Forty years ago, the escapes of slaves from the South, although numerous, were nevertheless difficult, owing to the large rewards offered for their apprehension, and the easy mode of extradition from the Northern States. Little or no difficulty was experienced in capturing and returning a slave from Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, or Pennsylvania, the four States through which the fugitives had to pass in their flight to Canada. The Quaker element in all of the above States showed itself in the furnishing of food to the flying bondman, concealing him for days, and even weeks, and at last conveying him to a place of safety, or carrying him to the Queen’s dominions.

Instinct seemed to tell the negro that a drab coat and a broad-brimmed hat covered a benevolent heart, and we have no record of his ever having been deceived. It is possible that the few Friends scattered over the slave States, and the fact that they were never known to own a slave, gave the blacks a favorable impression of this sect, before the victim of oppression left his sunny birth-place.

A brave and manly slave resolved to escape from Natchez, Miss. This slave, whose name was Jerome, was of pure African origin, was perfectly black, very fine-looking, tall, slim, and erect as any one could possibly be. His features were not bad, lips thin, nose prominent, hands and feet small. His brilliant black eyes lighted up his whole countenance. His hair, which was nearly straight, hung in curls upon his lofty brow. George Combe or Fowler would have selected his head for a model. He was brave and daring, strong in person, fiery in spirit, yet kind and true in his affections, earnest in whatever he undertook.

To reach the free States or Canada, by travelling by night and lying by during the day, from a State so far south as Mississippi, no one would think for a moment of attempting to escape. To remain in the city would be a suicidal step. The deep sound of the escape of steam from a boat, which was at that moment ascending the river, broke upon the ears of the slave. “If that boat is going up the river,” said he, “why not I conceal myself on board, and try to escape?” He went at once to the steamboat landing, where the boat was just coming in. “Bound for Louisville,” said the captain, to one who was making inquiries. As the passengers were rushing on board, Jerome followed them, and proceeding to where some of the hands were stowing away bales of goods, he took hold and aided them.

“Jump down into the hold, there, and help the men,” said the mate to the fugitive, supposing that, like many persons, he was working his way up the river. Once in the hull, among the boxes, the slave concealed himself. Weary hours, and at last days, passed without either water or food with the hidden slave. More than once did he resolve to let his case be known; but the knowledge that he would be sent back to Natchez, kept him from doing so. At last, with his lips parched and fevered to a crisp, the poor man crawled out into the freight-room, and began wandering about. The hatches were on, and the room dark. There happened to be on board, a wedding-party; and a box, containing some of the bridal cake, with several bottles of port wine, was near Jerome. He found the box, opened it, and helped himself. In eight days, the boat tied up at the wharf at the place of her destination. It was late at night; the boat’s crew, with the single exception of the man on watch, were on shore. The hatches were off, and the fugitive quietly made his way on deck and jumped on shore. The man saw the fugitive, but too late to seize him.

Still in a slave State, Jerome was at a loss to know how he should proceed. He had with him a few dollars, enough to pay his way to Canada, if he could find a conveyance. The fugitive procured such food as he wanted from one of the many eating-houses, and then, following the direction of the North Star, he passed out of the city, and took the road leading to Covington. Keeping near the Ohio River, Jerome soon found an opportunity to pass over into the State of Indiana. But liberty was a mere name in the latter State, and the fugitive learned, from some colored persons that he met, that it was not safe to travel by daylight. While making his way one night, with nothing to cheer him but the prospect of freedom in the future, he was pounced upon by three men who were lying in wait for another fugitive, an advertisement of whom they had received through the mail. In vain did Jerome tell tell them that he was not a slave. True, they had not caught the man they expected; but, if they could make this slave tell from what place he had escaped, they knew that a good price would be paid them for the slave’s arrest.

Tortured by the slave-catchers, to make him reveal the name of his owner and the place from whence he had escaped, Jerome gave them a fictitious name in Virginia, and said that his master would give a large reward, and manifested a willingness to return to his “old boss.”

By this misrepresentation, the fugitive hoped to have another chance of getting away.

Allured with the prospect of a large sum of the needful the slave-catchers started back with their victim. Stopping on the second night at an inn, on the banks of the Ohio River, the kidnappers, in lieu of a suitable place in which to confine their prize during the night, chained him to the bed-post of their sleeping chamber.

The white men were late in retiring to rest, after an evening spent in drinking. At dead of night, when all was still, the slave arose from the floor, upon which he had been lying, looked around and saw that Morpheus had possession of his captors. “For once,” thought he, “the brandy bottle has done a noble work.” With palpitating heart and trembling limbs, he viewed his position. The door was fast, but the warm weather had compelled them to leave the window open. If he could but get the chains off, he might escape through the window to the piazza. The sleepers’ clothes hung upon chairs by the bedside. The slave thought of the padlock key, examined the pockets, and found it. The chains were soon off, and the negro stealthily making his way to the window. He stopped, and said to himself, “These men are villains, they are enemies to all who, like me, are trying to be free. Then why not teach them a lesson?” He then dressed himself in the best suit, hung his own worn-out and tattered garments on the same chair, and silently passed through the window to the piazza, and let himself down by one of the pillars, and started once more for Canada.

Daylight came upon him before he had selected a hiding-place for the day, and he was walking at a rapid rate, in hopes of soon reaching some woodland or forest. The sun had just begun to show itself, when Jerome was astonished at seeing behind him, in the distance, two men upon horseback. Taking a road to the right he saw before him a farmhouse, and so near was he to it that he observed two men in front of him looking at him. It was too late to turn back. The kidnappers were behind—strange men before. Those in the rear he knew to be enemies, while he had no idea of what principles were the farmers. The latter also saw the white men coming, and called to the fugitive to come that way.

The broad-brimmed hats that the farmers wore told the slave that they were Quakers.

Jerome had seen some of these people passing up and down the river, when employed on a steamer between Natchez and New Orleans, and had heard that they disliked slavery. He, therefore, hastened toward the drab-coated men, who, on his approach, opened the barn-door, and told him to “run in.”

When Jerome entered the barn, the two farmers closed the door, remaining outside themselves, to confront the slave-catchers, who now came up and demanded admission, feeling that they had their prey secure.

“Thee can’t enter my premises,” said one of the Friends, in rather a musical voice.

The negro-catchers urged their claim to the slave, and intimated that, unless they were allowed to secure him, they would force their way in. By this time, several other Quakers had gathered around the barn-door. Unfortunately for the kidnappers, and most fortunately for the fugitive, the Friends had just been holding a quarterly meeting in the neighborhood, and a number of them had not yet returned to their homes.

After some talk, the men in drab promised to admit the hunters, provided they procured an officer and a search-warrant from a justice of the peace. One of the slave-catchers was left to see that the fugitive did not get away, while the other went in pursuit of an officer. In the mean time, the owner of the barn sent for a hammer and nails, and began nailing up the barn-door.

After an hour in search of the man of the law, they returned with an officer and a warrant. The Quaker demanded to see the paper, and, after looking at it for some time, called to his son to go into the house for his glasses. It was a long time before Aunt Ruth found the leather case, and when she did, the glasses wanted wiping before they could be used. After comfortably adjusting them on his nose, he read the warrant over leisurely.

“Come, Mr. Dugdale, we can’t wait all day,” said the officer.

“Well, will thee read it for me?” returned the Quaker.

The officer complied, and the man in drab said,—“Yes, thee may go in, now. I am inclined to throw no obstacles in the way of the execution of the law of the land.”

On approaching the door, the men found some forty or fifty nails in it, in the way of their progress.

“Lend me your hammer and a chisel, if you please, Mr. Dugdale,” said the officer.

“Please read that paper over again, will thee?” asked the Quaker.

The officer once more read the warrant.

“I see nothing there which says I must furnish thee with tools to open my door. If thee wants a hammer, thee must go elsewhere for it; I tell thee plainly, thee can’t have mine.”

The implements for opening the door are at length obtained, and, after another half hour, the slave-catchers are in the barn. Three hours is a long time for a slave to be in the hands of Quakers. The hay is turned over, and the barn is visited in every part; but still the runaway is not found. Uncle Joseph has a glow upon his countenance; Ephraim shakes his head knowingly; little Elijah is a perfect know-nothing, and if you look toward the house you will see Aunt Ruth’s smiling face ready to announce that breakfast is ready.

“The nigger is not in this barn,” said the officer.

“I know he is not,” quietly remarked the Quaker.

“What were you nailing up your door for, then, as if you were afraid we would enter?” inquired one of the kidnappers.

“I can do what I please with my own door, can’t I?” said the Friend.

The secret was out; the fugitive had gone in at the front door, and out at the back; and the reading of the warrant, nailing up of the door, and other preliminaries of the Quaker, was to give the fugitive time and opportunity to escape.

It was now late in the morning, and the slave-catchers were a long way from home, and the horses were jaded by the rapid manner in which they had travelled. The Friends, in high glee, returned to the house for breakfast; the officer and the kidnappers made a thorough examination of the barn and premises, and satisfied that Jerome had gone into the barn, but had not come out, and equally satisfied that he was out of their reach, the owner said, “He’s gone down into the earth, and has taken an underground railroad.”

And thus was christened that famous highway over which so many of the oppressed sons and daughters of African descent were destined to travel, and an account of which has been published by one of its most faithful agents, Mr. William Still, of Philadelphia.

At a later period, Cato, servant of Dr. Gaines, was sold to Captain Enoch Price, of St. Louis. The Captain took his slave with him on board the steamer Chester, just about sailing for New Orleans. At the latter place, the boat obtained a cargo for Cincinnati, Ohio. The master, aware that the slave might give him the slip, while in a free State, determined to leave the chattel at Louisville, Ky., till his downward return. However, Mrs. Price, anxious to have the servant’s services on the boat, questioned him with regard to the contemplated visit to Cincinnati.

“I don’t want to go to a free State,” said Cato; “fer I knowed a servant dat went up dar, once, an’ dey kept beggin’ him to run away; so I druther not go dar; kase I is satisfied wid my marser, an’ don’t want to go off, whar I’d have to take keer of mysef.”

This was said in such an earnest and off-hand manner, that it removed all of the lady’s suspicions in regard to his attempting to escape; and she urged her husband to take him to Ohio.

Cato wanted his freedom, but he well knew that if he expressed a wish to go to a free State, he would never be permitted to do so. In due season, the Chester arrived at Cincinnati, where she remained four days, discharging her cargo, and reloading for the return trip. During the time, Cato remained at his post, attending faithfully to his duties; no one dreaming that he had the slightest idea of leaving the boat. However, on the day previous to the Chester’s leaving Cincinnati, Cato divulged the question to Charley, another slave, whom he wished to accompany him.

Charley heard the proposition with surprise; and although he wanted his freedom, his timid disposition would not allow him to make the trial.

“My master is a pretty good man, and treats me comparatively well; and should I be caught and taken back, he would no doubt sell me to a cotton or sugar-planter,” said Charley to Cato’s invitation. “But,” continued he, “Captain Price is a mean man; I shall not blame you, Cato, for running away and leaving him. By the by, I am engaged to go to a surprise-party, to-night, and I reckon we’ll have a good time. I’ve got a new pair of pumps to dance in, and I’ve got Jim, the cook, to bake me a pie, and I’ll have some sandwiches, and I’m going with a pretty gal.”

“So you won’t go away with me, to-night?” said Cato to Charley.

“No,” was the reply.

“It is true,” remarked Cato, “your marser is a better man, an’ treats you a heap better den Captain Price does me, but, den, he may get to gambling, an’ get broke, and den he’ll have to sell you.”

“I know that,” replied Charley; “none of us are safe as long as we are slaves.”

It was seven o’clock at night, Cato was in the pantry, washing the supper dishes, and contemplating his flight, the beginning of which was soon to take place. Charley had gone up to the steward’s hall, to get ready for the surprise, and had been away some time, which caused uneasiness to Cato, and he determined to go up into the cabin, and see that everything was right. Entering the cabin from the Social Hall, Cato, in going down and passing the Captain’s room, heard a conversation which attracted his attention, and caused him to halt at his master’s room door.

He was not long, although the conversation was in a low tone, in learning that the parties were his master and his fellow-servant Charley.

“And so he is going to run away, to-night, is he?” said the Captain.

“Yes, sir,” replied Charley; “he’s been trying to get me to go with him, and I thought it my duty to tell you.”

“Very well; I’ll take him over to Covington, Ky., put him in jail, for the night, and when I get back to New Orleans, I will sell the ungrateful nigger. Where is he now?” asked the Captain.

“Cato is in the pantry, sir, washing up the tea-things,” was the reply.

The moving of the chairs in the room, and what he had last heard, satisfied Cato that the talk between his master and the treacherous Charley was at an end, and he at once returned to the pantry undetermined what course to pursue. He had not long been there, ere he heard the well-known squeak of the Captain’s boots coming down the stairs. Just then Dick, the cook’s boy, came out of the kitchen and threw a pan full of cold meat overboard. This incident seemed to furnish Cato with words, and he at once took advantage of the situation.

“What is dat you throw overboard dar?”

“None your business,” replied Dick, as he slammed the door behind him and returned to the kitchen.

“You free niggers will waste everything dar is on dis boat,” continued Cato. “It’s my duty to watch dees niggers an’ see dat dey don’t destroy marser’s property. Now, let me see, I’ll go right off an’ tell marser ’bout Charley, I won’t keep his secrets any longer.” And here Cato threw aside his dish towel and started for the cabin.

Captain Price, who, during Cato’s soliloquy, was hid behind a large box of goods, returned in haste to his room, where he was soon joined by his dutiful servant.

In answer to the rap on the door, the Captain said “Come in.”

Cato, with downcast look, and in an obsequious manner, entered the room, and said, “Marser, I is come to tell you somethin’ dat hangs heavy on my mine, somethin’ dat I had ought to tole you afore dis.”

“Well,” said the master, “what is it, Cato?”

“Now, marser, you hires Charley, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, den, ser, ef Charley runs away you’ll have to pay fer him, won’t you?”

“I think it very probable, as I brought him into a free State, and thereby giving him an opportunity to escape. Why, is he thinking of running away?”

“Yes, ser,” answered Cato, “he’s gwine to start to-night, an’ he’s bin pesterin’ me all day to go wid him.”

“Do you mean to say that Charley has been trying to persuade you to run away from me?” asked the Captain, rather sharply.

“Yes, ser, dats jess what he’s bin a doin’ all day. I axed him whar he’s gwine to, an’ he sed he’s gwine to Canada, an’ he call you some mighty mean names, an’ dat made me mad.”

“Why, Charley has just been here telling me that you were going to run away to-night.”

“With apparent surprise, and opening his large eyes,” Cato exclaimed, “Well, well, well, ef dat nigger don’t beat de debble!” And here the negro raised his hands, and looking upward said, “Afoe God, marser, I would’nt leave you fer dis worl’. Now, ser, jess let me tell you how you can find out who tells de trufe. Charley has got ebry ting ready an’ is a gwine right off. He’s got two pies, some sweetcake, some sandwiches, bread an’ butter, an’ he’s got a pair of pumps to dance in when he gets to Canada. An’ ef you want to kotch him in de ack of runnin’ away, you jess wait out on de dock an’ you’ll kotch him.”

This was said in such an earnest manner, and with such protestations of innocence, that Captain Price determined to follow Cato’s advice and watch for Charley.

“Go see if you can find where Charley is, and come back and let me know,” said the Captain.

Away went Cato, on his tip-toes, in the direction of the steward’s room, where, by looking through the key-hole, he saw the treacherous fellow-servant getting ready for the surprise party that he had engaged the night previous to attend.

Cato returned almost breathless, and in a whisper said, “I foun’ him ser, he’s gittin’ ready to start. He’s got a bundle of provisions tied up all ready, ser; you’ll be shur to kotch him as he’s gwine away, ef you go on de dock.”

Throwing his camlet cloak over his shoulders, the Captain passed out upon the wharf, took a position behind a pile of wood, and awaited the coming of the negro; nor did he remain long in suspense.

With lighted cigar, dressed in his best apparel, and his eatables tied up in a towel, Charley was soon seen hastily leaving the boat.

Stepping out from his hiding-place, the Captain seized the negro by the collar and led him back to the steamer, exclaiming, “Where are you going, what’s that you’ve got in that bundle?”

“Only some washin’ I is takin’ out to get done,” replied the surprised and frightened negro.

As they reached the lighted deck, “Open that bundle,” said the Captain.

Charley began to obey the command, and at the the same time to give an explanation.

“Shut your mouth, you scoundrel,” vociferously shouted the Captain.

As the man slowly undid the parcel, and the contents began to be seen, “There,” said the Captain, “there’s the pies, cake, sandwiches, bread and butter that Cato told me you had put up to eat while running away. Yes, there’s the pumps, too, that you got to dance in when you reached Canada.”

Here the frightened Charley attempted again to explain, “I was jess gwine to—”

“Shut your mouth, you villain; you were going to escape to Canada.”

“No, Marser Price, afoe God I was only—”

“Shut your mouth, you black rascal; you told me you were taking some clothes to be washed, you lying scamp.”

During this scene, Cato was inside the pantry, with the door ajar, looking out upon his master and Charley with unfeigned satisfaction.

Still holding the negro by the collar, and leading him to the opposite side of the boat, the Captain called to Mr. Roberts, the second mate, to bring up the small boat to take him and the “runaway” over the river.

A few moments more, and the Captain, with Charley seated by his side, was being rowed to Covington, where the negro was safely locked up for the night.

“A little longer,” said the Captain to the second officer, as he returned to the boat, “a little longer and I’d a lost fifteen hundred dollars by that boy’s running away.”

“Indeed,” responded the officer.

“Yes,” continued the Commander, “my servant Cato told me, just in time to catch the rascal in the very act of running off.”

One of the sailors who was rowing, and who had been attentively listening to the Captain, said, “I overheard Cato to-day, trying to persuade Charley to go somewhere with him to-night, and the latter said he was going to a ‘surprise party.’”

“The devil you did,” exclaimed the Captain. “Hasten up there,” continued he, “for these niggers are a slippery set.”

As the yawl came alongside of the steamer, Captain Price leaped on deck and went directly in search of Cato, who could nowhere be found. And even Charley’s bundle, which he left where he had been opening it, was gone. All search for the tricky man was in vain.

On the following morning, Charley was brought back to the boat, saying, as they were crossing the river, “I tole de boss dat Cato was gwine to run away, but he did’nt bleve me. Now he sees Cato’s gone.”

After the Captain had learned all that he could from Charley, the latter’s account of his imprisonment in the lock-up caused great merriment amongst the boat’s crew.

“But I tell you dar was de biggest rats in dat jail, eber I seed in my life. Dey run aroun’ dar an’ make so much fuss dat I was ’fraid to set down or lay down. I had to stan’ up all night.”

The Chester was detained until in the latter part of the day, during which time every effort was made to hunt up Cato, but without success.

When upbraided by the black servants on the boat for his treachery to Cato, Charley’s only plea was, “I ’speck it was de debble dat made me do it.”

Dressing himself in his warmest and best clothes, and getting some provisions that he had prepared during the day, and also taking with him Charley’s pies, cakes, sandwiches, and pumps, Cato left the boat and made good his escape before his master returned from Covington.

It was during the cold winter of 1834, that the fugitive travelled by night and laid by in the woods in the day. After a week’s journey, his food gave out, and then came the severest of his trials, cold coupled with hunger.

Often Cato would resolve to go to some of the farm-houses and apply for food and shelter, but the fear of being captured and again returned prevented him from following his inclinations. One night a pelting rain that froze as fast as it fell, drove the fugitive into a barn, where, creeping under the hay, he remained, sleeping sweetly while his garments were drying upon his person.

Sounds of the voices of the farmer and his men feeding the cattle and doing the chores, awakened the man from his slumbers, who, seeing that it was daylight, feared he would be arrested. However, the day passed, and the fugitive coming out at nightfall, started once more on his weary journey, taking for his guide the North Star, and after travelling the entire night, he again lay by, but this time in the forest.

Three days of fasting had now forced hunger upon Cato, so that he once more determined to seek food. Waiting till night, he came upon the highway, and soon approached a farm-house, of the olden style, built of logs. The sweet savor of the supper attracted the hungry man’s attention as he neared the dwelling. For once there was no dog to herald his coming, and he had an opportunity of viewing the interior of the house, through the apertures that a log cabin generally presents.

As the fugitive stood with one eye gazing through the crack, looking at the table, already set, and snuffing in the delicious odor from a boiling pot, he heard the mother say,—“Take off the chicken, Sally Ann, I guess the dumplings are done. Your father will be home in half an hour; if he should catch that nigger and bring him along, we’ll feed him on the cold meat and potatoes.”

With palpitating heart, Cato listened to the last sentences that fell from the woman’s lips. Who could the “nigger” be, thought he.

Finding only the woman and her daughter in the house, the black man had been debating in his own mind whether or not to go in and demand a part of the contents of the kettle. However, the talk about “catching a nigger,” settled the question at once with him.

Seizing a sheet that hung upon the clothes-line, Cato covered himself with it; leaving open only enough to enable him to see, he rushed in, crying at the top of his voice,—“Come to judgment! Come to judgment.”

Both women sprang from their seats, and, screaming, passed out of the room, upsetting the table as they went. Cato seized the pot of chicken with one hand, and a loaf of bread, that had fallen from the table, with the other; hastily leaving the house and taking to the road, he continued on his journey.

The fugitive, however, had gone but a short distance when he heard the tramp of horses and the voices of men; and, fearing to meet them, he took to the woods till they had passed by.

As he hid behind a large tree by the roadside, Cato heard distinctly:

“And what is your master’s name?”

“Peter Johnson, ser,” was the reply.

“How much do you think he will give to have you brought back?”

“Dunno, ser,” responded a voice which Cato recognized by the language to be a negro.

It was evident that a fugitive slave had been captured, and was about to be returned for the reward. And it was equally evident to Cato that the slave had been caught by the owner of the pot of stewed chicken that he then held in his hand, and he felt a thrill of gladness as he returned to the road and pursued his journey.