AS A BACKGROUND to my adventures which follow, it is necessary to digress at this time, otherwise you would never be able to interpret or understand the new field into which I entered; also what it meant to me and the people I served. What I am bringing to your attention at this time is a strip of land between the northern and southern states which I call the Borderland. In my particular instance it was between Kentucky and Ohio, with the Ohio River flowing between.
This Borderland on the Ohio reached the top of the riverbank, while the Kentucky limits extended across the state even into Tennessee, in fact there was no southern limits. It was through this Borderland that slaves made their way going north to Canada. For after the War of 1812 every slave knew the north star led to freedom and Canada.18 From 1812 the gauntlet of war was thrown down between the friends and enemies of the fugitive, and [there was] incessant warfare, much like the old Scottish incursions along the lowland British border.
Every night of the year saw runaways, singly or in groups, making their way slyly to the country north. Traps and snares were set for them, into which they fell by the hundreds and were returned to their homes. But once they were infected with the spirit of freedom, they would try again and again, until they succeeded or were sold south. You can imagine this game of hide-and-go-seek was not without its excitements and tragedies, which called into play the nerve and courage of good men on both sides of this danger line.
The success of the fugitives was absolutely dependent upon a few conscientious men north of the line who received no compensation, in fact, made themselves poor serving the helpless fugitives who came to their doors. The fugitives in most instances had to take care of themselves south of the line, but once across the Ohio River they were in the hands of their friends. Consequently, this whole Borderland was continuously stirred with strife and hatred over the runaways who were endeavoring to break through.
Every precaution was taken to prevent the fugitive from successfully passing through this forbidden land. The woods were patrolled nightly by constables, and any man black or white had to give a good account of himself, especially if he were a stranger. Every ford was watched, while along the creeks and the river, the skiffs were not only pulled up on shore, but were padlocked to trees, and the oars removed. There were dogs in every dooryard, ready to run down the unfortunates.
Once word came from further south that runaways were on the way, the whole countryside turned out, not only to stop the fugitives, but to claim the reward for their capture. Everything was organized against the slaves’ getaway.
But in spite of the odds against them, there were a surprising number who did make good their escape. This must be said for the slaves who took to the woods, they were above the average slave in intelligence and courage, otherwise they would never have started. Once they were started, no obstacle was too great for them to overcome.
A man and his wife came to the Ohio River at night. Neither could swim a stroke. Still they were so determined, he placed his wife astride a log, while he placed his hand on the other and literally kicked his way across that deep and dangerous river.19 When at midnight the two wet and exhausted travelers came knocking on my door, I could not believe their story that they had made their journey in the manner I have stated. However, there they were. Before morning I had fed them, dried them, and taken them over the hill to a place of safety.
A man [who had] escaped to Canada came to me on his way back to get his wife. I tried to persuade him to get another wife, but he went on and shortly returned with her. But he was a rare man.
One night I made an incursion into the enemy’s country. When I came back to the river my companion failed to appear with my boat. I secured a smaller one, loaded my crowd, and found I had one too many for my craft. The man left on shore was the husband of one of the women in the boat. We were being pursued and had no time to argue the point.
As I hesitated, one of the men in the boat walked ashore to make room for the husband. While this act was contrary to the eternal law of self-preservation, this ignorant slave sacrificed his freedom, without a moment’s hesitation. Unfortunately, he was captured before we got across the river, a heroic victim of his own unselfishness. So I could go on and write instances of courage and sacrifice that these runaways showed and endured in their determined effort to break away from slavery.
As I have said, the Borderland south of the Ohio River was unlimited. On the Ohio side it was limited to the doorways of houses at the top of the riverbank. Speaking within my own knowledge I can truthfully say that the real warfare was waged around these few homes. Around these their neighbors were stirred to intense and bitter feelings.
The occupants of these few homes were the midnight marauders, very secretive and silent in their ways, but trustworthy and friendly to the fugitives.20 These friendly men was hunted by the slave owners in search of his slaves.
He was watched by his neighbors, threatened by the authorities, and frequently betrayed by his friends. His work was all done under cover of the night. He had to use all manner of subterfuges to throw his watchers off his trail. In spite of law and man, these men in spite of hardships, and beset [with] difficulties, went on year after year in the work, which he believed was his burden [and] duty to perform. And he did perform it well.
Plots and counterplots were planned and sprung by both sides, which kept those interested in the game constantly on the watch as well as on the go. The real history of these men and this period will never be told, for the principal actors have passed away, leaving here and there stray episodes, which are mere incidents of the real adventure going on behind the scenes. But the strategies resorted to, the ambushes sprung, and the actual hand-to-hand conflicts between individuals and groups in this Borderland will never be told, for the simple reason that the men who knew dare not tell what they knew.
For 20 years, from 1845 to 1865, I labored in this Borderland in and around Ripley, Ohio. In that time I knew everything that went on, whether I was a participant or not. This little town today is quiet and peaceful, with no indications of the fierce passions that disturbed its people during the period I have indicated.
There was a time, however, when fierce passions swept this little town, dividing its people into bitter factions. I never thought of going uptown without a pistol in my pocket, a knife in my belt, and a blackjack handy. Day or night I dare not walk on the sidewalks for fear someone might leap out of a narrow alley at me.
What I did the other men did, walked the streets armed. This was a period when men went armed with pistol and knife and used them on the least provocation. When under cover of night the uncertain steps of slaves were heard quietly seeking their friends. When the mornings brought strange rumors of secret encounters the night before, but daylight showed no evidence of the fray; when pursuers and pursued stood at bay in a narrow alley with pistols drawn ready for the assault; when angry men surrounded one of the houses referred to, kept up gunfire until late in the afternoon, endeavoring to break into it by force, in search of runaways. These were the days of passion and battle which turned father against son, and neighbor against neighbor. Visit it now to see the contrast of this picture of violence.
In this town of Ripley, there are still a few of the old houses standing, which were places of refuge for the runaway. Facing the river on the corner of First Street and Mulberry stands the old Collins house, a two-storied brick house around which are gathered many of the dramatic episodes of this period. At the top of the riverbank, its two doors, facing two different streets, made it easy access to the fleeing fugitives. The doors unlocked, lighted candle on the table, many times I have slipped into this room, surrounded by a motley group of scared fugitives. Arousing the man of the house, he would quickly feed the crowd, then take them out the back way through the alley, over the hills to Red Oak or Russellville. If this old house could only bring back its shadows, they would be many and mingled.
Further down on Front Street is the McCague house with its narrow high stoop, up whose steps many strange men and women went gently tapping on the door.21 The cellar and the garret have been filled with breathless fugitives. Like the Collins house and all the other houses of these early abolitionists, the door was always ajar, and the candle in the room lighted and waiting to welcome any and all who entered.
But the real fortress and home to the fugitives was the house of Rev. John Rankin, perched on [a] high hill behind the town. A single-story brick house,22 it sheltered Rev. John Rankin, a man of deeds as well as of words. If the shadows on the wall could but return, you could count the sire, with six sons, seven resolute men, holding their border castle against all comers.
At times times attacked on all sides by masters seeking their slaves, they beat back their assailant, and held its threshold unsullied.23 A lighted candle stood as beacon which could be seen from across the river, and like the north star was the guide to the fleeing slave. In this eagle’s nest, Rev. John Rankin and his sons held forth during many stormy years, and only left the old home when their work was well and lastingly done.
I am now living under my own roof, which still stands just as it did in the old strange days. I saw it grow brick by brick. It too has heard the gentle tapping of fugitives. It also has heard the cursing at the door of the angry masters. It too has played its part in concealing men and women seeking a haven of safety. Standing, facing the river, it has weathered the storms of years, very much better than its owner and builder. But we have seen adventurous nights together, which, I am glad to say, will never come again.
Ripley likewise has lost its wealth and prestige. At one time it was a rival of Cincinnati in wealth, boat building, pork packing, flatboat and steamboat landings. It was richer still in its ideals, for in 1805, years before any one [else] in the west, it gave heed to the antislavery movement, [and] Dr. Alexander Campbell, the first abolitionist of Ohio, moved into town.
Dr. Campbell was a senator from Ohio when the British burned Washington in the War of 1812. He was the first citizen of the town as well as the forerunner of the abolition movement. Around this we now rallied the group of Scotch Presbyterians who were my associates in aiding the fugitives. Indiana [and] Illinois abolitionists got their creed and leadership from the abolitionists of Ripley.
It is generally and rightfully believed that the Underground Railroad had its origin in Ripley. An old citizen who claimed to be present at the time of the incident gives the fact of its origin from personal knowledge. It was in the upper shipyard on Red Oak Creek that the episode occurred shortly after the close of the War of 1812. The fugitive ran amongst the piles of lumber and disappeared. One of the workmen, when asked by the master if he had seen the fugitive, answered, “The slave disappeared so quickly he must have gone on an underground road.” The term “rail” was fixed after the introduction of steam [rail]roads.24
From my own personal knowledge of the men in Cincinnati and the men of Ripley, I can say that Ripley was the real terminus of the Underground Railroad. I worked with both groups [Cincinnati and Ripley] after 1845 so I ought to know. Levi Coffin, a Quaker abolitionist of Cincinnati, was the best-known antislavery leader to the nation because he had greater publicity than the men of Ripley. But he had no such group as operated in and around the latter town. That the town deserved its reputation is shown by the fact [that] it was generally known throughout Kentucky as “the hell hole of abolition.”
One thing I do know [is] that it wielded more influence in the west than any other town, big or little. The work was begun by Dr. Alexander Campbell in 1805, who was practically driven out of Kentucky for his liberalism. Rev. James Gilliland came here in 1806 from North Carolina, being driven out of the presbytery, on account of his antislavery attitude.25
Reverend John Rankin was driven out of Kentucky, and with him came his entire congregation of farmers from near Carlisle, who settled around Greensburg, Indiana. Not only is that true, but the first textbook, “Letters to a Slave Owner,” was written and published in Ripley by Reverend John Rankin. It had a wide circulation at the time and really was the foundation of the New England movement under William Lloyd Garrison. Reverend Jesse Lockhart of Russellville26 and Dr. Lester of Decatur were associates and advocates of the Ripley group.
Do not think that Cincinnati and Ripley were the only centers of runaway activities. As a matter of fact, from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mississippi River south of the Ohio, there was a constant trickle of runaways. But for fixed permanent organization these two groups were the best-organized and the best-known.
There was a reason why Ripley was the seat of the abolition movement. This reason being it was in the center of the Virginia Military District of Ohio, which [was] set aside for the soldiers of the line of Virginia, who served in the War of the Revolution. These wild lands were the only place where the Virginia or southern masters could take their slaves and free them, without any liability to themselves.27
There were two settlements of free men in Brown county, of which Ripley was the river town. Here slaves were brought and freed. True, the settlements did not work out so well, but it did offer an outlet for those planters who had fought for the Declaration of Independence, and practiced its tenets.
As a matter of fact, the Ripley abolition group were the intermediaries between the spirit of the Revolutionary patriots and the fiery New England group who took this fire and inspiration about 1830 from the irrepressible firebrand William Lloyd Garrison.
Having given you a background in Ripley, I will return to my personal experiences and adventures, in my own little personal war on slavery.