In the fall of 1849 Mr. Gorsuch had his wheat stored in the corn house, a building which stood between the house and barn. The main barn fronts and adjoins the turnpike; the mansion house is some distance back of the road, reached by a shady lane and surrounded by lawn, orchards and out-buildings. In accordance with his habit Mr. Gorsuch kept careful account of his wheat in store and of the quantities withdrawn from time to time, as he made his grain all into flour at his own mill and retailed it in Baltimore. Having missed considerable of his stock, he made inquiry of a neighbor miller, Elias Matthews, who reported a lot of wheat sold to him by one Abe Johnson, a ne’er-do-well free negro living two miles north of Gorsuch’s, who had no land to raise wheat nor credit to buy it. Gorsuch got out a warrant for his arrest, and it was put into the hands of Constable Bond for execution. He was laggard and “Bill” Foster who was something of a local terror to wrong-doers, was entrusted with the job. But Johnson got over into Pennsylvania, and Governor Johnston subsequently refused to honor a requisition for his extradition. While the carpenters were building the tenant house and the millwrights were putting up the saw mill, in November, 1849, the negroes were cutting and topping the corn, hauling in the unshucked ears with ox-carts to the barn floor where, by aid of lanterns, the whole household, mechanics and slaves engaged nightly in husking bee merriment. Meantime news of Bill Foster’s search for Abe Johnson were rife; likewise suspicious that the colored “boys” had helped him to raid the cornhouse and shared his spoils. One day they exhibited unwonted unrest and clustered into whispering groups; one expressed to the white workmen special anxiety to know “if the Boss is going to husk corn tonight,” and another declared his purpose to set a rabbit trap, for it was “going to be a very dark night.” It was. There was no corn husking; and Knight, the carpenter, was aroused early by the call of Dickinson Gorsuch from down stairs that “the boys are all gone.” They escaped through a skylight in the back building and made their way down a ladder and up the York turnpike. When the Gorsuches next saw any of them it was in the flash and fire of the Christiana Riot, in the early dawn of September 11, 1851, at Parker’s cabin. During the interval, however, reports reached the Gorsuches from time to time of their whereabouts; messages came from the runaways soliciting food supplies and other aid, which were sent upon assurances of their return. Mr. Gorsuch had such confidence in his benevolence as their master that he always believed if he could meet or communicate directly with them he could get them back. They soon found their way into the vicinity of Christiana where they “worked around” and were known by various aliases; after nearly two years sojourn thereabouts their ownership became known to those who made gain of such information.