Chapter XVI: The Underground Railroad

The prescribed penalties for assisting in the escape of fugitive slaves were severe. By the terms of the Fugitive Slave Act, as it was called, any one convicted of that offense, besides a liability for one thousand dollars damages recoverable in a civil action, was subject to a five-hundred-dollars fine and imprisonment in a penitentiary for one year. As the writer has not "done time" for participation in certain transactions dating back to his earlier days, in which the legal rights of slave-owners were indifferently respected, he thinks it advisable to be somewhat reserved in his recital of personal experiences when taking the public into his confidence. The Fugitive Slave Law--and for that fact we should give "most hearty thanks"--is about as dead as any statute can be, but as in the case of a snake that has been killed, it may be the wiser course not to trifle with its fangs. Therefore, instead of telling my own story in the first person singular, I offer as a substitute the confession of one John Smith, whose existence no one will presume to dispute. Here is his statement:

"There was an old barn on my father's farm. It was almost a ruin.
One end of the roof had fallen in, pretty much all the windows
were gone, and there was a general air of dilapidation about the
place. A dwelling-house, to which it was an appendage, had been
burned and not rebuilt, and the barn had been left to fight a
battle with the elements and other foes in pretty much its own
way.

"Not that it was wholly abandoned. There was one mow that was kept
pretty well supplied with grass, and there were two or three horse
stalls that were in tolerable order, although but rarely used.
There were a number of excellent hiding-places about the old
rookery. In the basement all sorts of rubbish, including unused
vehicles and machinery, had been stored away, and so wedged and
packed was it that it would have taken hours to uncover man or
beast seeking concealment there.

"One of the curious features of the situation was that the
building was in sight of none of the roads in the neighborhood,
while less than a hundred feet from it was a strip of woods in
which the removal of the larger trees had stimulated a sturdy and
densely matted undergrowth that was penetrable only by means of
paths that had been made by the cattle. It was what was called a
'woods pasture.' With this cover for his movements any one could
approach or leave the old barn with little danger of discovery.

"Naturally enough, such a ramshackle was in ill-repute. There were
tales about it in the neighborhood. Some children had gone there
to play on one occasion, and had been badly frightened by a
big--as big as a half-bushel, they asserted--black face that was
seen to be watching them. They fled from the premises in great
alarm, and for a time there was talk of an investigation by their
friends. The incident, however, was soon forgotten.

"That old barn was a regular station on one of the underground
railroads that extended from the Ohio River to Canada. To but few
persons was its true character known, and they were very
close-mouthed about it. I was one of the few that were in the
secret. Being the youngest member of the family, it fell to my lot
to drive the horses and cows to and from the pasture in which the
old barrack was located, and while there it was an easy matter to
visit that establishment and ascertain if it sheltered any fresh
arrivals.

"One day I had to report that two fugitives were in the barn,
being a mother and child. Then came the question--which in that
instance was a difficult one to answer--as to who should convey
them to the next station on the line, twenty miles away. A
brother, between five and six years older than I was, and who was
something of a dare-devil, did the most of the work of
transportation, but he was in bed with typhoid fever. A hired man,
who was employed partly because he was in hearty accord with the
humanitarian views of the household, and who on several occasions
had taken my brother's place, was absent. There was nobody but
myself who was ready to undertake the job, and I was only eleven
years old. There was no help for it, however. The slaves had to be
moved on, and I was greatly rejoiced in the prospect of adventure
that was opened up to me. The journey had to be made at night, but
for that I cared nothing, as I had repeatedly gone over the route
by daylight, and thought I knew the road perfectly.

"Midnight found me on the highway, and on the driver's seat of one
of our farm wagons, to which was attached a span of horses moving
in the direction of the north star. That luminary was not on this
occasion visible. The sky was heavily overcast and the night was
very dark. A light rain was falling. With all the confidence I had
in my own ability, more than once would I have lost the way, but
for the sagacity of the horses, which had gone over that route a
number of times under similar circumstances. They acted as if
altogether familiar with it. Those horses proved themselves to be
excellent Abolitionists.

"The inclemency of the night was in one respect a great advantage.
It kept at home those who might incline to be too inquisitive. The
few travelers we met passed on with a word of greeting, while I
whistled unconcernedly.

"Over the bottom of the wagon was scattered some hay that might be
used either as feed for the horses or as a bed for weary
travelers. There was also an old-fashioned buffalo-robe, somewhat
dilapidated, that could serve for concealment or as shelter from
the elements. Two or three empty baskets suggested a return from
the market. There was another article that one would hardly have
looked for. This was a smoke-cured ham loosely wrapped in some old
sacking. It had gone over that route a number of times. Its odor
neutralized the smell by which the presence, immediate or recent,
of negroes might be detected.

"My fellow-travelers, as my passengers might be called, were
interesting companions. Both, in one sense, were children, the
mother certainly not being over seventeen years old. She was a
comely half-breed mulatto. Her baby--a pretty boy of two
years--was one degree nearer white.

"The girl was inclined to be confidential and talkative. She said
she was 'old mas'r's' daughter. Her mother had been one of 'old
mas'r's' people. She had grown up with the other slave children on
the place, being in no way favored because of her relationship to
her owner. The baby's father was 'young mas'r'--old master's son,
as it appeared--and who, consequently, was a half-brother of the
youthful mother. Slavery sometimes created singular relationships.

"As the story ran, all the people, including the narrator and her
baby, when 'ole mas'r' died were 'leveled' on by the Sheriff's
man. She did not quite understand the meaning of it all, but it
was doubtless a case of bankruptcy.

"'Young mas'r,' she said, 'tole' her she had to run away, taking
the baby of course. 'Oh, yes," she said very emphatically, 'I
never would have left Kentuck without Thomas Jefferson'--meaning
her little boy. 'Young mas'r,' according to her account, arranged
the whole proceeding, telling her what course to take by night,
where to stop and conceal herself by day, and what signal to give
when she reached the 'big river.'

"When the Ohio had been crossed her young master met her,
evidently to the great delight of the poor creature. He gave her
some money, and told her that when she reached her destination he
would send her some 'mo.' After putting her in charge of some kind
people, evidently representatives of the underground line, they
had parted, according to her description of the incident, in an
affecting way. 'He kissed me and I cried,' was her simple
statement. Notwithstanding the boasted superiority of one race
over another, human nature seems to be very much the same, whether
we read it in a white face or in a black one.

"The little girlish mother was very much alarmed for the safety of
her boy and herself when we began our journey, wanting to get out
and conceal herself whenever we heard any one on the road. After
several detentions from that cause, the weary creature stretched
herself upon the hay beside her sleeping infant and almost
immediately fell into a heavy slumber. She could stand the strain
no longer. I drew the buffalo-robe over the two sleepers, and
there they rested in blissful unconsciousness until the journey
was ended.

"Half-way between the termini of my route was a village in which
lived a constable who was suspected of being in the employ of the
slave-owners. It was thought advisable that I should avoid that
village by taking a roundabout road. That I did, although it added
an extra half to my trip. The result was that the sun was just
peeping over the eastern hills, as I reached a set of bars showing
an entrance into a pasture lot on one side of the highway.
Removing the bars, I drove into the field, and passing over a
ridge that hid it from the road, I stopped in front of a log cabin
that had every appearance of being an abandoned and neglected
homestead. That was the station I was looking for. Arousing my
sleeping passengers, I saw them enter the old domicile, where I
bade them good-by, and received the tearful and repeated thanks of
the youthful slave mother, speaking for herself and her offspring.
I never saw them again, but in due time the news came back, over
what was jocularly called the 'grape-vine telegraph,' that they
had safely reached their destination.

"At the home of the station agent I was enthusiastically received.
That a boy of eleven should accomplish what I had done was thought
to be quite wonderful. I was given an excellent breakfast, and
then shown to a room with a bed, where I had a good sleep. On my
awakening I set out on the return journey, this time taking the
most direct route, as I had then no fear of that hireling
constable.

"Subsequently I passed through several experiences of a similar
kind, some of them involving greater risks and more exciting
incidents, but the recollection of none of them brings me greater
satisfaction than the memory of my first conductorship on the
Underground.

"All of which is respectfully submitted by

"JOHN SMITH."