SETH CONCKLIN.
In the long list of names who have suffered and died in the cause of
freedom, not one, perhaps, could be found whose efforts to redeem a poor
family of slaves were more Christlike than Seth Concklin's, whose noble
and daring spirit has been so long completely shrouded in mystery.
Except John Brown, it is a question, whether his rival could be found
with respect to boldness, disinterestedness and willingness to be
sacrificed for the deliverance of the oppressed.
By chance one day he came across a copy of the Pennsylvania Freeman,
containing the story of Peter Still, "the Kidnapped and the
Ransomed,"--how he had been torn away from his mother, when a little boy
six years old; how, for forty years and more, he had been compelled to
serve under the yoke, totally destitute as to any knowledge of his
parents' whereabouts; how the intense love of liberty and desire to get
back to his mother had unceasingly absorbed his mind through all these
years of bondage; how, amid the most appalling discouragements, prompted
alone by his undying determination to be free and be reunited with those
from whom he had been sold away, he contrived to buy himself; how, by
extreme economy, from doing over-work, he saved up five hundred dollars,
the amount of money required for his ransom, which, with his freedom,
he, from necessity, placed unreservedly in the confidential keeping of a
Jew, named Joseph Friedman, whom he had known for a long time and could
venture to trust,--how he had further toiled to save up money to defray
his expenses on an expedition in search of his mother and kindred; how,
when this end was accomplished, with an earnest purpose he took his
carpet-bag in his hand, and his heart throbbing for his old home and
people, he turned his mind very privately towards Philadelphia, where he
hoped, by having notices read in the colored churches to the effect that
"forty-one or forty-two years before two little boys[A] were kidnapped
and carried South"--that the memory of some of the older members might
recall the circumstances, and in this way he would be aided in his
ardent efforts to become restored to them.
[Footnote A: Sons of Levin and Sidney--the last names of his parents he
was too young to remember.]
And, furthermore, Seth Concklin had read how, on arriving in
Philadelphia, after traveling sixteen hundred miles, that almost the
first man whom Peter Still sought advice from was his own unknown
brother (whom he had never seen or heard of), who made the discovery
that he was the long-lost boy, whose history and fate had been enveloped
in sadness so long, and for whom his mother had shed so many tears and
offered so many prayers, during the long years of their separation; and,
finally, how this self-ransomed and restored captive, notwithstanding
his great success, was destined to suffer the keenest pangs of sorrow
for his wife and children, whom he had left in Alabama bondage.
Seth Concklin was naturally too singularly sympathetic and humane not to
feel now for Peter, and especially for his wife and children left in
bonds as bound with them. Hence, as Seth was a man who seemed wholly
insensible to fear, and to know no other law of humanity and right, than
whenever the claims of the suffering and the wronged appealed to him, to
respond unreservedly, whether those thus injured were amongst his
nearest kin or the greatest strangers,--it mattered not to what race or
clime they might belong,--he, in the spirit of the good Samaritan,
owning all such as his neighbors, volunteered his services, without pay
or reward, to go and rescue the wife and three children of Peter Still.
The magnitude of this offer can hardly be appreciated. It was literally
laying his life on the altar of freedom for the despised and oppressed
whom he had never seen, whose kins-folk even he was not acquainted with.
At this juncture even Peter was not prepared to accept this proposal. He
wanted to secure the freedom of his wife and children as earnestly as he
had ever desired to see his mother, yet he could not, at first, hearken
to the idea of having them rescued in the way suggested by Concklin,
fearing a failure.
To J.M. McKim and the writer, the bold scheme for the deliverance of
Peter's family was alone confided. It was never submitted to the
Vigilance Committee, for the reason, that it was not considered a matter
belonging thereto. On first reflection, the very idea of such an
undertaking seemed perfectly appalling. Frankly was he told of the great
dangers and difficulties to be encountered through hundreds of miles of
slave territory. Seth was told of those who, in attempting to aid slaves
to escape had fallen victims to the relentless Slave Power, and had
either lost their lives, or been incarcerated for long years in
penitentiaries, where no friendly aid could be afforded them; in short,
he was plainly told, that without a very great chance, the undertaking
would cost him his life. The occasion of this interview and
conversation, the seriousness of Concklin and the utter failure in
presenting the various obstacles to his plan, to create the slightest
apparent misgiving in his mind, or to produce the slightest sense of
fear or hesitancy, can never be effaced from the memory of the writer.
The plan was, however, allowed to rest for a time.
In the meanwhile, Peter's mind was continually vacillating between
Alabama, with his wife and children, and his new-found relatives in the
North. Said a brother, "If you cannot get your family, what will you do?
Will you come North and live with your relatives?" "I would as soon go
out of the world, as not to go back and do all I can for them," was the
prompt reply of Peter.
The problem of buying them was seriously considered, but here obstacles
quite formidable lay in the way. Alabama laws utterly denied the right
of a slave to buy himself, much less his wife and children. The right of
slave masters to free their slaves, either by sale or emancipation, was
positively prohibited by law. With these reflections weighing upon his
mind, having stayed away from his wife as long as he could content
himself to do, he took his carpet-bag in his hand, and turned his face
toward Alabama, to embrace his family in the prison-house of bondage.
His approach home could only be made stealthily, not daring to breathe
to a living soul, save his own family, his nominal Jew master, and one
other friend--a slave--where he had been, the prize he had found, or
anything in relation to his travels. To his wife and children his return
was unspeakably joyous. The situation of his family concerned him with
tenfold more weight than ever before,
As the time drew near to make the offer to his wife's master to purchase
her with his children, his heart failed him through fear of awakening
the ire of slaveholders against him, as he knew that the law and public
sentiment were alike deadly opposed to the spirit of freedom in the
slave. Indeed, as innocent as a step in this direction might appear, in
those days a man would have stood about as good a chance for his life in
entering a lair of hungry hyenas, as a slave or free colored man would,
in talking about freedom.
He concluded, therefore, to say nothing about buying. The plan proposed
by Seth Concklin was told to Vina, his wife; also what he had heard from
his brother about the Underground Rail Road,--how, that many who could
not get their freedom in any other way, by being aided a little, were
daily escaping to Canada. Although the wife and children had never
tasted the pleasures of freedom for a single hour in their lives, they
hated slavery heartily, and being about to be far separated from husband
and father, they were ready to assent to any proposition that looked
like deliverance.
So Peter proposed to Vina, that she should give him certain small
articles, consisting of a cape, etc., which he would carry with him as
memorials, and, in case Concklin or any one else should ever come for
her from him, as an unmistakable sign that all was right, he would send
back, by whoever was to befriend them, the cape, so that she and the
children might not doubt but have faith in the man, when he gave her the
sign, (cape).
Again Peter returned to Philadelphia, and was now willing to accept the
offer of Concklin. Ere long, the opportunity of an interview was had,
and Peter gave Seth a very full description of the country and of his
family, and made known to him, that he had very carefully gone over with
his wife and children the matter of their freedom. This interview
interested Concklin most deeply. If his own wife and children had been
in bondage, scarcely could he have manifested greater sympathy for them.
For the hazardous work before him he was at once prepared to make a
start. True he had two sisters in Philadelphia for whom he had always
cherished the warmest affection, but he conferred not with them on this
momentous mission. For full well did he know that it was not in human
nature for them to acquiesce in this perilous undertaking, though one of
these sisters, Mrs. Supplee, was a most faithful abolitionist.
Having once laid his hand to the plough he was not the man to look
back,--not even to bid his sisters good-bye, but he actually left them
as though he expected to be home to his dinner as usual. What had become
of him during those many weeks of his perilous labors in Alabama to
rescue this family was to none a greater mystery than to his sisters. On
leaving home he simply took two or three small articles in the way of
apparel with one hundred dollars to defray his expenses for a time; this
sum he considered ample to start with. Of course he had very safely
concealed about him Vina's cape and one or two other articles which he
was to use for his identification in meeting her and the children on the
plantation.
His first thought was, on reaching his destination, after becoming
acquainted with the family, being familiar with Southern manners, to
have them all prepared at a given hour for the starting of the steamboat
for Cincinnati, and to join him at the wharf, when he would boldly
assume the part of a slaveholder, and the family naturally that of
slaves, and in this way he hoped to reach Cincinnati direct, before
their owner had fairly discovered their escape.
But alas for Southern irregularity, two or three days' delay after being
advertised to start, was no uncommon circumstance with steamers; hence
this plan was abandoned. What this heroic man endured from severe
struggles and unyielding exertions, in traveling thousands of miles on
water and on foot, hungry and fatigued, rowing his living freight for
seven days and seven nights in a skiff, is hardly to be paralleled in
the annals of the Underground Rail Road.
The following interesting letters penned by the hand of Concklin convey
minutely his last struggles and characteristically represent the
singleness of heart which impelled him to sacrifice his life for the
slave--
EASTPORT, MISS., FEB. 3, 1851.
To Wm. Still:--Our friends in Cincinnati have failed finding anybody to
assist me on my return. Searching the country opposite Paducah, I find
that the whole country fifty miles round is inhabited only by Christian
wolves. It is customary, when a strange negro is seen, for any white man
to seize the negro and convey such negro through and out of the State of
Illinois to Paducah, Ky., and lodge such stranger in Paducah jail, and
there claim such reward as may be offered by the master.
There is no regularity by the steamboats on the Tennessee River. I was
four days getting to Florence from Paducah. Sometimes they are four days
starting, from the time appointed, which alone puts to rest the plan for
returning by steamboat. The distance from the mouth of the river to
Florence, is from between three hundred and five to three hundred and
forty-five miles by the river; by land, two hundred and fifty, or more.
I arrived at the shoe shop on the plantation, one o'clock, Tuesday,
28th. William and two boys were making shoes. I immediately gave the
first signal, anxiously waiting thirty minutes for an opportunity to
give the second and main signal, during which time I was very sociable.
It was rainy and muddy--my pants were rolled up to the knees. I was in
the character of a man seeking employment in this country. End of thirty
minutes gave the second signal.
William appeared unmoved; soon sent out the boys; instantly sociable;
Peter and Levin at the Island; one of the young masters with them; not
safe to undertake to see them till Saturday night, when they would be at
home; appointed a place to see Vina, in an open field, that night; they
to bring me something to eat; our interview only four minutes; I left;
appeared by night; dark and cloudy; at ten o'clock appeared William;
exchanged signals; led me a few rods to where stood Vina; gave her the
signal sent by Peter; our interview ten minutes; she did not call me
"master," nor did she say "sir," by which I knew she had confidence in
me.
Our situation being dangerous, we decided that I meet Peter and Levin on
the bank of the river early dawn of day, Sunday, to establish the laws.
During our interview, William prostrated on his knees, and face to the
ground; arms sprawling; head cocked back, watching for wolves, by which
position a man can see better in the dark. No house to go to safely,
traveled round till morning, eating hoe cake which William had given me
for supper; next day going around to get employment. I thought of
William, who is a Christian preacher, and of the Christian preachers in
Pennsylvania. One watching for wolves by night, to rescue Vina and her
three children from Christian licentiousness; the other standing erect
in open day, seeking the praise of men.
During the four days waiting for the important Sunday morning, I
thoroughly surveyed the rocks and shoals of the river from Florence
seven miles up, where will be my place of departure. General notice was
taken of me as being a stranger, lurking around. Fortunately there are
several small grist mills within ten miles around. No taverns here, as
in the North; any planter's house entertains travelers occasionally.
One night I stayed at a medical gentleman's, who is not a large planter;
another night at an ex-magistrate's house in South Florence--a Virginian
by birth--one of the late census takers; told me that many more persons
cannot read and write than is reported; one fact, amongst many others,
that many persons who do not know the letters of the alphabet, have
learned to write their own names; such are generally reported readers
and writers.
It being customary for a stranger not to leave the house early in the
morning where he has lodged, I was under the necessity of staying out
all night Saturday, to be able to meet Peter and Levin, which was
accomplished in due time. When we approached, I gave my signal first;
immediately they gave theirs. I talked freely. Levin's voice, at first,
evidently trembled. No wonder, for my presence universally attracted
attention by the lords of the land. Our interview was less than one
hour; the laws were written. I to go to Cincinnati to get a rowing boat
and provisions; a first class clipper boat to go with speed. To depart
from the place where the laws were written, on Saturday night of the
first of March. I to meet one of them at the same place Thursday night,
previous to the fourth Saturday from the night previous to the Sunday
when the laws were written. We to go down the Tennessee river to some
place up the Ohio, not yet decided on, in our row boat. Peter and Levin
are good oarsmen. So am I. Telegraph station at Tuscumbia, twelve miles
from the plantation, also at Paducah.
Came from Florence to here Sunday night by steamboat. Eastport is in
Mississippi. Waiting here for a steamboat to go down; paying one dollar
a day for board. Like other taverns here, the wretchedness is
indescribable; no pen, ink, paper or newspaper to be had; only one room
for everybody, except the gambling rooms. It is difficult for me to
write. Vina intends to get a pass for Catharine and herself for the
first Sunday in March.
The bank of the river where I met Peter and Levin is two miles from the
plantation. I have avoided saying I am from Philadelphia. Also avoided
talking about negroes. I never talked so much about milling before. I
consider most of the trouble over, till I arrive in a free State with my
crew, the first week in March; then will I have to be wiser than
Christian serpents, and more cautious than doves. I do not consider it
safe to keep this letter in my possession, yet I dare not put it in the
post-office here; there is so little business in these post-offices that
notice might be taken.
I am evidently watched; everybody knows me to be a miller. I may write
again when I get to Cincinnati, if I should have time. The
ex-magistrate, with whom I stayed in South Florence, held three hours'
talk with me, exclusive of our morning talk. Is a man of good general
information; he was exceedingly inquisitive. "I am from Cincinnati,
formerly from the _State of New York_." I had no opportunity to get
anything to eat from seven o'clock Tuesday morning till six o'clock
Wednesday evening, except the hoe cake, and no sleep.
Florence is the head of navigation for small steamboats. Seven miles,
all the way up to my place of departure, is swift water, and rocky.
Eight hundred miles to Cincinnati. I found all things here as Peter told
me, except the distance of the river. South Florence contains twenty
white families, three warehouses of considerable business, a
post-office, but no school. McKiernon is here waiting for a steamboat to
go to New Orleans, so we are in company.
PRINCETON, GIBSON COUNTY, INDIANA, FEB. 18, 1851.
To Wm. Still:--The plan is to go to Canada, on the Wabash, opposite
Detroit. There are four routes to Canada. One through Illinois,
commencing above and below Alton; one through to North Indiana, and the
Cincinnati route, being the largest route in the United States.
I intended to have gone through Pennsylvania, but the risk going up the
Ohio river has caused me to go to Canada. Steamboat traveling is
universally condemned, though many go in boats, consequently many get
lost. Going in a skiff is new, and is approved of in my case. After I
arrive at the mouth of the Tennessee river, I will go up the Ohio
seventy-five miles, to the mouth of the Wabash, then up the Wabash,
forty-four miles to New Harmony, where I shall go ashore by night, and
go thirteen miles east, to Charles Grier, a farmer, (colored man), who
will entertain us, and next night convey us sixteen miles to David
Stormon, near Princeton, who will take the command, and I be released.
David Stormon estimates the expenses from his house to Canada, at forty
dollars, without which, no sure protection will be given. They might be
instructed concerning the course, and beg their way through without
money. If you wish to do what should be done, you will send me fifty
dollars, in a letter, to Princeton, Gibson county, Inda., so as to
arrive there by the 8th of March. Eight days should be estimated for a
letter to arrive from Philadelphia.
The money to be State Bank of Ohio, or State Bank, or Northern Bank of
Kentucky, or any other Eastern bank. Send no notes larger than twenty
dollars.
Levi Coffin had no money for me. I paid twenty dollars for the skiff. No
money to get back to Philadelphia. It was not understood that I would
have to be at any expense seeking aid.
One half of my time has been used in trying to find persons to assist,
when I may arrive on the Ohio river, in which I have failed, except
Stormon.
Having no letter of introduction to Stormon from any source, on which I
could fully rely, I traveled two hundred miles around, to find out his
stability. I have found many Abolitionists, nearly all who have made
propositions, which themselves would not comply with, and nobody else
would. Already I have traveled over three thousand miles. Two thousand
and four hundred by steamboat, two hundred by railroad, one hundred by
stage, four hundred on foot, forty-eight in a skiff.
I have yet five hundred miles to go to the plantation, to commence
operations. I have been two weeks on the decks of steamboats, three
nights out, two of which I got perfectly wet. If I had had paper money,
as McKim desired, it would have been destroyed. I have not been
entertained gratis at any place except Stormon's. I had one hundred and
twenty-six dollars when I left Philadelphia, one hundred from you,
twenty-six mine.
Telegraphed to station at Evansville, thirty-three miles from Stormon's,
and at Vinclure's, twenty-five miles from Stormon's. The Wabash route is
considered the safest route. No one has ever been lost from Stormon's to
Canada. Some have been lost between Stormon's and the Ohio. The wolves
have never suspected Stormon. Your asking aid in money for a case
properly belonging east of Ohio, is detested. If you have sent money to
Cincinnati, you should recall it. I will have no opportunity to use it.
Seth Concklin, Princeton, Gibson county, Ind.
P.S. First of April, will be about the time Peter's family will arrive
opposite Detroit. You should inform yourself how to find them there. I
may have no opportunity.
I will look promptly for your letter at Princeton, till the 10th of
March, and longer if there should have been any delay by the mails.
In March, as contemplated, Concklin arrived in Indiana, at the place
designated, with Peter's wife and three children, and sent a thrilling
letter to the writer, portraying in the most vivid light his adventurous
flight from the hour they left Alabama until their arrival in Indiana.
In this report he stated, that instead of starting early in the morning,
owing to some unforeseen delay on the part of the family, they did not
reach the designated place till towards day, which greatly exposed them
in passing a certain town which he had hoped to avoid.
But as his brave heart was bent on prosecuting his journey without
further delay, he concluded to start at all hazards, notwithstanding the
dangers he apprehended from passing said town by daylight. For safety he
endeavored to hide his freight by having them all lie flat down on the
bottom of the skiff; covered them with blankets, concealing them from
the effulgent beams of the early morning sun, or rather from the
"Christian Wolves" who might perchance espy him from the shore in
passing the town.
The wind blew fearfully. Concklin was rowing heroically when loud voices
from the shore hailed him, but he was utterly deaf to the sound.
Immediately one or two guns were fired in the direction of the skiff,
but he heeded not this significant call; consequently here ended this
difficulty. He supposed, as the wind was blowing so hard, those on shore
who hailed him must have concluded that he did not hear them and that he
meant no disrespect in treating them with seeming indifference. Whilst
many straits and great dangers had to be passed, this was the greatest
before reaching their destination.
But suffice it to say that the glad tidings which this letter contained
filled the breast of Peter with unutterable delight and his friends and
relations with wonder beyond degree.[A] No fond wife had ever waited
with more longing desire for the return of her husband than Peter had
for this blessed news. All doubts had disappeared, and a well grounded
hope was cherished that within a few short days Peter and his fond wife
and children would be reunited in Freedom on the Canada side, and that
Concklin and the friends would be rejoicing with joy unspeakable over
this great triumph. But alas, before the few days had expired the
subjoined brief paragraph of news was discovered in the morning Ledger.
[Footnote A: In some unaccountable manner this the last letter Concklin
ever penned, perhaps, has been unfortunately lost.]
RUNAWAY NEGROES CAUGHT.--At Vincennes, Indiana, on Saturday
last, a white man and four negroes were arrested. The negroes
belong to B. McKiernon, of South Florence, Alabama, and the man
who was running them off calls himself John H. Miller. The
prisoners were taken charge of by the Marshall of
Evansville.--_April 9th_.
How suddenly these sad tidings turned into mourning and gloom the hope
and joy of Peter and his relatives no pen could possibly describe; at
least the writer will not attempt it here, but will at once introduce a
witness who met the noble Concklin and the panting fugitives in Indiana
and proffered them sympathy and advice. And it may safely be said from a
truer and more devoted friend of the slave they could not have received
counsel.
EVANSVILLE, INDIANA, MARCH 31st, 1851.
WM. STILL: _Dear Sir_ ,--On last Tuesday I mailed a letter to
you, written by Seth Concklin. I presume you have received that
letter. It gave an account of his rescue of the family of your
brother. If that is the last news you have had from them, I have
very painful intelligence for you. They passed on from near
Princeton, where I saw them and had a lengthy interview with
them, up north, I think twenty-three miles above Vincennes,
Ind., where they were seized by a party of men, and lodged in
jail. Telegraphic dispatches were sent all through the South. I
have since learned that the Marshall of Evansville received a
dispatch from Tuscumbia, to look out for them. By some means, he
and the master, so says report, went to Vincennes and claimed
the fugitives, chained Mr. Concklin and hurried all off. Mr.
Concklin wrote to Mr. David Stormon, Princeton, as soon as he
was cast into prison, to find bail. So soon as we got the letter
and could get off, two of us were about setting off to render
all possible aid, when we were told they all had passed, a few
hours before, through Princeton, Mr. Concklin in chains. What
kind of process was had, if any, I know not. I immediately came
down to this place, and learned that they had been put on a boat
at 3 P.M. I did not arrive until 6. Now all hopes of their
recovery are gone. No case ever so enlisted my sympathies. I had
seen Mr. Concklin in Cincinnati. I had given him aid and
counsel. I happened to see them after they landed in Indiana. I
heard Peter and Levin tell their tale of suffering, shed tears
of sorrow for them all; but now, since they have fallen a prey
to the unmerciful blood-hounds of this state, and have again
been dragged back to unrelenting bondage, I am entirely
unmanned. And poor Concklin! I fear for him. When he is dragged
back to Alabama, I fear they will go far beyond the utmost rigor
of the law, and vent their savage cruelty upon him. It is with
pain I have to communicate these things. But you may not hear
them from him. I could not get to see him or them, as Vincennes
is about thirty miles from Princeton, where I was when I heard
of the capture.
I take pleasure in stating that, according to the letter he
(Concklin) wrote to Mr. D. Stewart, Mr. Concklin did not abandon
them, but risked his own liberty to save them. He was not with
them when they were taken; but went afterwards to take them out
of jail upon a writ of Habeas Corpus, when they seized him too
and lodged him in prison.
I write in much haste. If I can learn any more facts of
importance, I may write you. If you desire to hear from me
again, or if you should learn any thing specific from Mr.
Concklin, be pleased to write me at Cincinnati, where I expect
to be in a short time. If curious to know your correspondent, I
may say I was formerly Editor of the "New Concord Free Press,"
Ohio. I only add that every case of this kind only tends to make
me abhor my (no!) _this_ country more and more. It is the
Devil's Government, and God will destroy it.
Yours for the slave, N.R. JOHNSTON.
P.S. I broke open this letter to write you some more. The
foregoing pages were written at night. I expected to mail it
next morning before leaving Evansville; but the boat for which I
was waiting came down about three in the morning; so I had to
hurry on board, bringing the letter along. As it now is I am not
sorry, for coming down, on my way to St. Louis, as far as
Paducah, there I learned from a colored man at the wharf that,
that same day, in the morning, the master and the family of
fugitives arrived off the boat, and had then gone on their
journey to Tuscumbia, but that the "white man" (Mr. Concklin)
had "got away from them," about twelve miles up the river. It
seems he got off the boat some way, near or at Smithland, Ky., a
town at the mouth of the Cumberland River. I presume the report
is true, and hope he will finally escape, though I was also told
that they were in pursuit of him. Would that the others had also
escaped. Peter and Levin could have done so, I think, if they
had had resolution. One of them rode a horse, he not tied
either, behind the coach in which the others were. He followed
apparently "contented and happy." From report, they told their
master, and even their pursuers, before the master came, that
Concklin had decoyed them away, they coming unwillingly. I write
on a very unsteady boat.
Yours, N.R. JOHNSTON.
A report found its way into the papers to the effect that "Miller," the
white man arrested in connection with the capture of the family, was
found drowned, with his hands and feet in chains and his skull
fractured. It proved, as his friends feared, to be Seth Concklin. And in
irons, upon the river bank, there is no doubt he was buried.
In this dreadful hour one sad duty still remained to be performed. Up to
this moment the two sisters were totally ignorant of their brother's
whereabouts. Not the first whisper of his death had reached them. But
they must now be made acquainted with all the facts in the case.
Accordingly an interview was arranged for a meeting, and the duty of
conveying this painful intelligence to one of the sisters, Mrs. Supplee,
devolved upon Mr. McKim. And most tenderly and considerately did he
perform his mournful task.
Although a woman of nerve, and a true friend to the slave, an earnest
worker and a liberal giver in the Female Anti-Slavery Society, for a
time she was overwhelmed by the intelligence of her brother's death. As
soon as possible, however, through very great effort, she controlled her
emotions, and calmly expressed herself as being fully resigned to the
awful event. Not a word of complaint had she to make because she had not
been apprised of his movements; but said repeatedly, that, had she known
ever so much of his intentions, she would have been totally powerless in
opposing him if she had felt so disposed, and as an illustration of the
true character of the man, from his boyhood up to the day he died for
his fellow-man, she related his eventful career, and recalled a number
of instances of his heroic and daring deeds for others, sacrificing his
time and often periling his life in the cause of those who he considered
were suffering gross wrongs and oppression. Hence, she concluded, that
it was only natural for him in this case to have taken the steps he did.
Now and then overflowing tears would obstruct this deeply thrilling and
most remarkable story she was telling of her brother, but her memory
seemed quickened by the sadness of the occasion, and she was enabled to
recall vividly the chief events connected with his past history. Thus
his agency in this movement, which cost him his life, could readily
enough be accounted for, and the individuals who listened attentively to
the story were prepared to fully appreciate his character, for, prior to
offering his services in this mission, he had been a stranger to them.
The following extract, taken from a letter of a subsequent date, in
addition to the above letter, throws still further light upon the
heart-rending affair, and shows Mr. Johnston's deep sympathy with the
sufferers and the oppressed generally--
EXTRACT OF A LETTER FROM REV. N.R. JOHNSTON.
My heart bleeds when I think of those poor, hunted and
heart-broken fugitives, though a most interesting family, taken
back to bondage ten-fold worse than Egyptian. And then poor
Concklin! How my heart expanded in love to him, as he told me
his adventures, his trials, his toils, his fears and his hopes!
After hearing all, and then seeing and communing with the
family, now joyful in hopes of soon seeing their husband and
father in the land of freedom; now in terror lest the human
blood-hounds should be at their heels, I felt as though I could
lay down my life in the cause of the oppressed. In that hour or
two of intercourse with Peter's family, my heart warmed with
love to them. I never saw more interesting young men. They would
make Remonds or Douglasses, if they had the same opportunities.
While I was with them, I was elated with joy at their escape,
and yet, when I heard their tale of woe, especially that of the
mother, I could not suppress tears of deepest emotion.
My joy was short-lived. Soon I heard of their capture. The
telegraph had been the means of their being claimed. I could
have torn down all the telegraph wires in the land. It was a
strange dispensation of Providence.
On Saturday the sad news of their capture came to my ears. We
had resolved to go to their aid on Monday, as the trial was set
for Thursday. On Sabbath, I spoke from Psalm xii. 5. "For the
oppression of the poor, for the sighing of the needy, now will I
arise," saith the Lord: "I will set him in safety from him that
puffeth at (from them that would enslave) him." When on Monday
morning I learned that the fugitives had passed through the
place on Sabbath, and Concklin in chains, probably at the very
time I was speaking on the subject referred to, my heart sank
within me. And even yet, I cannot but exclaim, when I think of
it--O, Father! how long ere Thou wilt arise to avenge the wrongs
of the poor slave! Indeed, my dear brother, His ways are very
mysterious. We have the consolation, however, to know that all
is for the best. Our Redeemer does all things well. When He hung
upon the cross, His poor broken hearted disciples could not
understand the providence; it was a dark time to them; and yet
that was an event that was fraught with more joy to the world
than any that has occurred or could occur. Let us stand at our
post and wait God's time. Let us have on the whole armor of God,
and fight for the right, knowing, that though we may fall in
battle, the victory will be ours, sooner or later.
* * * * *
May God lead you into all truth, and sustain you in your labors,
and fulfill your prayers and hopes. Adieu.
N.R. JOHNSTON.
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