A Farm Family and the Underground Railroad

A farm family and the Underground Railroad

We read this, and like a Steven Spielberg movie, the scene opens to a view of today’s Sarcoxie, Missouri. It is a small town where everyone knows everyone in town and strangers are greeted with a stare. We see a few cars driving around the circular grassy center, and a few folks walking in and out of main street’s shops.

  Then, the camera view raise up into the sky, looking down at the town slowly fading into the misty clouds, and the letters 1838 appear, puffs up like a cumulous, then seems to be blown away. The camera returns to the barren flatlands, with a few little shops under construction...

  A horse drawn covered wagon rumbles into town. The driver stops a stranger and asks a question. The stranger spits some tobacco out so he can answer, says something and points down the dirt street. The driver, Tom, touches his hat in gratitude and prods his horses to go.

  We see him come out of a building with a map that shows where his land can be claimed. He yells to his boys to get back in the wagon, as they wanted to look their new town over a little. He hears the girls squawking as the boys pull themselves in.

  “Hey, looky here. We’re all tired, so settle down. Just up this road is where were abuildin’ our new farm.” John the oldest boy is 17. He lets out a whoop, loud as he can “YaaAHhooo!” and the younger kids join in, and Tom smiles.

  He tries to imagine what his Polly would be a thinkin’ right now. They’ll have enough acreage here to call it a real farm. They had made the plans and paid the moneys, and then Polly comes down with something. They put off that hard travel hoping she’d get well, but Polly never got well. She died in her bed, there in Kentucky, the stain of a dried tear on her cheek.

  “Hey now, get over here with some more of those posts” John is yelling at Dave and Brad, the young brothers. They lift up the boards so he and Jim can nail them together.  In the background, we see that the barn is built, and Tom is fixing a door on the farm house. It is set in front of a grove of trees that were there. In a following scene, the audience will see more wagons moving in, setting up their various properties. On of the new arrivals sees Tom and waves to him. He walks over briskly to shake Tom’s hand.

  “Howdy do! We’re a settin’ up across the way from you. Well, dam! That is a great lookin’ barn you got there. You got niggers to help you out?”

  Tom’s handshake goes a little limp, and he frowns at this new neighbor.  

“NO sirree. Me and the boys got this put up, our ownselves. We don’t pine to own no people to do our work. That, to us, is a goddamned sin.”

  “Oh, now hold on, I didn’t mean anything by askin’. Me and Beatrice, we don’t cotton to slavery, neither...I just wanted to make sure, that’s all. Hey, sorry, my name’s Frank. Frank Whitehead. What do you go by?”

   “Well, now, that’s a relief. My name’s Tom. Tom Landers...those are my boys over there working the fence.” he turns toward where his boys are. “John, bring your brothers over here, now.”

He turns back to Frank. “Soon as you get ready, I’ll see if my boys’ll hep you put up your farm and stuff.”

   A friendship did descend on these pioneer neighbors, and as the month’s went by, they all helped each other putting their community together. One day as the sun is close to going down, Tom sees Frank along with Gil Platte and George Reynolds riding their horses up his long driveway.

  “Hey, there, Tom. You know Gil and George from up the road. You got a little time to talk? I brought us a little nip of that real Kentucky stuff, well now, I mean, Gil had it. Okay if we talk out ta your barn, ‘ere?” 

  Tom says, “yeah, sure. Come on out. Bessie and Clara won’t mind us havin’ a little taste.” that was the name of his two milk cows.  

  Gil starts in. He kind of had a nervous, staring way of talkin’, with his eyes constantly looking around. “Tom, I been a talkin’ to my uncle Ferdie. Uncle Ferdie’s got hisself a church over thar at Carthage. He got to talkin’ with some a them Carthage folks, and...” he starts talking in a whisper. “Some a them folks wants ta hep out them niggers tryin’ ta get away, you know, not be slaves no more...”

  Tom involuntarily jerks back, eyes widened, “Hey, hey, hey, hey. You better stop right there Gil. I was in town last week, and that sheriff, wa’el, he’s a watchin’, and I don’t doubt some’ons a payin’ him to catch runaways... and he’s got those rowdy boys from the Hancock ranch helpin’ him out. I heerd someone, I think it was that Earl somethin’ was tryin’ to hide someone. They stuck him in jail... I think he’s still a sittin’ in jail.”

   “Earl got caught? Dam, I thought I heerd that. But doggone it, Earl’s not all ‘at smart, and is all a’time blabbin. So we ain’t a gonna be talkin’ to Earl none. Let me finish, and then you go and think it over. They’s talkin’ about setting up a trail of farms. They’ll be travelin’ only at night, and the the, they’re a callin’ em stations, are about 10 miles apart, sometimes 20. We hide ‘em out for a few days, and ‘en, you’ll get word of ‘bout when the pick up wagon is on its way to take ‘em to the next station. All at night. George and Frank here will do it, then the next time its me, and we’d like another place. That way old Sheriff Goosen don’t catch on. I’ve got my hidin’ place started. You just got to dig a pit, good to hold five or six to sleep in. It’d be good if you could provide for ‘em, too, just a little corn or some biscuits, you know.”

  Tom is holding the little bottle, and hands it back to Gil without trying it. “Fellas, I really don’t know. Let me talk it over with the older boys, see what they think. If we decide to join in, I’ll send one a the boys over in a couple of days... okay?”

   This was about 1851. Most of the talk was about the Mexican War, the Alamo in Texas, and all that new land in the west. There was also some talk about the Fugitive Slave Act, now supported by that new President Filmore. Some of his children were starting their own families, but were just starting their own farms. Most and their mates were still living at the Landers farm. It was good sized.... After the family meal, Tom wanted to have a talk with his older sons, and in the house, so the older girls and their husbands could listen.  

  Tom started in by saying, “ ‘some other farmers’ were talking about, helping those black folks escape to the north. We’d only do it maybe once a month, but if any a those slave people, like the sheriff and the Hancock hands ever found out, they might put us all in jail and burn our farm down. It’s risky. That danged Filmore even is a making people turn them black folks in or go to jail. But, it is the right thing for good folks to do, whatever the law says. I kind of think I like the idea of helping out...maybe if we hep enough out a those farms, that damnable business might even shut down. But, knowin’ the risks and punishments, and even losin’ the farm, you need to tell me what you want to do. Take a chance, or stay clear of it...”

[here, the family talks in quiet tones, some of the family looking worried.  But then, the talk quiets, the heads nod in agreement. They all wanted to go along with their Pap. He was a righteous man.]

  Tom sent Jim over to tell Frank that they wanted in. Jim has his eye on their young Susan too.

He rode over and knocked on the door. Beatrice opened the door.  

  “Hey, thar Jimmy. What’r you a doin’ over here now?” there was a twinkle in her knowin’ eye. “Oh, howdy, Mrs. Whitehead. I’m supposed to ax Mr. Whitehead to come over when he can to talk to Pap. Oh, hi, Susan...” Susan kind of gives a forced smile than looks away. Later he found out she was sweet on Glenn down at the Murphy store.

   Tom had put his pipe out and laid on the bed. He stretched his shoulders trying to calm a backache down. He reached over to grab the candle holder to blow out the flame. He heard a knock at the door. It was late and it was dark. He opened the door and peered out. A stranger moved into view. “How do. Is this thirteen?” This was his signal that a wagon was on its way. It was the first. “Yes. Thirteen blue shoes on fire.” Tom had that signal memorized. The stranger disappeared into the dark, and Tom heard his horse ride away. He went over to shake John and Jim awake. “There a comin’. We need to get ready.” The trio marched out to the barn with Jim holding the candle. “Keep that damned candle hidden, Jimmy...” Once inside the barn, close to where Tom did his leather work, they pulled the old carpet up off the wood platform exposing the pit. Then they waited just outside to listen for the wagon. Jim had to poke John where he sat. He had sat there and started to snore. “Whoa, hey there. Did I go to sleep? Sorry. Heard anything yet?”  Nothing yet, so they started talking about the corral they almost had finished. “That little corral for Nipsy... we need a little top cover to keep him out of the rain. He hates the danged rain.”  “Yeah, I know. That’s why I sawed them posts longer, so’s to set a little shelter roof on it. He’ll be okay.” Tom said, “Boys, hush up. I hear a wagon I think, comin’ down Rollins. D’ya hear it?” The boys strain their necks in that direction. “I heerd somethin’... could be a wheel creakin’...” Then it seemed to appear in the dark. The man on the wagon looked a little frantic. “I got ‘em here, under that there hay. It’s a female and a little boy. They’re okay, just get up down quick.” Tom blew out the candle but they could still see the pit. “Wha’s down deah?” the black woman said. “Nothin’, no spiders or nothing, just a hole...go on down that ladder so we can cover it up.” “I wanna see what’s down ‘ere....you got a candle so’s I kin see?” John whispers loudly, “No, get on down ‘ere, now. You gonna get us all caught.” So the suspicious runaway obeys and disappears into the dark of the pit. They hear her voice under the rug. “Does we get sumpin’ t’eat? We ain’t et all day...” John feels exasperated. “Don’t be talkin’ down there. We got some biscuits and cooked up some corn ears for you. Just hold your horses.”

  “Momma, sumpin’ jez touched my arm. I don’t wanna be here in this dark!” John says, “You folks got to keep quiet. If the neighbors hear you, you’ll have to go back...” Then he heard the little guy crying, and the woman telling him to shut up or get smacked. John was thinking, “Oh lordy, I wonder if this was a good idea to get into...” Just outside the barn door, he heard of group of riders coming up the road. He could just hear the little boy still fussing. He stood frozen in the dark, and then heard the riders go by, on down the road.  

  The next morning, he handed down a bowl of oatmeal and a few cold biscuits along with a quart of water. “Don’t you have a spoon we kin use?” John was a bit abrupt. “No. We is out of spoons. I almost forgot, this here buckets for y’all to pee in or whatever. He hung it down and when she didn’t grab it, he just dropped it.  They could hardly wait for the wagon to come by and take these two to the next stop. It just so happened that a house slave, a heavy set black woman who called herself Wanda came in one night with a smaller black woman. After she settled in to the pit, she wondered: “you people seen a young nigga gal wif a li’l boy, maybe 2 or so come through heah?” John remembered. She then told them about Doris. They were from the same farm. What John heard Wanda tell him was that this young female slave, Doris, was a ‘house’ slave. Wanda looked up at John from the pit. She was talking in strong whispers. “Is ‘t okay iffen I ax you sumpin?  I kin tell you din’t care much f’ her. Doris. Can I talk? Now don’t ‘cha take this wrong. I jus’ feel ‘ike tellin’ you, is that okay? Doris was a good girl, ah mean, nice. She swept the manshunn, set the table, hepped make the beds, and sometimes had to get in bed with the old ‘master’. That happened every time his missus went to visit friends in the city. The first time he closed the bedroom door and told her to skin outa her duds, she din’t even know what he meant. She was barely 14 at the time. Just recently, she had heard them talking about her boy, little Isaac. They were saying that Isaac would be sold to their cousins down in Arkansas in a few weeks. Doris knew that it was Mrs. O’Keefe’s idea. Isaac did sort of have a resemblance to Mr. O’Keefe. To keep her boy, he was barely two, she had to run....she had t’give up her tolerable life.” John couldn’t help but enjoy listening to how this fat lady could tell a story. He also felt a lot more sympathetic to young Doris’ situation, and felt a little gloomy for how he had felt about her.

   The next time the signal was given, a few weeks later, it was a fine old gentleman, so grateful for the help. He even acted surprised to get the butter and cheese biscuits. “God bless ye...” he said, I is so grateful for yo’ hep. Da Lord, he gonna smile on you mens.” When the wagon came for old Jesse, they were sorry to see him go. They had listened to him telling funny stories into the night. He could tell a story and it filled you with chills just hearing his descriptions. “Why, we even had us a fiddler sneaked oveh into our cabin area in the night. He called himself Bobby Sneaker because he was always sneaking off the Reynolds farm. That man could play any tune you could think of , an’ even them humms.” Jesse said, gesturing like he was playing that fiddle. “The next day, the whole crew, we was sleepy out in the fields...’til we hudd the whip crack...it was hard to quit the listenin’! The field boss, he weren’t too happy wif us...but nobody let on about Bobby Sneaker, no sir.” Jim stayed close to the barn door, listening for anything out there, but it was a quiet night. When Jesse got in the wagon to depart, Tom, John, Jim and even young Bradford all knew, they were going to miss him. Jesse, in his short time there, had been their friend.

   Most of the time, the wagon brought one person over, but several times, there was a family. The most one night was five folks, including a really old grandmother. One of the most awful was Reuben Taylor. How he got away in his condition was amazing. He had been whipped so hard with an old bull whip that the Landers boys were just plain shocked when he pulled his dirty brown stained shirt up.  

  “Oh, my god, look at his back. Pappy, this feller needs to see Doc Seymoure...ohhh, oh, you can see here..ohooh god, one of his rib bones. This should be sewed up.” Tom takes a look and grimaces. “Well, we’ll do what we can, boys. Go ahead, get me down the leather needles. Up there on the top shelf. In that can. Yeah, that one. Jim, go get that salve from ‘Mandy. She knows where it is.” Reuben kept his chin tucked down against his breast bone and looked sad. “I thankee, yeah, man, do what you can...” Tom was skilled at making shoes for his family, but poking that needle in a living human made his hands quiver. He used the thinnest strips of cow leather he could cut. Poor old Rueben jerked every time the needle went through his skin, but he didn’t ever complain, just made a quiet sound in his throat. When the wagon picked him up a couple of nights later, he did feel a little better and even smiled through his pain and waved at the men before he crawed down under the wheat stems. Tom gestured to him, kind of a salute motion, and prayed that this nice fellow would heal up okay.

  Tom looked up at the stars in the dark sky, and could picture his young sons needing to cut the corn and the wheat and get it all stacked up and in the storage. He felt tired, having to be up into the night and then having to work all day, and could tell it was hard on his boys, too. Their eyes were looking all sunk in and encircled in dark, and their mouths hung open all the work day long. “This ain’t easy, Lord. I jus’ hope we’s doin’ some good here...”