The Underground Railroad (15 page)

Professor Tuesday adjusted his glasses as he replied. “Judge Geddes was a real judge who lived in Lenawee County in eastern lower Michigan. He was well respected and held strong views about the equality of all people.”

We watched as the judge followed the visitors inside.

The professor continued. “I wanted to get a look at Judge Geddes because he was very knowledgeable about Underground Railroad routes that led from Adrian, Tecumseh, Ypsilanti, and Detroit. For a time, fugitive travelers avoided Monroe County, Michigan, and towns such as Adrian, because there were some people in that area who favored slavery and made it difficult for runaways to escape northward.”

“How did runaways get to Detroit if their path was blocked?” Tamika asked.

“Like I said before,” the professor replied, “the Underground Railroad was never a straight path to an important destination like Detroit. It zigged and zagged through the countryside. Judge Geddes knew the routes like few others did.”

Soft lights came on in the Judge's house. We watched for a few more minutes and all was quiet. Professor Tuesday looked up. “Now let's visit one of Judge Geddes' fellow conductors on the Underground Railroad, Captain John Lowry of Lodi Township in Washtenaw County, Michigan.”

Mr. Adams guided the Critter Cam back into the conference room while the professor began to reset his computer for the location. “This will only take a few moments,” he said as he hummed a tune to himself. “There, I'm done.”

When the professor hit the ENTER key, the teleporter jolted to life. After the Critter Cam entered the green cloud, the flat screen monitor was bright green and we couldn't make out anything.

“Is something wrong?” Mr. Spinner asked.

The professor stood and scratched his head. “Now, why can't we see anything?” He traced all of his electrical connections and fumbled with his computer. Mr. Adams got his uncle's attention and flashed a series of hand signs to him.

“Oh, sorry,” said the professor. “I forgot to turn off the camera's night vision. We are visiting Captain Lowry's place during the daytime.”

Professor Tuesday flipped a switch and an image began to appear on the flat screen TV. “I set the Tuesday Teleporter to Nutting's Corner at the intersection of Textile and the Ann Arbor-Saline Road,” he said. Then he asked Mr. Adams to move the Critter Cam to the northeastern part of the intersection where a sign came into view.

The hand painted sign was big and had two human figures on it, one was white and the other black. Below the figures were the words: “Liberty to the fugitive captive and the oppressed all over the earth, both male and female of all colors.” Just as we were looking at the sign, a stagecoach pulled up and stopped in front of it.

“Are fugitive slaves stopping off at Captain Lowry's house?” Mrs. Jones asked.

“I don't think so,” answered the professor. “The Captain was so opposed to slavery that he wanted everyone to know how he felt about it. So he made this sign and put it out in front of his property. Local stage coaches, like the one you are looking at, often stopped in front of his place just to see it.”

“Wasn't it dangerous to have a sign like that?” Tamika asked.

“Probably,” answered the professor. “But from what I've heard about Captain Lowry, he was a man that people wouldn't mess with. So nobody confronted him about it.”

The professor glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh, my, we've got to get going. There's another stop I wanted to show you.”

Once the Critter Cam was back, the professor input new data into his computer.

“Now where are we going?” Tamika asked.

“We are going to Midnight itself,” answered the professor.

“I'm going to need a break in a little while,” Mrs. Jones said.

“This won't take long,” said the professor. “I just want to take a quick peek at Seymour Finney's hotel and barn.”

Once the Critter Cam went through the teleporter cloud, a large building—maybe five stories tall— came into view. Behind the building was a big barn. “You are looking at Detroit in the 1850s,” said the professor.

“You've got to be kidding me,” Tamika said. “That is Detroit?”

“It sure is,” answered the professor. “Seymour Finney was a tailor in Detroit. He eventually ran a hotel in that building at the corner of State and Griswold in downtown Detroit. I wanted you to see this because he often hid runaway slaves in the barn behind it. At the same time, it wasn't uncommon for him to rent hotel rooms to slave hunters.”

“Wow,” I said. “So runaway slaves were being sheltered right next to where slave catchers were staying. That's pretty bold … and cool.”

“Exactly! Exactly!” exclaimed the professor. “There were times when the barn was literally packed with fugitive slaves. It was a famous stop before heading on to Canada.”

“Professor,” Mr. Spinner asked, “can we take a break? I have to make a few phone calls.”

“Sure,” said the professor. “I'll get ready for our next visit.”

A
s Professor Tuesday prepared his equipment, everyone stood for a few moments to stretch or get something to drink. Mr. Spinner left the room to make his calls. Mr. Adams got out a brush and started to comb out the fur on the Critter Cam. After a few minutes, Mr. Spinner returned to the conference room.

I leaned over to Tamika. “Tell the professor about your dream,” I whispered.

Tamika gave me the stink eye and shook her head no.

I shrugged my shoulders and walked back to my seat.

Professor Tuesday looked over at his nephew and chuckled. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said. “Mr. Adams, show Mr. Spinner the new trick you taught the Critter Cam.”

“Yes, yes, please do,” said Mr. Spinner.

A mischievous smile crossed Mr. Adam's fact as he picked up the remote and placed the Critter Cam on the conference room table. He drove the machine over to where Mr. Spinner was sitting. Our librarian sat back in his seat a little as the Critter Cam approached. Then Mr. Adams turned the machine around so its back was toward Mr. Spinner. Next, he pushed a new button that was attached to the remote. The Critter Cam lifted its tail and sprayed Mr. Spinner.

Everyone in the room laughed except Mr. Spinner. “Don't worry,” said the professor, “it isn't skunk spray. It's just water.”

Mr. Spinner started laughing. “I may have to borrow your Critter Cam one of these days and take it to school,” he said.

I looked over at Tamika. We both covered our mouths as we laughed. That would be funny. Some of the kids in our school would freak.

Once the professor was ready, he faced everyone in the room. “Now we're going to visit a church in Detroit that helped a lot of fugitives gain their freedom. But we are going at a later time in the story of the Underground Railroad.”

“When?” Miss Pepper asked.

“We are going there in 1855,” answered the professor. “Who can tell me what might be different in 1855 than in 1847?”

The room was quiet.

“Come on, you know the answer,” the professor prodded.

Tamika raised her hand slowly. “Was it different because of the Fugitive Slave Act?”

“Right-O! Right-O!” answered the professor with two loud claps. “The Fugitive Slave Act changed a lot of things. Before that act, runaways often felt safe living in non-slave states like Michigan. But after the act passed in 1850, it was a punishable crime for abolitionists to help them. So the Fugitive Slave Act drove many runaways to Canada.”

“Did people like Erastus Hussey and Dr. Thomas stop helping them?” I asked.

“No way,” answered the professor. “The law did little to stop anyone who believed in the cause of freedom for slaves. It just made them a lot more cautious. People still hid runaways in their homes, barns, cellars, and attics—law or no law.”

“So, are we going to visit a Quaker church in Detroit?” Miss Pepper asked.

“No,” answered the professor, “we're going to visit a Baptist church—the Second Baptist Church of Detroit.”

“Wasn't one of the Kentucky raiders a Baptist minister?” I asked.

“Indeed, he was,” the professor answered. “But this church had very different views on slavery than the Kentucky raider did. This was the first church started by African-Americans in Michigan and it remains as the oldest African-American church in the state. Let's take a look.”

Professor Tuesday spun around in a circle and pushed the ENTER key of his laptop with two fingers. The room exploded with light, and a low hum gathered volume. Soon, the green teleporter cloud glowed in front of us. Mr. Adams drove the Critter Cam through the cloud without even being asked.

When the Critter Cam arrived in Detroit, the sun was setting. Long shadows stretched across the building on the far side of a dirt road. Mr. Adams moved the machine so it was hidden beneath a small bush. The building we were looking at wasn't like a big church with a tall steeple like we were expecting to see in Detroit. It was just a small, ordinary-looking building.

“This is the earliest location of the Second Baptist Church in Detroit,” Professor Tuesday said. “The church was started in 1836 by thirteen former slaves who split off from the First Baptist Church of Detroit. In 1857 the church was moved to 441 Monroe Street. It's still there to this day. In fact, it even has an Underground Railroad Reading Station Bookstore.”

“If there was a First Baptist, why did they start a Second Baptist?” I asked. “It doesn't make a lot of sense.”

“The First Baptist Church back then didn't treat their African-American members very well,” the professor answered. “So former slaves started their own church. We're looking at it right now,” the professor said as he pointed at the screen. “The original church was located in an old hall on Fort Street, just a few blocks away from the Detroit River and just a short trip to Canada.”

“Did a lot of fugitives get help here?” Tamika asked quietly.

“Thousands did,” the professor replied. “For many runaways, it was the last stop on the Underground Railroad before they were actually free. Here, fugitives were given food, shelter, and more.”

“More what?” I asked.

“Some were taught to read and write,” answered the professor. “Many more participated in uplifting church services.”

“You said that the Detroit River was just a few blocks away from the church,” Miss Pepper noted. “How did the runaways get across it and into Canada?”

Professor Tuesday watched the screen as though he were waiting for someone to appear. “Some crossed when it iced over in winter, some crossed in rowboats and on other boats, some even tried to swim across.”

“It would be hard to swim across that river,” Mr. Spinner noted.

“Yes,” answered the professor, “it's deep and has very strong currents.” He scratched his head as he continued. “You'd have to be very desperate to try to swim the Detroit River, but many of the fugitives were desperate and thought it was worth the risk.”

Professor Tuesday watched the screen carefully as he continued talking about the Second Baptist Church. “Many famous abolitionists have been involved with this church. Frederick Douglass himself spoke here in 1859. John Brown, a man who tried to start a war against slavery, and Sojourner Truth, a black woman who spoke out against slavery, were also associated with Second Baptist.”

“Didn't Sojourner Truth live in Michigan?” Tamika's mother asked.

“Yes! Yes!” Professor Tuesday said. “She was born as Isabella VanWagenen in Hurley, New York, in about 1797, the youngest of thirteen children.”

“Wow,” said Mr. Spinner, “that's a lot of kids.”

“Most definitely,” Professor Tuesday replied, “but eleven of her sisters and brothers had either been sold off or died. Isabella changed her name to Sojourner Truth in 1843. Then, in 1857, she moved to Battle Creek, Michigan. She used Battle Creek as her base of operations as she traveled far and wide to speak on behalf of her race and gender. She was quite a woman.”

“Yes, she was,” Mrs. Jones added.

“There he is! There he is!” the professor shouted in excitement. “I knew we'd see him. I knew it!”

“Who is it?” Tamika asked.

“You should know,” the professor said. “Think about it.”

“
I
remember now,” Tamika said, a smile crossing her face. “It's got to be George DeBaptiste.”

“Bingo! Bingo!” the professor exclaimed. “It is our old friend George DeBaptiste.”

“You read about him, didn't you?” Tamika's mother asked.

Tamika nodded her head.

“Do you remember what he did while in Detroit?” Professor Tuesday asked.

“Well,” Tamika said, “I think he was a barber. Then he owned a bakery or something.”

“Correct! Correct!” said the professor. “He was the part owner of a popular barber shop. He also worked part time at a retail store in town. He had a bakery for a while. Then he bought a steam ship named the T. Whitney.”

“I remember that part,” Tamika added. “He would use his boat to take fugitives from Detroit to Canada.”

“Do you remember from your reading that African-Americans could own steamships in those days? But according to the law, they couldn't be a ship's captain. So he had to hire a white man to be the captain of the T. Whitney.”

We watched Mr. DeBaptiste step into the church. A few moments later, he was back on the street. Professor Tuesday asked Mr. Adams to follow him, but to keep at a distance so the Critter Cam wouldn't scare him off. We followed behind him for several minutes.

“Was Detroit the only place in Michigan where fugitives crossed into Canada?” I asked.