The Breakneck Ride to the Mason–Dixon Line

On a sultry September morning in 1844, just before sunrise, word spread quickly through the farms and crossroads of Little Britain Township. A Black woman and her two children had been taken.

Slavecatchers had seized them and were racing south toward the Maryland line. If they crossed the Mason–Dixon, the chances of bringing them back would grow dangerously slim. The roads that wound through the rolling fields of southern Lancaster County had seen such scenes before. Kidnappers knew the routes well. They moved fast and without mercy.

But so did the people who lived there.

Among them was Joseph C. Taylor, a farmer, storekeeper, and outspoken abolitionist who lived only a few miles north of the border near Hickory Hill Schoolhouse. Taylor was known as a man who did not shrink from trouble. Broad-shouldered, strong-willed, and fearless in both speech and action, he had spent years condemning slavery and the men who profited from it. If danger threatened someone in his neighborhood, Taylor was the sort who acted first and sorted out the consequences later.

That morning, he had just risen and was standing in the doorway of his farmhouse. In front of him stood his five-horse team, harnessed and ready to start for Quarryville to collect a load of limestone. He had not yet dressed for the day and wore neither coat, hat, nor shoes.

Then a woman came running across the fields from the direction of Wolf Hollow.

Wolf Hollow was a small settlement of Black families who lived in a handful of log houses tucked off the public road. As the woman drew nearer, breathless and terrified, she shouted the news.

“Mr. Taylor! Mr. Taylor! The kidnappers has got the woman and her two children! There they goes now!”

She pointed toward the road where a wagon was moving rapidly south. Behind it rode two mounted men. Slavecatchers guarding their captives as they hurried toward the Maryland border.

Taylor understood the situation instantly.

“Unhitch that lead horse and take off his harness,” he told the driver.

In less time than it can be told, the horse was free. Taylor mounted bareback and dashed away in pursuit—hatless and still in his stocking feet. He had a singular focus: catch the kidnappers before they reached the Maryland line.

The countryside rushed past in a blur of fence posts, fields, and dusty road. The kidnappers had a head start, but Taylor rode hard, cutting across fields and lanes to shorten the distance. Along the way, he raised the alarm, and neighbors soon joined the chase.

Among them were men like Oliver Furness, James Woodrow, Joseph Pierce, John P. Harlan, and Nicholas Wells, all determined that the kidnappers would not carry their prisoners into Maryland without a fight.

The pursuit pressed southward toward the Conowingo Road. Then Taylor realized something troubling. The pursuers were completely unarmed.

The slavecatchers, on the other hand, were almost certainly carrying weapons. What good would it do to overtake them if they had no means to force them to stop?

When the riders reached a small store at Kirk’s Mills, Taylor pulled up long enough to borrow a gun. Weapon in hand, he spurred his horse forward again, and the chase resumed.

At last, the kidnappers came into view.

They were climbing a long hill west of Eastland, urging their horses forward as fast as they could. Beyond the hill lay a level stretch of road that ran nearly two miles straight to the Maryland line.

If they reached that border, the pursuit would be over. The riders crested the hill and thundered down the road after them. But Taylor’s horse was beginning to fail.

The morning heat and the long chase had taken their toll. The animal’s stride weakened, and it was clear he would not last much longer.

Joseph Pierce, riding beside him, understood the danger immediately. Pierce’s horse was the strongest and fastest in the party.

“Here, Taylor,” he shouted. “Take my horse and catch them, or kill the horse!”

Taylor did not hesitate. In a moment, he had leapt onto the fresh mount and was racing ahead again, gun in hand.

Hatless, coatless, and shoeless, his hair blown wild by the wind, he drove the horse forward with every ounce of strength he possessed. Within minutes, it was clear the pursuers would overtake them.

The kidnappers had nearly reached the Maryland line when Taylor closed the distance. Just forty yards from the border, he rode past the mounted guards and pulled ahead of the wagon.

Then he wheeled his horse around and leveled the gun at the driver.

“Stop!” he commanded.

The wagon lurched to a halt. Though armed themselves, the kidnappers could see that Taylor meant to shoot.

“I want to see whether you have a lawful right to carry these people away,” he said calmly. “If you have, we will not interfere. If you have not, you cannot take them.”

By that time, the rest of the pursuing party had arrived.

After some discussion, it was agreed that the captives and their claimants would be taken before John Webster, a justice of the peace in nearby Fulton Township, where the matter could be examined under Pennsylvania law.

The journey to the magistrate’s office ended the chase.

When the facts were reviewed, the Maryland men grew uneasy. They may have believed they had a legal claim to the mother, but the children had been born in Pennsylvania and could not legally be enslaved. Faced with the possibility of kidnapping charges, the slavecatchers soon found themselves in serious trouble.

And the woman and her children were saved.

The best part of the story came afterward. The gun Taylor had pointed at the kidnappers contained no ammunition at all.

Of course, the kidnappers never knew that. And perhaps it would not have mattered if they had. Taylor possessed the kind of presence that made a bluff believable. More importantly, he carried the conviction of a man who stood firmly on the side of simple human decency.

Taylor lived the rest of his life in the region where the incident occurred, continuing to speak boldly against slavery and injustice. He died in 1876, remembered by his neighbors as a man of remarkable courage.

Sometimes the difference between injustice and justice comes down to one person willing to act. On a September morning in 1844, Joseph C. Taylor was that person.

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Field Guide to the Strange, Storied, and Hidden Places of Lancaster County

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Resources

• History of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania: with biographical sketches of many of its pioneers and prominent men
• The Underground Railroad (1911) by Mrs. Marianna G. Brubaker
• Seeing Lancaster County from a Trolley Window
• Find a Grave: Joseph C. Taylor