officer at their heels.  In their hurry and fright they caught two of Harry’s children, and throwing them into the boat, pushed off as quick as possible, amid the redoubled cries of the agonized parents and sympathizing friends, all trying in every way possible, to recover from the merciless grasp of the man-stealer, the two frightened and screaming children.  Guns were fired and horns sounded, but all to no purpose—­they held tightly the innocent victims of their cupidity, and made good their escape.

Mr. D. C——­, a gentleman of wealth and high standing in Steuben County, became responsible for the fifty dollars which Capt.  Helm promised to pay Simon Watkins for his villainy in betraying, Judas-like, those unsuspecting persons whom it should have been his pleasure to protect and defend against their common oppressor,—­his own as well as theirs.

In addition to this rascality, it can not appear very creditable to the citizens of Steuben County, that Capt.  Helm and Thomas McBirney should both hold high and important offices at the time, and after they had been tried and convicted of the crime of kidnapping.  Both of these gentlemen, guilty of a State’s prison offence, were judges of the common pleas.  T. McBirney was first judge in the county, and Capt.  Helm was side judge; and notwithstanding their participation in, and conviction of, a flagrant outrage on the laws of God and man, they managed not only to escape the penalty, but to retain their offices and their respectable standing in community for years after.

CHAPTER XIII.

LOCATE IN THE VILLAGE OF ROCHESTER.

I continued to labor in the employ of Mr. O. Comstock, whose son, Zeno, was married during the year 1816, and purchased a farm on the site of the present flourishing village of Lockport, to which he moved his family and effects; but from a mistaken supposition that the Erie Canal, which was then under contemplation, would take a more southern route, he was induced to sell his farm in Hartland, which has proved a mine of wealth to the more fortunate purchaser.

In the winter of that year, I was sent by my employer to Hartland with a sleigh-load of produce, and passed through the village of Rochester, which I had never before seen.  It was a very small, forbidding looking place at first sight, with few inhabitants, and surrounded by a dense forest.

I recollect that while pursuing my journey, I overtook a white man driving a span of horses, who contended that I had not a right to travel the public highway as other men did, but that it was my place to keep behind him and his team.  Being in haste I endeavored to pass him quietly, but he would not permit it and hindered me several hours, very much to my annoyance and indignation.  This was, however, but a slight incident indicating the bitter prejudice which every man seemed to feel against the negro.  No matter how industrious he might be, no matter how honorable in his dealings, or respectful in his manners,—­he was a “nigger,” and as such he must be treated, with a few honorable exceptions.