Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1903-12-25
A CHRISTMAS RIDE TO LIBERTY.
A Story Of the Old Underground Rail-
road" Days.


Out Of the mass of childhood's memo
ries the events of one Christmas night
stand fixed and clear intensifying by con-
trast my recollections of the days mirth,
and the sweetness and security of our
home. This home was closely tucked
away in a harbor-locked hamlet on the
southern shore of Lake Erie our Christ
mas festival invariably began at church.
and with singing Hank the Herald An
gels Then, piling into sleighs. We
trooped homeward to greetings romps
and games. only interrupted by the an
nouncement of dinner. when the whole
family gathered round the holly-decked
board Dinner done, it was dark enough
in our northern latitude for the Christmas
tree. Later, grandfather led out his cid
est granddaughter in the long Virginia
reel. and grandmamma followed up the
middle and down again with a kncker
bockered beau. Before parting, at mid
night. grandfathers deep voice toned into
harmony our shril rendering of the
Christmas anthem.
1t was | o'clock when we reached home
the night | especially remember, after
driving over deep SHOWS not too well
trod Katy met us at the door. an I'M
wonted frown on her sunny Irish face:
Davis has been here, sir. with a black
boy and he's coming again. he says"
The words We're scarcely uttered when
Davis. the village barber. appeared fol-
lowed by handsome mulatto boy. He
hreathlessly explained that this was "a
! fugitive"
our underground people have put him
across Kentucky and Ohio; he's just in /:
/ the constables are on his track; his mas
: ters on the next train. | can't do no mo-
sab" continued Davis, lapsing into his
, vernacular. Use brung him to YOU!
Youse de magistrate
Help me to freedom. massa." cried the
boy himself. scanning my fathers panied
I face. "Canada's so near-just cross de
/ lake only help me To get there
The scene is stamped on my mind The
kneeling figure. the casped hands. the
trembling mouth and tear-spread eyes of
the negro pleading for freedom.
Go home, Davis" said my mother.
/ I'VE will take care of the boy"
Then followed a rapid consultation be
tween my parents and cousin Henry
( Tucker. scarcely more than boy himself.
You're sure your masters on the 3
o'clock train" they asked the young
negro.
Yes. massa. No mistake An he's a
mighty fine gentleman. sab, big mustache
and goatee, an wears IA blue coat with
[ shiny buttons. He's sporting gentle
man. sab. His name is Col Golf of New
Orleans, and them buttons is made o gold
he won in Saratoga last summer He
carries two silver reviewers. too. sab,
and Sandro's tone evinced a just pride
in so splendid an owner.
well come along, Sandro. you so by
that train, too said my father
"Tor de Lords sake. massa," began
the boy, but Cousin Henry cut him short:
1T is the road TO Canada. You must
obey and not speak one word" and San
dro followed into the darkness.
1t was cold and clustering on the lake
shore that Christmas night The three
men set off briskly, but Were overtaker
by the mail carriers sleigh with the
night mail bags Henry nailed him.
ANY more room, Mr.. Brigham
plenty, hop in
NO. a package by underground" ant
so and so, and so, whispered the con
spirator.
An right. there's a big empty bag"
\ few noiseess seconds in the snow and
Brigham's bells again jinged down the
road. The others, cutting cross lots, ar
rived simultaneously at the station
Brigham began loading his bags on tn'
train just in. How natural that Henr!
Tucker should lend a helping hand, ant
no observer could have detected surpris
in the mail agents face when Brigham
4 muttercd underground. Meanwhile m,
father strolled forward to look for
man expected from the West he eX