tter strife between the two parties,
and though there was a preponderance of the Free-Soil element when it
was admitted to the Union in 1861, we were fated to see some of the
horrors of slavery. Suffering makes one wondrous kind; mother had
suffered so much herself that the misery of others ever vibrated a
chord of sympathy in her breast, and our house became a station on "the
underground railway." Many a fugitive slave did we shelter, many here
received food and clothing, and, aided by mother, a great number reached
safe harbors.

One old man, named Uncle Tom, became so much attached to us that he
refused to go on. We kept him as help about the hotel. He was with us
several months, and we children grew very fond of him. Every evening
when supper was over, he sat before the kitchen fire and told a
breathless audience strange stories of the days of slavery. And one
evening, never to be forgotten, Uncle Tom was sitting in his accustomed
place, surrounded by his juvenile listeners, when he suddenly sprang
to his feet with a cry of terror. Some men had entered the hotel
sitting-room, and the sound of their voices drove Uncle Tom to his own
little room, and under the bed.

"Mrs. Cody," said the unwelcome visitors, "we understand that you are
harboring our runaway slaves. We propose to search the premises; and if
we find our property, you cannot object to our removing it."

Mother was sorely distressed for the unhappy Uncle Tom, but she knew
objection would be futile. She could only hope that the old colored man
had made good his escape.

But no! Uncle Tom lay quaking under his bed, and there his brutal master
found him. It is not impossible that there were slaveholders kind and
humane, but the bitter curse of slavery was the open door it left
for brutality and inhumanity; and never shall I forget the barbarity
displayed by the owner of Uncle Tom before our horrified eyes. The poor
slave was so old that his hair was wholly white; yet a rope was tied to
it, and, despite our pleadings, he was dragged from the house, every cry
he uttered evoking only a savage kick from a heavy riding-boot. When he
was out of sight, and his screams out of hearing, we wept bitterly on
mother's loving breast.

Uncle Tom again escaped, and made his way to our house, but he reached
it only to die. We sorrowed for the poor old slave, but thanked God that
he had passed beyond the inhumanity of man.

Debarred from serving his country as a soldier