The Underground Railroad
the last time in the flesh. It was a sad reflection. That evening at
dark, he was at the wharf, according to promise. The man with the ashes
immediately appeared and signalled him. In his three suits of clothing
(all on his back), he walked on the boat, and was conducted to the coal
covering, where Egyptian darkness prevailed. The appointed hour for the
starting of the steamer, was ten o'clock the following morning. By the
aid of prayer, he endured the suffering that night. No sooner had the
steamer got under way, than a heavy gale was encountered; for between
three and four days the gale and fog combined, threatened the steamer
with a total loss. All the freight on deck, consisting of tobacco and
cotton, had to be thrown overboard, to save the passengers.
Henry, in his state of darkness, saw nothing, nor could he know the
imminent peril that his life was in. Fortunately he was not sea-sick,
but slept well and long on the voyage. The steamer was five days coming.
On landing at Philadelphia, Henry could scarcely see or walk; the spirit
of freedom, however, was burning brightly in the hidden man, and the
free gales of fresh air and a few hours on free soil soon enabled him to
overcome the difficulties which first presented themselves, and he was
soon one of the most joyful mortals living. He tarried two days with his
friends in Philadelphia, and then hastened on to Boston. After being in
Boston two months, he was passing through the market one day, when, to
his surprise, he espied his young master, Charles L. Hobson. Henry was
sure, however, that he was not recognized, but suspected that he was
hunted. Instantly, Henry pulled up his coat collar, and drew his hat
over his face to disguise himself as much as possible; but he could not
wholly recover from the shock he had thus sustained. He turned aside
from the market and soon met a friend formerly from Richmond, who had
been in servitude in the tobacco factory owned by his master. Henry
tried to prevail on him to spot out said Hobson, in the market, and see
if there possibly could be any mistake. Not a step would his friend take
in that direction. He had been away for several years, still he was a
fugitive, and didn't like the idea of renewing his acquaintance with old
or new friends with a white skin from Virginia. Henry, however, could
not content himself until he had taken another good look at Mr. Hobson.
Disguising himself he again took a stroll through the market, looking on
the right and left as he passed along; presently he saw him seated at a
butcher's stall. He examined him to his satisfaction, and then went
speedily to headquarters (the Anti-Slavery Office), made known the fact
of his discovery, and stated that he believed his master had no other
errand to Boston than to capture him. Measures were at once taken to
ascertain if such a man as Charles L. Hobson was booked at any of the
hotels in Boston.
On finding that this was really a fact, Henry was offered and accepted
private quarters with the well-known philanthropist and friend of the
fugitive, Francis Jackson. His house as well as his purse was always
open to the slave. While under the roof of Mr. Jackson, as Hobson
advertised and described Henry so accurately, and offered a reward of
two hundred and fifty dollars for him, Henry's friends thought that they
would return him the compliment by publishing him in the Boston papers
quite as accurately if not with as high a reward for him; they
advertised him after this manner: "Charles L. Hobson, twenty-two years
of age, six feet high, with a slouched hat on, mixed coat, black pants,
with a goatee, is stopping at the Tremont Hotel," &c., &c. This was as a
bomb-shell to Mr. Hobson, and he immediately took the hint, and with his
trunks steered for the sunny South. In a day or two afterwards Henry
deemed it advisable to visit Canada. After arriving there he wrote back
to his young master, to let him know where he was, and why he left, and
what he was doing. How his letter was received Henry was never informed.
For five years he lived in Boston and ran on a boat trading to Canada
East. He saved up his money and took care of himself creditably. He was
soon prepared to go into some business that would pay him better than
running on the boat. Two of his young friends agreed with him that they
could do better in Philadelphia than in Boston, so they came to the City
of Brotherly Love and opened a first-class dining-saloon near Third and
Chestnut streets. For a time they carried on the business with
enterprise and commendable credit, but one of the partners, disgusted
with the prejudices of the city passenger railway cars, felt that he
could no longer live here. Henry, known after leaving Slavery only by
the name of Wm. Scott, quitted the restaurant business and found
employment as a messenger under Thomas A. Scott, Esq., Vice-President of
the Pennsylvania Central Rail Road, where he has faithfully served for
the last four years, and has the prospect of filling the office for many
years to come. He is an industrious, sober, steady, upright, and
intelligent young man, and takes care of his wife and child in a
comfortable three story brick house of his own.
* * * * *
ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1859.
Miles Robinson was the slave of Mrs. Roberts, a widow lady living in
York County, Virginia. He did not live with her, however, but was hired
out in the city of Richmond. He had been fortunate in falling into hands
that had not treated him harshly. He was not contented, however. Much of
the leisure falling incidentally to his lot from hours of duty, he
devoted to the banjo. As a player on this instrument he had become quite
gifted, but music in Richmond was not liberty. The latter he craved, and
in thought was often far beyond Mason and Dixon's line, enjoying that
which was denied him in Virginia. Although but twenty-two years of age,
Miles was manly, and determination and intelligence were traits strongly
marked in his unusually well-shaped visage. Hearing that he was to be
sold, he conferred not with his mother, brothers, or sisters, (for such
he had living as slaves in Richmond) but resolved to escape by the first
convenience. Turning his attention to the Underground Rail Road, he soon
found an agent who communicated his wishes to one of the colored women
running as cook or chambermaid on one of the Philadelphia and Richmond
steamers, and she was bold enough to take charge of him, and found him a
safe berth in one of the closets where the pots and other cooking
utensils belonged. It was rather rough and trying, but Miles felt that
it was for liberty, and he must pass through the ordeal without
murmuring, which he did, until success was achieved and he found himself
in Philadelphia. Boston being the haven on which his hopes were fixed,
after recruiting a short while in the city he steered for said place.
Finding liberty there as sweet as he had fondly hoped to find it, he
applied himself unceasingly to industrial pursuits, economy, the
improvement of his mind and the elevation of his race. Four years he
passed thus, under the shadow of Bunker Hill, at the end of which time
he invested the earnings, which he had saved, in a business with two
young friends in Philadelphia. All being first-class waiters and
understanding catering, they decided to open a large dining-saloon.
Miles was one of the two friends mentioned in Wm. Scott's narrative, and
as his success and consequent fortunes have been already referred to, it
will suffice here to mention him simply in connection with two contests
that he sustained with the prejudice that sought to drive colored people
from the passenger cars.
At the corner of Fourth and Walnut streets Miles, in company with two
other young men, Wallace and Marshall, one evening in a most orderly
manner, entered the cars and took their seats. The conductor ordered
them on the front platform; they did not budge. He stopped the car and
ordered them out; this did no good. He read rules, and was not a little
embarrassed by these polite and well-dressed young men. Finally he
called for the police, who arrested all three. Miles did not yield his
seat without a struggle. In being pulled out his resistance was such
that several window lights were broken in the car. The police being in
strong force, however, succeeded in marching their prisoners to the
Mayor's police station at the corner of Fifth and Chestnut streets where
they were locked up to await further investigation. The prisoners
thought they were back in "old Virginny" again. Miles gritted his teeth
and felt very indignant, but what could he do? The infamous prejudice
against which they had borne testimony was controlling all the lines of
city passenger railways in Philadelphia. While Miles and his friends
were willing to suffer for a principle, the dirt, filth, cold, and
disagreeableness of the quarters that they most likely would be
compelled to occupy all night and the following day (Sunday) forbade
submission. Added to this Miles felt that his young wife would hardly be
able to contain herself while he was locked up. They sent for the writer
to intercede for them.
At a late hour of the night, after going from the alderman's
boardinghouse to a fire engine house and other places, where it was
supposed that he might probably be found, on going a third time to his
hotel, a little before midnight, he was discovered to be in bed, and it
was then ascertained that he had not been out all the evening. The night
was very stormy. We could not tell whether or not the fruitless chase on
which we had been sent in search of the alderman, was in keeping with
the spirit that had locked the men up, designed to mislead us; he
condescended at last to appear, and accepted our offer to go bail for
all of them, and finally issued a discharge. This was hastily delivered
at the station, and the prisoners were released.
But Miles was not satisfied; he had breathed free air in Massachusetts
for four years, and being a man of high spirit he felt that he must
further test the prejudices of the cars. Consequently one very cold
night, when a deep snow covered the pavements, he was out with his wife,
and thought that he would ride; his wife being fair, he put her on the
car at the corner of Third and Pine streets, and walked to the corner of
Fourth and Pine streets, where he stepped into the car and took his
seat. The conductor straightway ordered him out, on the plea of color.
God had shaded him a little too much. "How is this, my wife is in this
car," spake Miles. All eyes gazed around to see who his wife was. By
this time the car had been stopped, and the wrath of the conductor was
kindled prodigiously. He did not, however, lay violent hands upon Miles.
A late decision in court had taught the police that they had no right to
interfere, except in cases where the peace was actually being broken; so
in order to get rid of this troublesome customer, the car was run off
the track, the shivering passengers all leaving it, as though flying
from a plague, with the exception of Miles, his wife, and another
colored gentleman, who got on with Miles. The conductor then hoisted all
the windows, took out the cushions, and unhitched the horses. But Miles
and his party stood it bravely; Miles burning all the time with
indignation at this exhibition of prejudice in the city of Brotherly
Love. The war was then raging fiercely, and as Miles then felt, he was
almost prepared to say, he didn't care which beat, as the woman said,
when she saw her husband and the bear wrestling. He was compelled to
admit that this prejudice was akin to slavery, and gave to slavery its
chief support.
The occupants of the horseless car, which was being aired so thoroughly,