Chapter: THE TWO STRANGERS--THE CIRCUS COMPANY--DEPARTURE FROM
  SARATOGA--VENTRILOQUISM AND LEGERDEMAIN--JOURNEY TO NEW-YORK--FREE
  PAPERS--BROWN AND HAMILTON--THE HASTE TO REACH THE CIRCUS--ARRIVAL IN
  WASHINGTON--FUNERAL OF HARRISON--THE SUDDEN SICKNESS--THE TORMENT OF
  THIRST--THE RECEDING LIGHT--INSENSIBILITY--CHAINS AND DARKNESS.


One morning, towards the latter part of the month of March, 1841,
having at that time no particular business to engage my attention, I
was walking about the village of Saratoga Springs, thinking to myself
where I might obtain some present employment, until the busy season
should arrive. Anne, as was her usual custom, had gone over to Sandy
Hill, a distance of some twenty miles, to take charge of the culinary
department at Sherrill's Coffee House, during the session of the
court. Elizabeth, I think, had accompanied her. Margaret and Alonzo
were with their aunt at Saratoga.

On the corner of Congress street and Broadway, near the tavern,
then, and for aught I know to the contrary, still kept by Mr. Moon,
I was met by two gentlemen of respectable appearance, both of whom
were entirely unknown to me. I have the impression that they were
introduced to me by some one of my acquaintances, but who, I have in
vain endeavored to recall, with the remark that I was an expert player
on the violin.

At any rate, they immediately entered into conversation on that
subject, making numerous inquiries touching my proficiency in that
respect. My responses being to all appearances satisfactory, they
proposed to engage my services for a short period, stating, at the
same time, I was just such a person as their business required. Their
names, as they afterwards gave them to me, were Merrill Brown and
Abram Hamilton, though whether these were their true appellations,
I have strong reasons to doubt. The former was a man apparently
forty years of age, somewhat short and thick-set, with a countenance
indicating shrewdness and intelligence. He wore a black frock coat and
black hat, and said he resided either at Rochester or at Syracuse.
The latter was a young man of fair complexion and light eyes, and, I
should judge, had not passed the age of twenty-five. He was tall and
slender, dressed in a snuff-colored coat, with glossy hat, and vest of
elegant pattern. His whole apparel was in the extreme of fashion. His
appearance was somewhat effeminate, but prepossessing, and there was
about him an easy air, that showed he had mingled with the world. They
were connected, as they informed me, with a circus company, then in
the city of Washington; that they were on their way thither to rejoin
it, having left it for a short time to make an excursion northward,
for the purpose of seeing the country, and were paying their expenses
by an occasional exhibition. They also remarked that they had found
much difficulty in procuring music for their entertainments, and that
if I would accompany them as far as New-York, they would give me one
dollar for each day's services, and three dollars in addition for
every night I played at their performances, besides sufficient to pay
the expenses of my return from New-York to Saratoga.

I at once accepted the tempting offer, both for the reward it
promised, and from a desire to visit the metropolis. They were anxious
to leave immediately. Thinking my absence would be brief, I did
not deem it necessary to write to Anne whither I had gone; in fact
supposing that my return, perhaps, would be as soon as hers. So taking
a change of linen and my violin, I was ready to depart. The carriage
was brought round--a covered one, drawn by a pair of noble bays,
altogether forming an elegant establishment. Their baggage, consisting
of three large trunks, was fastened on the rack, and mounting to the
driver's seat, while they took their places in the rear, I drove away
from Saratoga on the road to Albany, elated with my new position, and
happy as I had ever been, on any day in all my life.

We passed through Ballston, and striking the ridge road, as it is
called, if my memory correctly serves me, followed it direct to
Albany. We reached that city before dark, and stopped at a hotel
southward from the Museum.

This night I had an opportunity of witnessing one of their
performances--the only one, during the whole period I was with them.
Hamilton was stationed at the door; I formed the orchestra, while
Brown provided the entertainment. It consisted in throwing balls,
dancing on the rope, frying pancakes in a hat, causing invisible pigs
to squeal, and other like feats of ventriloquism and legerdemain.
The audience was extraordinarily sparse, and not of the selectest
character at that, and Hamilton's report of the proceeds presented but
a "beggarly account of empty boxes."

Early next morning we renewed our journey. The burden of their
conversation now was the expression of an anxiety to reach the
circus without delay. They hurried forward, without again stopping
to exhibit, and in due course of time, we reached New-York, taking
lodgings at a house on the west side of the city, in a street running
from Broadway to the river. I supposed my journey was at an end, and
expected in a day or two at least, to return to my friends and family
at Saratoga. Brown and Hamilton, however, began to importune me to
continue with them to Washington. They alleged that immediately on
their arrival, now that the summer season was approaching, the circus
would set out for the north. They promised me a situation and high
wages if I would accompany them. Largely did they expatiate on the
advantages that would result to me, and such were the flattering
representations they made, that I finally concluded to accept the
offer.

The next morning they suggested that, inasmuch as we were about
entering a slave State, it would be well, before leaving New-York, to
procure free papers. The idea struck me as a prudent one, though I
think it would scarcely have occurred to me, had they not proposed it.
We proceeded at once to what I understood to be the Custom House. They
made oath to certain facts showing I was a free man. A paper was drawn
up and handed us, with the direction to take it to the clerk's office.
We did so, and the clerk having added something to it, for which he
was paid six shillings, we returned again to the Custom House. Some
further formalities were gone through with before it was completed,
when, paying the officer two dollars, I placed the papers in my
pocket, and started with my two friends to our hotel. I thought at the
time, I must confess, that the papers were scarcely worth the cost of
obtaining them--the apprehension of danger to my personal safety never
having suggested itself to me in the remotest manner. The clerk, to
whom we were directed, I remember, made a memorandum in a large book,
which, I presume, is in the office yet. A reference to the entries
during the latter part of March, or first of April, 1841, I have no
doubt will satisfy the incredulous, at least so far as this particular
transaction is concerned.

With the evidence of freedom in my possession, the next day after
our arrival in New-York, we crossed the ferry to Jersey City, and
took the road to Philadelphia. Here we remained one night, continuing
our journey towards Baltimore early in the morning. In due time, we
arrived in the latter city, and stopped at a hotel near the railroad
depot, either kept by a Mr. Rathbone, or known as the Rathbone House.
All the way from New-York, their anxiety to reach the circus seemed
to grow more and more intense. We left the carriage at Baltimore, and
entering the cars, proceeded to Washington, at which place we arrived
just at nightfall, the evening previous to the funeral of General
Harrison, and stopped at Gadsby's Hotel, on Pennsylvania Avenue.

After supper they called me to their apartments, and paid me
forty-three dollars, a sum greater than my wages amounted to, which
act of generosity was in consequence, they said, of their not having
exhibited as often as they had given me to anticipate, during our
trip from Saratoga. They moreover informed me that it had been
the intention of the circus company to leave Washington the next
morning, but that on account of the funeral, they had concluded to
remain another day. They were then, as they had been from the time
of our first meeting, extremely kind. No opportunity was omitted of
addressing me in the language of approbation; while, on the other
hand, I was certainly much prepossessed in their favor. I gave them
my confidence without reserve, and would freely have trusted them to
almost any extent. Their constant conversation and manner towards
me--their foresight in suggesting the idea of free papers, and a
hundred other little acts, unnecessary to be repeated--all indicated
that they were friends indeed, sincerely solicitous for my welfare.
I know not but they were. I know not but they were innocent of the
great wickedness of which I now believe them guilty. Whether they were
accessory to my misfortunes--subtle and inhuman monsters in the shape
of men--designedly luring me away from home and family, and liberty,
for the sake of gold--those who read these pages will have the same
means of determining as myself. If they were innocent, my sudden
disappearance must have been unaccountable indeed; but revolving in
my mind all the attending circumstances, I never yet could indulge,
towards them, so charitable a supposition.

After receiving the money from them, of which they appeared to have
an abundance, they advised me not to go into the streets that night,
inasmuch as I was unacquainted with the customs of the city. Promising
to remember their advice, I left them together, and soon after was
shown by a colored servant to a sleeping room in the back part of the
hotel, on the ground floor. I laid down to rest, thinking of home and
wife, and children, and the long distance that stretched between us,
until I fell asleep. But no good angel of pity came to my bedside,
bidding me to fly--no voice of mercy forewarned me in my dreams of the
trials that were just at hand.

The next day there was a great pageant in Washington. The roar of
cannon and the tolling of bells filled the air, while many houses
were shrouded with crape, and the streets were black with people. As
the day advanced, the procession made its appearance, coming slowly
through the Avenue, carriage after carriage, in long succession, while
thousands upon thousands followed on foot--all moving to the sound of
melancholy music. They were bearing the dead body of Harrison to the
grave.

From early in the morning, I was constantly in the company of Hamilton
and Brown. They were the only persons I knew in Washington. We stood
together as the funeral pomp passed by. I remember distinctly how the
window glass would break and rattle to the ground, after each report
of the cannon they were firing in the burial ground. We went to the
Capitol, and walked a long time about the grounds. In the afternoon,
they strolled towards the President's House, all the time keeping me
near to them, and pointing out various places of interest. As yet,
I had seen nothing of the circus. In fact, I had thought of it but
little, if at all, amidst the excitement of the day.

My friends, several times during the afternoon, entered drinking
saloons, and called for liquor. They were by no means in the habit,
however, so far as I knew them, of indulging to excess. On these
occasions, after serving themselves, they would pour out a glass and
hand it to me. I did not become intoxicated, as may be inferred from
what subsequently occurred. Towards evening, and soon after partaking
of one of these potations, I began to experience most unpleasant
sensations. I felt extremely ill. My head commenced aching--a dull,
heavy pain, inexpressibly disagreeable. At the supper table, I was
without appetite; the sight and flavor of food was nauseous. About
dark the same servant conducted me to the room I had occupied the
previous night. Brown and Hamilton advised me to retire, commiserating
me kindly, and expressing hopes that I would be better in the morning.
Divesting myself of coat and boots merely, I threw myself upon the
bed. It was impossible to sleep. The pain in my head continued to
increase, until it became almost unbearable. In a short time I became
thirsty. My lips were parched. I could think of nothing but water--of
lakes and flowing rivers, of brooks where I had stooped to drink, and
of the dripping bucket, rising with its cool and overflowing nectar,
from the bottom of the well. Towards midnight, as near as I could
judge, I arose, unable longer to bear such intensity of thirst. I was
a stranger in the house, and knew nothing of its apartments. There was
no one up, as I could observe. Groping about at random, I knew not
where, I found the way at last to a kitchen in the basement. Two or
three colored servants were moving through it, one of whom, a woman,
gave me two glasses of water. It afforded momentary relief, but by the
time I had reached my room again, the same burning desire of drink,
the same tormenting thirst, had again returned. It was even more
torturing than before, as was also the wild pain in my head, if such a
thing could be. I was in sore distress--in most excruciating agony! I
seemed to stand on the brink of madness! The memory of that night of
horrible suffering will follow me to the grave.

In the course of an hour or more after my return from the kitchen,
I was conscious of some one entering my room. There seemed to be
several--a mingling of various voices,--but how many, or who they
were, I cannot tell. Whether Brown and Hamilton were among them, is
a mere matter of conjecture. I only remember, with any degree of
distinctness, that I was told it was necessary to go to a physician
and procure medicine, and that pulling on my boots, without coat
or hat, I followed them through a long passage-way, or alley, into
the open street. It ran out at right angles from Pennsylvania
Avenue. On the opposite side there was a light burning in a window.
My impression is there were then three persons with me, but it is
altogether indefinite and vague, and like the memory of a painful
dream. Going towards the light, which I imagined proceeded from a
physician's office, and which seemed to recede as I advanced, is the
last glimmering recollection I can now recall. From that moment I was
insensible. How long I remained in that condition--whether only that
night, or many days and nights--I do not know; but when consciousness
returned, I found myself alone, in utter darkness, and in chains.

The pain in my head had subsided in a measure, but I was very faint
and weak. I was sitting upon a low bench, made of rough boards, and
without coat or hat. I was hand-cuffed. Around my ankles also were
a pair of heavy fetters. One end of a chain was fastened to a large
ring in the floor, the other to the fetters on my ankles. I tried in
vain to stand upon my feet. Waking from such a painful trance, it
was some time before I could collect my thoughts. Where was I? What
was the meaning of these chains? Where were Brown and Hamilton? What
had I done to deserve imprisonment in such a dungeon? I could not
comprehend. There was a blank of some indefinite period, preceding
my awakening in that lonely place, the events of which the utmost
stretch of memory was unable to recall. I listened intently for some
sign or sound of life, but nothing broke the oppressive silence, save
the clinking of my chains, whenever I chanced to move. I spoke aloud,
but the sound of my voice startled me. I felt of my pockets, so far
as the fetters would allow--far enough, indeed, to ascertain that I
had not only been robbed of liberty, but that my money and free papers
were also gone! Then did the idea begin to break upon my mind, at
first dim and confused, that I had been kidnapped. But that I thought
was incredible. There must have been some misapprehension--some
unfortunate mistake. It could not be that a free citizen of New-York,
who had wronged no man, nor violated any law, should be dealt with
thus inhumanly. The more I contemplated my situation, however, the
more I became confirmed in my suspicions. It was a desolate thought,
indeed. I felt there was no trust or mercy in unfeeling man; and
commending myself to the God of the oppressed, bowed my head upon my
fettered hands, and wept most bitterly.

 Anne is about twenty miles away with Elizabeth, engaged in culinary work. Alonzo and Margaret are with their aunt. Thus, Solomon is alone as he strolls about Saratoga Springs one day in 1841. He meets two respectably-dressed gentlemen named Merrill Brown and Abram Hamilton. They tell Solomon that they are part of a circus company, which was in Washington DC at the time, and that they were going to rejoin it. They hope that Solomon will accompany them and play the violin, as they had heard he was proficient at it. Solomon accepts because his expenses will be paid and he will earn more money. He assumes his absence will be brief and therefore does not write his wife. He is extremely happy to set out on this adventure. On their journey, Solomon gets to see Brown and Hamilton do one of their performances and is struck by the sparse, uncouth nature of the audience. Nevertheless, he continues on. Leaving New York, the men suggest he get his free papers because they are entering a slave state. This is completed, and Solomon is relieved. As they get closer to Washington, the men seem more and more anxious to arrive. They finally arrive on the occasion of President William Henry Harrison's funeral. The men tell Solomon that the circus is leaving tomorrow but thst they plan to stay another day on account of the funeral. Solomon never suspects anything strange of them at this time. Looking back, he knows they must have known what was happening and have been part of it, but it is still difficult to fathom. The next day, a great pageant is held for Harrison. Solomon stands with Brown and Hamilton watching the pomp. They venture into a few saloons and the men order Solomon drinks. He accepts but does not become drunk. However, he begins to feel extremely ill. Brown and Hamilton advise him to retire, and he does. In his room, he cannot sleep and his thirst becomes acute. He is in a strange lodging house; he makes his way downstairs to get water. When he returns, though, the thirst has started up again. He feels a wild, burning pain and desire for water. In a stupor, Solomon hears voices in his room. He thinks he hears them saying that he must go to a doctor. However, when he wakes up from his insensibility, he finds himself alone in the dark and chained up. He is faint, weak, and confused, knowing neither where he is nor why he is chained. There is a blank period in his mind that he cannot account for. His pockets are empty, his money and free papers gone. He starts to wonder if he has been kidnapped, but he knows it is a mistake because he is a free citizen of New York. He weeps bitterly

