Freedom River

BEFORE THE CIVIL WAR, Kentucky was a slave state and Ohio a free state. In the 1800s the Ohio River was less than 1,000 feet wide at Ripley, Ohio. Runaway slaves from Kentucky followed the Maysville Road to the river and then swam or were rowed across it to freedom. Sympathetic whites and blacks in Ripley hid the fugitives and then transported them farther north. John Parker was a successful businessperson and one of Ripley’s most active conductors on the Underground Railroad. He had been born a slave and earned enough money to buy his freedom. But he never forgot the pain of being taken from his mother’s loving arms when he was eight years old. This is a true story of one of his journeys into Kentucky to help an African American family escape to freedom.

I heard last night someone helped a slave woman cross the river, one of the workers at John Parker’s foundry.
John Parker couldn’t take credit for this escape, but it pleased him enormously to hear about it.
“Maybe Mr. Parker helped them escape,” said Jim Shrofe, an iron molder.
“My father says he’s helped hundreds.” Jim raised his voice. “I dare him to
cross the river and try to steal my father’s slaves,” taunted Jim. “If he does,
father will set the dogs on him and rip him to shreds.”
John knew if he crossed the river, he might end up dead. There was a $1,000 reward for him, dead or alive, in Kentucky. But he couldn’t let that stop him. Slavery was too evil. He had to keep helping others, no matter what the risk. A week later in November, when the moon was but a sliver, John rowed across the Ohio River to the Shrofe plantation.
Wait, wait.
Listen. Listen.
Only crickets and bullfrogs breaking the silence of the fall night. Suddenly, footsteps. Closer. Louder. The crescent moon illuminated a black man. John approached him and touched him.
“I have a boat waiting to row you ‘cross the river to freedom,” he whispered.
“I-I-I can’t go,” the man stammered. “I can’t leave my wife and baby.”
Without warning, the man screamed and ran away. Suddenly, a white man, swinging a club, charged at John. John ducked. The man dropped his weapon and grabbed John around the waist. Down, down, the man wrestled him to the ground and punched him in the face. John grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it into the man’s eyes.
Run, run. Back to the river. Back to his skiff.
Row, rOW. Away from the slave state of Kentucky to the free stare of Ohio.
December came and brought patches of ice on the river.
In January, the river froze. Rowing across it was impossible now. Jim Shrofe continued to taunt John that he was too scared to go after his father’s slaves. John didn’t answer his taunts. He practiced being patient as he waited for spring. In April, when the river thawed, he returned to the plantation, even more determined
Wait, wait.
Listen, listen.
The moon shone on the man John had seen in November. John followed him into a cabin. “I’ve come back for you and your family.”
“Leave Isaac an’ me alone,” said the man’s wife, Sarah.
“Since you came last fall, Master Shrofe watches our ev’ry move. He took my baby from me an’ makes her sleep ev’ry night at the foot of his bed.”
“Isaac, sneak into his room while he sleeps and take her;” John urged.
“Too dangerous,” said Isaac. “The master keeps a loaded pistol at his side an’ swears he will kill her an’ anyone who comes for her.”
John shuddered at Shrofe’s cruelty, for he knew the baby’s parents loved her too much to leave her behind. He returned home, but he could not sleep that night. He felt responsible for Sarah being separated from her baby. He had to get this family to freedom