# Sketches in the History of the Underground Railroad/Chapter XVII

CHAPTER XVII.
It has been a common belief in the Free States that the slaves in the South were the most ignorant and the most stupid human beings to be found in any country blessed with Christian civilization, and from that idea, mainly, has arisen the fear in the minds of many good people that the Republican doctrine of universal, loyal, manhood suffrage may prove a disastrous experiment. As an offset to such grounds of fear, it may be well to remember that there is a large class of white men living in the midst of the black population in the old slave States, who are even more ignorant, more stupid, and in all respects more degraded than the slaves were, the slaveholders themselves being judges, yet the “poor white trash,” as the aristocracy and even the slaves call them, have equal rights at the ballot box with their rich and intelligent neighbors. Since the slaves were emancipated, schools have been established for the benefit of all classes, black and white, of which the blacks almost universally avail themselves, while the aforesaid class of poor whites, with few exceptions, treat every attempt to educate and elevate them with utmost scorn. ​When traveling in the slave States twenty years ago, I found this class of white people unable to give any information as to the distance to the nearest town, and not one in ten knew the name of the county where they lived. Between Paris and Winchester, Ky., a heavy shower came upon us, and we found shelter in a house in the edge of the woods A man and his wife, and five or six children, were in the house, and the combined wisdom of the household could give us no information as to how far it was to either of the above towns. “It was a right smart chance of a walk,” and that was all they knew about it, nor did they know the name of the county they lived in, or the political party the “old man” voted for; he thought, however, his name was not “political party.” “Was it Harry Clay?” “No, it was t’other feller.” When the shower was over we started towards Winchester, and soon met an old negro passing along the road. Stopping our horse, I said, “Good evening, uncle.” He took off his hat and responded, “Good ebening, sar.” I said, “Put your hat on your head, my friend, you are an old man.” He looked at us, then at his hat, and finally put his hat under his ami, and stood uneasily, turning partly around. Seeing that he felt embarrassed, I thought I would ask him some questions, and see if the old negro was as ignorant as the Loco Foco voter whose roof had partially sheltered us during the late shower, so I asked, “How far is it to Winchester?” “Bout four mile.” “How far to Paris ?” “Ten or twelve mile,” he replied, both of which answers proved correct. “Can you tell us what county we are in?” “Dis am Clark County,” said he, “but just ober dar is Bourbon County,” and pointing west, he said, “dat way bout two mile, am Fayette County.”
We found the old slave quite intelligent on many subjects. I asked him where he lived, and he said, “In ​Fayette County, most down to Lexington. Fse looking forde mules; Massa Hawkins’ mules am run off.” When we started along he put his hat on, then snatching it off again, he said, “Please, master, do you live down to Louisville?” I answered, “No; why do you wish to know ?” “ Cause,” said he, “my boy Tom was sold down de river, and I hear he cook on steamboat, and come to Louisville sometimes. His old mother wants to hear if he is alive.” As we did not live in Louisville, we could give the old man no news to carrv to Tom’s mother. Whether the old woman ever heard about Tom going ashore near Louisville and getting lost, and not finding his way back again, I do not know, but that such was his fate I have no doubt, nor am I quite sure that his arrival in Canada can be justly credited to the U. G. R. R., for he “paddled his own canoe” and engineered his own train on independent principles.
On the 15th of the present month (September, 1868), I met on the steamboat between Mayville and Jamestown, Dr. C——, a gentleman with whom I had some business transactions in Canada more than twenty years ago. He was then a merchant, and carried on an extensive distillery and ashery at a village some eight or ten miles from St. David’s. We did not recognize each other at first, until he incidentally mentioned the name of Hon. Hamilton Merritt, whose wife was the daughter of Mr. P——, one of the first settlers in Jamestown. Recollecting that Mr. Merritt lived in Canada, I asked the gentleman if he had lived there. He answered that he had, and we soon renewed our acquaintance. One of our party asked him if he was acquainted with any of the fugitives who went there. He said he had employed several of them, one of whom was the strongest man he had ever seen. His name was Jack. One day Jack drove to the ashery with a load of wood, and came to the house and ​asked for a shirt. He had found a negro in the woods who had no clothes except a part of a pair of pants. Jack was a very large man, and his shirts were too large for the fugitive, so he asked for a donation to clothe the poor fellow. A comfortable suit of clothes was soon provided, and Jack brought the boy in with his next load of wood; he was taken to the kitchen, where he was warmed and fed, and at night a comfortable place was provided for him to sleep in.
The next morning when the Doctor got up, he found his boots and the shoes and boots of all his family nicely brushed and “shined up,” and when he came home at evening he noticed that the wood was all piled in his wood-house in a very orderly manner, and on going to his horse barn and carriage house he found the barn swept and put in order, harnesses and carriages brushed and cleaned, and the poor fugitive was there putting things in order generally. Going up to him, Dr. C—— said, “Who has been meddling with these things?” “Beg pardon,” said the boy, “I had nothing else to do.” “Well,” said the Doctor, “go into the kitchen and get your supper.” On inquiry, he learned that the boy had been busy every moment during the day, though his feet were in a terrible condition, and his body reduced by starvation to a mere skeleton.
After tea the boy was invited into the sitting room, and the Doctor said to him, “What is your name?” He replied, “It am Tom Hawkins.”
Tom seemed afraid to talk about himself, but the Doctor assured him that he was safe, and that no person could claim him as a slave, and he was finally induced to relate his adventures. He had been a servant on a steamboat on the Mississippi river, and had been kind and serviceable to a passenger who was very sick on the boat. Tom found out that the man might be trusted, ​and ventured to ask him how he could obtain his freedom. He advised him to secrete himself on a boat that was lying near where they had stopped and keep himself hidden among the freight until they got to Pittsburgh, then showing him the north star and teaching him the way to find it, he told him to go towards it until he came to water that he could not see across, then turn to the right and keep within sight of it until he could see land and houses on the other side; “that,” said he, “is Canada. Get over there and you will be a free man.”
Tom Hawkins had witnessed more than once cases of excruciating torture inflicted on defenseless, captured fugitives, and knew that just such punishment awaited him if he should fail in an attempt to gain his freedom; but such was his yearning for liberty, the prompting of his untutored manhood, that he did not shrink from the trial. He was so fortunate as to smuggle himself on board a boat that favored his escape as far as Pittsburgh, but when he found himself alone on the north shore of the river, a few miles below the city, without food, except a small supply for a day or two, no clothes except a light summer suit, ignorant of the geography of the country, and of any direct route to a place of safety that seemed to him to exist only in imagination; and worst of all, beholding an enemy, as he supposed, in every human being that he met, in the dreariness of a dark, rainy night in the woods, he thought over the horrid scenes he had been compelled to look upon, of captured fugitives that had been returned to slavery by virtue of the fugitive slave law, and whipped to death as a warning to any who thought of running away. Tom was not discouraged by all this. He sat down and called to mind the instruction his friend gave him about the way to the place where all are free, and determined to follow it out without the least variation; consequently he did not go ​forward until nearly morning, when the clouds broke and he obtained his bearings by a sight of the north star.
It would be tedious to follow him through long days waiting in the woods, and longer nights when clouds obscured his only guide. He went sometimes in the roads, then in woods or fields, and at length arrived at the ridge of highland south of Erie, Pa., when all at once he looked down upon the “wide water,” as it had been described. It was to Tom as if all material things had disappeared, and heaven burst suddenly into view. To him, that beautiful panorama of woods and fields, towns and rural homes, and the broad lake beyond with no shore in sight, was a sure token that all his friend had said to him was true, not only as to the way that he should go, but also regarding the liberty, prosperity and protection that he should enjoy at the end of his perilous journey. So cautious was he that he traveled mostly in fields, woods, and through bushes, living on such corn, vegetables and fruits as he could procure, and when he arrived at the ferry near Lewiston, he had worn out all his clothes except his shirt and pants, and lost his hat. He was sitting near the boat when the ferryman and some passengers came in the morning, and just as they were starting he stepped on board. The boatsman demanded a shilling for his passage, and as he had no shilling he was ordered off the boat, but Tom stripped off his shirt and offered to sell it for a shilling, and finding a purchaser, he paid his fare and went over. In his extreme caution he had avoided being seen even by our vigilant U. G. R. R. agents, and now found himself born into God’s free air almost as naked as he was born into slavery. Hence, as it was early in the morning, he managed to get through the village of Queenstown and into a place where he stayed until evening, when he ​started along the road, and in the morning laid down exhausted, starved and cold by a pile of wood, where Jack found him and “took him in” as above related.
Tom Hawkins proved himself worthy of the freedom he had achieved. It was edifying to witness the enthusiasm of the Doctor in speaking of Tom’s capabilities. He employed him as a “man of all work” at $15 per month, high wages for that time. Tom had a “weakness” that stood in the way of financial prosperity, namely, a soft heart toward everybody that wanted to borrow his money, and so many of these were lazy, dishonest scamps, that at the end of six months he had nothing to show for the wages he had earned except a suit of clothes. The Doctor advised him to take better care of his money, so as to buy him a home. “Well, then,” said Tom, “you must keep my money, and when I ask for money to lend to a lazy chap that won’t pay, you can just get mad and not let me have it.” About that time a man offered for sale fifteen acres of heavily timbered land two miles from town, and the Doctor proposed to Tom to buy it. He hesitated about getting into debt, but Dr. C—— said, “I will take care of that.” “Well, then,” said Tom, “you know best, master.” Tom always persisted in calling him “master.” At the end of five years Tom had paid for his land, and bought one of the best teams in the country, and a first rate harness and wagon, and commenced marketing his wood. The Doctor said that one of Tom’s peculiarities was that when he purchased anything for his own use he always bought the best that was to be had. An English gentleman living in the town had, in his family, a handsome colored girl. She was well educated, industrious, and a very capable housekeeper, of a sunny temper and agreeable address. Tom built a good house, and then asked this girl to become his wife. They were married, and ​Tom Hawkins is now regarded as one of the most thrifty farmers in the district. His farm, his house, his barns, and everything that appertains to them are kept in the neatest possible condition, and his note or his word is good for any sum that he would ask for, and I might add that when he became a freeholder in Canada he became a voter. How many white boys with nothing but their hands, their energy, talents and good conduct for capital in starting in the world, can show a better record than Tom Hawkins?