and died" in the swamp. To ocean- 

 bound fugitives, maroon camps 

 provided temporary shelters and 

 opportunities to learn from experi- 

 enced fugitives how to navigate the 

 many obstacles to a port. 



Fugitive slaves bound for the sea 

 also found allies among free men and 

 women. Seeking help from free 

 collaborators was always dangerous 

 and rarely a first resort. When Parker 

 ran away from a harsh master, he 

 could only find haven with an im- 

 poverished white woman whom his 

 mother had befriended. Although 



No matter which forts runaway slaves sought out, 

 they faced many dangers before reaching the open sea. 

 Bloodhounds, bounty hunters and port inspectors 

 stood between their first steps in flight from bondage and 

 the safety of the Gulf Stream's warm, northward currents. 

 Escaping slaves risked life and limb around every turn. 



Slave catchers and patrol squads pursued them, 

 and anyone could turn them in for a substantial bounty. 

 Inspectors searched many seagoing vessels and, at points, 

 regularly "fumigated" ships to drive 

 hidden runaways onto the deck. 



runaways sought asylum more often 

 among the poor and dispossessed, 

 people of other backgrounds also 

 aided them. 



Thomas H. Jones, for instance, 

 conspired with free worshipers at his 

 Methodist church to arrange his 

 family's escape from Wilmington. In 

 Chowan County, an upper-class 

 white woman who had long been a 

 family friend concealed Harriet 

 Jacobs. In 1848, a Wilmington 

 merchant named Zebulon Latimer 

 contrived his own slave's escape to 

 New York. 



Reviewing most such accounts 

 today, one can only guess at personal 



motivations. But clearly, runaways 

 recognized and exploited a variety of 

 forbidden bonds that connected the 

 slave community and free citizens. 



T 



A hose who dared to flee 

 ultimately faced the formidable task of 

 connecting with sympathetic seamen 

 or other coastal residents who could 

 help them obtain a secret berth to 

 freedom. Finding passage on a ship to 

 free territory could take months or 

 years. A single wrong step, misplaced 

 trust or slightly rash inquiry could 

 doom a runaway slave. Success de- 

 pended as much on patience and 

 prudence as daring and courage. 



Harry Grimes, for example, hid in 

 North Carolina swamp forests for 18 

 months before securing his passage to 

 freedom on a ship in 1857. The slave 

 Ben Dickenson waited and eaves- 

 dropped on harbor conversations for 

 three years until the right opportunity 

 arose to stow away. Jacobs hid in an 

 Edenton attic for seven years before 

 friends and family arranged her pas- 

 sage to Philadelphia. 



Word of a vessel's master or crew 

 that would harbor runaways spread 

 quickly from ship to ship, along the 

 docks and from ports into their 

 hinterlands. Gossip and reality no 

 doubt mingled in precarious 

 measure. In 1857, Abraham Galloway 

 and Richard Eden, two young bonds- 

 men, timidly approached the captain 

 of a Wilmington schooner bound for 

 Philadelphia. According to William 

 Still, a black leader of the Under- 

 ground Railroad in Philadelphia, their 

 conversation "had to be done in such a 

 way that even the captain would not 

 really understand what they were up 

 to, should he be found untrue." 



By sly indirection, Galloway and 

 Eden had found a captain willing to 

 conceal them amidst barrels of turpen- 

 tine, tar and rosin for the northward 

 passage. But they were fortunate. He 

 could just as well have collected a 



NOVEMBER! DECEMBER 1994 



