Harriet, the Moses of Her People Part 8

"Friends, we have in the audience that wonderful woman, Harriet Tubman, from whom we should like to hear, if she will kindly come to the platform."

People looked around at Harriet, but Harriet was fast asleep.

"Mother! mother!" said the young girl; "they are calling for you,"

but it was some time before Harriet could be made to understand where she was, or what was wanted of her. At length, she was led out into the aisle and was a.s.sisted by one of these kind ladies on to the platform.

Harriet looked around, wondering why so many white ladies were gathered there. I think it was Miss Anthony who led her forward, saying:

"Ladies, I am glad to present to you Harriet Tubman, 'the conductor of the Underground Railroad.'"

"Yes, ladies," said Harriet, "I was de conductor ob de Underground Railroad for eight years, an' I can say what mos' conductors can't say--I nebber run my train off de track an' I nebber los' a pa.s.senger." The audience laughed and applauded, and Harriet was emboldened to go on and relate portions of her interesting history, which were most kindly received by the a.s.sembled ladies.

After the pa.s.sage of the iniquitous fugitive slave law, Harriet removed all her dependents to Canada, and here John Brown and some of his followers took refuge with her, and she was his helper and adviser in many of his schemes. The papers of that time tell of her helping him with his plans and of his dependence upon her judgment. In one of his letters he says: "Harriet has. .h.i.tched on, and with all her might; she is a whole team."

For this large party added to her own family of several persons, she worked day and night in her usual self-forgetting manner. Her old father and mother were with her, and the mother, nearly a hundred years old and enfeebled in mind, was querulous and exacting, and most unreasonable in her temper, often reproaching this faithful daughter as the Israelites did Moses of old, for "bringing them up into the wilderness to die there of hunger."

There came a day when everything eatable was exhausted, and the prospect was dark, indeed. The old mother had no tobacco and no tea--and these were more essential to her comfort than food or clothing; then reproaches thick and fast fell upon Harriet. She made no reply, but "went into her closet and shut the door"; when she came out she had a large basket on her arm.

"Catharine," she said, "take off dat small pot an' put on a large one."

"But, Harriet, der ain't not'ing in de house to eat."

"Put on de large pot, Catharine; we're gwine to have soup to-day"--and Harriet started for the market. The day was nearly over, and the market-men were anxious to be rid of their wares, and were offering them very cheap. Harriet walked along with the basket on her arm. "Old woman, don't you want a nice piece of meat?" called out one; and another, "Here's a nice piece; only ten cents. Take this soup-bone, you can have it for five cents." But Harriet had not five cents. At length a kind-hearted butcher, judging of the trouble from her face, said: "Look here, old woman, you look like an honest woman; take this soup-bone, and pay me when you get some money"; then another said, "Take this," and others piled on pieces of meat till the basket was full. Harriet pa.s.sed on, and when she came to the vegetables she exchanged some of the meat for potatoes, cabbage, and onions, and the big pot was in requisition when she reached home. Harriet had not "gone into her closet and shut the door" for nothing.

I hope I may be excused for sometimes telling my story in the first person, as I cannot conveniently do it in any other way. In getting ready a Thanksgiving box to send to Harriet, a few years ago, I had ordered a turkey to be sent for it, but as the weather grew quite warm, I was advised to send a ham instead. That box was lost for three weeks, and when I saw Harriet again and told her that I had intended to send a turkey in it, she said, "Wal, dere was a clar Providence in dat, wa'n't dere, Missus?"

A friend, hearing that I was preparing a Christmas box in New York for this needy household, sent me a quant.i.ty of clothing and ten dollars for them. As my box was not quite full, I expended three dollars of that money in groceries, and sent seven dollars to a lady in Auburn who acted as treasurer for Harriet, giving her money as it was needed; for Harriet's heart is so large, and her feelings are so easily wrought upon, that it was never wise to give her more than enough for present needs.

Not long after, I received a letter from a well-known physician--a woman--in Auburn, in which she said:

"I want to tell you something about Harriet. She came to me last Friday, and said, 'Doctah, I have got my taxes and insurance to pay to-morrow, and I haven't a cent. Would you lend me seven dollars till next Chuesday?' More to try her than anything else, I said, 'Why, Harriet, I'm a poor, hard-working woman myself; how do you know you'll pay me seven dollars next Tuesday?' 'Well, Doctah, I can't jes' tell you how, but I'll pay you next Chuesday.'" On Tuesday my letter with seven dollars enclosed arrived in Auburn, and Harriet took the money to the friend who had lent it to her.

Others thought this strange, but there was nothing strange about it to her.

A few years ago, when Harriet called on the writer, she was introduced to the husband of one of her daughters lately married.

He told her how glad he was to see her, as he had heard so much about her. She made one of her humble courtesies, and said: "I'm pleased to see you, sir; it's de first time I've hed de pleasure makin' yo' 'quaintance since you was 'dopted into my fam'bly."

When the turns of somnolence come upon Harriet, her "sperrit," as she says, goes away from her body, and visits other scenes and places, and if she ever really sees them afterwards they are perfectly familiar to her and she can find her way about alone.

Instances of this kind have lately been mentioned in some of the magazines, but Harriet had never heard of them.

Sitting in her house one day, deep sleep fell upon her, and in a dream or vision she saw a chariot in the air, going south, and empty, but soon it returned, and lying in it, cold and stiff, was the body of a young lady of whom Harriet was very fond, whose home was in Auburn, but who had gone to Was.h.i.+ngton with her father, a distinguished officer of the Government there.[G]

[Footnote G: William H. Seward.]

The shock roused Harriet from her sleep, and she ran into Auburn, to the house of her minister, crying out: "Oh, Miss f.a.n.n.y is dead!" and the news had just been received.

She woke from a sleep one day in great agitation, and ran to the houses of her colored neighbors, exclaiming that "a drefful t'ing was happenin' somewha', de ground was openin', an' de houses were fallin' in, and de people bein' killed faster 'n dey was in de wah--faster 'n dey was in de wah."

At that very time, or near it, an earthquake was occurring in the northern part of South America, for the telegram came that day, though why a vision of it should be sent to Harriet no one can divine.

Her expressions are often very peculiar; some ladies of a certain church who had become interested in her wished to see her, and she was invited to come to their city, and attended the sewing circle, where twenty or thirty of them were gathered together. They asked her many questions, and she told stories, sang songs, danced, and imitated the talk of the Southern negroes; and went away loaded with many tokens of the kind interest of these ladies. On the way home she said:

"What nice, kind-lookin' ladies dem was, Missus. I looked in all dere faces, an' I didn't see nothin' venomous in one of 'em!"

As has been said, Harriet can neither read nor write; her letters are all written by an amanuensis, and she seems to have an idea that by laying her hand on this person, her feelings may be transmitted to the one to whom she is writing. These feelings are sometimes very poetically expressed. I have by me some of those letters; in one of them she says: "I lay my hand on the shoulder of the writer of this letter, and I wish for you, and all your offsprings, a through ticket in the Gospel train to Glory."

In another letter she has dictated this sentence:

"I ask of my Heavenly Father, that when the last trump sounds, and my name is called, I may stand close by your side, to answer to the call." Probably many of her friends and correspondents might contribute facts and incidents in Harriet's life quite as interesting as any I have mentioned, but I have no way of getting at them.

Harriet had long cherished the idea of having her hospital incorporated, and placed in charge of the Zion African Methodist Church of Auburn, and she was particularly anxious to come into possession of a lot of twenty-five acres of land, near her own home, to present to it as a little farm. This lot was to be sold at auction, and on the day of the sale Harriet appeared with a very little money, and a determination to have the land, cost what it might.

"Dey was all white folks but me dere, Missus, and dere I was like a blackberry in a pail ob milk, but I hid down in a corner, and no one know'd who was biddin'. De man began down pretty low, and I kept goin' up by fifties; he got up to twelve hundred, thirteen hundred, fourteen hundred, and still dat voice in the corner kept goin' up by fifties. At last it got up to fourteen hundred and fifty, an' den oders stopped biddin', an' de man said, 'All done!

who is de buyer?' 'Harriet Tubman,' I shouted. 'What! dat ole n.i.g.g.e.r?' dey said. 'Old woman, how you ebber gwine to pay fer dat lot ob land?' 'I'm gwine home to tell de Lawd Jesus all about it,'

I said."

After telling the Lord Jesus all about it, Harriet went down to a bank, obtained the money by mortgaging the land, and then requested to have a deed made out, making the land over to the Zion African Methodist Church. And her mind is easy about her hospital, though with many persons the trouble would be but just beginning, as there is interest on the mortgage to be paid.

Though the hospital is no longer on her hands, you will never find her without several poor creatures under her care. When I last saw her she was providing for five sick and injured ones. A blind woman came one day to her door, led by four little children--her husband had turned her out of his house, and like all other poor distressed black people, who could get there, she made her way to Harriet. Before the next morning a fifth was added to the group.

As soon as it was possible Harriet dressed the whole six in white and took them to a Methodist church and had them baptized.

A little account of this was sent to the "Evangelist," and the almost immediate response was seventy-five dollars, which was of great benefit in providing for the needs of the growing family.

This faithful creature will probably not live much longer, and her like will not be seen again. But through the sale of the last edition of her "Memoir," and some other sources of income, her wants will be abundantly supplied.

Harriet's friends will be glad to learn that she has lately been for some time in Boston, where a surgical operation was performed upon her head, the skull (which was crushed by a weight thrown by her master more than seventy years before) being successfully raised. Harriet's account of this operation is rather amusing.

"Harriet," said Professor Hopkins, "what is the matter with your head? Your hair is all gone!"

"Why, dat's where dey shaved it off befo' dey cut my head open."

"Cut your head open, Harriet? What do you mean?"

"Wal, sir, when I was in Boston I walked out one day, an' I saw a great big buildin', an' I asked a man what it was, an' he said it was a hospital. So I went right in, an' I saw a young man dere, an' I said, 'Sir, are you a doctah?' an' he said he was; den I said, 'Sir, do you t'ink you could cut my head open?'

"'What do you want your head cut open fer?' he said.

"Den I tol' him de whole story, an' how my head was givin' me a powerful sight of trouble lately, with achin' an' buzzin', so I couldn' get no sleep at night.

"An' he said, 'Lay right down on dis yer table,' an' I lay down."

"Didn't he give you anything to deaden the pain, Harriet?"

"No, sir; I jes' lay down like a lamb fo' de slaughter, an' he sawed open my skull, an' raised it up, an' now it feels more comfortable." "Did you suffer very much?"

"Yes, sir, it hurt, ob cose; but I got up an' put on my bonnet an'

started to walk home, but my legs kin' o' gin out under me, an'

dey sont fer a ambulance an' sont me home."

It has been hoped that this remarkable experience might result in giving Harriet a new lease of life, but I am sorry to say she is very feeble, and I fear will not be with us much longer.