Mrs. Stowe was accompanied by a daughter and by her little son, Charles Edward. To greet them at the foot of the platform stood the Rev. John Pierpont with Bishop Payne, Senator Pomeroy, Dr. Channing and other celebrities. Mrs. Stowe’s thoughts, however, were more with the wonderful audience that was beginning to gather than with the speakers who were to make the addresses. It was a marvelous sight that greeted her eyes as she took her seat and looked out over the white expanse of the tables that filled the audience room of the church. Already the long procession of strange guests was filing in; from the platform they looked like rivers of inky blackness flowing through the aisles and around the table. To the eyes of Mrs. Stowe it was a tragic scene, for she knew that these poor people had made their escape with untold sufferings. She saw that many were still in the tattered garments they had worn as they crept through the swamp; some had no jacket or coat at all but only a hempen sack with holes cut through for head and arms. But the look in their eyes was something wonderful to see! The guests took their places at the tables which were loaded with meat, cake and fruits. One table also held a great pyramidal cake with an inscription that read, “To the Contrabands, from the Contraband Relief Association,” and the banquet began. At the beginning prayer was offered by Bishop Payne and then the contrabands were invited to fall in, and the food began to disappear rapidly. When one tableful had been well supplied the Superintendent said, “Men, you who have been eating, take something in your hands and give place to others. There,” he added, “don’t take the plates!” At this point the disappearance of drumsticks, et cetera, was marvelous to behold. After some two thousand contrabands had been fed the company on the platform adjourned to an improvised speakers’ stand where the addresses were made. Dr. Channing presided and Senator Pomeroy repeated once more to these poor freedmen the heavenly news that they had a good right to be where they were, and that universal freedom was at hand. This was a story that they could not hear told too often; it made every swarthy face in the room glow with broad delight and every voice break forth into shouts of joy. No wonder that from every throat burst that one great song, that psalm of their modern exodus, “Go Down, Moses.” When Israel was in Egypt Land-- Let my people go! Oppressed so hard they could not stand-- Let my people go! Go down, Moses, ’Way down in Egypt Land; Tell ol’ Pharaoh To let my people go! Stand away dere, Stand away dere, Let my people go!