A Quaker Memoir: The Sam Scott Story

Explanatory note: This is the story as written down by my great grandfather Charles E. Griffith’s nephew, Edwin Hadley. It tells of a time in Iowa during the Civil War when a pair of daring Quaker brothers (my great grandfather's older brothers) crossed from their home state of Iowa into the slave state Missouri to rescue the family of a friend. I've added some footnotes where they might shed some light, though not much light is needed in this luminous story.
- Gail Griffith Murray
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By Edwin R. Hadley Born 6/28/1878

I was born near Stuart, Iowa, Guthrie County some dozen years after the close of the Civil War. It is hard for me to realize that the boys and girls of today who are in high school are about as far this side of the war that started in 1917 and 1918 as I was this side of the Civil War. They hear the stories told of Belleau Woods (see endnote [1]), the Marne and the Argonne Forest just as I heard thrilling tales of the veterans of the Grand Army of the Republic [2].

How the adventures of the boys of 1861 stirred me. I listened to them tell of the Battle of the Wilderness, and of Cold Harbor, of Gettysburg and Antietam, of Andersonville and Libby prisons. Most of all I heard of Sherman’s March to the sea, for a large number of Iowa boys were with Sherman. I would listen to their stories on the street corners or as they would loaf at the livery stables or at the barber shops on a Saturday afternoon. And again as they were driving in from the harvest fields, or a threshing crew by a sudden shower to the shelter of the barn.

No political campaign was complete without the candidate’s war record being told. On Decoration Day [3] and on the Fourth of July the boys were on parade and if we were to believe the orators of the day, all those boys had to do when they reached the Pearly Gates was to tell St. Peter, “I was with Sherman in ‘61”. I am afraid my young Quaker heart was none too friendly toward the boys of the South.

The stories told of the days before the war were just as thrilling and appealed to me because they had to do with slavery and the “Underground Railway” [4]. I heard these stories more recently because some of my own people had a part in them. The Quakers would not fight but did not hesitate to steal a Negro from slavery and pass him from one station to another until he has was safe over the line into Canada. Once a slave got into the hands of a shrewd Quaker he seldom was caught.

I will relate here the adventure of two young men who came to Iowa in the early 1850’s. These young men were the older brothers of my mother, Zelinda (Griffith) Hadley [5]. Their names were Reuben and Foster Griffith [6]. They were at the time of the adventure 30 to 32 years of age.

The Griffiths had an interesting background, reaching back into the state of Pennsylvania. They, with many others, came to this country from England and South Wales in the days of William Penn and helped settle Pennsylvania. Near the close of the Revolutionary War there was a migration of many Quaker families into the South. Slavery was being introduced into these states, so many of the Quakers turned west. The Griffiths settled at Bedford, Bedford County, Virginia. Evan and Nancy Griffith [7], the parents of Reuben and Foster, both were born in Bedford, but in early life they again moved on thru West Virginia thence across it into Ohio. They were married at Wilmington, Ohio [8] and settled on a farm near that city. Most of their brothers and sisters were members of the Harveysville Friends Meeting.

While Reuben and Foster were still in their teens, the family moved on again into Indiana, Morgan County, where they remained a few years; then on further west into the state of Iowa in the early 1850’s. By 1856 the family was established in Warren County, just north of Indianola, Iowa. Indianola is about 20 miles directly south of Des Moines and some 90 miles north of the Missouri State line. Many Quaker settlements sprang up in the eastern part of the state of Iowa and also south of Warren County in Clark County.

To the north of Indianola and west of Des Moines is a strip of country running west 40 miles that was at the time called Quaker Divide, so called because there were a number of Quaker settlements throughout that area. It was a strip of high prairie land that lay between two extensive river systems. To the south are North River, Middle River and South River. To the north are South Coon, Middle Coon and North Coon. They all join near Des Moines and empty their waters into the Des Moines River. The lands were being rapidly settled by immigrants from Ohio and Indiana. Today the highway 6 runs the entire length of the state, follows the Quaker Divide to the west of Des Moines.

It was along this route that the Negro slaves were passed from house to house [9], and from settlement to settlement on their way to escape into Canada, though many stopped in the northern states when they felt they were safe from any danger of being caught and taken back into slavery. They would enter the state from the slave state of Missouri and find refuge in the Quaker settlements of Clark and Warren counties. From here they would pass on to Quaker Divide where they were safe and well provided for until they were out of danger of being captured and returned to their masters. And so things went on in this way for a number of years, beginning before the Civil War and continuing until the Emancipation. It was an era of slave stealing, slave hunting, but rarely in this section, slave capturing.

Indianola was in the midst of this activity and was a “city of refuge” for Negro slaves. When the Evan Griffith family came to this part of the state they found another family by the same name located in the community. The head of this family was George Griffith. He was a man of some means and influence in the community. They were of a different branch of the Griffith family, and no doubt distantly related. The only school in the community was an academy, largely under the direction of the Quakers, but was soon taken over by the Methodists. Under the influence and direction of George Griffith it developed into what is now Simpson College.

This period of history was one of the most unsettled of this part of the country. Iowa and Missouri, together with Kansas and Nebraska, become a hotbed of trouble. The 1850 Congress passed a bill giving the right of Kansas and Nebraska territories to decide for themselves whether they should enter the Union as free or slave states. This law became effective in 1854. As a result, from the south, many were rushed over the line to vote at the coming election. They were determined that Kansas should enter as a slave state. The north was equally determined that the state should be free, and likewise many were rushed in from the northern sates, especially Iowa. The two elements clashed and Kansas became known as “Bleeding Kansas”. Both Reuben and Foster Griffith were through this struggle and did what they could to help make Kansas a free state. They returned to Indianola in time for the Presidential election in November 1860.

In the fall of 1890, Uncle Reuben, who was living in Omaha, came to Stuart, Iowa on a visit with our family. This was the only time I remember seeing him. I was then about twelve years old. One Sunday evening when he was at our house my mother persuaded him to tell something of his experiences over the stirring times of the 1850’s and 1860’s. She wished to hear especially of his experiences in Marysville, Missouri when he went to rescue his brother Foster from the prison camp at that place.

After much persuasion he told a few of us who were gathered at our home that evening. To my mind Uncle Reuben was a typical Quaker business man. He was not given to exaggeration and spoke in an easy quiet way. We believed every word he said. He was then about sixty years of age, about sixteen years older than my mother. He still called her his little sister. As he told of his experience, he stood at a table in the middle of the room and mother stood by his side and had his arm affectionately around her shoulder in a brotherly way. I thought him very distinguished looking and a thorough Quaker in action.

He told about their return from Kansas in time for the presidential election of 1860. While they were away a former Negro slave had come to the community. The Negro’s name was Sam Scott. He was a fine, quiet and congenial fellow who had made himself useful in the community. He worked from house to house, helping with any task that came his way. All in the community liked him, adults and children alive.alike. He would play with the children and tell them stories. “Some of these day”, he said, “I’ll have my own little children here and live like white folks.” He said this often. In time sympathy was aroused for Sam and some daring plans were made to help him get his family from slavery and restored to him wherever they might choose to live.

Foster, the impetuous brother, was the leader of these plans and declared he would go and get the family if he had to go alone. When George Griffith heard of Foster’s determination, he sent for him to come and talk it over with him. He also sent for Reuben, and together they tried to discourage Foster from carrying out his plans. They told him it would be a very dangerous undertaking. But nothing they could say would turn him aside from what he believed was the right thing to do. When George found he could not prevail on Foster to give up the idea of trying to make the trip to rescue the Negro family, he said to Foster, “Now that I see you are determined to go ahead with your plans, I will help you in any way that I can. I have a good nice team of young horses just broke to drive, and a new Studebaker Wagon. Take them and do what you can.”

Preparations were soon made. The wagon was covered. A man in the community who was interested in the venture volunteered to go along, though the name of this man has been lost. Then, with Sam Scott, they set off on the dangerous journey. A number of friends were gathered to see them off. Of course George Griffith was among them. As they disappeared down the road George said, “I never expect to see my team or their driver again. But they are risking their lives. I am only risking the loss of my team and wagon.”

Their destination was Marysville, Missouri, some 120 miles south and west of Indianola. It would take four or five days to make the trip one way, or about ten days or two weeks for the round trip with team and wagon. After the passing of ten days, I remember Uncle Reuben saying, “Every minute I could spare I watched the road running south of town. I knew they would return by that road, if at all. The days passed, then two weeks. They were long overdue. Something must have happened to hold them and prevent their return. I made up my mind that if they did not return that night, I would mount my horse and set out on their trail.

Just at dusk as I walked down the road some distance, I thought I saw ahead of me someone move cautiously from bush to bush as if hiding. Another runaway slave I thought. Again I saw him dart from his hiding place and run to another clump of shrubbery. Evidently, whoever it was did not wish to be seen and was trying to get away from the highway. I called to him, ‘Hello you there! I see you. You need not try to hide. Come out here and do not be afraid.’ There was no response.

I then went straight where I saw him last. “I saw hiding there a young Negro boy about fourteen years of age. He was trembling, scared as a rabbit. He was weary, dirty, and his clothes were in rags. ‘Why are you trying to hide’, I said. ‘Who are you and why are you trying to hide? Where is your home?’” He was trembling so, he could scarcely speak. “I lib down the road a piece, Massie. I just out walking. I don nonthin. I go right back home gan.”

“No, you don’t live here,” I said. “You are telling me a big lie. The bloodhounds will get you if you don’t tell me the truth.” I took him by the collar and pulled him out of the brush and to his feet. He dropped on his knees and begged me not to hurt him. “Please Massie, I tell you de truf,” he said. And then I saw he was wounded in the leg. “What’s the matter with your leg,” I asked him. “Oh I got scratched on a log. It don hurt much,” he said. I looked closer at the wound and saw he had been shot. “You’ve been shot,” I told him, “Come with me. I will give you something to eat that then you can tell me your story.”

I began to suspect that he had come a long way and maybe he had a clue to the men I was looking for. I took him home and fed him and told him he need not fear us – that he was among friends. But he must tell me the truth for I had a way of finding out if he told a lie. “Yes Massie, I comed a long way. I scaped from some men dat tried to take me back. My father and some white men comed down where us chillens an ma was an took us away in de night. Dey hid usuns in de wagon an lit out for de norf. We rode all night an nex day, but when it was gittin dark agin, our Massie an some older men comed up behind us. Day got in front of de wagon an told us to stop. Dey all had guns and we had to surrender. I spected we’d all be kilt, so I slid out de back of de wagon an run an hid in de bushes. Den dey shot at me an I dropped like I was dead. But I hid behind a log. I herd dem say, ‘Dere’s one less nigger. We got him. Don’t waste time with him. We got to git out of here. We’s on de wrong side of de line [10]. Les git dis over with,’ I heard dem say. Dey jerked my pa an de white man from de wagon an boun dem an den dey throwed a rope over lim of a tree an was goin to hang dem. De white men showed no fear an tell dem, you all better not do dat. Ef you do, you will not live to get home. Lincoln’s men will get you before you reach de state line.’ Den day talk it over an then dey turned around and started back south. An den I knowed I must get help. My pa told me de white man was goin to take us way up north bout a hundred miles, where we’d all be home together. I’s trying to git here Massie, so I can tell de white man’s friends. I’s powerful fraid day’s goin to hang dat good white man an my pa.”

Then I assured the Negro boy he was among friends. We took care of him and let him rest for a while. When he awoke I made him go over his story again. He hold me in detail where his mother and he were held as slaves, near Marysville, and he described the country and the prison near that town. “It’s a bad place, Massie. Dere’s lots of men in dere and dey hangs some every day.”

I was a member of the Home Guard, Uncle Reuben continued. That part of Iowa was a hot bed of southern sympathizers, known as Copperheads. Their secret organization was Knights of Golden Circle. Many of those men were from the South, or course, but belonged to the worst elements there. They cared little for the Southern cause and less for the North. They were the bandit type. Robbery, rape, and plunder was their purpose. Too cowardly to fight for the Southern cause in the open, so they drifted into the North. Out of such bands came Jesse James and his gang of outlaws. But even Jesse James was too honorable for many of these groups. We who had families had to protect the communities and so the Home Guard was formed.

Before morning I had borrowed an officer’s uniform from the Home Guard, and placing it in my saddle bag, I kissed my wife and children goodbye. I mounted my fastest horse and without waiting for volunteers, I was on my way to Marysville, Missouri before sun up. I was of the opinion that Foster would be taken there and if alive, I would find him. Marysville was located ten or fifteen miles south of the state line and I knew there was a large federal force located just across the line in Iowa. I rode my horse night and day with a minimum amount of rest. A small Quaker settlement was located at Hopeville, in Clark County. I knew I could get a fresh mount there, which I succeeded in doing. Again I mounted a fast horse and plunged on again, with all speed possible.

On the third day I arrived at the city and at once proceeded to a hotel located just across from the prison. I secured a room, washed up and dressed in the officer’s uniform. I rested for awhile, for I was under a great strain and needed to collect my thoughts. I wished to quietly think over the situation, and plan every move I should make. I did not know what I might have to contact, but I realized I might have to act very un-Quaker like. I must show no fear to those people and might have to do some bluffing.

In full uniform I left the hotel and mounting my horse, I rode directly to the gates of the stockade surrounding the prison. I demanded entrance and was, of course, refused. “What’s your business here,” they asked. “You can’t come in here.” Without hesitation I drew my revolver and said, “I have business inside. I will enter and if I am harmed, an army of federal men will be on you before you know it.”

With this, they drew back and allowed me to pass. Quietly I dismounted, tied my horse to a hitching rack just inside, and with no show of fear, which I really felt, but dared not show, I walked quietly around as if on a tour of inspection. I went from group to group of men of all types. It was a motley crowd, desperate characters. Among them however, I saw many northern soldiers in their uniforms, ragged and dirty. They looked weary and without hope, but underneath a look of refinement. They showed that they had been through rough hands and looked discouraged. Some were gathered in groups playing cards.

Coming up on one group, I saw Foster and Sam looking on at some men at their cards. They saw me about the same time I saw them. I quickly made them understand to show no sign of recognition. I passed on my tour of inspection and in time came to them again, and succeeded in passing a note to Foster to keep up his courage and I would see him free. I could see at once a sign of relief in his eyes. And well he might show relief; for I found out afterward that they were to be hung the next day.

After a few more minutes of inspection, I with no show of hurry, untied my horse and rode toward the gate. It was opened for me and I left the stockade. I knew there must have been dozens of guards and soldiers armed to the teeth, watching me. The least show of fear would have been disastrous for me. I rode quietly through the streets of the town for some time. As it was getting late, I went to the hotel and engaged a room for another day.

I then mounted my horse and rode slowly to the outskirts of town. By this time it was growing dark and I threw all caution aside and rode as fast as I could through the dark to the Federal lines, some ten miles away. It was a dark, dismal ride along that road, and I rode as I never rode before; but my horse held out and I finally arrived at the picket lines and made myself known. I wanted a company of soldiers to come with me and secure the release of the men.

The commanding officer hesitated, saying he feared of bringing on a general conflict. Again I am afraid I used some un-Quaker like bluffing on a federal officer, but by this time I had the sympathy on my side. The officer, I think, was hoping for an excuse to march on the prison, but did not wish to consent too quickly to my request. I used the argument that such a stroke at this time would strengthen the course of the Union. For the prison officials were no doubt more or less afraid of just such a move. The fact that they did not molest me was a sign of fear on their part.

The officer arose, and saluting me, said, “I will have a group of soldiers there by morning, Captain. They will surround the prison. I will place you in command and expect you to do your duty. You have shown great presence of mind and can handle the affair as well as I can. You deserve to finish what you have started. I will remain here, ready to support you with the rest of our troops if you need them. Goodbye Captain and good luck.”

I was relieved, and rode back those dreary, dangerous miles with a fresh mount they had given me. I knew I was still watched as I drew near the city. I expected to feel a bullet in my back at any time. But I could not hesitate now. I must push on. The “Rebs” must have been more fearful than we realized and feared some dire consequences if they molested me.

It was still night when I arrived, but I aroused the prison guard and officials at once and demanded the immediate release of the prisoners I had come to rescue. They refused. But I could not hesitate now. I must push on. The “Rebs” must have feared for their own safety. So I went about unmolested.

When they refused to release the prisoners, I told them, “By morning your prison will be surrounded by Union soldiers.” They laughed at me. “By morning,” they said, “the prisoners will be hung.” “Do as you please,” I said, “but there will not be one of you left to tell the tale. Your prison will be torn down and y our city burned to the ground.” Their laughter ceased and I saw that they were talking it over among themselves. It appeared that I had impressed them with the seriousness of the situation for them.

I left them and aroused the city officials out of bed. They had learned of my visit to the prison that day by a Union officer. At first they laughed at me as though they thought I was bluffing. I told them I had a company of Union troops back of me near the city, and more would follow if I needed them. I did plead with them to direct the prison officials to release the prisoners or we would set fire to the town. I did not wait for a reply but knowing I had done all I could, I returned to the hotel and went to my room.

I hoped the Union officer would keep his promise. What a fix I would be in if anything went wrong. You can imagine something of my feelings that night. I could not rest ofor sleep but I lay down without removing my clothing. I must have dozed off, for I was weary in the mind and body. When I awoke the sun was shining. I at once went to the window and looked out across to the prison with Old Flag [11] out in front. I remember Uncle Reuben saying this with emotion, very quietly but with his face flushed, showing his inward feelings that night. He continued.

They were awaiting my orders, for they well understood that I was in command. I dressed and went out to join them. Without hurry, I took my place at the head of the troops. I saluted the head officer and told him to come with me. We then turned and with measured step, with no hurry, went directly to the gate of the prison.

I demanded the release of the two prisoners. After some hesitation, they were released. I then demanded release of all military prisoners. They again obeyed. I saluted the Southern officer in charge and ordered the removal of all the troops. We withdrew peaceably and with no bloodshed.

Uncle Reuben finished his story all too soon for me. For I was thrilled more by his story than by any I had ever heard before. Many things I would liked to have asked him, but I was a child then and I thought I must let the older ones do the talking. I would have liked to have heard him tell of their trip back home with the Scott family. I would have liked to have known of their taking leave of the army and just the location of that camp. The history of those times and this incident seem to have been lost. If any records were made, I have no t been able to find them. I would like to have known of their reception on reaching home, but all who had a part in the stirring episode have long since passed to the Great Beyond.

I always wanted to hear Uncle Foster’s side of the story but do not remember having seen him but a few times when I was interested in such things as this story. He was even more reluctant, they say, to tell of his part in that experience. I do remember hearing Uncle Reuben saying that on their way back from Marysville, Foster pointed out the place near the highway where ropes had been thrown over limbs in preparation for their hanging. But he had put the fear in their minds and t hey gave it up. There is no doubt in the world that they had been scheduled to be hung the morning they were released. Had the troops been an hour later it might have been too late.


End Notes:
[1] The desperate World War 1 battle in France as the German army was prevented from taking Paris.
[2] The Grand Army of the Republic or GAR was formed in Decatur, Illinois shortly after the Civil War. by Benjamin F. Stephenson. It was the largest organization of Union veterans of the Civil War.
[3] Memorial Day is primarily to honor those who died in military service. This holiday began with the practice of women of decorating the graves of their loved ones who had died in the Civil War, and was originally called Decoration Day.
[4] http://www.nationalgeographic.com/railroad/ - this website gives a simulated escape from slavery via the Underground Railroad.
[5] Zelinda (Griffith) Hadley, one of 13 children of Evan S. Griffith and Nancy Osborn Mormon. Her younger brother, Charles E. Griffith, is Gail Griffith Murray’s paternal great grandfather. More about Charles later.
[6] Reuben Hope Griffith 12/20/1827-11/8/1894, buried in Omaha, Nebraska. Foster Thomas Griffith 4/29/1832-11/11/1892, buried in Storm Lake, Iowa.
[7] Evan and Nancy Griffith had 13 children. Charles E. Griffith, Gail’s paternal great grandfather, was child number 10. So this story is about his two older brothers.
[8] Wilmington, Ohio is home to Wilmington College, founded by Quakers in 1870. Author Norman Crampton featured Wilmington in his book "The 100 Best Small Towns in America" (Prentice Hall 1993) listing Wilmington as one of the best 100 Small Towns. He also praised its location, environment and quality of life. In an interview with the Wilmington News-Journal, Crampton pointed to another community trait that set Wilmington apart: Its resourcefulness. Said Crampton. "How a town solves problems is an indicator about the character of the town's residents."
[9] For another website describing a homestead on the Underground Railway, see http://www.haworthassociation.org/Bios/Mahlon/mahlon_haworth.htm and also http://panora.org/museum/underground_railroad.html#garment
[10] The wrong side of the Iowa/Missouri boundary. Iowa was a free state and Missouri was a slave state. The wagon must have been stopped on the Iowa side of the line.
[11] ‘Old Flag’ is the narrator’s nickname for the Union flag .