Everybody has heard of the Underground Railroad. Many have read of its
operations who have been puzzled to know where it was laid, who were
the conductors of it, who kept the stations, and how large were the
profits. As the company is dissolved, the rails taken up, the business
at an end, I propose now to tell my readers about it.
There have always been scattered throughout the slaveholding States
individuals who have abhorred slavery, and have pitied the victims
of our American despotism. These persons have known, or have taken
pains to find out, others at convenient distances northward from their
abodes who sympathized with them in commiserating the slaves. These
sympathizers have known or heard of others of like mind still farther
North, who again have had acquaintances in the free States that they
knew would help the fugitive on his way to liberty. Thus, lines of
friends at longer or shorter distances were formed from many parts
of the South to the very borders of Canada,--not very straight lines
generally, but such as the fleeing bondmen might pass over safely, if
they could escape their pursuers until they had come beyond the second
or third stage from their starting-point. Furnished at first with
written “passes,” as from their masters, and afterwards with letters
of introduction from one friend to another, we had reason to believe
that a large proportion of those who, in this way, attempted to escape
from slavery were successful. Twenty thousand at least found homes in
Canada, and hundreds ventured to remain this side of the Lakes.
So long ago as 1834, when I was living in the eastern part of
Connecticut, I had fugitives addressed to my care. I helped them on to
that excellent man, Effingham L. Capron, in Uxbridge, afterwards in
Worcester, and he forwarded them to secure retreats.
Ever after I came to reside in Syracuse I had much to do as a
station-keeper or conductor on the Underground Railroad, until
slavery was abolished by the Proclamation of President Lincoln, and
subsequently by the according Acts of Congress. Fugitives came to me
from Maryland, Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Louisiana. They came,
too, at all hours of day and night, sometimes comfortably,--yes, and
even handsomely clad, but generally in clothes every way unfit to be
worn, and in some instances too unclean and loathsome to be admitted
into my house. Once in particular, a most squalid mortal came to my
back-door with a note that he had been a passenger on the Underground
Railroad. “O Massa,” said he, “I’m not fit to come into your house.”
“No,” I replied, “you are not now, but soon shall be.” So I stepped in
and got a tub of warm water, with towels and soap. He helped me with
them into the barn. “There,” said I, “give yourself a thorough washing,
and throw every bit of your clothing out upon the dung-hill.” He set
about his task with a hearty good-will. I ran back to the house and
brought out to him a complete suit of clean clothes from a deposit
which my kind parishioners kept pretty well supplied. He received each
article with unspeakable thankfulness. But the clean white shirt, with
a collar and stock, delighted him above measure. He tarried with me a
couple of days. I found him to be a man of much natural intelligence,
but utterly ignorant of letters. He had had a hard master, and he went
on his way to Canada exulting in his escape from tyranny.
In contrast with this specimen, my eldest son, late one Saturday night,
came up from the city, and as he opened the parlor-door, said, “Here,
father, is another living epistle to you from the South,” and ushered
in a fine-looking, well-dressed young man. I took his hand to make him
sure of a welcome. “But this,” said I, “is not the hand of one who
has been used to doing hard work. It is softer than mine.” “No, sir,”
he replied, “I have not been allowed to do work that would harden my
hands. I have been the slave of a very wealthy planter in Kentucky,
who kept me only to drive the carriage for mistress and her daughters,
to wait upon them at table, and accompany them on their journeys. I
was not allowed even to groom the horses, and was required to wear
gloves when I drove them.” Perceiving that he used good language
and pronounced it properly, I said, “You must have received some
instruction. I thought the laws of the slave States sternly prohibited
the teaching of slaves.” “They do, sir,” he replied, “but my master
was an easy man in that respect. My young mistresses taught me to read,
and got me books and papers from their father’s library. I have had
much leisure time, and I have improved it.” In further conversation
with him I found that he was quite familiar with a considerable number
of the best American and English authors, both in poetry and prose.
“If you had such an easy time, and were so much favored, why,” I
asked, “did you run away?” “O, sir,” he replied, “slavery at best is
a bitter draught. Under the most favored circumstances it is bondage
and degradation still. I often writhed in my chains, though they sat
so lightly on me compared with most others. I was often on the point
of taking wings for the North, but then the words of Hamlet would come
to me, ‘Better to bear those ills we have, than fly to others that we
know not of,’ and I should have remained with my master had it not
been that I learned, a few weeks ago, that he was about to sell me
to a particular friend of his, then visiting him from New Orleans. I
suspected this evil was impending over me from the notice the gentleman
took of me and the kind of questions he asked me.
“At length, one of my young mistresses, who knew my dread of being
sold, came to me and, bursting into tears, said, ‘Harry, father is
going to sell you.’ She put five dollars into my hand and went weeping
away. With that, and with much more money that I had received from
time to time, and saved for the hour of need, I started that night
and reached the Ohio River before morning. I immediately crossed to
Cincinnati and hurried on board a steamer, the steward of which was
a black man of my acquaintance. He concealed me until the boat had
returned to Pittsburg. There he introduced me to a gentleman that he
knew to be a friend of us colored folks. That gentleman sent me to a
friend in Meadville, and he directed me to come to you.” “Well,” said
I, “Harry, if you are a good coachman and waiter withal, I can get you
an excellent situation in this city, which will enable you to live
comfortably until you shall have become acquainted with our Northern
manners and customs, and have found some better business.” “O,” he
hastily replied, “thank you, sir, but I should not dare to stop this
side of Canada. My master, though he was kind to me, is a proud and
very passionate man. He will never forgive me for running away. He has
already advertised me, offering a large reward for my apprehension and
return to him. I should not be beyond his reach here. I must go to
Canada.” He tarried with us until Monday afternoon, when I sent him to
Oswego with a letter of introduction to a gentleman in Kingston, and a
few days afterwards heard of his safe arrival there.
Not long after, I one day saw a young lady, of fine person and
handsomely dressed, coming up our front steps. She inquired for me,
and was ushered into my study. A blue veil partly concealed her face
and a pair of white gloves covered her hands. On being assured that I
was Mr. S. J. May she said, “I have come to you, sir, as a friend of
colored people and of slaves.” “Is it possible,” I replied, “that you
are one of that class of my fellow-beings?” She removed her veil, and a
slight tinge in her complexion revealed the fact that she belonged to
the proscribed race,--a beautiful octoroon. “But where were you ever
a slave?” I asked. “In New Orleans, sir. My master, who, I believe,
was also my father, is concerned in a line of packet steamers that ply
between New Orleans and Galveston. He has, for several years past, kept
me on board one of his boats as the chamber-maid. This was rather an
easy and not a disagreeable situation. I was with the lady passengers
most of the time, and by my close attentions to them, especially when
they were sea-sick, I conciliated many. They often made me presents
of money, clothes, and trinkets. And, what was better than all, they
taught me to read. At each end of the route I had hours and days of
leisure, which I improved as best I could. The thought that I was a
slave often tormented me. But, as in other respects I was comfortable,
I might have continued in bondage, had I not found out that my master
was about to sell me to a dissolute young man for the vilest of
purposes. I at once looked about for a way of escape. Being so much of
the time among the shipping at New Orleans, I had learnt to distinguish
the vessels of different nations. So I went to one that I saw was an
English ship, on board of which I espied a lady,--the captain’s wife.
I asked if I might come on board. ‘Certainly,’ she replied. Encouraged
by her kind manner, I soon revealed to her my secret and my wish to
escape. She could hardly be persuaded that I was a slave. But when all
doubt on that point was removed, she readily consented to take me with
her to New York. To my unspeakable relief we sailed the next day. The
captain was equally kind. I was able to pay as much as he would take
for my passage, for I had succeeded in getting all the money I had
saved, with much of my clothing, on board the ship the night before she
left New Orleans. On our arrival at New York the captain took pains to
inquire for the Abolitionists. He was directed to Mr. Lewis Tappan, and
took me with him to that good gentleman. Mr. Tappan at once provided
for my safety in that city, and the next day sent me to Mr. Myers, at
Albany, on my way to you.”
I offered to find a place for her in some one of the best families
in Syracuse; but she was afraid to remain here. She had seen in New
York her master’s advertisement, offering five hundred dollars for her
restoration to him. She was sure there were pursuers on her track. Two
men in the car between Albany and Syracuse had annoyed and alarmed her
by their close observation of her. One had seated himself by her side
and tried to engage her in conversation and look through her veil. At
length he asked her to take off the glove on her left hand. By this
she knew he must have seen the advertisement, that stated, among other
marks by which she might be identified, that one finger on her left
hand was minus a joint. She at once called to the conductor and asked
him to protect her from the impertinent liberties the man was taking
with her. So he gave her another seat by a lady, and she reached our
city without any further molestation, but in great alarm.
We secreted her several days, until we supposed her pursuers must have
gone on. She occupied herself most of the time by reading, and we
observed that she often was poring over a French book, and on inquiring
learnt that she could read that language about as well as English.
So soon as her fears were sufficiently allayed, I committed her to
the care of one of my good antislavery parishioners who happened to
be going to Oswego. He escorted her thither, saw her safely on board
the steamboat for Kingston, and a few days afterwards I received a
well-written letter from her informing me of her safe arrival, and that
she had obtained a good situation in a pleasant family as children’s
maid.
I need give my readers but one more specimen of the many passengers
I have conducted on the Underground Railroad. At eleven o’clock one
Saturday night, in the fall of the year, three stalwart negroes came to
my door with “a pass” from a friend in Albany. They were miserably clad
for that season of the year and almost famished with hunger. We gave
them a good, hearty supper, but could not accommodate them through the
night. So at twelve o’clock I sallied forth with them to find a place
or places where they could be safely and comfortably kept, until we
could forward them to Canada. This was not so easily done as it might
have been at an earlier hour. I did not get back to my home until after
two in the morning. The next forenoon, after sermon I made known to
my congregation their destitute condition, and asked for clothes and
money. Before night I received enough of each for the three, and some
to spare for other comers. I need only add, that in due time they were
safely committed to the protection of the British Queen.
Other friends of the slave in Syracuse were often called upon in
like manner, and sometimes put to as great inconvenience as I was in
the last instance named above. So we formed an association to raise
the means to carry on our operations at this station. And we made an
arrangement with Rev. J. W. Loguen to fit up suitably an apartment in
his house for the accommodation of all the fugitives, that might come
here addressed to either one of us. The charge thus committed to them
Mr. Loguen and his excellent wife faithfully and kindly cared for to
the last. And I more than suspect that the fugitives they harbored, and
helped on their way, often cost them much more than they called upon us
to pay.
It was natural that I should feel not a little curious, and sometimes
quite anxious, to know how those whom I had helped into Canada were
faring there. So I went twice to see; the first time to Toronto and its
neighborhood, the second time to that part of Canada which lies between
Lake Erie and Lake Huron. I visited Windsor, Sandwich, Chatham, and
Buxton. In each of these towns I found many colored people, most of
whom had escaped thither from slavery in one or another of the United
States. With very few exceptions, I found them living comfortably,
and, without an exception, all of them were rejoicing in their liberty.
I was particularly interested in the Buxton settlement, called so
in honor of that distinguished English philanthropist, Hon. Fowell
Buxton. It was established by the benevolent enterprise and managed
by the excellent good sense of Rev. William King. This gentleman was
a well-educated Scotch Presbyterian minister. He had come to America
and settled in Mississippi. There he married a lady whose parents soon
after died, leaving him, with his wife, in possession of a considerable
property in slaves. He was ill at ease in such a possession, but, as he
held it in the right of his wife, he did not feel at liberty to do with
it as he would otherwise have done. A few years afterwards she died.
By this dispensation he was made the sole proprietor of the persons of
fifteen of his fellow-beings, and he was brought to feel that the great
purpose of his life should be to deliver them from slavery, and place
them in circumstances under which they might become what God had made
them capable of being. With this purpose at heart he went to Canada.
He purchased nine thousand acres of government land of good quality
and well located, though covered with a dense forest. To this place he
transported, from Mississippi, his fifteen slaves, and gave to each of
them fifty acres. He then offered to sell farms for two dollars and a
half an acre to colored men, who should bring satisfactory testimonials
of good moral character and strictly temperate habits. When I was there
in 1852, about four years after the beginning of his undertaking, there
were ninety families settled in Buxton. Mr. King told me there had not
been a single instance of intoxication or of any disorderly conduct,
and most of them had nearly paid for their farms.
I spent the whole day with this wise man, this practical
philanthropist, in visiting the settlers at their homes in the woods.
I found them all contented, happy, enterprising. Several of them
confessed to me that they had never suffered such hardships as they
had experienced since they came to live in Canada. The severity of the
cold had sometimes tried them to the utmost, and clearing up their
heavy-timbered lands had been hard work indeed, especially for those
who had been house-servants in Southern cities. But not one of them
looked back with desiring eyes to the leeks and onions of the Egypt
from which they had escaped. They seemed to be sustained and animated
by one of the noblest sentiments that can take possession of the human
soul,--the love of liberty, the determination to be free. They had
cheerfully made sacrifices in this behalf. Like the Pilgrim Fathers of
New England, many of them had fled from the abodes of ease, elegance,
luxury, and sought homes in a wilderness that they might be free. Like
them they counted it all joy to suffer,--perils by land and by water,
travels by night, a flight in the winter, and a life in the wilds
in an inhospitable climate, if by so suffering they might secure to
themselves and their posterity the inestimable boon of liberty.