American History Tellers - The Underground Railroad | Vigilance | 2

Episode Date: February 14, 2024

In the 1830s, abolitionism became a political force to be reckoned with. In the face of harassment and mob violence, Black and white abolitionists staged rallies, published newspapers, and flooded Congress with antislavery petitions. Increasingly, they made up the rank and file of the Underground Railroad.But pro-slavery forces emboldened kidnappers to roam the streets of northern cities, hunting for fugitive slaves and free Black people, many of them children. In New York City, Black activists fought back with a radical new self-defense organization.Listen to American History Tellers on the Wondery App or wherever you get your podcasts. Experience all episodes ad-free and be the first to binge the newest season. Unlock exclusive early access by joining Wondery+ in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Start your free trial today by visiting https://wondery.com/links/american-history-tellers/ now. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. A listener note, this episode contains graphic descriptions of racial violence and may not be suitable for everyone. Imagine it's late in the fall of 1837 in the town of Mexico, New York. The sun is dipping low over the horizon as you walk down the street in search of some shelter from the cold. Your tired legs protest with every step. You've walked all the way here from Pennsylvania after escaping your owner's plantation by boat. As you stop to peer through the window of a tavern, you jump at the reflection of an older white man standing behind you. His hat is pulled low over his eyes. Are you headed to Oswego? Your stomach lurches as you turn around to face the man.

No, sir. Which way are you traveling? You weigh a response, terrified that this man is going to turn you in as a fugitive. I'm just passing through. You clutch your tattered coat tighter around your shoulders. The man studies your appearance. Do you know what an abolitionist is? You shrug. He grabs your elbow and pulls you toward a nearby alleyway. Your pulse quickens and you contemplate running, but you don't want to draw more attention to yourself. The man takes off his hat and meets your gaze. I don't mean to pry. I'm an abolitionist. I'm friendly toward black people.

If you tell me where you're going, maybe I can help. You hesitate, wondering if this is a trap. You know you can't afford to be too trusting. I don't need anything, sir. Man's shoulders slump. He sighs and begins to back out of the alleyway. Alright. But if you find yourself needing help,

I own the hardware store just across the road. And I live in the apartment above. You can find me there day or night. All you have to do is knock. What's your name, sir? Star Clark. Relief washes over you. With a trembling hand, you fumble in your coat pocket to produce a crumpled letter addressed to this man, Star Clark. It was given to you by a white man who sheltered you in his barn, 20 miles south.

He told you a man by that name would give you a place to stay. You hand the letter over to Clark and he skims it as a warm smile spreads across his face. So you met my friend Horace, then. You don't need to fear anything. I'm going to help you. How about some supper to start? You nod and follow Clark across the street, thrilled by the prospect of a hot meal and overwhelmed with gratitude to find one more lifeline in your long journey north.

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early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. In the fall of 1837, New York abolitionist Star Clark offered to aid a fugitive slave named George, who had traveled from Pennsylvania with the help of a chain of other abolitionists. And from New York, Clark helped George sail across Lake Ontario to reach safety in Canada. George's journey to freedom was made possible by the emergence of the Underground Railroad. Before the 1830s,

fugitive slaves were largely on their own. But as the cry for abolition evolved into a movement, the scattered few Americans willing to break the law to help runaways began to discover one another. In churches, homes, and meeting rooms across the North, they laid down the foundations for a covert network that would spirit thousands of enslaved people to freedom.

This is Episode 2, Vigilance. On New Year's Day, 1831, white abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison published the first issue of The Liberator in Boston, Massachusetts. It was the first newspaper to call for the immediate end of slavery, as opposed to more moderate approaches such as gradual emancipation or colonization. Instead, Garrison demanded what he called a revolution in public sentiment. He declared, I will be as harsh as truth, as uncompromising as justice. On this subject, I do not wish to think or speak or write with moderation. I am in earnest. I will not equivocate.

I will not excuse. I will not retreat a single inch, and I will be heard. Garrison was unyielding in his anti-slavery beliefs, and his newspaper served as a powerful platform for spreading the message of abolitionism. All across America, like-minded abolitionists were beginning to find each other, and the Liberator helped shape their thinking. But then, eight months after the Liberator first went to press, tensions over slavery erupted in a remote backwater of Southampton County, Virginia.

In the early hours of August 22, 1831, an enslaved man and self-proclaimed prophet named Nat Turner mounted a violent uprising. Over the course of 48 hours, Turner led a small band of followers on a killing spree that ended in the deaths of some 60 white men, women, and children. It was the bloodiest slave rebellion in the nation's history, and the violence struck fear in the hearts of white Southerners. A niece of George Washington declared, It is like a smothered volcano. We know not when or where the flame will burst forth, but we know that death in the most horrid form threatens us. Retaliation for the uprising was swift and brutal. Turner and his collaborators were captured, tried, and then hanged. But in the climate of hysteria that followed the uprising,

white mobs killed as many as 200 black Southerners, enslaved and free, most of whom had nothing to do with the rebellion. They mutilated suspected rebels and tortured them for information. In several instances, they beheaded black men and mounted their severed heads on poles as a warning to others. Then, over the next several months, southern states and communities passed new laws to control and oppress black people, both free and enslaved. They expanded their slave patrol systems and cracked down on slave schools and worship meetings. A member of the Virginia House of

Delegates declared, We have as far as possible closed every avenue by which light can enter the slaves' minds. If we could extinguish their capacity to see the light, our work would be completed. They would then be on a level with the beasts of the field, and we would be safe. The fear of further uprising, fueled by Turner's revolt, effectively ended any support for emancipation in the South. And white Southerners blamed abolitionists for the uprising, too. Even as William Lloyd Garrison, publisher of The Liberator, disavowed any connection to the revolt, death threats poured into his Boston office.

But these threats did not deter Garrison from his cause. In December 1833, he was among a group of abolitionists from 11 states that gathered in Philadelphia for the inaugural National Abolitionist Convention. This was the first time that disparate abolitionist groups came together to advance the common goal of ending slavery. And the convention ended with the formation of the American Anti-Slavery Society. And it was Garrison who drafted the new society's Declaration of Sentiments, a proclamation of the society's goals that would guide the abolition movement for decades to come.

It was an unequivocal call for the immediate emancipation of enslaved people everywhere. Garrison condemned slavery as a moral evil for which all Americans were responsible, proclaiming, We shall spare no exertions nor means to bring the whole nation to speedy repentance. And while Garrison did not specifically order Americans to break the law by aiding fugitive slaves, his meaning was unmistakable. Americans had a moral duty to do whatever they could to end slavery. Over the next few years, this American anti-slavery society staged national lecture tours, published pamphlets,

and sent petitions to Congress. It also sponsored the formation of dozens of local abolitionist chapters. Traveling agents journeyed from town to town to convert Americans to the cause, but they faced steep odds. In the early 1830s, only a tiny minority of Americans were abolitionists. Racism flourished in both the North and the South, and both regions had deep economic ties to slavery. Abolitionists faced fierce resistance across the country, and hostile crowds interrupted abolitionist gatherings in several cities. On October 21st, 1835, more than 600 anti-slavery delegates gathered at a church in Utica, New York, for the first meeting of the New York Anti-Slavery delegates gathered at a church in Utica, New York,

for the first meeting of the New York Anti-Slavery Society. Their tensions were high. Only days before the convention began, the mayor called abolitionists enemies of the human race. Local Democratic Congressman Samuel Beardsley threatened violence, declaring, It would be better to have Utica raised to its foundations than to have the abolitionists meet here. And soon after the convention did begin, hundreds of people surrounded the church, yelling, break down the doors and damn the fanatics. Crowds followed Congressman Beardsley as he charged down the aisle of the church, demanding that the convention disband.

But before there could be violence, one of the attendees, Garrett Smith, invited the delegates to reconvene the next day at his nearby mansion. Smith was a millionaire landowner and philanthropist, the richest man in New York State. He was not an abolitionist, but had donated heavily to the American Colonization Society, whose members believed that the best solution to slavery was the deportation of black people to Africa. Smith watched the proceedings as an observer rather than a delegate, but was horrified by the anti-abolitionist mob's actions, and he had right to worry. Even as the delegates packed up and left the church,

the mob followed them out and back to their hotels, hurling insults. Meanwhile, several men raided the offices of a local anti-slavery newspaper and destroyed its equipment. And the chaos in Utica was not an isolated event. That same day, mobs affiliated with the Democratic Party attacked abolitionists in several New England cities. In Boston, a mob seized William Lloyd Garrison and led him through the streets with a noose around his neck. But he would not be deterred, and neither would the delegates in Utica. The following morning, the Utica Convention reconvened in a large Presbyterian church across from Garrett Smith's mansion. The previous day's attack had radicalized Smith, and he stayed up all night drafting an address. No longer content to sit on the sidelines,

he rose to speak, expressing his fury at those who sought to suppress the free speech of abolitionists. He declared, True permanent peace can never be restored until slavery has ceased. The sword which is now drawn will never be returned to its scabbard until victory, entire decisive victory, is ours or theirs. One month later, Smith resigned from the American Colonization Society and threw his whole support behind the cause of immediate abolition. Before long, he was elected president of the New Month later, Smith resigned from the American Colonization Society and threw his whole support behind the cause of immediate abolition. Before long, he was elected president of the New York Anti-Slavery Society, and he began sheltering fugitive slaves in his home. Over the next two

and a half decades, he would invest significant financial resources in the cause, but he was largely free to do so because he was in New York. Meanwhile, in the South, attacks on abolitionism were harsh. Several states passed laws banning the circulation of anti-slavery materials. A Virginia law forbid members of abolition societies from even entering the state. In Charleston, South Carolina, mobs burned mailbags containing anti-slavery books and pamphlets. And these efforts to silence abolitionists also extended to Washington, D.C. Since 1834, the American Anti-Slavery Society had flooded Congress with petitions to end slavery in the nation's capital. But in the spring of 1836,

Congress implemented a gag rule prohibiting the discussion of anti-slavery materials. Still, abolitionists refused to be cowed and continued sending petitions. Within two years, Congress had received so many petitions that they filled a 600-square-foot room to the ceiling. For so many petitions to be met by silence was proof of the power the pro-slavery forces exerted on the federal government. But it was the murder of a white abolitionist at the hands of a pro-slavery

mob that truly galvanized the movement. On November 7, 1837, in Alton, Illinois, newspaper editor Elijah Lovejoy was shot by the mob five times while he tried to protect his printing press from them. Lovejoy became an instant martyr for the abolitionists and a symbol of the violent reprisals they face for speaking out against slavery. But while pro-slavery forces attacked abolitionists to silence them, they only succeeded in motivating them further. By the late 1830s, abolitionism had become a full-fledged movement, a political force that could not be ignored. And as abolitionist groups sprung up across the free states, they fostered a spirit of defiance, a commitment to direct action, and an organizational capacity that laid the groundwork for the Underground Railroad. Imagine it's January 1838 in Ripley, Ohio.

Wind rattles the windows of the Red Oak Presbyterian Church, where a meeting of the local anti-slavery society has just adjourned. You are a dedicated abolitionist, and over the past few years you've sheltered fugitive slaves in your barn. But even so, every time you attend a meeting here, you feel a renewed passion for the cause. As you rise to leave, you spot a young white man sitting across the aisle, fidgeting with his collar. You walk toward him and extend a hand in greeting. I don't believe we've met before. The man stands

and gives you a firm shake. Name's Jacob. I have a small farm just up the road in Russellville. And what brought you here today, Jacob? I've never done anything like this, but I saw an advertisement in the paper and I just kept thinking about it. I was raised Methodist and I just can't square slavery with my beliefs. I can't believe that God would approve of keeping men in bondage. No, I don't think he would. You scan the room for eavesdroppers. Gesture for Jacob to follow you into a quiet corner.

I've been looking for someone like you. Someone strong, courageous, and committed to the cause. Someone from Russellville. Jacob's brow furrows. Me? What for? I need someone to help with package deliveries. I think you seem like just the man. I don't understand. You give him a meaningful look.

Let me clarify. Packages come from the other side of the Ohio River. These packages are bound for Quaker communities further north. I think Russellville would be just the place to keep them safe. Jacob shifts uneasily, understanding dawning on his face. I support the cause, but I don't want to break the law. And what of God's law? Jacob, this is how you can put your beliefs into action. This is how you can truly live a Christian life.

I'm offering you a chance to make a real difference. His eyes dart around the room, uncertainty mingling with curiosity. But it's risky, isn't it? Of course it is. But you have the opportunity to be a part of something much bigger than yourself, to help people escape the chains that bind them. Isn't that worth the risk? I'd have to convince my wife. I'm sure you're more than up to the task. Jacob takes a deep breath. He meets your gaze with a firm nod. All right, I'll help. Tell me what I need to do. You clap your hand on his shoulder, satisfied to bring a new ally to the cause because you know that with every new recruit, freedom seekers have a better chance of finding refuge. To help the abolition movement expand, traveling agents with the American Anti-Slavery Society helped form hundreds of auxiliary abolition groups across the North. By 1837, the society boasted more than 100,000 members

and more than 1,000 affiliate groups. Abolition rallies and meetings brought new converts into contact with activists who were already involved in underground work. And although Southerners would often conflate the Underground Railroad with the entire abolition movement, only a fraction of abolitionists actively assisted fugitive slaves. It was only a few who were willing to break federal law or damage their reputations. But nonetheless, all across the three states, an expanding array of

local anti-slavery societies would provide the rank and file of the emerging Underground Railroad. And together, these widening networks of abolitionists would expand to more than a dozen states by the end of the decade, laying down the tracks of the Underground and the path to freedom. In a quiet suburb, a community is shattered by the death of a beloved wife and mother. But this tragic loss of life quickly turns into something even darker. Her husband had tried to hire a hitman on the dark web to kill her. And she wasn't the only target.

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a new life in New York City. He came to New York as a sailor, then opened a grocery store. But he was soon drawn into the local abolitionist movement, and he converted his grocery store into a bookstore, reading room, and lending library specializing in anti-slavery literature. It was the nation's first black-owned bookstore, at a time when most city libraries denied access to black patrons altogether. In the early 1830s, New York had the largest community of free black people in the North, making it a major destination for fugitive slaves. But New York also had deep ties to slavery. Slave-grown cotton and sugar sailed to Europe out of New York's harbor, and the city's

banks, shipping companies, insurance agencies, and the city's banks, shipping companies, insurance agencies, and law firms all profited off the slave economy. Racism and discrimination flourished in New York as well. Schools, restaurants, and public transportation were all segregated. And professional slave hunters openly advertised their services in newspapers. Kidnappers roam the streets, capturing both fugitive slaves and free black people, many of them children, and forcing them into bondage. Anyone claiming to be the owner of a black person simply needed to appear before a magistrate and submit an affidavit to take that person back south. The informal network of slave hunters, constables, lawyers, and judges who aided in the capture and sale of free black people was so malicious,

local abolitionists branded the system the New York Kidnapping Club. And by 1835, David Ruggles had been the target of racist violence as well. That September, a white mob burned down his bookstore. No one was arrested. But in the face of this intimidation, Ruggles refused to back down, and in November 1835, he joined other local abolitionists in forming the New York Vigilance Committee, a radical new organization dedicated to defending Black New Yorkers from kidnapping. The members quickly selected Ruggles as their leader. The Vigilance Committee was run

almost entirely by Black people, and unlike many white-led abolitionist organizations, the Vigilance Committee focused on practical, direct action, like publicizing descriptions of missing people, providing legal representation to fugitive slaves, taking legal action against ship captains that trafficked slaves, and providing fugitives with funds, food, clothing, shelter, medical treatment, and help finding employment. In its first year of operations alone, the Vigilance Committee helped 335 men and women. For his work with the Vigilance Committee, Ruggles quickly became known for his brazen confrontations with kidnappers and slave owners.

He boarded outgoing ships that he suspected to be trafficking slaves and forced his way into wealthy homes to investigate whether black men and women were being held against their will. Pro-slavery newspapers attacked him as a sooty scoundrel, and in December 1836, slave catchers even attempted to kidnap Ruggles himself, invading his home in the middle of the night. He escaped by slipping out a back door. But Ruggles believed his efforts were worth the risk, writing, I must suffer the laws of the government under which I live, but I must not obey them if they are contrary to the laws of God. Wicked and unjust laws must be resisted, even unto death.

One example of his daring came in the summer of 1838 when an enslaved woman named Charity Walker contacted Ruggles for help. Her owners had kept her and two fellow slaves for several years when New York law required out-of-state owners to free their slaves after nine months. After Ruggles heard this, he entered the home of Charity's owners to confront them directly. Imagine it's June 1838 in Brooklyn Heights, New York. You're the secretary of the New York Vigilance Committee, and you've just entered the home of D.K. Dodge, a slave owner from South Carolina. A young maidservant named Charity has asked for your help,

and now you're standing in the entryway with her, confronting her owner, Mrs. Dodge. The law is clear, Mrs. Dodge. Out-of-state slave owners may keep their slaves no longer than nine months after arrival in New York. It's been four years. Mrs. Dodge smiles unconvincingly. Charity, haven't I told you that you are free? Charity crosses her arms and told you that you are free? You told me to say so if anybody asks me. But you don't pay me any wages, and you beat me as much as ever.

The front door bursts open, and a small, elderly man steps over the threshold with a cane in his hand. A furious gaze locked on you. I came as soon as I heard. My name is Dr. McLennan and I live next door. You are an intruder in this house and I demand you leave. Sir, it's you who is intruding. You have no right to interfere with the laws of this state. I'm simply here to remove a disorderly person. Find such a person here, and I'll help you remove him. But I'm not leaving. I wish you would leave, sir.

I wish you would leave, sir. McClellan brandishes his cane at you, his face turning red. This is outrageous. You have no business interfering in matters that don't concern you. These matters concern everyone who values freedom and justice.

You plaster a pleasant smile on your face. McLennan looks up at you through his spectacles. It's plain to see you're bigger and stronger than him, but he's desperate to gain control of the situation. Please, at least wait until the man of the house returns before you attempt to carry off any of his slaves. I'm not carrying anyone off. Charity is free to do as she pleases. If she chooses to remain, I won't stop her. But if she chooses to come with me, then she can count on my protection. Charity steps forward, a determined look on her face. I'm going. I choose to be free. Mrs. Dodge and Dr. McClellan watched in stunned silence

as Charity hands you a worn carpet bag holding all her belongings. You escort her out of the darkened hallway and into the blazing light of the June sun. In June 1838, Ruggles liberated Charity Walker from her owner after a heated argument. The successful rescue depended on his quick wit and composure under fire. But it was not just free black people to which Ruggles gave aid. On September 4, 1838, a frightened 20-year-old fugitive named Frederick Bailey appeared on his doorstep. Bailey had fled his Maryland owner a few days earlier. He borrowed papers from a free

black sailor and boarded a northbound train in disguise. After reaching New York, he wandered the streets alone and scared until he met another black sailor who brought him to Ruggles. For the next few days, Ruggles hid Bailey in his house. He also arranged safe passage to New York for Anna Murray, a free Baltimore woman who Bailey planned to marry. Once she arrived, the pair were formally wed in Ruggles' living room, and Ruggles gave the newlyweds some money and sent them off to New Bedford, Massachusetts. After arriving there, Bailey changed his name to Frederick Douglass, and within a few years, he would become the most famous black man in America.

Douglass entered the spotlight just as Ruggles faded from public view. He had long suffered from chronically poor health, and in 1839, at just 29 years old, his eyesight began deteriorating, forcing him to resign from the New York Vigilance Committee. But in just those few short years, he had made the Vigilance Committee a hub for underground activities in New York City, forming connections that stretched southward to Philadelphia and northward all the way to Canada.

And following his model, other Vigilance Committees sprang up in Philadelphia, Boston, and cities and towns across the North. These committees guided fugitives on the run and helped them secure housing and jobs, eventually formalizing two main underground routes, one on either side of the Appalachian Mountains from which dozens of smaller routes branched off. The eastern route served fugitives from Maryland, Delaware, and Virginia. Runaways who made it to the free state of Pennsylvania could continue traveling north by land to New York City and beyond, or by boat to the seaports of New England. The western route served fugitives from the slave states of Kentucky and Missouri,

with major crossing points along the Ohio River in Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio. From Ohio, fugitives traveled to lake ports along Lake Erie, which gave them access to Detroit and Canada. And it's estimated that half of all fugitive slaves that fled to freedom did so by crossing the Ohio River at the Kentucky-Ohio border using this western route. And in the late 1830s, the Ohio River town of Ripley, Ohio, was one of the most bustling centers of underground activity, thanks to a white abolitionist named John Rankin. In 1822, Rankin arrived in Ripley and took up the role of pastor in the local Presbyterian church. Soon after, he began building a new brick house on a high hilltop

overlooking the Ohio River. It became known as Liberty Hill. Because for three decades, Rankin, his wife Jean, and their 13 children made their home a haven for runaway slaves. Every night, Rankin hoisted a lit lantern on a pole as a beacon while Jean left food on the table and a fire burning in the hearth. The Rankins worked closely, too, with a former slave named John Parker. After sunset, Parker would row across the river to Kentucky in search of fugitives and ferry them back to Liberty Hill. At any one moment, Rankin was hiding as many as twelve fugitives at the time in his home or in his barn, which contained a hidden room beneath the floor.

And the Rankins were not alone. They were among roughly two hundred abolitionists in southern Ohio who sheltered fugitives and helped guide them to their next refuge or station. These stations were typically spaced fifteen to twenty miles apart. The maximum distance wagons and mounted riders could travel at night and return before dawn. But despite the covert nature of his efforts, Rankin's underground work was no secret, and he earned many enemies. Whenever a Kentucky slave went missing, Rankin's house was the first to be searched, and in 1838, Kentucky slave owners placed a $2,500 bounty on his head. Rankin was so despised by pro-slavery groups that in the summer of 1841,

armed Kentuckians crossed the river in the middle of the night and launched an assault on Liberty Hill. They shot at the Rankin's adult sons and set fire to the barn. The family beat back the attackers, and the experience only hardened the elder Rankin. He published a warning in the local newspaper that any strangers found on his property after dark would be shot, and he would never be deterred from helping people fleeing enslavement. By the start of the Civil War, some 40 years after he first arrived at Liberty Hill, the Rankins had offered refuge to 2,000 men, women, and children on their journey to freedom. They proudly claimed that no fugitive they helped was ever recaptured.

And much of this success was due to the Rankins' ability to improvise. Typically, they sent fugitives they helped due north. But when slave catchers were in hot pursuit, the family changed course and sent freedom seekers northwest to Newport, Indiana, the site of one of the most formidable bastions of the entire Underground Railroad. In the Pacific Ocean, halfway between Peru and New Zealand, lies a tiny volcanic island. It's a little-known British territory called Pitcairn, and it harboured a deep, dark scandal. There wouldn't be a girl on Pitcairn once they reached the age of 10 that would still a virgin.

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on their journey north, drawn by its proximity to a free black settlement. Coffin had sheltered runaways on his North Carolina farm since he was a teenager, and soon after the Coffins moved to Newport, they began inviting fugitives into their new home. Both in North Carolina and Indiana, Coffin didn't hide his beliefs. He would later write, I expressed my anti-slavery sentiments with boldness on every occasion. I told the sympathizers with slave hunters that I intended to shelter as many runaway slaves as came to my house and aid them on their way, and advise them to be careful with interfering with my work.

The coffins were prepared to offer shelter to any fugitive, day or night. Often they would wake to the sound of a gentle rap on their front door, and they would lead the runaways inside, draw the shades, and build a fire. They kept a team of horses ready to transport fugitives too, sometimes hiding them in a wagon with a false bottom. And they frequently disguised fugitives as Quaker women, dressing them in long sleeves, gloves, veils, and wide-brimmed hats to hide their appearance. All told, Coffin sheltered more than 100 fugitives a year, while at the same time he established several thriving local businesses, including a dry goods store, a linseed oil mill, and a pork butchering operation. These skills were put to good use as the Underground Railroad

expanded and demanded more sophisticated coordination and resource allocation. Coffin used his business acumen to bring order to the Indiana Underground, managing the work of raising money, hiring wagons and horses, dispatching drivers, messengers, and guards, and deftly navigating complex personal relationships, whether comforting frightened fugitives or striking deals with slave hunters. His stature as a businessman and importance in the community also helped deflect opposition to his underground work. As director of the local branch of the state bank, he had significant leverage against the pro-slavery men who might otherwise challenge his activities. So he approached his work with the confidence of a man in a position of power.

While many underground agents hid runaways in barns, attics, and basements, the Coffins boldly hosted their fugitives in an upstairs bedroom. In one instance, Coffin gave shelter to a group of 17 fugitives from Kentucky. It was the largest single group he ever assisted, and after two days in the Coffin home, the men and women continued their journey, eventually making their way to Canada. But long after these fugitives had left Newport, Coffin was surprised to receive a summons to appear in court in Centerville, Indiana, the county seat. It seems the law had finally caught up with him. Imagine it's the fall of 1839, and you're in a small, crowded courtroom in Centerville, Indiana. You're a member of a grand jury meeting to decide whether to indict Levi Coffin

for harboring 17 fugitive slaves in violation of the Fugitive Slave Act. You own a nearby hotel, and personally, you're sick of Coffin constantly causing trouble in the community. You're looking forward to holding him accountable for his actions. So when the foreman nods at you, you jump into your first questions. Mr. Coffin, I wonder if you understand the statute regarding the harboring of fugitive slaves? Coffin sits in the witness box, his posture relaxed, and he looks at you with a steady gaze. I have read it, but I'm not certain that I understand it. Could you please read it aloud? Coffin then winks at a member of the grand jury sitting to your left.

You look over and recognize him as a friend of Coffin's. So with a frustrated sigh, you put on your glasses and peer down at your copy of the Fugitive Slave Act. Any person who shall harbor or conceal a fugitive from labor shall forfeit and pay the sum of $500. I believe the law is clear, Mr. Coffin. Are you aware of any violation of the statute? I am not. Travelers often stop at my house for a day or two. Some of them say they are slaves.

But I have no way of knowing whether this is true, for the laws of Indiana do not presume that black people tell the truth. The grand jury erupts in laughter, and you feel your face flush with embarrassment But you press ahead And what of the 17 fugitives who reportedly stayed at your home last month? Yes, the poor fellows were destitute and hungry Two of them were suffering from wounds inflicted by pursuers who claimed they were slaves But I have no legal evidence to confirm this

Nothing except their statements. And the law of our state does not admit colored evidence. You struggle to find the words to respond. Meanwhile, Coffin is as composed as ever. When I was a boy, I read in the Bible that it was right to feed the hungry and minister the wounded. As I recall, the good book made no distinction regarding color. In accordance with these teachings, I took these fugitives in and cared for them. Was I not right to do this? Ah, well, you see, how does your Bible read? Is that not what it says? Well, yes, I suppose that's what it says. You're at a loss. You turn to the foreman, shaking your head in frustration. I have no further questions.

You feel the eyes of the courtroom on you, and it sickens you to see this man dance around the law. You feel like justice is slipping through your fingers, and that nothing is going to stop Levi Coffin from continuing to commit these crimes. When Levi Coffin was called to appear before a grand jury, he discovered that he was personally acquainted with most of the jurors and even knew some of them to be abolitionists. Although Coffin freely admitted to sheltering fugitives, the grand jury declined to indict him for any crime. But the recent disappearance of the 17 runaways Coffin was hauled into court for infuriated and mystified Kentucky slave hunters.

One declared, There must be an Underground Railroad, surmising that Levi Coffin was president. When Coffin himself heard this accusation, he was proud of the nickname, declaring he would accept any position, whether a conductor, engineer, fireman, or brakeman. But ultimately, the origin of the Underground Railroad metaphor is unknown. Early on, abolitionists who assisted fugitive slaves sometimes spoke of a line of posts or a chain of friends. But the growth of the Underground activity coincided with the expansion of the nation's railways. The first passenger train line opened in 1830, and by the expansion of the nation's railways. The first passenger train line opened in 1830, and by the end of the decade, roughly 3,000 miles of tracks had been laid down.

That's right about the time in 1839 a Washington, D.C. newspaper quoted an enslaved man who said he hoped to escape on a railroad that went underground all the way to Boston. However it began, by the early 1840s, the use of the term underground railroad had become ubiquitous. Underground operatives began to speak of themselves as conductors and station agents. They described safe houses as stations, escape routes as lines and tracks, and the fugitives they helped as passengers. But despite Coffin's nickname, whether president or conductor, the Underground Railroad had no leader. It was more a collection of grassroots networks than a single, unified system.

Participants could be more open in abolitionist strongholds like Ripley, Ohio and Newport, Indiana. But in pro-slavery areas, they often only knew the names of collaborators in the next town. One Ohio stationmaster explained, There was no regular organization, no constitution, no officers, no laws or agreement or rule except the Golden Rule, and every man did what seemed right in his own eyes. But even as this underground railroad expanded, fugitives still knew they were always in danger of recapture. The Fugitive Slave Act compelled Americans, North and South, to assist in the return of runaways to their owners. But in 1842, the Supreme Court issued a ruling that weakened the Fugitive Slave Act. Five years earlier, a slave catcher named Edward Prigg

traveled to Pennsylvania to track down an escaped slave named Margaret Morgan. Under the Federal Fugitive Slave Act of 1793, slave owners and their agents were free to cross state lines in pursuit of fugitive slaves. But according to Pennsylvania state law, Prigg needed to obtain permission from state authorities before he could legally remove a slave. Pennsylvania officials decided that Prigg lacked sufficient evidence to prove Morgan's status as a slave, but he seized her anyway. As a result, a Pennsylvania court convicted him of kidnapping. Prigg appealed the ruling, and the case made it to the Supreme Court,

setting up a clash between federal and state law. Finally, in March 1842, the court ruled in favor of Prigg and upheld the 1793 Fugitive Slave Act, but the court also ruled that states had no obligation to enforce the federal law. Prigg v. Pennsylvania opened the floodgates to weaken enforcement of the Fugitive Slave Act. Over the next eight years, nine northern states would pass so-called personal liberty laws, forbidding state officials from interfering with runaway slaves. These laws marked a new era of northern resistance to the Fugitive Slave Act, and the court's ruling was a sign of escalating

tensions in the national debate over slavery. And soon, conductors of the Underground Railroad and the courageous enslaved people they helped would push that debate to feverish new heights. From Wondery, this is Episode two of our four-part series, The Underground Railroad, from American History Tellers. On the next episode, in Washington, D.C., 77 enslaved people slip away from their owners and climb aboard a schooner in hopes of sailing to freedom. Harriet Tubman flees slavery in Maryland, and Southern politicians push for a stronger fugitive slave law. If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now

by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. Audio editing by Christian Paraga.

Sound design by Molly Bach. Music by Lindsey Graham. Voice acting by Ace Anderson and Cat Peoples. This episode is written by Ellie Stanton. Edited by Dorian Marina. Produced by Ace Anderson and Cat Peoples. This episode is written by Ellie Stanton. Edited by Dorian Marina. Produced by Alita Rozanski.

Coordinating producer is Desi Blaylock. Managing producer, Matt Gant. Senior managing producer, Ryan Moore. Senior producer, Andy Herman. And executive producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman

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