The Underground Railroad (2 page)

“Did Ohio ever build the canal?” Tamika asked. “I don't remember hearing or reading about it in Social Studies.”

The professor shook his head. “The Maumee River was never used to build a canal between Lake Eerie and the Ohio River. By the time the Toledo War was settled, railroads started to be a more important form of transportation than canals, so Ohio never got rich from a canal on the Maumee River. On the other hand, the Upper Peninsula provided a valuable source of copper, iron, and timber for the state of Michigan.”

The professor started shaking all over again as he thought about his close call in Toledo. Then he looked up, “Oh, my goodness. Where are my manners? I'm sorry, Jesse, who is your friend?”

I stepped forward and nodded toward my classmate. “Professor, this is Tamika Jones. We are in the same grade at Arrowhead School. Our teacher, Miss Pepper, encouraged us to come and see you.”

The professor scratched his forehead as he thought. “Wait a minute. Tamika, I remember you from the day your class came to the university on a field trip. You were the student who didn't want to go to Sandusky, Ohio, in 1629 because you are afraid of roller coasters.”

“That's her,” I said.

“Well, I owe both of you my thanks for helping me today. Now, why have you come to see me?” the professor asked.

I turned to my friend. “Tell him, Tamika.”

My friend just looked down and didn't say a thing. “She's very shy,” I said to the professor.

“It's okay, Tamika, the professor is a very nice man. You can tell him why you wanted to visit him.”

Tamika bit her lip, but didn't say a word. Then she leaned over toward me, cupped her hand, and whispered in my ear, “You tell him.”

I rolled my eyes and let out a sigh. “Professor, Tamika wants to go back in time to learn about the Underground Railroad. She told our class that her relatives escaped slavery in the south and traveled through Ohio, Indiana, and Michigan before getting their freedom in Canada.”

The professor looked concerned. “Traveling the Underground Railroad was very, very dangerous. People were jailed and tortured. Some were even killed. I'm sorry, I can't put either of you in that kind of danger.”

A tear tumbled down Tamika's cheek. “Please.”

The professor shook his head slowly as he looked at my friend. Then his face softened. “Give me some time to think about it. Come back next Tuesday and maybe I can figure something out.”

T
he professor was huddled over a small book when Tamika and I walked into his office the next Tuesday. He seemed shocked when he noticed us.

“Excuse me, professor,” I said, “You said we could come back to see you today.”

“You startled me,” he said. “Since my mishap at the Toledo War, I've been a bit jumpy.”

“Sorry,” I said. “We should have knocked before coming in.”

“Well, that's okay,” he said. The professor shrugged his shoulders twice and asked how we were doing.

“Fine,” I replied. Tamika didn't say anything. Sometimes I wonder why she is so timid. “Are we going to learn about the Underground Railroad today?”

“In a way, yes,” the professor replied. “We're going to visit one of the great voices of the anti-slavery movement. We are going to London to meet Frederick Douglass.”

“Really?” asked Tamika.

“Who was he?” I asked.

Tamika stood proudly. “He was an African-American who escaped slavery by running away. When he was free, he gave lectures and speeches about how horrible slavery was. He even wrote books about his life as a slave and his escape to freedom.”

“He did that and more,” said the professor. “Today we are going to actually meet him, I hope.”

“But how are we going to meet him by going to London?” I asked. “Didn't he live in the United States?”

The professor just smiled. “You can ask Mr. Douglass that question when you see him.”

Professor Tuesday went to work hooking up his time machine. Though he calls it his Tuesday Teleporter, it looks more like a pile of junk than any machine I've ever seen. He plugged a tangle of wires into his computer and connected red, blue, and green cables to the teleporter globe on his desk. The professor set about to input time and place information into his computer. Finally, he checked to make sure everything was correct and pressed the ENTER key.

The Tuesday Teleporter jumped to life instantly. Lights and sounds circled the room, growing brighter and louder. My head spun. Over all the noise, I could hear Tamika crying. When I looked over, her hands were covering her eyes.

A green cloud formed in the office. The professor poked his head inside it for a moment to make sure everything was okay. When he turned back into his office, he walked behind his desk. His head was wet and his glasses were covered with water drops. He took a towel from his desk.

“I brought my umbrella to work today just in case it was raining in London,” said the professor as he dried his head and cleaned his glasses. “It rains a lot there, you know. That's why I asked Miss Pepper to make sure you came prepared.”

The professor returned to the teleporter cloud then looked at us. “Put on your raincoats and follow me.”

“No,” answered Tamika. “I'm afraid.”

“There's nothing to be afraid of, my dear,” the professor said kindly. “I've already taken a look at where we'll be going. It's perfectly safe.”

Tears flowed down Tamika's face. “I've read about slavery and how awful it was. My great, great, great, great grandparents were runaway slaves who escaped by going to Canada. Their masters treated them very poorly. I don't think I can even face someone who was a slave. I'm scared.”

“Tamika,” I said, as I put my hand on her shoulder, “we don't have to do this. We can tell Miss Pepper that it was just too dangerous.”

The professor looked at us kindly. “I understand your concerns, but I wouldn't do anything to put you in danger. Every slave who even tried to escape had to be very brave and very smart. We can learn a lot about their courage and wisdom by visiting with Mr. Douglass.”

The green teleporter cloud glowed and crackled in the background. The professor paused a moment before continuing. “If you decide to go back in time and you get scared, we'll return right away. Okay? It's up to you. We can go or stay.” Then the professor held out his hand to us.

Tamika slowly nodded her head, then hesitated a moment before saying, “Let's go.”

We quietly joined hands and walked through the green cloud and into the past.

S
oon after entering the teleporter cloud, everything turned upside down and we began tumbling head over heels. I could tell that Tamika didn't like it one bit. She was really scared. My friend squeezed my hand so hard it hurt. After the upsetting ride, we made a soft landing in a park. It was cool and foggy outside, and a steady rain was falling. The professor quickly opened his umbrella.

“I don't ever want to do that again,” Tamika said as she shivered in the rain.

“We'll have to go through the teleporter in order to get back home,” the professor noted. “I've been through it many, many times. But I admit, it is a little scary at first.”

Tamika and I huddled beneath the umbrella with Professor Tuesday. We looked around, but it was hard to see anything because of the rain and fog. The professor spoke softly. “There are no slaves or slave chasers in London in the 1840s,” he said. “I should tell you that we have traveled to a place where cities and people are very different than they are in our time.” He turned to Tamika and said, “But there is absolutely no reason to be afraid.”

“That's good,” I said. Tamika agreed.

The professor continued. “We will be walking into a city that will look like it came out of a Charles Dickens novel.”

“Charles who?” Tamika asked.

“Charles Dickens,” answered the professor. “He was an author in the 1800s who wrote several famous books. Many of them have been made into wonderful movies.”

Tamika and I just looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. “We have no idea who you are talking about, professor.”

“I know a movie you may have heard of,” the professor said. “How about A Christmas Carol—you know, the movie that has Ebenezer Scrooge in it?”

“I didn't like that movie,” Tamika said with a sour look. “It's got a kid named Tiny Tim and some scary ghost things.”

“That's right,” said the professor. “Charles Dickens wrote several books and all of them took place in the middle 1800s. If you've seen older versions of A Christmas Carol, you'll kind of get an idea of what we'll be seeing today. And another thing, people spoke very differently in those times, so I have Tuesday Translators for you. While they are speaking the same language, words and phrases they choose are very different.”

He handed us little objects that looked like ear buds and he told us to put them in our ears. “You will be able to understand everything Mr. Douglass says. And if you would like to say something to Mr. Douglass, it will translate the words you say into words that he will understand.

“Cool,” Tamika said.

We stayed close to the professor as he walked through what looked like a tree-lined park. Before long, we came to a street that was made out of stones pieced together. We saw a horse pulling a cart and driver. The cart bounced down the street as the horse's hooves made loud sounds on the stones. Clippety-clop, clippety-clop, clippety-clop.

“These streets look different than those in our day,” the professor noted. “These are called cobblestone streets. People in carriages and carts had very bumpy rides over cobblestone roads. And we should be careful when we walk. There are horse droppings all over the street.”

“What are horse droppings?” Tamika whispered to me.

“You know,” I replied. “Horse poop.”

“Oh, yuck,” she said, making a face. From that point on, she was very picky about where she stepped.

A row of buildings lined either side of the cobblestone street. Smoke rose out of chimneys on each roof, adding to the layer of fog that gathered around us. Everything was covered with gritty ash.

As we walked, a young boy passed us carrying a huge bundle of rags. On a corner up ahead, a man was selling chickens. He held motionless birds by their feet as he called out to the people walking by his table. I've gone to the grocery store several times with my mother, but I'd never seen a chicken being sold with its feathers still on. Right next to the chicken salesman stood an old woman selling vegetables.

People in long frock coats walked alongside the road. Most of the men wore tall, black hats on their heads, like the kind President Lincoln wore. The shirts that peeked out of their coats had ruffled fronts. Many of the women wore shawls and hats that were close to their heads.

We walked past several houses and stopped in front of one that stood in the middle of the block. Professor Tuesday dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper. He looked at the paper and then at the address on the tall brick building.

“This is it,” said the professor excitedly. “This is where Frederick Douglass and his family live. I sure hope he is home today.”

We walked up the slippery stone steps to the doorway. The professor reached out a fist toward the thick wooden door and knocked loudly. We heard some movement from inside. The sounds seemed to get closer and closer. Suddenly, the big door opened wide. A woman stood in the doorway. She was wearing a black dress with white lace around the collar.

“Begging your pardon, madam,” said the professor as he bowed deeply, “but is this the residence of Mr. Frederick Douglass?”

“Indeed,” the lady answered, “Mr. Douglass and his family live here.”

The professor and the woman at the door were talking funny. They used different words for things and her accent was strange to us. It was hard to follow what they were saying.

“My young friends and I do not have an appointment,” the professor said. “However, we were hoping to meet the good gentleman.”

“Mr. Douglass is not in at present,” she replied as the door swung shut in our faces.

The confused look on our faces told Professor Tuesday that he had forgotten to turn on the Tuesday Translators that were in our ears. “Sorry,” the professor said as he turned on the devices. “It looks like Mr. Douglass isn't home.”

W
e turned from the doorstep and walked down the slippery steps toward the street. At that moment the rain picked up and began flowing off the professor's umbrella like it was being poured from a bucket.

“What do we do now, professor?” Tamika asked.

Professor Tuesday sighed deeply. “I suppose we can walk around and look at London as it was in 1846. Maybe Mr. Douglass will come home, but we must find him soon or we won't be able to talk with him.” The professor looked at his watch. “The teleporter will only stay open for another hour or so.”

A horse-drawn carriage passed us on the street. I turned to see it come to a stop in front of the house we had just left. “Professor, look!”

A distinguished man stepped out of the carriage. His skin was dark. The collar of his coat was up, protecting him from the weather. A thick crop of black hair flowed out of his black stovepipe hat and stood above the folds of his coat.

I pointed back toward the man. “Could that be Mr. Douglass?” I asked.

“Let's find out,” said the professor. We rushed toward him.

“Mr. Douglass!” the professor shouted above the rain. “Excuse me, sir, are you Mr. Douglass?”