Ellen and William Craft: Masters of Disguise
1848
Ellen nearly panicked when she saw Mr. Cray from Macon, Georgia—a gentleman she had served at Dr. Collins’s supper table—coming down the aisle toward her. There were at least ten open seats on the train, yet he chose the one next to her. Ellen pulled her hat low and faced the window, hoping he would not see through her disguise. But Mr. Cray was intent on engaging his seatmate in a conversation.
Just the night before, Ellen Craft had been serving supper at Dr. and Mrs. Robert Collins’s grand Georgia plantation. Ellen knew a great deal about the outside world from listening to the guests’ conversations that occurred during such meals over the years. She and her husband planned on using the knowledge she gleaned to embark on a daring escape.
When Ellen was a child, given her light-skinned resemblance to her owner, Major James Smith, she had suffered terribly at the hands of a jealous Mrs. Smith. At age eleven she was given away to the Smiths’ daughter as a wedding present. She had been with the Collins family ever since. Now the very color of her skin that had once caused her such misery just might allow Ellen and her husband William Craft to escape.
On December 21, 1848, she and William secured passes for the holidays from their respective owners. William worked for a cabinetmaker and Ellen was a house servant. Light-skinned Ellen was to don the disguise of an elderly and ailing gentleman planter. She would travel north with her dark-skinned “slave,” her husband William, under the pretense of seeking medical attention in Philadelphia. The key to their success would rest in Ellen’s ability to act the part of an infirm “Mr. Johnson.” If caught, Ellen and William would most likely be separated and sold into hard labor.
Within the four days it took to formulate an escape plan, William collected the necessary components of Mr. Johnson’s attire. His master allowed him to keep money he made working extra hours in a restaurant. William used some of his savings to purchase black boots, trousers, a white shirt, and a long black cloak.
Ellen’s soft, beardless face needed to be covered up. It was decided that Mr. Johnson would be suffering from a severe toothache so that Ellen’s face could be packed with a poultice and her head wrapped in bandages. An ascot scarf under her neck would hide her feminine lines. Just in case Ellen was asked to sign her name, her right arm would be put in a sling so as to render it useless, as she was illiterate. Atop her short cropped hair would be a stovepipe hat, and her eyes would be hidden behind a pair of green spectacles.
At last master and slave, Mr. Johnson and William, were ready to run for freedom. At the train station in Macon, Mr. Johnson purchased two tickets to Savannah, one in first class for “himself ” and one in the Negro car for his servant. Immediately there was trouble. After they were boarded, William saw his frantic employer out on the platform. Obviously his suspicions had been aroused, because he was searching the windows of the cars. Luckily the train pulled out of the station before he came to where William was seated.
It was the worst kind of luck when Mr. Cray, of all people, boarded the train. Since he had just been to Dr. Collins’s house the previous evening, Ellen had spent several hours waiting on him. And now here he was sitting next to her. Ellen feigned deafness to avoid being engaged in a lengthy conversation. After a stressful exchange, Cray at last gave up and directed his conversation to another passenger. Fortunately, he was not going all two hundred miles from Macon to Savannah, Georgia. He departed the train a few stops later.
The Crafts boarded a steamer from Savannah, arriving in Charleston, South Carolina, without incident. Still disguised as Mr. Johnson, Ellen was readily welcomed at one of the finest hotels. But when she attempted to purchase two tickets aboard another steamer for Wilmington, North Carolina, she ran into a skeptical agent who insisted his registry must be signed. Using a deep voice, Ellen explained that as her right arm was broken, she could not possibly sign the ship’s registry. Still, the man remained unmoved.
Just when the situation looked hopeless, a military officer from Charleston, whom Ellen had met on the first steamer, happened along and vouched that he indeed did know “Mr. Johnson.”
After taking the steamer to Wilmington, Ellen and William took a train to Richmond, Virginia, and another to Fredericksburg, Virginia. At each stop they had to eavesdrop on other passengers to find out which train to board, since neither of them could read the signs. Next a steamer took them to Washington, DC, and from there trains took them to Baltimore, Maryland, and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. These were anxious connections, during which both husband and wife constantly worried about being found out.
In addition to several close calls, there was always the fear that news of their escape would be forwarded along by telegraph to major cities and ports. Ellen avoided engaging with passengers and declined all offers from gentlemen of a cigar and drink, for she had no experience with either.
A captain, a slave trader, and a military officer each remonstrated Mr. Johnson for letting his uppity “nigger” dress too fine and for treating him too kindly. Ellen thanked the men for their advice and assured them that William would never run away. All offers to buy William were politely refused.
At one point, quick thinking allowed Ellen to hide her illiteracy. When a passenger offered his calling card, she put it in her pocket without looking at it, avoiding the possibility that she would appear to be reading it upside down.
Ellen and William Craft were almost discovered at their last stop. By law the railroad had to reimburse slave owners if runaways escaped on one of their trains. In Baltimore no one suspected Mr. Johnson of being female or black, but they questioned whether his slave might be a runaway. Consequently, he was asked to show proof of ownership.
Indignant, Mr. Johnson bellowed, “I bought tickets in Charleston to pass us through to Philadelphia, and you have no right to detain us here!” Just then the conductor from their last train passed by and verified that the slave had indeed accompanied Mr. Johnson from Washington. Still, the officer seemed unconvinced.
As their train was about to pull out of the station, the conductor shouted, “All aboard!” The officer began receiving disapproving stares from onlookers for the way he was detaining a sickly gentleman in front of the line—and for detaining them as well. At last he relented, saying, “Let this gentleman and slave pass.” With a nod of thanks, William assisted the infirm Mr. Johnson hurriedly across the platform to their train to freedom.
Emotionally and physically spent, the fugitives rested fretfully. An exhausted William overslept and was temporarily separated from his “master” when they switched railcars. For the first time on the thousand-mile trip, William was not there to assist the infirm Mr. Johnson. Ellen grew panicked that William might have been apprehended. Later, upon finding each other, they privately shared a feeling of mutual relief and thanksgiving that their worst fears had not been realized, especially when they were so close to freedom.
On Christmas morning 1848, four long days after the start of their journey, Ellen and William Craft reached Philadelphia. The nighttime glow of lights sparkling in the distance meant freedom. On the train William had met a free black man who had told him of a boardinghouse run by abolitionists. Ellen and William acted on the tip and took a carriage ride to the house. It wasn’t until they were alone in their room that Ellen gasped, “Thank God, William, we are safe!” and collapsed weeping into the arms of her husband. They fell on their knees that Christmas morning in prayerful gratitude for the best Christmas gift—a successful escape.
The landlord at the boardinghouse was confused to find Ellen Craft coming down to dinner with William. The exhausted travelers relayed their harrowing escape story to the astonished innkeeper. He notified members of the Pennsylvania Anti-slavery Society’s Vigilance Committee, who were delighted to hear of the successful and ingenious escape.
The Vigilance Committee soon forwarded Ellen and William Craft to Boston, Massachusetts. They were legally married and set themselves up in the carpentry and seamstress business in Boston. Back home in Georgia, however, an irate Dr. and Mrs. Collins heard of the Crafts’ much-publicized escape and were angered and embarrassed to have been outwitted. They sent slave catchers to Boston with warrants for their arrest, and the Crafts were nearly apprehended. The Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, which allowed for the capture of fugitive slaves in free states, forced Ellen and William to take refuge overseas.
In December of 1850 the Crafts arrived in Liverpool, England, where they would live for nearly twenty years. They lectured and toured and received an education. Ellen was very proud that each of their five children was born free in England and never had to suffer under the yoke of slavery.
The Crafts’ autobiography, Running a Thousand Miles, was published in 1860. The Civil War ended, and the Thirteenth Amendment to the US Constitution emancipated all slaves. In 1869 William and Ellen Craft and all but one of their children returned to the United States. Two years later, Ellen and William bought a plantation near Savannah, Georgia, not far from where they had formerly lived in bondage. They soon opened the Woodville Cooperative Farm School for black children on their land. In 1890 the Crafts moved to Charleston, South Carolina, where they lived into their seventies. They created a wealth of opportunities for the next generation during their nearly fifty years of freedom.