At the rendering of this decree, Rev. Knickerbocker, rector of the only Protestant Episcopal Church in the city, arose in open court, and charged the judge with giving an unrighteous judgment.  He condemned the law as at war with Scripture and the rights of the master, and its enforcement as injurious to the best interests of the community.  It was the old story of Demetrius; and the people, already keenly alive to the profit of boarding Southern families with their servants, were glad to have a mantle of piety thrown over their love of gain.  The court room was packed, and under the eloquent appeal of the reverend gentleman, it soon became evident the populace would make a rush, take the woman out of the hands of the law, and deliver her to the master.

She and her friends had about lost hope, when an unlooked for diversion called attention from them.  The red head of “Bill King,” afterwards post-master of the U.S.  House of Representatives, arose, like the burning bush at the foot of Mount Horeb, and his stentorian voice poured forth such a torrent of denunciation on priest-craft, such a flood of solid swearing against the insolence and tyranny of ecclesiasticism, that people were surprised into inactivity, until Mr. Babbitt got the woman in his carriage and drove off with her.

There could no longer be a question of her legal right to her own body and soul; but her friends knew that the law of freedom had lain too long dormant to be enforced now without further serious opposition, and Mr. Babbitt brought into use his old training on the underground railroad to throw the blood-hounds off the scent, so secreted the woman in the house of Prof.  Stone, and prepared his own strong residence to bear a siege.  For that siege preparations were made by the clerical party during the afternoon and evening, without any effort at concealment, and to brute force the besieging party added brute cunning.

It was known that in my lecturing tours, I was often Mr. Babbitt’s guest, and might arrive at any hour.  So, shortly after midnight, the doorbell was rung, when Mr. Babbitt inquired: 

“Who is there?”

“Mrs. Swisshelm.’

“It is not Mrs. Swisshelm’s voice?”

“William Griffin (a colored porter) is with her.”

“It is not William Griffin’s voice.”

Then, for the first time, there were signs of a multitude on the porch, and with an oath the speaker replied: 

“We want that slave.”

“You cannot have her.”

A rush was made to burst in the door, but it was of solid walnut and would not yield, when the assailants brought fenceposts to batter it in, and were driven back by a shot from a revolver in the hall.  The mob retired to a safer distance, and the leader—­mine host of a first-class hotel—­mounted the carriage-block and harangued his followers on the sacred duty of securing the financial prosperity of the two cities by restoring Eliza Winston to her owners, and made this distinct declaration of principles: