MEMORIES OF THE 



He was an acquaintance and friend of Gerrit Smith, and 

 his house was for years an underground railroad station, and 

 he did considerable by way of forwarding fugitive slaves to 

 Canada. 



One Sunday morning I was told that I could stay at home 

 from church with mother. I was completely surprised but 

 wonderfully pleased. I had a job on hand which this gave me 

 an opportunity to complete. I had erected a water-power of my 

 own on a little brook beside the road where the water leaked 

 from the mill-trunk or barrels. I needed some wheels and gear 

 to perfect the machiner}^ of my mill. In the garret was an old, 

 old clock that I had already dismantled and robbed of much of 

 its running-gear. As soon as they had all got into the big 

 double wagon and left the south end of the piazza, which was 

 used for landing and embarking passengers, I started upstairs. 

 To reach the garret we used a short ladder from the upper hall 

 to a sort of skylight hole covered with a board. I was climbing 

 up through this hole when, glancing to the west where the light 

 came in through the gable-end semi-circular window, I saw a 

 great, big, fat, colored woman trying to straighten out the kinks 

 in her hair with a metal comb. 



I was more than scared, and although I had seen negroes 

 before, was not looking for them in that garret. Without stop- 

 ping to say good morning, I went down the ladder as lively as a 

 squirrel, and went to my mother and reported what I had found. 

 She quieted me, and told me that she knew the black woman was 

 up there — that she had been there for a day or two, but was to 

 go away soon. 



Sleep was slow in coming that night, and for months when I 

 went upstairs to bed I cast my eye up toward this hole in the 

 garret, expecting very likely that a big wench would drop down 



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