The Underground Railroad's Levi Coffin

The wagon wheels sank into the frozen ruts outside Newport just after midnight. I held the reins loose, listening for the sound of any other hooves behind us. Three men lay under the canvas in back, their breathing shallow against the cold. One of them had crossed the Ohio two nights before. His feet were wrapped in strips of burlap that had already begun to stiffen.

I stopped at the edge of the yard. A single lantern burned in the window of the frame house. Levi Coffin stepped onto the porch before I could call out. He carried no light. He walked straight to the wagon and spoke low.

“Bring them inside. Catharine has blankets ready.”

The men climbed down stiffly. One of them kept his eyes on the ground. Levi took his elbow and guided him across the frozen grass without hurry. Inside, the kitchen smelled of fresh bread and linseed. Catharine moved between the table and the stove, setting out bowls without asking names. She handed each man a cup of warm milk and pointed to the bench against the wall.

Levi asked me how far they had come that night. I told him the last stretch had taken us past the mill pond. He nodded once, then asked whether anyone had followed. When I said no, he sat down across from the men and waited. After a while the tallest one began to speak about the river crossing and the man who had drowned trying it the week before. Levi listened without interrupting.

By morning the three were gone, carried north in another wagon. Word spread among the free families that the Coffin place would take anyone who reached it. At first the colored households still tried to hide runaways themselves. Two were caught that spring near the county line. Levi heard the news at meeting and came straight to my father’s door.

He asked why no one had brought the men to him. My father said the penalty for harboring was too high. Levi answered that the Bible told him to feed the hungry without asking their color. He said he would keep doing it and anyone who wanted to help could come to his house after dark.

That summer more fugitives arrived. Some stayed only a night. Others needed shoes or coats before they could travel farther. Catharine kept a stack of old garments in the loft. She mended them by the window while Levi worked in the store. When a wagon pulled up after supper, she would rise without a word and begin filling a basket.

I started driving the short runs between Newport and the next safe house. Levi never asked me to. He simply told me the route and the name of the man who would meet us. On clear nights the road felt endless. On rainy ones the mud pulled at the wheels until the horses sweated. Once we reached a cabin with the door already open and a woman standing in it holding a lantern low to the ground. She took the fugitives inside and closed the door before we turned around.