THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD:
LEVI COFFIN RECEIVING A COMPANY OF FUGITIVES IN THE OUTSKIRTS OF CINCINNATI, OHIO.
(From a painting by C. T. Webber, Cincinnati, Ohio.) –
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
GENEALOGY.
” THE following brief sketch of the Coffin family is gathered from the first number of the American Historical Record, published at Philadelphia, and from private records copied from those kept at Nantucket. The earliest account of the name we have dates back to 1066. In that year Sir Richard Coffin, knight, accompanied William the Conqueror from Normandy to England, and the manor of Alwington, in the county of Devonshire, was assigned to him. The authorities respecting the county of Devonshire make honorable mention of Sir Elias Coffin, knight of Clist and Ingarby, in the days of King John; of Sir Richard Coffin, of Alwington, in the time of Henry II.; of Sir Jeffrey Coffin and Combe Coffin, under Henry III., and of other knights, descendants of these, until the time of Henry VIII., when we find Sir William Coffin, sheriff of Devonshire, highly preferred at Court, and one of eighteen assistants chosen by the king to accompany him to a tournament in France, in 1519. He was also high steward of the manor and liberties of Standon, in Hertford. By his will he bequeathed his horses and hawks to the king, and devised the manor of East Higgington, Devonshire, to his nephew, Sir Richard Coffin, of Portledge. His monument in
Standon Church is mentioned in Weever’s “Funeral Monuments,” at page 534.
Nicholas Coffin, of Butler’s parish, in Devonshire, died in 1603. His will, which was proved at Totness, in Devonshire, November 3, 1603, mentions his wife and five children, viz: Peter, Nicholas, Tristram, John and Anne. Peter married Joanna Thimber, and died in 1627, leaving four daughters and two sons. One of these sons was the famous Tristram Coffin–or Coffyn, as he spelled it–the ancestor of the numerous families of that name in this country. Nearly all his descendants are enabled, by means of the accurate genealogical records in existence, to trace their lineage back to him, although nearly two centuries have elapsed since his death.
Tristram Coffin
He was born at Brixton, near Plymouth, in the county of Devonshire, England, in the year 1605. He married Dionis Stevens, and in 1642 came to New England, bringing with him his wife and five children, his mother and his two sisters. He first settled at Salisbury, Massachusetts, where he lived a number of years, and in 1660 removed, with his family, and settled upon the island of Nantucket. He was one of a company of nine who first purchased Nantucket from the Indians, which fact appears in a conveyance from the Sachems, Wanackmamack, and Nickanoose. Prior to this purchase from the natives, the English title to the greater portion of the island had been obtained from Thomas Mayhew, who held the same under a conveyance from Lord Stirling. Tristram Coffin and his sons at one time owned about one-fourth of Nantucket, and the whole of the little island
adjacent to it on the west, called Tuckernuck, containing one thousand acres, which was purchased of the old sachem, Potconet. He appears to have been a leading spirit among the first settlers, and was frequently selected by the inhabitants to transact important public business.
The children of Tristram Coffin were Peter, Tristram, Elizabeth, James, John and Stephen. We trace our line of the family from John. He married Deborah Austin; their son Samuel married Miriam Gardner; their son William married Priscilla Paddock; their son Levi married Prudence Williams. These last were my parents, and this places me in the fifth generation from the first Tristram Coffin, of Nantucket. The different branches of Tristram Coffin’s family have increased and scattered, until there are representatives in nearly every part of the United States.
The island of Nantucket being small, and its soil not very productive, a large number of people could not be supported thereon, and as the population increased, a number of the men engaged in the whale fishery and other maritime pursuits, in order to gain a livelihood. Others turned their attention to other parts of the country, and were induced to remove and settle elsewhere, with a view to better their condition, as to providing for their children, etc. A while before the Revolutionary War a considerable colony of Friends removed and settled at New Garden, in Guilford County, North Carolina, which was then a newly settled country. My grandfather, William Coffin, was among those who thus emigrated. His removal
took place in the year 1773. My grandparents, William and Priscilla Coffin, had ten children–eight sons and two daughters–all of whom lived to have families of their own. They settled at New Garden, North Carolina, and were all members of the religious Society of Friends. My father, Levi Coffin, was the youngest of eight sons and next to the youngest child. He was born on the island of Nantucket, 10th month, 10th, 1763, and was about ten years old when the family moved to North Carolina. My grandfather Coffin lived to be eighty-three, and my grandmother eighty-one years old. Both died in the year 1803, at the place where they first settled in North Carolina. I remember them well, though I was young at the time of their death. Both were valuable elders in the religious Society of Friends, and were highly esteemed in the community. Their house had long been a resort and a place of entertainment for Friends who came into the neighborhood to attend religious meetings, and for traveling ministers. They lived on a farm, a short distance from New Garden Meeting-House. My father was brought up as a farmer, but managed to get a fair education, considering the limited advantages at that day, and, when a young man, engaged during the winter season in teaching school in the neighborhood. After the marriage of my parents, they settled on a farm in the neighborhood of New Garden, and I was brought up as a farmer, until I reached my twenty-first year. My parents had seven children. I was the only son and next to the youngest child. I could not well be spared from the farm to attend school,
and the most of my education I obtained at home. My father took pains to instruct me and my sisters during his hours of leisure from out-door work, so that I kept about even with my associates in the neighborhood who had better opportunities for gaining an education, and during the short intervals that I attended school, I was classed with them, and often stood at the head of my class. But our schools then were very inferior, compared with those at the present. I thirsted for a better education, and as soon as I was of age I sought a better school than we had in our neighborhood.
I remained there one session, then engaged as assistant teacher during the winter session, and the following winter attended another good school. I then taught, at intervals, for several years. In the year 1816 my sister Sarah died. She was in her twentieth year and two years my senior. This was a heavy stroke upon me. She was a kind and affectionate sister, and we had been inseparable companions in our childhood. Although she died rejoicing in her dear Redeemer, with a bright and glorious prospect before her, I could not for a long time be resigned sufficiently to say concerning her loss, “Thy will, O Lord, not mine, be done.” My older sisters were married, and I and my youngest sister Priscilla were all that were left at home with our parents. Priscilla was three years my junior. She was a sweet and attractive child, and we were warmly attached to each other. When she was about twelve years old she was converted, and at the age of fifteen she appeared in public testimony. She appeared to have
a remarkable gift in the ministry, and her words impressed all who heard her and touched the hearts of many. Her mission and labors for several years seemed to be mostly confined to family circles and to social gatherings of young people. On such occasions she was frequently prompted to speak in a most remarkable manner, and her words seemed to have great effect on her young associates and others who heard her. For some years after her first appearance in the ministry, she spoke but seldom in public assemblies, but when she did, it was to the edification of her hearers. A few years afterward she was recorded as a minister of the religious Society of Friends.
In the spring of 1825 my parents and sister moved to the State of Indiana, where my married sisters had all located. I was then engaged in teaching, but expected soon to follow with my own little family, which I did the next year. My sister Priscilla married a short time before I removed to Indiana. My parents were now left alone, and being old and feeble, I took charge of them and located them near me, in the village of Newport. My father died in 1833, in his seventieth year. We then took my mother into our house and cared for her until the close of her life. She died in 1845, in her eighty-eighth year.
My mother’s family, the Williamses, were of Welsh extraction. I have understood that my great-grandfather, George Williams, came from Wales to America, and settled in Prince George County, Maryland. My grandfather, Richard Williams, married Prudence Bales, and their oldest two children were born
in Maryland. Afterward they emigrated to North Carolina and settled in Guilford County, about the year 1752. They located near the place where the old New Garden Meeting-House now stands, and where the yearly meeting of the religious Society of Friends has been held for many years. At the time of their removal to that neighborhood, it was thinly settled, but it grew in time to be a large and prosperous settlement, the members of which were mostly Friends. My grandparents had many hardships to encounter and privations to undergo, such as the first settlers of a new country always have to experience. When the stock of provisions which they had brought with them gave out, they had to go to an older settlement, about fifty miles distant, to get a new supply. The first winter they cleared a small piece of land, and in the spring planted corn and garden seed. Provisions again became scant, and they had to live on roasting-ears and vegetables till the corn ripened, being entirely deprived of bread. As soon as the corn was ripe enough to shell, they dried it by spreading it on the ground in the sun, and then took it on horseback to a mill about thirty miles distant, on Cane Creek, now in Chatham County. My grandfather Williams donated the ground on which New Garden Meeting-House was built, besides several acres of land, covered with timber sufficient for all building purposes. The battle of Guilford Court-House, fought about the close of the Revolutionary War, commenced near New Garden Meeting-House and continued along the old Salisbury road, a distance of about
three miles, to Martinsville, the old Guilford Court-House, near where the main battle was fought. A number of soldiers were killed near the meeting-house and along the road, and were buried by the roadside and in the Friends’ burying ground near the meeting-house. I have often seen their graves. After the battle the meeting-house was used as a hospital for the wounded soldiers, and my grandfather Williams’ house was occupied by the wounded British officers. My grandfather Coffin’s house was used by the American officers as a hospital for their sick and wounded. The two farms joined, and the headquarters of the different forces were thus in close proximity.
The small-pox broke out among the British officers, and my grandfather Williams caught the disease from them and died. My grandmother was left with twelve children, five sons and seven daughters. She was sister to Thomas Bales, who is said to have been the first white emigrant that settled in Ohio. At his death he was buried in a coffin dug out of a log, there being no dressed timber available and no saw-mill within hundreds of miles. His descendants are quite numerous in the Western States. My grandmother remained a widow for the rest of her life. She lived to a good old age, and died respected by all who knew her. She was an elder in the religious Society of Friends for many years, and was highly esteemed as a “Mother in Israel.” The date of her death and her age are not in my possession, but I can remember her well. Most of her children lived
to a good old age, and, with the exception of one son, all had large families, so that my connections, on my mother’s side, as well as on my father’s, are quite numerous.
Both my parents and grandparents were opposed to slavery, and none of either of the families ever owned slaves; and all were friends of the oppressed, so I claim that I inherited my anti-slavery principles.
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CHAPTER I.
Conversion to Abolitionism–Incidents of the Cruelties of Slavery–First Efforts on Behalf of the Slaves–Stephen, the Kidnapped Negro–The Captured Slave–Services of Vestal Coffin–The Story of Ede–The White Slave . . . 12-31
Levi Coffin reported that he became an abolitionist when he was seven. That would have been in 1805:
“I DATE my conversion to Abolitionism from an incident which occurred when I was about seven years old. It made a deep and lasting impression on my mind, and created that horror of the cruelties of slavery which has been the motive of so many actions of my life. At the time of which I speak, Virginia and Maryland were the principal slave-rearing States, and to a great extent supplied the Southern market. Free negroes in Pennsylvania were frequently kidnapped or decoyed into these States, then hurried away to Georgia, Alabama, or Louisiana, and sold. The gangs were handcuffed and chained together, and driven by a man on horseback, who flourished a long whip, such as is used in driving cattle, and goaded the reluctant and weary when their feet lagged on the long journey.
“One day I was by the roadside where my father was chopping wood, when I saw such a gang approaching along the new Salisbury road. The coffle of [pg. 12]
slaves came first, chained in couples on each side of a long chain which extended between them; the driver was some distance behind, with the wagon of supplies. My father addressed the slaves pleasantly, and then asked: “Well, boys, why do they chain you?” One of the men, whose countenance betrayed unusual intelligence and whose expression denoted the deepest sadness, replied: “They have taken us away from our wives and children, and they chain us lest we should make our escape and go back to them.” My childish sympathy and interest were aroused, and when the dejected procession had passed on, I turned to my father and asked many questions concerning them, why they were taken away from their families, etc. In simple words, suited to my comprehension, my father explained to me the meaning of slavery, and, as I listened, the thought arose in my mind–“How terribly we should feel if father were taken away from us.”
“This was the first awakening of that sympathy with the oppressed, which, together with a strong hatred of oppression and injustice in every form, were the motives that influenced my whole after-life. Another incident of my boyhood is indelibly engraved on my mind. I accompanied my father one spring to the famous shad fishery at the narrows of the Yadkin River, a spot of wild and romantic scenery, where the stream breaks through a spur of the mountains and goes foaming and dashing down its rocky bed in a succession of rapids. Every spring, when the shad ascended the river, many people resorted to the place to obtain fish. They [pg. 13]
brought with them a variety of merchandise, saddlery, crockery-ware, etc., and remained in camp some time, buying and selling. The fishery was owned by two brothers named Crump. They were slaveholders, and sometimes allowed their slaves the privilege of fishing after night and disposing of the fish thus obtained, on their own account. A slave, who had availed himself of this privilege, disposed of the fish he caught to my father. Next morning he came to the place where we were preparing breakfast, and entered into conversation with my father, speaking of the fish he had sold him, and asking if he would take more on the same terms. Noticing this, and thinking it a piece of presuming familiarity and impertinence, on the part of the negro, a young man, nephew of the Crumps, seized a fagot from the fire and struck the negro a furious blow across the head, baring the skull, covering his back and breast with blood, and his head with fire; swearing at the same time that he would allow no such impudence from niggers. My father protested against the act, and I was so deeply moved that I left my breakfast untasted, and going off by myself gave vent to my feelings in sobs and tears.
” A few such instances of “man’s inhumanity to man” intensified my hatred of slavery, and inspired me to devote myself to the cause of the helpless and oppressed, and enter upon that line of humane effort, which I pursued for more than fifty years. I would still be engaged in it had not Abraham Lincoln broken up the business by proclamation in 1863Page 14
STEPHEN, THE KIDNAPPED NEGRO.
The first opportunity for aiding a slave occurred when I was about fifteen years old. It was a custom in North Carolina, at that time, to make a “frolic” of any special work, like corn husking, log-rolling, etc. The neighbors would assemble at the place appointed, and with willing hearts and busy hands soon complete the work. Then followed the supper and the merry-making, and the night was in
“The wee sma’ hours ayant the twal,”
before the lights were out and the company gone.
At a gathering of this kind, a corn husking at Dr. Caldwell’s, I was present. The neighbors assembled about dark, bringing their slaves with them. The negroes were assigned a place at one end of the heap, the white people took their place at the other, and all went to work, enlivening their labor with songs and merry talk.
A slave-dealer, named Stephen Holland, had arrived in the neighborhood a short time before, with a coffle of slaves, on his way to the South, and as this was his place of residence, he stopped for a few days before proceeding on his journey. He brought with him his band of slaves to help his neighbor husk corn, and I was much interested in them. When the white people went in to supper I remained behind to talk with the strange negroes, and see if I could render them any service. In conversation I learned that one of the negroes, named Stephen, was free born, but had been kidnapped and [15]
sold into slavery. Till he became of age he had been indentured to Edward Lloyd, a Friend, living near Philadelphia. When his apprenticeship was ended, he had been hired by a man to help drive a flock of sheep to Baltimore. After reaching that place he had been seized one night as he was asleep in the negro house of a tavern, gagged and bound, then placed in a close carriage, and driven rapidly across the line into Virginia, where he was confined the next night in a cellar. He had then been sold for a small sum to Holland, who was taking him to the Southern market, where he expected to realize a large sum from his sale. I became deeply interested in his story, and began to think how I could help him to regain his freedom. Remembering Dr. Caldwell’s Tom, a trusty negro, whom I knew well, I imparted to him my wishes, and desired him, if it could be arranged, to bring Stephen to my father’s the next night. They came about midnight, and my father wrote down the particulars of Stephen’s case, and took the address of the Lloyds. The next day he wrote to them, giving an account of Stephen and his whereabouts. In two weeks from that time, Hugh Lloyd, a brother of Edward Lloyd, arrived by stage in Greensboro. Procuring conveyance, he came to my father’s, and there learned that Stephen had been taken southward by the slave-dealer Holland. Next day being regular meeting-day at the Friends Meeting-House, at New Garden, the case was laid before the men after meeting, and two of them, Dr. George Swain [16]
and Henry Macy, volunteered to accompany Hugh Lloyd in search of Stephen.
A sum of money was made up for the expenses of their journey, and Lloyd was furnished with a horse and saddle and the necessary equipments. The party found Stephen in Georgia, where he had been sold by Holland, who had gone farther South. A suit was instituted to gain possession of him, but the laws of that State required proof, in such instances, that the mother had been free, and Hugh Lloyd was too young to give this proof. So the matter was referred to the next term of court, security being given by Stephen’s master that he should be produced when wanted. Lloyd returned North, and sent affidavits and free papers giving proof in the case, and in six months Stephen was liberated and returned home. The man who had hired him to drive the sheep to Baltimore had, in the meantime, been arrested on the charge of kidnapping, but as Stephen was the only prosecuting witness, the suit could not go on while he was absent. The man’s friends took him out of jail on a writ of habeas corpus and gave bond for his appearance at court, but he preferred forfeiting his bond to standing the trial, and fled the country before Stephen returned.
THE CAPTURED SLAVE.
But I was not always so fortunate as to be able to render assistance to the objects of my sympathy. Sometimes I witnessed scenes of cruelty and injustice and had to stand passively by. The following [pg. 17]
is an instance of that kind: I had been sent one day on an errand to a place in the neighborhood, called Clemen’s Store, and was returning home along the Salem road, when I met a party of movers, with wagons, teams, slaves and household goods, on their way to another State. After passing them I came to a blacksmith’s shop, in front of which were several men, talking and smoking, in idle chat, and proceeding on my way I met a negro man trudging along slowly on foot, carrying a bundle. He inquired of me regarding the party of movers; asked how far they were ahead, etc. I told him “About half a mile,” and as he passed on, the thought occurred to me that this man was probably a runaway slave who was following the party of movers. I had heard of instances when families were separated–the wife and children being taken by their owners to another part of the country–of the husband and father following the party of emigrants, keeping a short distance behind the train of wagons during the day, and creeping up to the camp at night, close enough for his wife to see him and bring him food. A few days afterward I learned that this man had been stopped and questioned by the party of men at the blacksmith’s shop, that he had produced a pass, but they being satisfied that it was a forgery had lodged him in jail at Greensboro, and sent word to his master concerning him. A week or two afterward I was sent to a blacksmith’s shop, at Greensboro, to get some work done. The slave’s master had, that very day, arrived and taken possession of him, and brought him to the blacksmith’s shop [18]
to get some irons put on him before starting back to his home. While a chain was being riveted around the negro’s neck, and handcuffs fastened on his wrists, his master upbraided him for having run away. He asked:
“Wer’n’t you well treated?”
“Yes, massa.”
“Then what made you run away?”
“My wife and children were taken away from me, massa, and I think as much of them as you do of yours, or any white man does of his. Their massa tried to buy me too, but you would not sell me, so when I saw them go away, I followed.” The mere recital of his words can convey little idea of the pitiful and pathetic manner in which they were uttered; his whole frame trembled, and the glance of piteous, despairing appeal he turned upon his master would have melted any heart less hard than stone.
The master said, “I’ve always treated you well, trusting you with my keys, and treating you more like a confidential servant than a slave, but now you shall know what slavery is. Just wait till I get you back home!” He then tried to make the negro tell where he had got his pass, who wrote it for him, etc., but he refused to betray the person who had befriended him. The master threatened him with the severest punishment, but he persisted in his refusal. Then torture was tried, in order to force the name from him. Laying the slave’s fettered hand on the blacksmith’s anvil, the master struck it with a hammer until the blood settled under the finger nails. The negro winced under each cruel blow, but said not [19]
a word. As I stood by and watched this scene, my heart swelled with indignation, and I longed to rescue the slave and punish the master. I was not converted to peace principles then, and I felt like fighting for the slave. One end of the chain, riveted to the negro’s neck, was made fast to the axle of his master’s buggy, then the master sprang in and drove off at a sweeping trot, compelling the slave to run at full speed or fall and be dragged by his neck. I watched them till they disappeared in the distance, and as long as I could see them, the slave was running.
FUGITIVES IN CONCEALMENT.
Runaway slaves used frequently to conceal themselves in the woods and thickets in the vicinity of New Garden, waiting opportunities to make their escape to the North, and I generally learned their places of concealment and rendered them all the service in my power. My father, in common with other farmers in that part of the country, allowed his hogs to run in the woods, and I often went out to feed them. My sack of corn generally contained supplies of bacon and corn bread for the slaves, and many a time I sat in the thickets with them as they hungrily devoured my bounty, and listened to the stories they told of hard masters and cruel treatment, or spoke in language, simple and rude, yet glowing with native eloquence, of the glorious hope of freedom which animated their spirits in the darkest hours, and sustained them under the sting of the lash.
These outlying slaves knew where I lived, and, [20]
when reduced to extremity of want or danger, often came to my room, in the silence and darkness of night, to obtain food or assistance. In my efforts to aid these fugitives I had a zealous co-worker in my friend and cousin, Vestal Coffin, who was then, and continued to the time of his death–a few years later–a stanch friend to the slave.
Vestal was several years older than I, was married and had the care of a family, but, in the busiest season of work, could find time to co-operate with me in all my endeavors to aid runaway slaves. We often met at night in a thicket where a fugitive was concealed, to counsel in regard to his prospects and lay plans for getting him safely started to the North. We employed General Hamilton’s Sol, a gray-haired, trusty old negro, to examine every coffle of slaves to which he could gain access, and ascertain if there were any kidnapped negroes among them. When such a case was discovered, Sol would manage to bring the person, by night, to some rendezvous appointed, in the pine thickets or the depths of the woods, and there Vestal and I would meet them and have an interview. There was always a risk in holding such meetings, for the law in the South inflicted heavy penalties on any one who should aid or abet a fugitive slave in escaping, and the patrollers, or mounted officers, frequently passed along the road near our place of concealment. When information had been obtained from kidnapped negroes regarding the circumstances of their capture, Vestal Coffin wrote to their friends, and in many cases succeeded in getting them liberated. In this way a negro man of family and means, who
had been abducted from Pennsylvania and taken to New Orleans and sold, was finally restored to his friends. Obtaining through Vestal Coffin a knowledge of his whereabouts, they brought suit against his owners and gained his liberty.
SERVICES OF VESTAL COFFIN.
Another negro was kidnapped from Delaware, and brought to Guilford County, North Carolina, by a man named John Thompson. Learning the particulars of his case, Vestal Coffin went to Hillsboro, a neighboring town, and obtained a writ, which he placed in the hands of the sheriff to be served on Thompson, requiring him to produce the negro in court, for investigation regarding the unlawfulness of his being held in bondage. Thompson, disregarding the writ, sent the negro South, and sold him. Vestal Coffin went back and procured another writ, causing Thompson to be arrested on charge of kidnapping, and thrown into prison till the negro should be produced. This proceeding greatly enraged Thompson, but he was obliged to send for the negro, who was delivered to the charge of Vestal Coffin. When the case went into court, Thompson secured the best lawyers, but Vestal Coffin had right on his side, and finally triumphed. As the poet says:
“Thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just.”
The case was delayed nearly a year, and in that time Vestal Coffin procured affidavits and other documents establishing the negro’s freedom, and he was [22]
set at liberty. These are some of the results of the consultations held by night in the pine thickets.
EDE.
As I was always interested in the work and ready to engage in it, I found opportunities to be of service to the slaves in various ways. The following is an account of one of my efforts in this line:
Dr. Caldwell, whose name has been mentioned before, was one of our near neighbors. He was a learned clergyman and physician, founded a college–said to be the first in North Carolina–and numbered among his pupils many of the prominent men of that State. His son Samuel was a Presbyterian minister, and was located in the southwestern part of the State, in charge of a church there. At one time, when on a visit to his relatives in Guilford County, he told his father that his wife very much needed a good house servant, and, after some deliberation, the old Doctor concluded to make him a present of one.
The question thus was, Which one of the negro women should it be?
The mistress was a humane Christian lady, and did not like the idea of separating husband and wife, but all the negro women that were grown had husbands, and the girls were too young to fill the place, so it was finally decided that a woman named Ede should go. She was strong and healthy, and in the prime of life, and would be the most suitable. She had four children, three of whom were to be left behind; the youngest, being a babe a few months old, was to go
with its mother. To satisfy the scruples of his wife against separating husband and wife, the old Doctor told her that Ede’s husband–who belonged to another master–was a trifling negro, and that his master would probably sell him before long; that slave
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