Niagara Falls

Niagara Falls sounded like a mighty rush of wind combined with a lion’s roar. The air was thick with mist. The rising sun cast a warm glow over the tree trunks and rocky ground.

Beth sat upright and pulled her green cloak tightly around her. She smiled at Patrick. He rubbed his eyes.

Murray stood next to the carriage. He patted the nose of one of the horses. “Up ahead is our newfangled bridge,” Murray said.

Beth had never seen a double-decker bridge before. It spanned the river in two layers. There was a train track above a walkway. It looked almost three football fields long. A pair of giant pillars stood on each side of the river. They held up a web of thick cables that suspended the bridge.

“Is Canada on the other side?” Sally asked.

“Yes,” said Murray. “Now, I’ve seen slaves caught here. Some were almost halfway across the bridge. They were pulled back to New York by the slave catchers. But that won’t happen to you—not if you take the train.”

“But Sally doesn’t have a ticket,” Beth said.

Murray checked his apron pocket. He pulled his hand out and showed that it was empty. “I left the kitchen in a hurry,” he said. “I don’t have any money with me.”

Beth opened the carriage door and climbed out. “Sally can walk on the bridge,” she said. “Can’t she?”

“Of course,” Murray said. “I’m sure she’ll be across in no time.”

Sally got out of the carriage next. She adjusted the hood on her blue cloak. “Thank you,” Sally said to Murray. “You’re a great Underground Railroad conductor. I’m sorry you missed the party.”

Murray winked at her. “Mr. Lincoln has strong convictions. He will set things in the country right in regard to slavery,” he said. “Come back to Buffalo and visit me on that day.”

Patrick waved from inside the carriage. “Goodbye,” Patrick said. “God be with—”

Bang! A gunshot split the air. It echoed off the cliffs surrounding them. Beth couldn’t tell where the noise had come from.

The carriage horses started to stomp. One of them whinnied.

Murray grabbed the nearest horse’s harness. “Whoa, boy,” he said.

A man on horseback crested a nearby hill. He wore a large tan hat. His revolver was raised in one hand. In the other he held a whip.

“Sally is going back to her master,” the man shouted. “Don’t try to stop me, or someone is going to get hurt!”

Beth recognized the voice of Holman Jones.

So did Sally. She seemed to freeze with fear.

The slave catcher draped his whip across the saddle. Then he dug his heels into the horse’s side. The horse ran even faster.

Beth started running. She caught Sally’s hand and dragged her toward the bridge. “Run,” Beth said. “Run!”

Patrick didn’t know how to help. He stood in the carriage and watched the horse and rider. Dust and rocks flew up as the horse’s hooves pounded the earth. Jones held the gun in the air and waved it.

Murray charged toward him. He shouted, “You rotten excuse for a man!”

As the horse came close, Murray leaped at Jones.

Bang! Another shot went off.

Patrick looked at Murray to see if he’d been shot. But Murray didn’t falter. He had hold of Jones’s thigh and pulled him off the horse.

The animal bolted past Patrick. He noticed that Jones’s whip was hanging off the side of the saddle. The horse ran away into the trees.

The men wrestled and rolled in the mud. Murray got hold of the revolver. He stood and aimed the barrel at Jones. Then Murray began slowly backing away from his enemy.

Patrick noticed Murray was favoring his left leg. He must have been hurt in the scuffle.

The slave catcher lay on his side, breathing heavily. “Don’t shoot me!” he cried out.

Murray backed to the cliff’s edge. He raised his arm and hurled the weapon into the rushing river below.

In those seconds, Jones leaped to his feet and began running.

“Jones is headed toward the bridge!” Patrick shouted to Murray. “Stop him!”

But Murray wasn’t fast enough. His face grimaced in pain with each step he took.

The slave catcher sprinted on.

Patrick climbed into the driver’s seat of the carriage. He picked up the reins and snapped them. The horses didn’t move.

Please help us, God, Patrick prayed. Keep Sally safe.

“Yah!” he shouted. “Giddyap!” He snapped the reins harder. The animals remained still.

Murray’s tall form suddenly pushed him aside. “Hang on!” Murray shouted. He grabbed the reins from Patrick’s hands. Murray gave the straps a single flick; the horses moved.

“Hiyah!” Murray shouted.

The horses pulled the carriage close to the bridge entrance. But Jones was still ahead.

Patrick saw a lone figure in a blue cloak entering the walkway. The person dodged quickly between other walkers.

“Look, Murray,” Patrick shouted. “It’s Sally!”

Suddenly Jones’s form appeared on the walkway too. He was only about four people away from Sally.

Murray said, “Go, Patrick. I can’t get there in time.”

Patrick leaped off the driver’s seat. He sprinted toward the walkway.

Jones was moving too fast. Patrick wouldn’t be able to stop him.

“There’s a slave catcher!” Patrick shouted to the passersby. “Stop him!”

“Where?” a stranger asked. Patrick heard other people ask too. Patrick shouted, “He’s wearing the long coat! Wide tan hat!”

The phrase slave catcher was suddenly on everyone’s lips like wildfire.

An older man in overalls grabbed Jones by the arm. Jones yanked his arm free. The man tried a second time. But the slave catcher twisted away again.

Patrick felt fear grip him. He could not believe what he was seeing.

Jones had Sally—and she wasn’t yet halfway across the bridge. She was still on the New York side.

Jones grabbed both of her shoulders and spun her around. Sally’s head was bent low. The hood of the cloak veiled her face.

“I’ve got you now, Sally Culver!” he shouted. His voice was full of victory.

Sally tilted her head backward so the hood fell off.

Patrick saw a familiar face. He heard a familiar laugh.

Patrick shouted, “Beth!”

Just then a train whistle blew. A rush of steam made a swooshing sound.

Patrick looked up. He saw the train track suspended by thick cables and beams. And a steam engine pulling six passenger cars chugged toward Canada.