By Levi Coffin in 1850
In the winter of 1826-27, fugitives began to come to our house, and as it became more widely known on different routes, the slaves fleeing from bondage would find a welcome and shelter at our house and be forwarded safely on their journey, the number increased. Friends in the neighborhood, who had formerly stood aloof from work, fearful of the penalty of the law, were encouraged to engage in it when they saw the fearless manner in which I acted and the success that attended my efforts. They would contribute to clothing the fugitives and aid in forwarding them on their way but were timid about sheltering them under their roof, so that part of the work devolved on us. Some seemed glad to see the work go on if somebody else would do it. Others doubted the propriety of it and tried to discourage me and dissuade me from running such risks.
They manifested great concern for my safety and pecuniary interests, telling me that such a course of action would injure my business and perhaps ruin me; that I ought to consider the welfare of my family; and warning me that my life was in danger, as there were many threats made against me by the slave-hunters and those who sympathized with them.
After listening quietly to these counselors, I told them that I felt no condemnation for anything that I had ever done for the fugitive slaves. If, by doing my duty and endeavoring to fulfill the injunctions of the Bible, I injured my business, then let my business go. As to my safety, my life was in the hands of my Divine Master, and I felt that I had his approval. I had no fear of the danger that seemed to threaten my life or my business. If I was faithful to duty and honest and industrious, I felt that I would be preserved and that I could make enough to support my family. At one time, a good old friend came to see me, who was apparently very deeply concerned for my welfare. He said he was as much opposed to slavery as I was but thought it very wrong to harbor fugitive slaves. No one there knew of what crimes they were guilty; they might have killed their masters or committed some other atrocious deed, then those who sheltered them, and aided them in their escape from justice would indirectly be accomplices. He mentioned other objections which he wished me to consider, and then talked for some time, trying to convince me of the errors of my ways. I heard him patiently until he had relieved his mind of the burden upon it and then asked if he thought the Good Samaritan stopped to inquire whether the man who fell among thieves was guilty of any crime before he attempted to help him? I asked him if he were to see a stranger who had fallen into the ditch would he not help him out until satisfied that he had committed no atrocious deed? These, and many other questions which I put to him, he did not seem able to answer satisfactorily. He was so perplexed and confused that I really pitied the good old man and advised him to go home and read his Bible thoroughly and pray over it, and I thought his concern about my aiding fugitive slaves would be removed from his mind and that he would feel like helping me in the work. We parted in good feeling, and he always manifested warm friendship toward me until the end of his days.
Many of my pro-slavery customers left me for a time, my sales were diminished, and for a while, my business prospects were discouraging, yet my faith was not shaken, nor my efforts for the slaves lessened. New customers soon came in to fill the places of those who had left me. New settlements were rapidly forming to the north of us, and our own was filling up with emigrants from North Carolina and other States. My trade increased, and I enlarged my business. I was blessed in all my efforts and succeeded beyond my expectations.
The Underground Railroad business increased as time advanced, and it was attended with heavy expenses, which I could not have borne had not my affairs been prosperous. I found it necessary to keep a team and a wagon always at command to convey the fugitive slaves on their journey. Sometimes, when we had large companies, one or two other teams and wagons were required. These journeys had to be made at night, often through deep mud and bad roads and along by-ways that were seldom traveled. Every precaution to evade pursuit had to be used, as the hunters were often on the track and sometimes ahead of the slaves. We had different routes for sending the fugitives to depots, ten, fifteen, or twenty miles distant, and when we heard of slave-hunters having passed on one road, we forwarded our passengers by another.
In some instances where we learned that the pursuers were ahead of them, we sent a messenger and had the fugitives brought back to my house to remain in concealment until the bloodhounds in human shape had lost the trail and given up the pursuit.
I soon became extensively known to the friends of the slaves, at different points on the Ohio River, where fugitives generally crossed, and to those northward of us on the various routes leading to Canada. Depots were established on the different lines of the Underground Railroad, south and north of Newport, and a perfect understanding was maintained between those who kept them. Three principal lines from the South converged at my house; one from Cincinnati, Ohio, one from Madison, Wisconsin, and one from Jeffersonville, Indiana.
The roads were always in running order, the connections were good, the conductors active and zealous, and there was no lack of passengers. Seldom a week passed without our receiving passengers by this mysterious road. We found it necessary to be always prepared to receive such company and properly care for them. We knew not what night or what hour of the night we would be roused from slumber by a gentle rap at the door. That was the signal announcing the arrival of a train of the Underground Railroad, for the locomotive did not whistle nor make any unnecessary noise. I have often been awakened by this signal and sprang out of bed in the dark and opened the door. Outside in the cold or rain, there would be a two-horse wagon loaded with fugitives, perhaps the greater part of them women and children. I would invite them, in a low tone, to come in, and they would follow me into the darkened house without a word, for we knew not who might be watching and listening.
When they were all safely inside and the door fastened, I would cover the windows, strike a light and build a good fire. By this time, my wife would be up and preparing victuals for them, and in a short time, the cold and hungry fugitives would be made comfortable. I would accompany the train conductor to the stable and care for the horses, that had, perhaps, been driven 25 or 30 miles that night through the cold and rain. The fugitives would rest on pallets before the fire the rest of the night. Frequently, wagon-loads of passengers from the different lines have met at our house, having no previous knowledge of each other. The companies varied in number, from two or three fugitives to 17.
The care of so many necessitated much work and anxiety on our part, but we assumed the burden of our own will and bore it cheerfully. It was never too cold or stormy, or the hour of the night too late for my wife to rise from sleep, and provide food and comfortable lodging for the fugitives. Her sympathy for those in distress never tired, and her efforts on their behalf never abated. This work was kept up during the time we lived at Newport, a period of more than twenty years. The number of fugitives varied considerably in different years, but the annual average was more than 100. They generally came to us destitute of clothing and were often barefooted. Clothing must be collected and kept on hand, if possible, and money must be raised to buy shoes and purchase goods to make garments for women and children. The young ladies in the neighborhood organized a sewing society and met at our house frequently to make clothes for the fugitives.
The care of so many necessitated much work and anxiety on our part, but we assumed the burden of our own will and bore it cheerfully. It was never too cold or stormy, or the hour of the night too late for my wife to rise from sleep and provide food and comfortable lodging for the fugitives. Her sympathy for those in distress never tired, and her efforts on their behalf never abated. This work was kept up during the time we lived at Newport, a period of more than twenty years. The number of fugitives varied considerably in different years, but the annual average was more than one hundred. They generally came to us destitute of clothing and were often barefooted. Clothing must be collected and kept on hand, if possible, and money must be raised to buy shoes and purchase goods to make garments for women and children. The young ladies in the neighborhood organized a sewing society and met at our house frequently to make clothes for the fugitives.
Sometimes when the fugitives came to us destitute, we kept them several days, until they could be provided with comfortable clothes. This depended on the circumstances of danger. If they had come a long distance and had been out several weeks or months — as was sometimes the case — and it was not probable that hunters were on their track, we thought it safe for them to remain with us until fitted for traveling through the thinly settled country to the North.
Sometimes fugitives have come to our house in rags, foot-sore, and toil-worn, and almost wild, having been out for several months traveling at night, hiding in canebrakes or thickets during the day, often being lost and making little headway at night, particularly in cloudy weather, when the north star could not be seen, sometimes almost perishing for want of food, and afraid of every white person they saw, even after they came into a free State, knowing that slaves were often captured and taken back after crossing the Ohio River.
Such as these we have kept until they were recruited in strength, provided with clothes, and able to travel. When they first came to us, they were generally unwilling to tell their stories or let us know what part of the South they came from. They would not give their names, or the names of their masters, correctly, fearing that they would be betrayed. In several instances, fugitives came to our house sick from exhaustion and exposure and lay for several weeks. One case was that of a woman and her two children — little girls. Hearing that her children were to be sold away from her, she determined to take them with her and attempt to reach Canada. She had heard that Canada was a place where all were free and that by traveling toward the north star she could reach it. She managed to get over the Ohio River with her two little girls and then commenced her long and toilsome journey northward. Fearing to travel on the road, even at night, lest she should meet somebody, she made her way through the woods and across fields, living on fruits and green corn, when she could procure them and sometimes suffering severely for lack of food. Thus she wandered on and at last reached our neighborhood. Seeing a cabin where some colored people lived she made her way to it. The people received her kindly, and at once conducted her to our house. She was so exhausted by the hardships of her long journey and so weakened by hunger, having denied herself to feed her children that she soon became quite sick. Her children were very tired, but soon recovered their strength, and were in good health. They had no shoes nor clothing except what they had on, and that was in tatters. Dr. Henry H. Way was called in and faithfully attended the sick woman until her health was restored. Then the little party were provided with good clothing and other comforts and were sent on their way to Canada.
Dr. Way was a warm friend to the fugitive slaves and a hearty co-worker with me in anti-slavery matters. The number of those who were friendly to the fugitives increased in our neighborhood as time passed on. Many were willing to aid in clothing them and helping them on their way, and a few were willing to aid in secreting them, but the depot seemed to be established at my house.
The fugitives generally arrived in the night and were secreted among the friendly colored people or hidden in the upper room of our house. They came alone or in companies, and in a few instances had a white guide to direct them.
One company of twenty-eight that crossed the Ohio River at Lawrenceburg, Indiana — twenty miles below Cincinnati — had for conductor a white man whom they had employed to assist them.
The company of 28 slaves referred to all lived in the same neighborhood in Kentucky and had been planning for some time how they could make their escape from slavery. This white man — John Fairfield — had been in the neighborhood for some weeks buying poultry, etc., for the market, and though among the whites he assumed to be very pro-slavery, the blacks soon found that he was their friend.
He was engaged by the slaves to help them across the Ohio River and conduct them to Cincinnati. They paid him some money that they had managed to accumulate. The amount was small, considering the risk the conductor assumed, but it was all they had. Several men had their wives with them, and one woman had a little child with her, a few months old. John Fairfield conducted the party to the Ohio River, opposite the mouth of the Big Miami, where he knew there were several skiffs tied to the bank, near a wood yard. The entire party crowded into three large skiffs or yawls and made their way slowly across the river. The boats were overloaded and sank so deep that the passage was made in much peril. The boat John Fairfield was in was leaky and began to sink when a few rods from the Ohio bank, and he sprang out On the sand-bar, where the water was two or three feet deep and tried to drag the boat to the shore. He sank to his waist in mud and quick-sands and had to be pulled out by some of the negroes. The entire party waded out through mud and water and reached the shore safely, though all were wet, and several lost their shoes. They hastened along the bank toward Cincinnati, but it was now late in the night, and daylight appeared before they reached the city.
Their plight was a most pitiable one. They were cold, hungry, and exhausted; those who had lost their shoes in the mud suffered from bruised and lacerated feet, while to add to their discomfort, drizzling rain fell during the latter part of the night. They could not enter the city, for their appearance would at once proclaim them to be fugitives. When they reached the outskirts Of the city, below Mill Creek, John Fairfield hid them as well as he could, in ravines that had been washed in the sides of the steep hills, and told them not to move until he returned.
He then went directly to John Hatfield, a worthy colored man, a deacon in the Zion Baptist Church, and told his story. He had applied to Hatfield before and knew him to be a great friend to the fugitives — one who had often sheltered them under his roof and aided them in every way he could. When he arrived, wet and muddy, at John Hatfield’s house, he was scarcely recognized. He soon made himself and his errand known, and Hatfield at once sent a messenger to me, requesting me to come to his house without delay, as there were fugitives in danger. I went at once and met several prominent colored men who had also been summoned. While dry clothes and a warm breakfast were furnished to John Fairfield, we anxiously discussed the situation of the 28 fugitives lying hungry and shivering in the hills in sight of the city.
Several plans were suggested, but none seemed practicable. At last, I suggested that someone should go immediately to a certain German livery stable in the city and hire two coaches and that several colored men should go out in buggies and take the women and children from their hiding-places, then that the coaches and buggies should form a procession as if going to a funeral, and march solemnly along the road leading to Cumminsville, on the west side of the Mill Creek. In the western part of Cumminsville was the Methodist Episcopal burying-ground where a certain lot of ground had been set apart for the use of the colored people. They should pass this and continue on the Colerain pike till they reached a right-hand road leading to College Hill. At the latter place, they would find a few colored families living on the outskirts of the village and could take refuge among them. Jonathan Cable, a Presbyterian minister, who lived near Farmer’s College, on the west side of the village, was a prominent Abolitionist. I knew that he would give prompt assistance to the fugitives.
I advised that one of the buggies should leave the procession at Cumminsville, after passing the burying ground, and hasten to College Hill to apprise friend Cable of the coming of the fugitives, that he might make arrangements for their reception in suitable places. My suggestions and advice were agreed to and acted upon as quickly as possible.
While the carriages and buggies were being procured, John Hatfield’s wife and daughter and other colored women of the neighborhood busied themselves in preparing provisions to be sent to the fugitives. A large stone jug was filled with hot coffee, and this, together with a supply of bread and other provisions, was placed in a buggy and sent on ahead of the carriages, that the hungry fugitives might receive some nourishment before starting. The conductor of the party, accompanied by John Hatfield, went in the buggy to apprise the fugitives of the arrangements that had been made and have them in readiness to approach the road as soon as the carriages arrived. Several blankets were provided to wrap around the women and children, whom we knew must be chilled by their exposure to the rain and cold. The fugitives were very glad to get the food supply; the hot coffee especially was a great treat, and much revived them. When they finished their breakfast, the carriages and buggies drove up and halted in the road, and the fugitives were quickly conducted to them and placed inside. The women in the tight carriages wrapped themselves in the blankets, and the woman who had a young babe muffled it closely to keep it warm and to prevent its cries from being heard. The little thing seemed to be suffering much pain, having been exposed so long to the rain and cold.
All the arrangements were carried out, and the party reached College Hill safely and was kindly received and cared for.
When it was known by some of the prominent ladies of the village that a large company of fugitives were in the neighborhood, they met together to prepare some clothing for them. Jonathan Cable ascertained the number and size of the shoes needed and the clothes required to fit the fugitives for traveling. He came down in his carriage to my house, knowing that the Anti-Slavery Sewing Society had their depository there. I went with him to purchase the shoes that were needed, and my wife selected all the clothing we had that was suitable for the occasion; the rest was furnished by the noble women of College Hill.
I requested friend Cable keep the fugitives as secluded as possible until a way could be provided for safely forwarding them on their way to Canada. Friend Cable was a stockholder in the Underground Railroad, and we consulted together about the best route, finally deciding on the line by way of Hamilton, West Elkton, Eaton, Paris, and Newport, Indiana. I wrote to one of my particular friends at West Elkton, informing him that I had some valuable stock on hand which I wished to forward to Newport, and requested him to send three two-horse wagons — covered — to College Hill, where the stock was resting, in charge of Jonathan Cable.
The three wagons arrived promptly at the time mentioned, and a little after dark took in the party, together with another fugitive who had arrived the night before, and whom we added to the company. They went through to West Elkton safely that night, and the next night reached Newport, Indiana. With little delay they were forwarded on from station to station through Indiana and Michigan to Detroit, having fresh teams and conductors each night, and resting during the day. I had letters from different stations, as they progressed, giving accounts of the arrival and departure of the train, and I also heard of their safe arrival on the Canada shore.
About the Author: Levi Coffin was a key leader in the Underground Railroad who secretly helped thousands of slaves to escape from the South, using secret routes and safe houses, including his own in Newport (now known as Fountain City), Indiana. In addition to this essay written in 1850, he also authored the book, Reminiscences of Levi Coffin, the Reported President of the Underground Railroad, published in 1876.