CHAPTER VIII
I have memories of only one grandparent. My fathers parents died many years before I was born. Grandfather Bradford owned a section of land, had large barns, and one of the most pretentious homes in the community. He lived alone when I knew him, and frequently visited us driving a white horse, Old Bill, hitched to a cart.
I plainly remember my mother had stopped her work to remove a splinter from my hand. I remember he reproached her for wasting her time in removing a splinter from my hand when it would fester out.
He was a square jawed man with an inordinately positive personality. We attended the farm auction held after my Grandfather's death and I still feel the pangs of disappointment I experienced because my Dad did not buy my grandfather's horse pistol which he carried when he was transporting slaves over one leg of the underground railway.
A little music box had been a favorite of mine and my father did not bid on it, and someone else bought it. I remember my mothers relating experiences he had told her about hauling slaves from his farm to near Huntington, Indiana.
They were transported from Anderson, Indiana to his farm north of Marion, where they were fed and hidden in the haymow over night. In the morning they were fed, hidden in a load of hay and driven eighteen miles to Huntington.
It was very risky because bounty hunters were numerous since they received a handsome bounty for the return of an escaped slave. The penalty for engaging in the illegal underground railway was quite severe.
Grandfather traveled with his big old horse pistol beside him on the wagon seat and I am sure he would have used it before he surrendered his cargo of slaves.
To be continued
