Nothing seemed to please him better than a “scrimmage” with his opponents.
Often he conquered mobs by resolutely talking them down and making them ashamed of themselves.
But on one occasion, looking through the window from the outside to see what awaited him in a room where he was to speak, he saw a pot of boiling tar on the stove that heated the room and a pillow-case full of feathers conveniently near, while a half-drunken crowd was in possession of the place, and concluded to run. He, however, had been seen and was pursued.
There was a foot race, but as some of the pursuers were better sprinters than Hudson
, and he was about to be captured, he dashed into the first house he came to and asked for protection.
The proprietor was a kinsman of mine.
He was an old man, but hearty and vigorous.
He ordered his sons to take their guns and guard the other entrances, while he took his stand in the front door with an axe in his hand.
When the mob came up and demanded the Abolitionist, he gave warning that he would brain the first man that attempted to enter his house without his consent.
So evidently in earnest was he that the rowdies, after a little bluster, concluded to give up the hunt and left in disgust.