've got to see me trou."

There came a time when Harriet, who had already brought away as
many of her family as she could reach, besides all others who
would trust themselves to her care, became much troubled in
"spirit" about three of her brothers, having had an intimation of
some kind that danger was impending over them. With her usual
wonderful cunning, she employed a friend to write a letter for her
to a man named Jacob Jackson, who lived near the plantation where
these brothers were at that time the hired slaves.

Jacob Jackson was a free negro, who could both read and write, and
who was under suspicion just then of having a hand in the
disappearance of colored "property." It was necessary, therefore,
to exercise great caution in writing to him, on his own account as
well as that of the writer, and those whom she wished to aid.
Jacob had an adopted son, William Henry Jackson, also free, who
had come North. Harriet determined to sign her letter with William
Henry's name, feeling sure that Jacob would be clever enough to
understand by her peculiar phraseology, the meaning she intended
to convey.

Therefore, after speaking of indifferent matters, the letter went
on: "Read my letter to the old folks, and give my love to them,
and tell my brothers to be always _watching unto prayer_, and when
_the good old ship of Zion comes along, to be ready to step on
board_." This letter was signed "William Henry Jackson."

Jacob was not allowed to have his letters in those days, until the
self-elected inspectors of correspondence had had the perusal of
them, and consulted over their secret meaning. These wise-acres
therefore assembled, wiped their glasses carefully, put them on,
and proceeded to examine this suspicious document. What it meant
they could not imagine. William Henry Jackson had no parents, or
brothers, and the letter was incomprehensible. Study as they
might, no light dawned upon them, but their suspicions became
stronger, and they were sure the letter meant mischief.

White genius having exhausted itself, black genius was brought
into requisition. Jacob was sent for, and the letter was placed in
his hands. He read between the lines, and comprehended the hidden
meaning at once. "Moses" had dictated this letter, and Moses was
coming. The brothers must be on the watch, and ready to join her
at a moment's warning. But Moses must hurry, for the word had gone
forth that the brothers were to be sent South, and the chain-gang
was being collected.

Jacob read the letter slowly, threw it down, and said: "Dat letter
can't be meant for me no how; I can't make head or tail of it."
And he walked off and took immediate measures to let Harriet's
brothers know that she was on the way, and they must be ready at
the given signal to start for the North.

It was the day before Christmas when Harriet arrived, and the
brothers were to have started on the day after Christmas for the
South. They started on Christmas-day, but with their faces turned
in another direction, and instead of the chain-gang and the whip,
they had the North Star for their guide, and the Moses of her
people for their leader.

As usual, this mysterious woman appeared suddenly, and word was
conveyed to the brothers that they were to be at Old Ben's cabin
on Saturday night, ready to start. "Old Ben" was their father, and
as the parents were not of much use now, Harriet was pretty
certain that they would not be sent away, and so she left them
till she had rescued the younger and more valuable members of the
family.

Quite a number had assembled at the cabin when the hour came for
starting, but one brother was missing. Something had detained
John; but when the time for starting had struck, Harriet's word
was "forward," and she "nebber waited for no one."

Poor John was ready to start from his cabin in the negro quarter
when his wife was taken ill, and in an hour or two another little
heir to the blessings of slavery had come into the world.

John must go off for a "Granny," and being a faithful,
affectionate creature, he could not leave his wife under the
present circumstances.

After the birth of the child he determined to start. The North and
freedom, or the South and life-long slavery, were the alternatives
before him; and this was his last chance. If he once reached the
North, he hoped with the help of Moses to bring his wife and
children there.

Again and again he tried to start out of the door, but a watchful
eye was on him, and he was always arrested by the question, "Where
you gwine, John?" His wife had not been informed of the danger
hanging over his head, but she knew he was uneasy, and she feared
he was meditating a plan of escape. John told her he was going to
try to get hired out on Christmas to another man, as that was the
day on which such changes were made.

He left the house but stood near the window listening. He heard
his wife sobbing and moaning, and not being able to endure it he
went back to her. "Oh, John!" she cried, "you's gwine to lebe me!
I know it! but wherebber you go, John, don't forgit me an' de
little children."

John assured her that wherever he went she should come. He might
not come for her, but he would send Moses, and then he hurried
away. He had many miles to walk to his old father's cabin, where
he knew the others would be waiting for him, and at daybreak he
overtook them in the "fodder house," not far from the home of the
old people.

At that time Harriet had not seen her mother for six years, but
she did not dare to let her know that four of her children were so
near her on their way to the North, for she would have raised such
an uproar in her efforts to detain them, that the whole
neighborhood would have been aroused.

The poor old woman had been expecting her sons to spend Christmas
with her as usual. She had been hard at work in preparation for
their arrival. The fatted pig had been killed, and had been
converted into every form possible to the flesh of swine; pork,
bacon and sausages were ready, but the boys did not come, and
there she sat watching and waiting.

In the night when Harriet with two of her brothers, and two other
fugitives who had joined them arrived at the "fodder house," they
were exhausted and well-nigh famished. They sent the two strange
men up to the cabin to try to rouse "Old Ben," but not to let
their mother know that her children were so near her.

The men succeeded in rousing Old Ben, who came out quietly, and as
soon as he heard their story, went back into the house, gathered
together a quantity of provisions, and came down to the fodder
house. He placed the provisions inside the door, saying a few
words of welcome to his children, but taking care _not to see
them_. "I know what'll come of dis," he said, "an' I ain't gwine
to see my chillen, no how." The close espionage under which these
poor creatures dwelt, engendered in them a cunning and artifice,
which to them seemed only a fair and right attempt on their part,
to cope with power and cruelty constantly in force against them.

Up among the ears of corn lay the old man's children, and one of
them he had not seen for six years. It rained in torrents all that
Sunday, and there they lay among the corn, for they could not
start till night. At about daybreak John had joined them. There
were wide chinks in the boards of the fodder house, and through
these they could see the cabin of the old folks, now quite alone
in their old age. All day long, every few minutes, they would see
the old woman come out, and shading her eyes with her hand, take a
long look down the road to see if "de boys" were coming, and then
with a sad and disappointed air she would turn back into the
cabin, and they could almost hear her sigh as she did so.

What had become of the boys? Had they been sold off down South?
Had they tried to escape and been retaken? Would she never see
them or hear of them more?

I have often heard it said by Southern people that "niggers had no
feeling; they did not care when their children were taken from
them." I have seen enough of them to know that their love for
their offspring is quite equal to that of the "superior race," and
it is enough to hear the tale of Harriet's endurance and self-sacrifice
to rescue her brothers and sisters, to convince one that
a heart, truer and more loving than that of many a white woman,
dwelt in her bosom. I am quite willing to acknowledge that she was
almost an anomaly among her people, but I have known many of her
family, and so far as I can judge they all seem to be peculiarly
intelligent, upright and religious people, and to have a strong
feeling of family affection. There may be many among the colored
race like them; certainly all should not be judged by the idle,
miserable darkies who have swarmed about Washington and other
cities since the War.

Two or three times while the group of fugitives were concealed in
this loft of the fodder house, the old man came down and pushed
food inside the door, and after nightfall he came again to
accompany his children as far as he dared, upon their journey.
When he reached the fodder house, he tied a handkerchief tight
about his eyes, and one of his sons taking him by one arm, and
Harriet taking him by the other, they went on their way talking in
low tones together, asking and answering questions as to relatives
and friends.

The time of parting came, and they bade him farewell, and left him
standing in the middle of the road. When he could no longer hear
their footsteps he turned back, and taking the handkerchief from
his eyes, he hastened home.

But before Harriet and her brothers left, they had gone up to the
cabin during the evening to take a silent farewell of the poor old
mother. Through the little window of the cabin they saw her
sitting by the fire, her head on her hand, rocking back and forth,
as was her way when she was in great trouble; praying, no doubt,
and wondering what had become of her children, and what new evil
had befallen them.

With streaming eyes, they watched her for ten or fifteen minutes;
but time was precious, and they must reach their next under-ground
station before daylight, and so they turned sadly away.

When Christmas was over, and the men had not returned, there began
to be no small stir in the plantation from which they had escaped.
The first place to search, of course, was the home of the old
people. At the "Big House" nothing had been seen of them. The
master said "they had generally come up there to see the house
servants, when they came for Christmas, but this time they hadn't
been round at all. Better go down to Old Ben's, and ask him."

They went to Old Ben's. No one was at home but "Old Kit," the
mother. She said "not one of 'em came dis Christmas. She was
looking for 'em all day, an' her heart was mos' broke about 'em."

Old Ben was found and questioned about his sons. Old Ben said, "He
hadn't _seen one_ of 'em dis Christmas." With all his deep
religious feeling, Old Ben thought that in such a case as this, it
was enough for him to keep to the _letter_, and let the man
hunters find his sons if they could. Old Ben knew the Old
Testament stories well. Perhaps he thought of Rahab who hid the
spies, and received a commendation for it. Perhaps of Jacob and
Abraham, and some of their rather questionable proceedings. He
knew the New Testament also, but I think perhaps he thought the
kind and loving Saviour would have said to him, "Neither do I
condemn thee." I doubt if he had read Mrs. Opie, and I wonder what
judgment that excellent woman would have given in a case like
this.

These poor fugitives, hunted like partridges upon the mountains,
or like the timid fox by the eager sportsman, were obliged in
self-defense to meet cunning with cunning, and to borrow from the
birds and animals their mode of eluding their pursuers by any
device which in the exigency of the case might present itself to
them. They had a creed of their own, and a code of morals which we
dare not criticise till we find our own lives and those of our
dear ones similarly imperiled.

One of Harriet's other brothers had long been attached to a pretty
mulatto girl named Catherine, who was owned by another master; but
this man had other views for her, and would not let her marry
William Henry. On one of Harriet's journeys this brother had made
up his mind to make one of her next party to the North, and that
Catherine should go also. He went to a tailor's and bought a new
suit of clothes for a small person, and concealed them inside the
fence of the garden of Catherine's master. This garden ran down to
the bank of a little stream, and Catherine had been notified where
to find the clothes. When the time came to get ready, Catherine
boldly walked down to the foot of the garden, took up the bundle,
and hiding under the bank, she put on the man's garments and sent
her own floating down the stream.

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