PERHAPS in all Macon there were no slaves less hardly used than William and Ellen Craft. And, as a little prosperity rightly brings with it the wish for a continuance of welfare, none were more eager to gain their freedom.

      Ellen was ladies' maid in the family of her master, and a household favorite. While other girls of her degree were herded in the crowded negro quarters, she had a little room in a neat cottage where she could sew or rest; and she had made, of her one room, a sort of home for William and herself. William was a skilled workman, employed in the shop of a cabinet-maker. Two hundred dollars of his earnings went yearly to his master; the rest he was allowed to keep; and as his spare hours also were his own, the lot which he and Ellen shared together as husband and wife was happier far than that of most Macon house-servants or plantation hands.

      Present good fortune, however, could neither blot out the memory of the past nor blind them to the chances of the future. Ellen had been taken from her mother when quite a child, to be sold into another part of the country. William had seen his father and mother parted by different buyers, and his brother and sister placed upon the auction-block. The slave life was one of uncertainty from day to day. William might at any time come back from work to find Ellen gone, or Ellen look in vain for William's return. Indeed, they had waited long before entering upon marriage, feeling that freedom should come first; and now that they were finally united as firmly and legally as slaves could be, but in bonds for which the slave-code had no respect, their determination to escape became stronger than ever.

      At last, one December night, in the year 1848, William broached a daring plan. Ellen was nearly white. William asked her if she could disguise herself as a Southern gentleman, and, taking him with her as her servant, travel across Georgia, past the Carolinas, through Virginia to Washington and Baltimore, and thence to Philadelphia or farther north. Ellen shrank from the idea with dismay. She was unused to travelling. The distance was more than a thousand miles. At every stage of the journey she would meet men who made it their business to stop runaways and send them back to their masters. But as she thought of the possibility of obtaining freedom, courage came. She told William that if he would get the disguise, she would try to carry out his plan. So, during the next four days, William bought, bit by bit, and at widely separated shops, for fear of exciting comment, the various parts of a man's attire. These he carried, piece by piece, on successive nights, to Ellen's room. She locked them in a chest of drawers which William had made for her in his leisure hours, and kept them until all had been procured. At the end of the fourth night everything was ready for departure. Christmas was at hand, — a season when masters and mistresses often granted holidays to their servants, and both William and Ellen had been given leave of absence for a few days; so they were not afraid of immediate pursuit. If they could get away from Macon without detection, they could not be overtaken within the slave states.

      Ellen dressed in her new costume. Her husband cut her hair, which waved, but did not curl; bound her right arm in a sling, that she need not show her ignorance of the art of writing, when asked to register her name; tied a bandage about her chin and over her head, to conceal the smoothness of her cheeks; and fetched a pair of green goggles, to hide her frightened eyes. Altogether, when he had set a silk hat upon her head, she looked like what they intended people to suppose her to be, — a very ill but very respectable young Southern planter, bound for the North for change of air.

      It was morning, but still dark, when in silence and in tears this slender, trembling figure stepped out of the cottage door. William followed, with the valise. They parted there, to go by different routes to the station; William hastened on by a short-cut, to avoid meeting any one he knew, while his invalid charge kept to the usual streets, and arrived somewhat later at the train. Without discovery the young planter bought Savannah tickets for himself and for his slave, who was safely stowed away in the negro car, and then took a seat in the comfortable accommodations provided for white people, where a negro passenger would not dare to intrude.

      The conductor had shouted his "All aboard," and the train was about to move, when William, peeping from his dark corner, saw the cabinet-maker coming down the platform, glancing into the car windows as though in search of some one. He was, in fact, looking for William and Ellen, for he had his suspicions that they meant to run away; but he failed to recognize Ellen in her invalid's disguise, and before he reached William's car, the bell rang and the engine puffed mockingly away, leaving him no wiser than he was before.

      As the hours vanished, and the familiar fields changed to strange ones, Ellen, recovering from her first fright, looked around the car. To her terror, she found that a Mr. Gray, a gentleman who had known her from childhood, and who had dined at her mistress's table only the day before, had taken his seat beside her. She felt sure that he must know her, and that he would attempt to capture her; but she resolved to brave it out, and if he should speak to her, to pretend that she was deaf. Presently he did speak. "It is a very fine morning, sir," he said. Ellen did not reply.

      "It is a very fine morning," he repeated, in a louder tone. Still no answer; Ellen gazed steadily out of the window. One of the passengers laughed.

      This nettled Mr. Gray. "I will make him hear," he said; and summoning his utmost lung-power, he roared once more, "It is a very fine morning!"

      At this Ellen turned. "Yes," she assented, with a polite bow, and then looked out of the window again. This pacified her companion; but conversation was too difficult, and with the testy ejaculation, "I shall not trouble that fellow any more," he directed his observations elsewhere, and until he left the train at Milledgeville, engaged the other travellers in discussions upon the negroes, cotton, and the abolitionists.

      Ellen had often, says her husband, in his account of their adventures, heard of abolitionists, "but in such a connection as to cause her to think that they were a fearful kind of wild animal." She learned here for the first time that they were men, and white men, who were willing to shoulder the negro's cause.

      On reaching Savannah the fugitives took a steamer for Charleston. As the men on board the steamer showed some curiosity concerning the invalid gentleman, and commented upon his retiring so speedily to his berth, William made a great show of warming flannels and opodeldoc for his master's rheumatism, and carried them with much devotion to his room.

      Ellen was seated in the place of honor at the captain's right hand. When William had cut up her food for her and had left the cabin, the captain said, "You have a very attentive boy, sir, but you had better watch him like a hawk when you get to the North."

      A slave-dealer sitting on the other side of the table broke in with, "Sound doctrine, Captain, very sound! I would not take a nigger to the North, under no consideration." Then turning to Ellen he continued, "Now, stranger, if you have made up your mind to sell that ere nigger, I am your man!"

      "I don't wish to sell, sir," Ellen replied; "I cannot get on well without him."

      "You will have to get on without him if you take him to the North," insisted the dealer. "I tell you, stranger, you had better sell, and let me take him down to New Orleans. He will do you no good if you cross Mason and Dixon's line. He is a keen nigger, and I can see from the cut of his eye that he is certain to run away."

      Another passenger, a military officer, had also some advice to offer. "You will excuse me, sir," he said, " for saying that I think you are very likely to spoil your boy. by saying, 'Thank you,' and 'If you please' to him."

      Soon after this the vessel touched at the Charleston wharf, and the passengers dispersed. But now William and Ellen were obliged to go to the custom-house, to buy tickets which would admit them to the steamer for Wilmington, North Carolina. William assisted his feeble master into the crowded office, and Ellen asked for a ticket for herself and one for her slave, for Philadelphia. As she was paying for her tickets, one of the men in the office pushed a book toward her, observing as a matter of course, "I wish you to register your name here, sir, and that of your nigger, and pay a dollar duty on him."

      Ellen paid the dollar, but, pointing to her bandaged hand, asked the official to write the names for her.

      "I shan't do it," was the unexpected answer.

      This drew all eyes upon them. Luckily, the officer whom Ellen had spoken with on the Savannah steamer was in the room. Seeing her in trouble, he came promptly to the rescue, shook hands with her cordially, and astonished her by a hearty "I know his kin like a book!" His action had the desired effect upon the spectators. The captain of the vessel on which they were to sail stepped forward and, taking the pen, said suavely, "I will register the gentleman's name. What name, sir?"

      "William Johnson."

      "Mr. Johnson and slave" wrote the captain, and that difficulty was past.

      Afterward, on board the steamer, the captain remarked, "It was rather sharp shooting this morning, Mr. Johnson. It was not out of any disrespect to you, sir, but they make it a rule to be very strict at Charleston. I have known families to be detained there with their slaves till reliable information could be received respecting them. If they were not very careful, any abolitionist might take off a lot of valuable niggers."

      "I suppose so," answered Ellen.

      From Wilmington they travelled by rail to Fredericksburg, thence by steamer to Washington, and from Washington by rail again to Baltimore. All along their route they met with people who talked of nothing but slaves and slavery, and the mischief-making abolitionists and the bad effect of Northern ideas.

      At Baltimore their most serious danger awaited them, for there every white man travelling with a negro servant was required to prove that he was not making off with some other man's slave or helping the negro to escape to one of the free states. Not knowing these regulations, William had placed Ellen in the train and was about to enter his own car, when a railway official stopped him.

      "Where are you going, boy?" he asked.

      "To Philadelphia, sir."

      "What are you going there for?"

      "I am travelling with my master, who is in the next carriage, sir."

      "Well, I calculate you had better get him out, and be mighty quick about it, because the train will soon be starting. It is against my rules to let any man take a slave past here, unless he can satisfy them in the office that he has a right to take him along."

      William hardly knew what to do. He went to Ellen. They left the train and entered the office, though what they should say to appease the officials they did not know.

      Walking bravely up to the man who was to cross-question her, Ellen said, "Do you wish to see me, sir?"

      "Yes," answered he. "It is against our rules, sir, to allow any person to take a slave out of Baltimore into Philadelphia unless he can satisfy us that he has a right to take him along."

      "Why is that?"

      "Because, sir, if we should let any gentleman take a slave past here into Philadelphia, and if the gentleman should turn out not to be his owner, and the right master should come and prove that his slave escaped on our road, we should have him to pay for. We can't let any slave pass here without having security to show, and being satisfied that it is all right."

      Some other passengers who were present sided with the perplexed gentleman, remarking that he was evidently suffering from illness, and ought not to be detained. The official, softening a little, asked if the gentleman did not know some one in Baltimore who could vouch for his owning the slave.

      "No," said Ellen, and added sensibly, "I bought tickets in Charleston to pass us through to Philadelphia, and you have no right to detain us."

      "Right or no right," said the official angrily, "we shan't let you go."

      William and Ellen looked at each other without speaking. If they were discovered, or even suspected, the officials would shut them up in prison.

      The bell struck. It was the signal for the train to leave. All at once the man seemed to relent. Thrusting his fingers through his hair, he said, "I really don't know what to do. I calculate it is all right." Then to the clerk, "Run and tell the conductor to let this gentleman and slave pass.

      As he isn't well, it's a pity to stop him here. We will let him go."

      Ellen thanked him, hurried across the platform and into the train, while William had just time enough to leap into the negro car as the engine steamed away. Early the next morning they were in Philadelphia. Ellen had been calm and self-contained while there was need for action. But when she and her husband were safe within the cab which was taking them to a trustworthy boarding-place, her control left her. "Thank God, William, we are safe," she said, and burst into tears.

      They found in Philadelphia some kind Quakers, who took them into their own household and taught them to read and write. But Philadelphia was too far south to offer safety to the fugitives. The Crafts, after a short stay, pushed on to Boston.

      In Boston William earned a living by working at his old trade, as a cabinet-maker, while Ellen added to their savings by taking in sewing. Moreover, they fell into excellent hands there, for they became parishioners of Theodore Parker.

      Parker, the student, the preacher, the would-be writer of a great book, sitting day after day in his study surrounded by his books, and day after day called away from his sermon and his researches by parish duties, — Theodore Parker had been made minister-at-large in behalf of fugitive slaves. The Vigilance Committee — formed to protect the fugitives — counted him as its most active member.

      "It will seem a little strange, one or two hundred years hence," wrote he, "that a plain, humble scholar of Boston was continually interrupted in his studies and could not write his book, for stopping to look after fugitive slaves, his own parishioners!"

      For about a year the Crafts were comparatively safe in Boston. Then, in 1850, came the Fugitive Slave Law. After that there was not a square foot of United States soil on which an escaped slave could consider himself free. Not only might the master pursue and reclaim his property, — wherever he succeeded in hunting it down all citizens were called upon to desist from attempts to prevent his doing so. Whoever tried to hide a fugitive, or help him on his way, or hinder his arrest, might be fined one thousand dollars and imprisoned for six months; and should he succeed in freeing him, might be called on besides to pay a thousand dollars more, to satisfy the slave's master.

      Parker was not daunted by the threat of imprisonment and fine. "I must not," he wrote in his diary, "let a fugitive slave be taken from Boston, cost what it may justly cost. I will not (so I think now) use weapons to rescue a man with. But I will go unarmed, where there is a reasonable chance of success, and make the rescue."

      William and Ellen in time required his assistance; for one day in the latter part of October, when William was working as usual in the joiner's shop, an ugly but well-known face confronted him. It was the face of a former work-fellow, Knight, from Georgia. Knight was apparently overjoyed at the meeting. Craft's pleasure was not so great.

      "Did you come on alone?" he asked.

      "Yes," protested Knight, "there is nobody with me." In point of fact, Hughes, the Macon jailer, was at the United States Hotel.

      Knight tried to persuade Craft to show him the sights of the city. "No," Craft said, "I am too busy. I have work to attend to. I cannot go."

      Thus baffled, Knight took his leave, and Craft lost no time in placing Ellen with trusty friends outside of the town; and having done this, he armed himself thoroughly, that he might resist arrest.

      "I inspected his arms," says Mr. Parker: "a good revolver with six caps on; a large pistol and small ones; a large dirk and a short one. All was right."

      In the house to which Ellen was taken was a Miss Mary R. Carson, who afterward wrote a spirited and sympathetic account of Ellen's brief visit. The account was printed, with an introductory note by Col. T. W. Higginson in The Liberty Bell. The following extracts from it will show as nothing else could the chivalrous friendliness and warm interest which William and Ellen Craft inspired.

      "Uncle told us one day that there had been some trouble about a fugitive slave.... I walked on the piazza at dusk that evening, with a gray mist all around, and wished I could hear anything about the affair, and remembered how they used to come every evening, in the Latimer times, and tell me the news, — when a chaise drove rapidly up and stopped, and a gentleman came to the L.'s [Loring's] front door. As they were all out of town I spoke to him and discovered him to be Dr. [Bowditch]. I suggested that the L.'s would be at home in a day or two, and I would take any message for them; on which he said that 'to speak frankly' (as if he ever could do anything else) he had brought Ellen Craft out with him, as there was a warrant against her, and Mrs. L. had offered her protection at any time. So I begged her to come in at once, and after a little consultation as to concealment and profound secrecy, . . . Mrs. Ellen came under my protection!

      "This was Friday night, and we sat together all day Saturday, and I liked her ever so much; and she helped me make a new dress. . . . I watched her with perfect admiration, she showed such great self-control, such perfect sweetness of temper, and grace of manner. She could hear nothing from her husband all day, and of course might suppose him in every danger, but she kept back her tears, and kept up her sweet looks, till late in the afternoon, when a messenger came with news of her husband and messages directly from him. And Sunday night, most unexpectedly, Dr. [Bowditch] appeared again, and brought her husband in person, to leave him for a night's rest, saying that he was worn out and exhausted, and absolutely needed some respite; so the Doctor shut them up in one of the L[oring]'s chambers, and left them, with great instructions not to stir from the room, nor let any one see him.

      "In a few moments, however, Ellen sent to ask my aunt . . . to come to their room; and she went accordingly. She had never seen William Craft before, and said she was wholly astonished at his really noble appearance. . . . He said to her, 'Ellen has just told me that Mr. L[oring] is absent, and does not know we are here; I cannot stay here without his knowledge, for I am subjecting him to a heavy fine and imprisonment, and I must go at once to look for some other shelter.' My aunt assured him that she could answer for Mr. L[oring], and that he would be distressed at having them leave his home; . . . but he only repeated that he must go at once.

      "Then she said that Mr. L[oring] did not own the house, and that, his family being absent, he could not be held responsible. 'That is not the question,' said he. 'I am not willing to take such an advantage of any man as to conceal myself in his house without his knowledge, if he is good and kind. I must not try his kindness too far, and I cannot feel satisfied unless I go at once.' My aunt said she was really awed and overcome by his clear and decided manner; she saw there was no appeal, and gave them a guide to Mr. ——'s house, where she hoped they would find a welcome. Of course we did not know but pursuers might be watching for them at our very doors, but they got there safe. They went back into Boston the next day, as it somehow became known that they were in this vicinity, . . . Ellen crying in spite of herself at leaving the home she had just found."

      Knight paid Craft a second visit. "Perhaps you would like to come to the United States Hotel and see me," he suggested. Craft did not show any eagerness to go. "Your wife would like to come also," persisted Knight, "and talk about her mother. If you will write, I will take the letter home."

      Not content with verbal urgency, he afterward sent Craft this alluring note:

      But Knight and his principal, Hughes, both of course acting for the Georgia masters, were soon too much occupied by desire for their own safety to bestow any more friendly attentions upon the Crafts. The Vigilance Committee took the affair in hand, and made the days of the slave-catchers a burden to them.

      Hughes had procured warrants of arrest against William and Ellen Craft, and had accused Craft of stealing, — a common mode of procedure in seizing a fugitive slave. The committee's action was also the usual one, practised as a means of annoyance and to gain time. They had Knight and Hughes arrested for slander, and carried before a judge. Bail amounting to ten thousand dollars was given, and the two men were allowed to return to their hotel; but Hughes nearly lost his life at the hands of a negro, who, having leaped up behind the carriage to shoot him, was pulled down just in time by a member of the committee. And now that the public had learned to know them, aided by very unflattering hand-bills posted everywhere by the same committee, they could not stir out of the house without being greeted with cries of, "Slave-hunters, slave-hunters! There go the slave-hunters!"

      The committee decided finally that the troublesome visitors must leave the city, and agreed to meet at the United States Hotel to convince them that they must go. Six o'clock in the morning was the hour appointed for the call. Theodore Parker was first upon the scene. He asked the landlord if Knight and Hughes were in.

      "I don't know, sir," was the answer. "No, sir; they are out, Mr. Parker."

      Mr. Parker walked about awhile; then he went to one of the desks and asked the same question.

      "If you will send up your name," he was told there, "you can see."

      "Sent up a card," says Mr. Parker, "and the servant came back with a little bit of paper, and this on it: 'Mr. Hughes is inguage.' The others had assembled by this time, ten or twenty of them. . . . Fearing that they might escape us again, I went up to the room, No. 44, and walked back and forth in front of it. By-and-by Knight came in. Channing guarded one of the stairways, Brown another. Ellis came to me. About three-quarters of an hour thus spent. The landlord came and requested me, not very politely, to walk down-stairs, promising to meet me very soon. I went, and soon Mr. Silsbee came and politely informed me that Spencer would introduce me to the slave-hunters. I went up and was introduced."

      Speaking for the committee, Mr. Parker told the strangers firmly that they must go. He was there, he assured them, as their friend, to keep them from harm.

      "We came here to execute the law," said Hughes.

      "Yes," answered Mr. Parker; "but you must be satisfied that you cannot arrest William and Ellen Craft; and if you do, that you cannot carry them out of the city."

      "I am satisfied of that," said Hughes.

      "You are not safe in Boston for another night," pursued Mr. Parker.

      "We meant to go at half past seven," Knight confessed, "but we saw a crowd at the door; and there would have been forty or fifty fellows hurrahing and swinging their caps, and calling out, slave-hunters! slave-hunters! there go the slave-hunters!'"

      "We came to give you safe conduct, and we will allow no one to hurt you."

      "We don't want a safe conduct," said Hughes; "we can take care of ourselves."

      "I have stood between you and violence once," said Theodore Parker; "I cannot promise to do it again. I should not have succeeded had it not been thought that you had promised to depart this morning at half past seven."

      "We have never made any promise," said Hughes, "and we won't make any."

      "I cannot guarantee your safety another night," repeated Mr. Parker. Then, bidding them "Good-morning," he left the hotel.

      His words had the desired effect; Knight and Hughes contrived to get out of town, and took the train at Newton that same day.

      The Crafts remained but a short while in Boston after this narrow escape. They sailed for England, where they spent the remainder of their lives. Before leaving, however, Ellen spent a few days at Mr. Parker's house; and there he performed for her and William the marriage ceremony, which had had no legal value for them as slaves, but which they could now enter into as free and responsible beings. Mr. Parker's journal says:—

      "Ellen Craft has been here all the week since Monday; went off at a quarter past six to-night. That is a pretty state of things, that I am liable to be fined 1000 dollars and gaoled for six months for sheltering one of my own parishioners, who has violated no law of God, and only took possession of herself! Talk in the newspapers about the President sending us 600 or 700 soldiers to dragoon us into keeping the Fugitive Slave Law! The Puritans remember how that business of quartering soldiers on us in a time of peace worked in the last century! It is worth while to read Hutchinson and Adams!"

      He could not rest until he had had his word with the man who then represented the nation's power to re-enslave the fugitives. He wrote the following letter to Millard Fillmore, President of the United States:—