“To the Editor of the Journal Sir:
Few of our citizens are aware that at one time Ithaca was an important station on a great thoroughfare known as the underground railway. The efficient agent of this organization was the pastor of Zion’s church, and every few days he would come to my office and say, ‘Got one, or two, or three, or four and I want something to help them towards the north star.’ The expenses and assessments were light and mainly came from the colored people. One day he called and said he had three. ‘Are they good, stout boys?’ I asked. ‘Yes, real likely fellows,’ he replied. ‘Then send them over to the tannery, I want them there.’
‘Well,’ said the Elder, ‘it will hardly do in this case for somebody got hurt when they came away.’
‘I’ll take care of that if they will prove good shots,’ said I; and the next day Daniel Jackson was duly installed as the driver of the bark cart which position he faithfully filled for nearly a third of a century. At the close of the war one day Daniel came to my office and said, ‘Boss, I want fifty dollars.’ As I had taken care of his money and save him from the results of unbusiness-like judgement relative to the value of his ventures, I asked him what he wanted to do with fifty dollars. His reply was that he had heard that his old mother was yet alive and he wanted to bring her to his home. I told him that it was needless expense for him to go, for I would correspond with the Freedman’s Bureau and she would be sent right here for a trifle. ‘But, Daniel,’ I said, ‘have you considered that your mother must be quite old, maybe feeble and infirm, and maybe quite a load for you to carry? Now suppose I find that she is comfortably well off where she is, wouldn’t it be better to let her remain there, and you could occasionally send her some money.’ I shall never forget how the tears ran down those cheeks, as he sobbed: ‘Boss, she is my mother, I must have her here.’
After the lapse of some three weeks, in correspondence with the agent at the Point of Rocks, we were unable to unravel red tape to Daniels satisfaction, and the ‘Boss, I want fifty dollars,’ became imperative and he started for Harpers Ferry and the Point of Rocks.
About a week later I was standing on the depot platform at Candor when Daniel sprang from the cars and taking hold of my hand, he pulled me into the car all the while saying, ‘Boss, I’ve got my mother, come and see her.’
And now that old woman who nursed the old pastor of Zion’s church when he was a babe, but who is now eighty-four years of age, still survives. She does not know her age, but more than a century has gone since she was born, and she may be seen hale and fairly well at the late residence of her faithful son.
In all my life’s experience I have never known such devotion and affection as well as honorable, conscientious discharge of duty as were exemplified in the life of Daniel Jackson.
E.S. ESTY”