On September 27, 1787, Cesar and Lowis Peters, and their children were boarding a boat headed from Norwich to South Carolina, when seven men galloped up. The constable and his posse had a warrant alleging that the Peterses were thieves and must be brought to trial. The lawmen had ridden through the night in a frantic 25-mile dash from Hebron to Norwich, determined to arrest the family and prevent them from leaving Connecticut.

The charges were completely fabricated, making this seem like a cruel injustice, but it was actually an astonishing act of neighborly love.

Cesar Peters and his family were African-American slaves, the property of the Rev. Samuel Peters of Hebron. (Slaves often shared their masters’ surnames, which makes the two sets of Peters a bit confusing.) Hebron is a little far from New London County to be featured in a local history column, but I found this inspiring story when I was researching the Rev. Samuel Seabury of Ledyard.

The Reverends Seabury and Peters were both Episcopalians, which meant that they were loyal to the King, a dangerous political position to hold, especially after the Boston Tea Party ignited revolutionary fervor. Following a beating and threats of tar and feathering by the Sons of Liberty, the Rev. Peters fled to England, leaving behind his property, including his slaves.

As was the practice with abandoned Tory assets, authorities confiscated Peters’ house, necessitating Cesar’s family to find shelter elsewhere. Like other African-Americans left in limbo by Loyalist masters, they were adrift but not legally free and with limited resources. The upside was that Cesar and Lowis were well-respected in Hebron, a community with character and an inclusive spirit.

Samuel Peters’ correspondence from London seems to show that he intended to free his slaves, but, facing mounting debt, he finally instructed his attorneys to sell them to a man from South Carolina. When the new owner (or perhaps his agent) came north to claim his property, he hired eight armed thugs to seize the family while most of Hebron’s male population were out of town on a training exercise.

The kidnappers threw Lowis and the children into a wagon, while Cesar was forced to walk behind. Whenever he could, Cesar would surreptitiously pick up rocks and put them in the wagon, hoping that the extra weight would slow the horses down and delay their destiny. In his despair, I doubt Cesar anticipated what happened next.

Back in Hebron, when the community realized that their friends had been abducted, the quick-thinking town mobilized. They knew they would need legal grounds — even fallacious ones — to prevent this tragedy, so Elijah Gates, the town tailor, stipulated that the Peterses had robbed him of “one blue broadcloth coat with white buttons … and one pair of corduroy breeches.” With warrant in hand, the posse, comprised of some of Hebron’s leading citizens, rushed to Norwich and saved the Peters.

The town’s quickly conceived but brilliant long term plan was this: the Peterses would stand trial and be convicted of the false charges, and then they’d be bound over to the tailor as slaves, compensation for the “stolen” clothing. Since Cesar and Elijah Gates were friends, this would be a temporary arrangement, but it would have the legal teeth to prevent any further abduction attempts from South Carolina. In a year, successful appeals would result in the entire family’s manumission.

In the days ahead, this strategy would play out exactly as planned, but for the moment, there was another, more pressing priority. Once the Peterses and their rescuers were safely home in Hebron, the community did what people often do when they’ve accomplished something wonderful. They had a party!