“It must be difficult traveling so far with young children,” she said, pulling a chair toward the bed and sitting down.
“It has not been too bad,” said Zaphorah where she sat on the bedside. “The Bortons gave us a comfortable carriage to ride down here in. We have enjoyed our time together, and meeting such a lot of nice people. It was fine until Deanna took sick today. But we will be to Mr. Borton’s sister’s in another two days.”
“How long will thee stay?”
“Until Aaron gets her harvest in. She lost her husband and Mr. Borton asked us to come down and help her. We have better lives than those poor slaves we see in the fields everywhere. And those people out in thy guesthouse, they said they are runaways. Are thee and Mr. White really helping them escape?”
Hannah White smiled, then nodded.
“How could we turn them away?” she said.
“But isn’t it dangerous?”
“Yes… yes, Zaphorah, it is. But what does being a Friend mean if it does not mean being a friend to those in need?”
“Like Mr. Borton to his sister. I know what thee means. That’s how everyone in Mount Holly is, always helping one another.”
“I am happy to think that Mr. Woolman’s influence lives on in such a way.”
“But how do people know to come to thee?” asked Zaphorah.
“It all began with our neighbor about four years ago,” said Hannah. A sad look crossed her face. “He had been helping runaways for some time, though William and I knew nothing about it. I don’t know how it began. We were neighbors and friends and he was in our Meeting. But not everyone in the Meeting believes it is right to help runaways and he kept his activity to himself.
“Then there was a day when Isaac came to us—he was our neighbor. He was what is called a conductor on the secret slave railroad.”
“Is that… the Underground Railroad?” said Zaphorah.
“That’s what many people call it,” replied Hannah. “Isaac came to us one afternoon. We could see something serious was on his mind. That’s when he told us what he had been doing. He said that he was being watched, that he was afraid he had been found out. There was a bounty hunter watching him, a terrible man, he said, mean and ruthless, who had descriptions of several runaways he had followed to his place. Isaac said that he had hidden them in the woods, he didn’t say where, and he asked us to take them in and keep them overnight until he could come for them and send them on their way.”
“What did you do?” asked Zaphorah.
“I said no,” replied Hannah. “It was against the law. The thought of it frightened me. Isaac pulled out a clipping from a newspaper and handed it to me. I read it and I can still recall the words: Four slaves, escaped from Buford Streek farm, southeast Virginia: Teen boy gingerbread color, mother tan to yellow with wide nose, two men—one dark black half bald and thin, the other dun color, short and fat. The very words disgusted me. It sounded like they were describing cattle. I was so offended I never forgot. Then William rose and left the room, and I knew where he was going. He was going out to the barn to be alone, and to be quiet and still, and to see what the Spirit would say to him. I served Isaac a cup of tea and we chatted awhile, then William came back into the house. He nodded to Isaac and told him to bring the Negroes and we would hide them.
“Isaac left and came back about dusk with the four slaves. We put them in the barn and gave them something to eat. Isaac left again. He said he was going to lead the bounty hunters on a wild goose chase and hope to get them good and far away from both our places. He was supposed to be back the next morning but he never came. Finally William rode over to his farm and discovered Isaac in his bed, several bones broken and unconscious. One of his workers had found him about a mile from the house, beaten to within an inch of his life. He had managed to get him home and had sent for the doctor.”
Hannah paused and glanced down. It was silent a minute, then she drew in a deep breath.
“Isaac died three days later,” she said softly.
Zaphorah’s hand went to her mouth with a sharp gasp.
“And that is how it began,” Hannah went on. “We had no idea where the four slaves were supposed to go, and now we were afraid that the bounty hunters would find out about us too. But by and by we managed to learn a few names of others in the Meeting in the next county who were helping. We took the runaways to them. Before long William had taken Isaac’s place as a conductor and people kept coming to us.*
“I will never forget one young woman. She was so light I thought she was white. She had no Negro features at all, yet was a slave and a fugitive.”
“But why?” asked Zaphorah.
“Her father was the owner of a plantation, and he regularly bedded all his slave women who had no husbands of their own. It was the cheapest and easiest way to get free slaves. Those he didn’t need, he sold without regard to the fact that they were all his own children. If one of his own daughters reached childbearing age, he would do the same with her. The girl who came to us was the daughter of her owner and had inherited his fair skin and looks. I was deeply angered by the manner of atrocities I heard of.”
Zaphorah shook her head in disbelief. She had never encountered such things before. Until this moment she had not fully realized how sheltered had been her life in Mount Holly.
The two women talked for another hour about many things. By then the evening was well advanced. Hannah leaned forward and embraced the black mother.
“Sleep well, Zaphorah,” she said, “and thy dear little one.”
She rose, patted sleeping Deanna where she lay beneath the blanket, and withdrew.
Meanwhile, outside in the guesthouse Aaron was engaged in conversation with Elvira’s brother and husband as Mary and young Moses slept.
“How did thee know to come here when thee escaped?” asked Aaron.
“Hit’s all arranged,” said Elvira’s brother Nathan. “Da conductor jes’ tell you where ter go.”
“What does thee mean, the conductor?” said Aaron.
“Dey’s who leads you from stashun ter stashun. Ain’t you heard ob da Undergrou’ Railroad?”
“I do not think I have, at least not what thee is talking about.”
“Da railroad’s how we gits ter da norf.”
“These conductors thee speaks of,” said Aaron, “are they white or black?”
“Dey kin be either. We’s had w’ite conductors an’ black ones. Even sum dat are slaves derselves.”
“They men or women?”
“Bof.”
“But how does thee know where to go?”
“Word gits aroun’, secrets spread from place ter place, where ter meet a conductor, where dere’s hidin’ places, where dere’s a stashun. But you’s gotta know da roads an’ know which way you’s boun’, an’ you gots ter be able ter talk an’ act like you is free… Why duz you talk like dese w’ite folks, wiff dat thee an’ thou?”
“We’re Friends,” said Aaron, “what most folks call Quakers.”
“Den you cud talk like a w’ite man effen you had to!” laughed Nathan. “You already duz.”
“An’ you gots ter stay out er sight an’ go at night,” said the other man called Ezra. “Only at night.”
“An’ dere’s always w’ites out huntin’ you down wiff dogs an’ dey’s got papers sayin’ who you is an’ lookin’ fo’ you, an’ effen you gits caught, you’s git terrible whupped er sold er worse. Dere wuz one man got his toes all chopped off wiff an axe when his master got him back.”
“But how did thee get away from where thee were slaves?” asked Aaron.
“Any way you kin,” replied Nathan. “Sneak away at night, steal a horse, disguise yo’self wiff wigs an’ powder ter look like a w’ite man, bleach yo’ skin an’ hair… any way you kin. You gots ter outwit da master, an’ outwit his nigger dogs, any way you kin… hide under a wagonload er hay an’ feed… dere wuz sum I heard ’bout who even hid in a wagon full er manure!”
“You gots te
r be watchin’,” said Ezra. “Always watchin’… watchin’ ter learn habits an’ ways, what da master does an’ when he does it an’ where he goes. Dat’s how yo’ opportunity comes… from watchin’ an’ thinkin’ an’ waitin’. You gots ter wait till da right time, ’cause you only gits one chance, so it’s gotter be jes’ right.”
“What we done,” said Nathan, chuckling aloud, “wuz we pretended ter be goin’ ter a funeral. We wuz helped by a w’ite man pretendin’ ter be comin’ roun’ inspectin’ plantashuns fo’ sumthin’, I don’ know what. But he wuz a w’ite man dat hated slavery an’ he wuz determined ter help slaves escape, though he said he’d been in jail a few times already fo’ it. So he’d git da trust ob da master, but den at night he sneaks down ter da slave village an’ he tol’ us ter be dressed up an’ ready ter atten’ a funeral da nex’ day. We wondered who wuz dead, but on dose plantashuns dere wuz always sumbody dyin’ so we didn’t ax no questions. I don’ know what he dun tol’ master, but nex’ day he let us go into town, dere wuz twelve ob us, an’ we wuz carryin’ a coffin all slow like, an’ we walked through town wiff da women pretendin ter cry, an’ when we wuz through town, we dropped dat empty coffin an’ we run fo’ da trees lickety split, an’ dere was dat w’ite man waitin’ fo’ us wiff fo’ blacks like us, an’ dey took us an’ hid us dat day, and dat night dose black conductors took us ter stashuns roun’ ’bout, an’ we been travlin’ on dat railroad eber since.”
Aaron sat spellbound as he continued to listen to tales about the Underground Railroad. He had never heard the likes of such things before, little realizing how vital the memory of what he heard this night would one day prove in his own life.
The Steddings set out from the White farm the following morning.
About midday, singing hymns as they went, suddenly Aaron heard riders ahead. An evil premonition swept through him.
“Quiet, all of thee,” he said.
“What is the matter, Papa?” asked five-year-old Moses.
“I hope nothing, Son,” replied Aaron. “I just don’t want us making a racket, that is all.”
Several seconds later three men came riding toward them. Seeing a carriage full of blacks, they pulled up, looking them over. Slowly they spread out around them, blocking their way as Aaron reined in.
“Hey, you nigger boy,” called out the lead rider. “Where’s you going?”
“Down to southern Virginia, sir?” replied Aaron. The two girls inched closer to Zaphorah. But Moses was too young to be afraid.
“That’s a mighty fine looking carriage,” said the rider. “How’s a boy like you afford an expensive carriage like that?”
“It belongs to my boss, sir.”
“Your boss! You mean your master, don’t you, boy?”
“No, sir. My boss.”
“I think you’re lying!” the man shot back. “You stole it, nigger boy! Who’d you steal it from?”
“Nobody, sir. I’m telling thee the truth, that—”
“Thee! Don’t get high and mighty with me, boy!” he said angrily. “What’s that kind of talk? You trying to make me look stupid?”
“No, sir. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Then why you talking uppity like a white man?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Mister,” said Moses, “why is thee talking to my daddy like that?”
“Why, fancy this, boys,” said the leader, turning around to his cronies. “We got us an uppity little nigger kid just like his daddy! I think we need to teach these niggers a lesson in manners!”
“Hey, Rube,” now said one of the others, “what you figure a big, strong nigger like this’d fetch?”
“Good money, that’s for sure! I hear big field hands fetch a thousand, sometimes two.”
“We’d be rich! How much is that each, Rube—five or six hundred?”
“And that woman of his is mighty handsome,” said the third rider. “Some rich white man’d give plenty for something like that to keep him company at night!”
“All right, you nigger boy,” said the one called Rube, “get down from there.”
“I have papers,” said Aaron, his voice quivering a little but trying to remain calm.
“The boy says he’s got papers, Rube. What we gonna do about that?”
“I reckon we better see ’em. Show me your papers, boy,” said Rube, dismounting.
Aaron climbed down, pulled the paper from John Borton out of the pocket of his coat, and handed it to the man. The man glanced it over, then ripped it in pieces and tossed it to the ground.
“Those are New Jersey papers, nigger boy!” he laughed derisively. “They ain’t no good here. You may be free up there, but this here’s Virginia. Here you’re a slave! Now you get up on my horse there,” he said, “and follow my friends there.”
He jumped up and sat down in the carriage beside Zaphorah, who was terrified, and grabbed the reins. “I’ll just take care of your team and the carriage and this little woman of yours.”
He flicked the reins. “Gid-up!” he shouted. “Let’s go, boys!” he cried. “We’ll take ’em over to my place and then decide what to do from there.”
The letter that arrived at the Borton farm three weeks later caused instant anxiety. Martha saw the look of concern on her husband’s face as he read.
“It’s from Sarah,” said John finally, glancing up. “She says that Aaron and Zaphorah never arrived.”
“What!” exclaimed Martha. “How can that be?”
“I don’t know. They aren’t there. She has not seen nor heard from them.”
“What could have happened?”
“I cannot imagine,” said John. “But if they never got to Sarah’s—”
Borton let out a sigh and shook his head. “It’s not good… not good at all.”
Again he paused, thinking quickly.
“I know the fields are almost ready,” he said after a few seconds, “but I see nothing else for it but to go to Virginia.”
“What will thee do?” asked Martha.
“I do not know,” replied John. “Try to retrace their steps… that’s all I can do. We knew where they were supposed to stay as they went. I don’t know what else to do but to follow the same route and see if I can find out what happened, or at least where they were last seen.”
Prologue Notes
A Vision of Light
1. “About the beginning of the year 1647 I was moved of the Lord to go into Derbyshire, where I met with some friendly people and had many discourses with them, Then, passing into the Peak country, I met with some more friendly people, and with some in empty high notions. Travelling through some parts of Leicestershire, and into Nottinghamshire, I met with a tender people… With these I had some meetings and discourses; but my troubles continued, and I was often under great temptations.
“I fasted much, walked abroad in solitary places many days, and often took my Bible, and sat in hollow trees and lonesome places till night came on; and frequently in the night walked mournfully about by myself; for I was a man of sorrows in the time of the first workings of the Lord in me… I kept much as a stranger, seeking heavenly wisdom and getting knowledge from the Lord, and was brought off from outward things to rely on the Lord alone….
“Now, after I had received that opening from the Lord, that to be bred at Oxford or Cambridge was not sufficient to fit a man to be a minister of Christ, I regarded the priests less, and looked more after the Dissenting people. Among them I saw there was some tenderness; and many of them came afterwards to be convinced, for they had some openings.
“But as I had forsaken the priests, so I left the separate preachers also, and those esteemed the most experienced people; for I saw there was none among them all that could speak to my condition. When all my hopes in them and in all men were gone, so that I had nothing outwardly to help me, nor could tell what to do, then, oh, then, I heard a voice which said, ‘There is one, even Christ Jesus, that can speak to thy condition�
�� and when I heard it, my heart did leap for joy.
“Then the Lord let me see why there was none upon the earth that could speak to my condition, namely, that I might give Him all the glory….
“My desire after the Lord grew stronger, and zeal in the pure knowledge of God, and of Christ alone, without the help of any man, book, or writing. For though I read the Scriptures that spoke of Christ and of God, yet I knew Him not, but by revelation, as He who hath the key did open, and as the Father of Life drew me to His Son by His Spirit….
“I was afraid of all company… I had not fellowship with any people, priests or professors, or any sort of separated people, but with Christ, who hath the key, and opened the door of Light and Life unto me. I was afraid of all carnal talk and talkers, for I could see nothing but corruption, and the life lay under the burden of corruption….
“One day, when I had been walking solitarily abroad, and was come home, I was taken up in the love of God, so that I could not but admire the greatness of His love; and while I was in that condition, it was opened unto me by the eternal light and power, and I therein clearly saw that all was done and to be done in and by Christ… The Lord opened me, that I saw all through these troubles and temptations. My living faith was raised, that I saw all was done by Christ the life, and my belief was in Him.” [The Journal of George Fox, Chapter 1, “Boyhood.”]
Pilgrims to a New World
2. “Here was the great Delaware, a river such as the white settlers had never seen, even as high as Burlington running nearly a mile wide, and plenty more of it unexploited beyond that. Dwellers by the Thames and the Severn, the Trent and the Usk and the Ouse, the Derwent and the Clyde, were intoxicated by the sheer size of this mighty flow… In many old records… can be read the exhilaration of the Englishmen when set down in the flower of manhood upon the richly yielding land. The unbreathed air of the wilderness was so stimulating and sweet; above all the unstinted sunshine lifted the heart. These colonists had been sturdily bred in the more northern climate and under the prevailing grey skies of England; they were almost over stimulated by the daily acceleration—the mental and physical speeding up—of ultra-violet rays, the dazzling sky of cloudless blue. They performed prodigies. The forests rang, first with the dull blows of their axes, then with the music of their saws and the sharp rhythms of their hammers. The ships that brought them were well stocked. It is a continual marvel in retrospect how much those little ships could carry. The houses that rose in the cleared land along the Delaware were many of them built of brick, and every brick for those first houses was brought across the wide Atlantic—ballast in the deep keel of the top-heavy ships.” [From John Woolman, Quaker by Janet Whitney. London: George G. Harrap & Co., 1943, pp. 23-25.]
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