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 to capture them. The Postmaster took them into his office and told them plainly that the slaves were within half a mile of the village, "but," said he, "you had better not try to take them. I would be glad to help you if I dared to, but every man, woman and child in the place would help them, and you can’t raise men enough in this county to take them away from here. I see by the commotion in the streets that you are suspected already, and I cannot answer for your safety if you should ever attempt to prosecute this business. Such a thing has never been attempted here, and I tell you it will go hard with the man that tries it. Now," said he, "I have nothing more to say on the subject, except that I should think fifteen or twenty minutes is as long a time as it will be safe for you to be seen in this town. A glance at the crowd already gathered in the street was sufficient to clinch the arguments of the Postmaster, so the slave hunters mounted their horses and rode silently out of town, the people making no demonstration until they were on the bridge, when a shout, a cheer, three times three, seemed to put new life into their horses, and they were soon out of sight. In the office they threatened to return with force sufficient to execute their purpose, but they never came, though Col. S. thought best to send the fugitives into another part of the county, and their retreat was for a long time kept secret.

A gentleman who lives in Attica told me a few days ago that Lila still lives in Wyoming Co., a respectable, intelligent woman, but her mother died within two years after she came there.