ust risen, and was shining
brightly (after a stormy night) on the snow which covered the ground to
the depth of six inches. My house was situated three quarters of a mile
from the road leading from Middletown to Odessa, (then called Cantwell's
Bridge.) On a closer inspection I noticed several men walking beside the
wagon. This seemed rather an early hour for visitors, and I could not
account for the circumstance. When they reached the yard fence I met
them, and a colored man handed me a letter addressed to Daniel Corbit,
John Alston or John Hunn; I asked the man if he had presented the letter
to either of the others to whom it was addressed; he said, no, that he
had not been able to see either of them. The letter was from my cousin,
Ezekiel Jenkins, of Camden, Delaware, and stated that the travelers were
fugitive slaves, under the direction of Samuel D. Burris (who handed me
the note). The party consisted of a man and his wife, with their six
children, and four fine-looking colored men, without counting the pilot,
S.D. Burris, who was a free man, from Kent county, Delaware.

This was the first time that I ever saw Burris, and also the first time
that I had ever been called upon to assist fugitives from the hell of
American Slavery. The wanderers were gladly welcomed, and made as
comfortable as possible until breakfast was ready for them. One man, in
trying to pull his boots off, found they were frozen to his feet; he
went to the pump and filled them with water, thus he was able to get
them off in a few minutes.

This increase of thirteen in the family was a little embarrassing, but
after breakfast they all retired to the barn to sleep on the hay, except
the woman and four children, who remained in the house. They were all
very weary, as they had traveled from Camden (twenty-seven miles),
through a snowstorm; the woman and four children in the wagon with the
driver, the others walking all the way. Most of them were badly
frost-bitten, before they arrived at my house. In Camden, they were
sheltered in the houses of their colored friends. Although this was my
first acquaintance with S.D. Burris, it was not my last, as he
afterwards piloted them himself, or was instrumental in directing
hundreds of fugitives to me for shelter.

About two o'clock of the day on which these fugitives arrived at my
house, a neighbor drove up with his daughter in a sleigh, apparently on
a friendly visit. I noticed his restlessness and frequent