This is the second in a series of sketches about the men and women found in my book, Inspired By Their Voices: Poetry From Underground Railroad Testimonies, published by Mammoth Books in December of 2021.

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“Here are introduced a few– out of a very large number– of interesting letters . . . the originals, however ungrammatically written or erroneously spelt, in their native simplicity possess such beauty, and force as corrections and additions could not possibly enhance.” So wrote William Still in his milestone book, The Underground Railroad, published in 1872. The subtitle aptly describes its content: Facts, Authentic Narratives, Letters &c., Narrating the Hardships Hair-breadth Escapes and Death Struggles of the Slaves in their efforts for Freedom, as related by Themselves and Others, or Witnessed by the Author. The self-published book was the only first-person account of Railroad activities written by an African American, and went through three editions before being exhibited in 1876 at the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition. The stories— from more than 1,000 interviews— highlight the agency, courage and persistence of the runaways and the community that supported them.

It was written by a remarkable man.

William Still was born near Medford, New Jersey to a father who had purchased his own freedom, and a mother who had escaped from her owner and was still considered enslaved by the laws of the country. William was the youngest of eighteen children born to Charity (originally named Sydney) and Levin Still (originally named Steel). The family— even though they had changed their name — lived under the very real threat of being recaptured by Charity’s enslaver— a potato and corn farmer from Maryland’s eastern shore named Saunders Griffin. Charity had already run away twice— the first time she brought her four children, but was captured and returned to her enslaver. The second time, she brought her two daughters and successfully escaped to join her husband, but had to leave her two young sons behind. William had heard the heartbreaking account of the moment she said her goodbye. They were sold further south and lost to the family. In New Jersey, the Stills kept a farm, and when old enough, young William found work in the area as a wood cutter. In the meantime, he taught himself to read and write. His literary abilities would later enable him as a compelling spokesperson for abolitionist and social justice causes.

In 1844, the twenty-three year old moved to Philadelphia— the second largest city, and home to the largest, and wealthiest, free Black community in the country. Its location across the Delaware River from the slave states of Delaware and Maryland, and its active Underground Railroad, made the city a beacon of freedom to escapees. Three years after his arrival, William found work first as a janitor, and then as a clerk with the Pennsylvania Society for the Abolition of Slavery. An organization with a venerable history, it was founded in 1775 by early Quaker abolitionists and still exists today. While working for the Society, Still married Letitia George in 1847. The couple had four children:  Caroline Matilda, William Wilberforce, Robert George, and Frances Ellen. It was during this time that Still began his involvement in the Underground Railroad.

One of the most extraordinary stories from this period of Still’s life opens his book. The story starts as a tribute to a man named Seth Concklin, whose “noble and daring spirt” was unmatched in the effort to deliver the oppressed. After reading in the Pennsylvania Freeman about a man named Peter, who had been torn away from his mother at the age of six and remained enslaved for forty years, Seth became interested in his plight. Peter sought to be reunited with the family he lost. He had saved the sum of five hundred dollars to purchase his freedom so he could begin the search for his lost mother and brothers, knowing only the vaguest details of their lives. In doing so, he had to leave his own wife and children in bondage in Alabama.

Concklin read that Peter had made his way to Philadelphia and the offices of the Society for the Abolition of Slavery. There he was interviewed by William Still. As the two conversed it became clear that William was one of Peter’s long-lost brothers. Their joy in finding one another was only overshadowed by concern for Peter’s family. Alabama’s 1833 slave code prohibited an enslaved person from purchasing his or her own freedom. Slave owners could not free their enslaved within the borders of the state. This meant that, even should the brothers find a way to raise funds, they could not purchase the freedom of Peter’s wife Vina and their children.

Learning of the Still brothers’ dilemma, Seth Concklin decided it was up to him to rescue Peter’s family. In his book, Still goes on to describe the danger and ultimate tragedy of Concklin’s mission. The story, told through letters written by those involved, and William’s first-hand experience, is gripping. It is this authenticity that makes Still’s contribution to our understanding of the Railroad, its operatives, and its freedom seekers, so meaningful.

All of the letters and narratives that Still published had been gathered during his direct involvement in the Underground Railroad. Beyond his work at the Society, and the use of his home as a safe house, Still was elected chairman of Philadelphia’s Vigilance Committee after the draconian Fugitive Slave Law — nicknamed the Bloodhound Act— was passed in 1850 and signed into law by then President Millard Fillmore. The Committee worked in a variety of ways to support freedom seekers and those that aided them. Still also joined the fight to desegregate Philadelphia’s public transportation system, publishing letters in the local papers and authoring pamphlets.

After the Civil War, Still carried on as a businessman, channeling his resources toward philanthropic and social justice causes. Those resources were considerable: Still enjoyed great success as a businessman. His early purchases of real estate throughout Philadelphia soon after his arrival generated significant income, as did his coal yard and delivery enterprise, and stove business. He also sold his book using agents, public advertising and his considerable business acumen.

He died a wealthy man.

Still’s ongoing contribution to the welfare and education of Black youth, literacy among the Black population, and extensive involvement in the advancement of his community influenced his children. Caroline (1848-1919) became a pioneer in the medical field, graduating from Oberlin College and the Women’s Medical College of Philadelphia. William Wilberforce (1854-1932) graduated from Lincoln University and practiced law in his native city. Robert (1861-1896) was a journalist and owned a print shop. Frances (1857-1943) became a kindergarten teacher.

The testimonies in Still’s watershed book resonate today. In 2017, an oratorio composed by Paul Moravec called Sanctuary Road featured a libretto by Mark Campbell drawn from Still’s book. In it, the character William Still sings, “Write it down. Write it. Write. Record. Recount. Chronicle. Write. Write it down, every word. Every word they say, every detail. . .
From cities and plantations,
rice swamps and cotton fields,
kitchens and mechanic shops,
from cruel masters and kind masters,
they arrived.
By steamer, by skiff,
by train, on foot,
shipped in a crate,
they arrived.”

The message of the oratorio, and Still’s book, can be summed up in this line: “Our stories cannot be forgotten.” It was in this spirit that Still’s narratives are included in poems found in Inspired By Their Voices.

We cannot forget.

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To Learn More:

Siebert, Wilbur H. The Underground Railroad from Slavery To Freedom, 1898.

Still, William. The Underground Rail Road: A Record of Facts, Authentic Narratives, Letters &c. Narrating the Hardships, Hair-breadth Escapes and Death Struggles of the Slaves in their Efforts for Freedom, as Related by Themselves and Others or Witnessed by the Author; Together with Sketches of Some of the Largest Stockholders and Most Liberal Aiders and Advisers of the Road. Philadelphia, 1872.

Hall, Stephen G. To Render the Private Public: William Still and the Selling of the Underground Rail Road. Historical Society of Pennsylvania. http://still.hsp.org/still/essay/render-private-public-william-still-and-selling-underground-rail-road#_ftn12

This is the first in a series of articles about the people featured in Inspired By Their Voices: Poetry from Underground Railroad Testimonies. Although the work, published by Mammoth Books, includes some biographical information, the articles will go into more depth about these courageous and principled individuals who risked their personal freedom, social standing and financial well-being to do what they knew was right.

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“Do you know this man Gildersleeve of Wilkesbarre?” 

US Supreme Court Justice Grier asked this question of an associate, John Butler, sometime in 1851. Butler replied that indeed he did, that Gildersleeve was a respectable merchant, and a conscientious, good man.  Grier said he understood Gildersleeve harbored enslaved fugitives and gave them arms, to which Butler replied, “He may harbor negroes, but I think he would not arm them.” Grier then gave Mr. Butler a chilling message for Gildersleeve: “If he, Gildersleeve, should ever be brought before me, I will hang him.” Since Judge Grier presided over the 3rd Circuit Court, which included Pennsylvania, the threat was real.  

Butler delivered the Judge’s ominous message to William Camp Gildersleeve. Two years later, Butler attested to this extraordinary conversation through an affidavit taken by the Luzerne County Justice of the Peace, just as Gildersleeve was preparing to testify before that very same Judge in the matter the papers had dubbed “The Wilkesbarre Fugitive Slave Case.” The timing was deliberate: Gildersleeve’s allies wanted to show that Judge Grier was not impartial.

There was a lot at stake — even more than Gildersleeve’s personal safety.

The court case requiring Gildersleeve’s presence had garnered national attention, dramatically highlighted the controversy of the draconian Fugitive Slave Law passed in 1850. It concerned the actions of three US marshals — Deputies John Jenkins and James Crossin, and Marshal George Wynkoop — who had crossed into the free state of Pennsylvania and proceeded northeast to Wilkes-Barre. They had a warrant for the capture of a runaway, William Thomas, on behalf of his owner, a Virginian named Isham Keith.

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It is easy to see why the dramatic events taking place on September 3, 1853, captured the attention of the increasingly divided country. It all started in the restaurant of the Phoenix Hotel, on River Street overlooking the Susquehanna. Thomas, who had settled in the town, was clearing tables when the marshals attempted to capture him. What happened next was reported in several papers, but not unlike media today, the facts were slanted depending on the political alignment of the editors. Papers sympathetic to the Southern Democratic defense of slavery and supportive of the Fugitive Slave Law downplayed any mention of the force used by the marshals and emphasized the efforts that Thomas made to avoid capture. He armed himself with a knife and fork from one of the set tables, and violently resisted arrest, they reported. On the opposite end of the spectrum, readers of abolitionist papers, African American journals and sympathetic Republican presses were told that the federal officers used extreme force, handcuffing and severely beating the fugitive, before he broke away, half-shackled, and fled to the river, where he waded out up to his neck.

While all versions of the confrontation agreed that the marshals discharged their pistols, some said they only shot in the air to warn Thomas as he waded out into the Susquehanna. Others claimed that they shot at him, and that he suffered a bullet wound to the neck.

A crowd quickly gathered, some clearly hostile to the efforts of the officers. Bleeding, Thomas began to wade upstream, encouraged by supporters on shore. The federal agents, sensing that their effort was futile, and probably concerned about the growing and disapproving audience, left the scene.

But that was not the end of the story.

On October 4, a warrant of arrest was served on Deputies Jenkins and Crossin, charging them with a riot, and assault and battery against William Thomas, with the intent to kill him. (Wynkoop was not served, as he was not in the immediate area.) The warrant was issued by Gilbert Burrows, a Justice of the Peace for the borough of Wilkes-Barre, on the oath of none other than William Camp Gildersleeve.

Instead of being tried in a Pennsylvania State courtroom as the borough had hoped, the men were brought before Grier’s US Circuit Court in Philadelphia through a writ of habeas corpus, used to wrest control of the case from the State and bring it into the jurisdiction of the federal government. The case became a test of the Fugitive Slave Law and state sovereignty.

It also meant that Gildersleeve again came to the Judge’s attention, who made it known:

“If this man Gildersleeve fails to make out the facts set forth in the warrant of arrest,
I will request the prosecuting attorney of Lucerne county to prosecute him for perjury.
I know that the United States have a limited authority, but where they have it, it is clear,
undoubted and conclusive that theirs is a sovereign authority. If any two-penny
magistrate… can come in and cause to be arrested the officers of the United States
whenever they please, it is a sad state of affairs.”

Unsurprisingly, Grier dismissed the charges against the deputies on the grounds of insufficient evidence. There were those that believed the Judge should have recused himself from presiding, since he had threatened Mr. Gildersleeve with hanging a few years prior.

The drama didn’t end there. There were further legal machinations that are not critical to this story. In the meantime, after recovering from his wounds with help from neighbors, William Thomas escaped to Canada. Mr. Gildersleeve remained a household name for at least a period of time, until the “Wilkesbarre Fugitive Slave Case” faded from the front page. The great orator Frederick Douglass memorialized the actions of the townspeople who had interfered with thedeputies’ actions, nursed William Thomas to health, and orchestrated his escape. “There, in immortal splendor, Wilkes-Barre will remain,” he penned, “until the Almighty has allowed us to work out the most glorious triumph of Liberty in America.”

A visitor to Wilkes-Barre today can read a plaque erected on East Ross Street near the site of Mr. Gildersleeve’s dry goods store: “Prominent merchant and ardent abolitionist significant to the Underground Railroad in Wilkes-Barre. He provided refuge to fugitive slaves at his home and business near here. In 1853, Gildersleeve testified in a U.S. Supreme Court case, Maxwell vs. Righter, in which a fugitive, William Thomas, was shot and wounded by deputy U.S. marshals. The case and his testimony received national attention, especially in African American newspapers.”

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As compelling as they were, the circumstances surrounding the highly charged and divisive Fugitive Slave Case, and Gildersleeve’s role in it, are not what led me to write the poem about Wilkes-Barre’s ardent abolitionist in the book Inspired By Their Voices. Instead, his poem draws from stories going back nearly twenty years earlier, and speaks to Gildersleeve’s unwavering anti-slavery activism over many decades. In fact, the poem named for William C. Gildersleeve combines two stories; one in 1837, and the other two years later.

In the 1830s, tensions between slave and free states had been steadily building, with abolitionist organizations becoming increasingly active in the courts, on the pubic lecture circuit and in print. In January of 1837, abolitionists in Wilkes-Barre invited a prominent anti-slavery speaker, Reverend John Cross (1797-1885) to give a lecture. Cross was active in the American Anti-Slavery Society.

He was not welcomed, as this letter to a local newspaper demonstrated:

“Having understood that a Mr. Cross, professing himself to be a minister of that Gospel 

proclaims peace on earth and good will to men, had arrived as an agent or missionary 

from a society of fanatics called Abolitionists…the people of the county assembled to 

express their abhorrence and detestation of the doctrines of the Abolitionists, and their

utter content of the individual who has been so base and depraved as to undertake

such an agency… We assure the slave holding states that our warmest feelings and 

sympathies are enlisted on their behalf…

The Anti-Abolitionists met to determine what actions they would take to squelch Reverend Cross’s activities. Enter Mr. Gildersleeve, who offered Reverend Cross the use of his home. This led to what Gildersleeve would call a “disturbance” in a letter to the papers, but what amounted to a destructive mob taking paintings from his walls and furniture from his rooms. 

But Gildersleeve was not so easily dissuaded from his anti-slavery passion.  Two years later, he invited another prominent abolitionist, Charles C. Burleigh (1810-1878) to speak on March 11.  A room had been reserved in the county courthouse for the event.  After the lecturer and his supporters arrived, they were confronted by a gang determined to disrupt Burleigh’s speech. The meeting ended abruptly with Burleigh hastily retiring to a tavern a mile out of town.  When he returned the next day to Wilkes-Barre at Gildersleeve’s request, he was accosted, and held at a local establishment until his stagecoach arrived.  The locals even paid his fare to make sure of his departure. 

Or course, Mr. Gildersleeve too became a target of the anti-abolitionist crowd.  According to some press accounts, Gildersleeve was enticed from his home by a note the dissenters forged as if it was from Burleigh.  As Gildersleeve made his way to meet Burleigh, the gang seized him, dumped tar and feathers on his head, and “road him on a rail,” parading him for ridicule and abuse around the town.   Other accounts claimed that the mob broke into his home and seized him there.  All accounts agreed that he was subjected to punishing physical abuse and derision.

None of this mattered.  Gildersleeve continued his anti-slavery and abolitionist activities, turning his home and store into one of two Underground Railroad stations in Wilkes-Barre and famously providing the oath that led to the arrest of US Marshals on the grounds that they intended to kill a fugitive from slavery.

When William Gildersleeve died in 1871, the Black community of Wilkes-Barre met and passed a series of resolutions praising the “noble deeds of [their] true friend.”  Their resolutions were published in the Scranton Republican and elsewhere.  The ardent abolitionist had lived to see the emancipation of the enslaved and the end of the institution of slavery.  Reflecting on his life, one wonders what was at the heart of his steadfast commitment to the cause he had adopted in spite of the obvious perils. The answer lies in the recollections he shared with anti-slavery activist Theodore Dwight Weld in the book, American Slavery As It Is, published in 1839.  

Gildersleeve was born in Liberty County, Georgia, deep in the heart of slave country.  His father, Cyrus, who was a Presbyterian minister, had moved there from South Orange, New Jersey in 1792, after the Church in Midway was left without a pastor.  Cyrus married a twice-widowed woman and plantation owner, Amarinthia Renchie Norman (1770-1807), becoming a slaveowner himself.  William was their second child out of six that lived past their birth year.

Slavery was all around young William. In his testimony recorded by Weld, Gildersleeve recalled:

Acts of cruelty, without number, fell under my observation while I lived in Georgia. I will mention but one. A slave of a Mr. Pinkney, on his way with a wagon to Savannah, ‘camped’ for the night by the road side. That night, the nearest hen-roost was robbed. On his return, the hen-roost was again visited, and the fowl counted one less in the morning. The oldest son, with some attendants made search, and came upon the poor fellow, in the act of dressing his spoil. He was too nimble for them, and made his retreat good into a dense swamp. When much effort to start him from his hiding place had proved unsuccessful, it was resolved to lay an ambush for him, some distance ahead. The wagon, meantime, was in charge of a lad, who accompanied the teamster as an assistant. The little boy lay still till nearly night, (in the hope probably that the teamster would return,) when he started with his wagon. After traveling some distance, the lost one made his appearance, when the ambush sprang upon him. The poor fellow was conducted back to the plantation. He expected little mercy. He begged for himself, in the most supplicating manner, ‘pray massa give me 100 lashes and let me go.’ He was then tied by the hands, to a limb of a large mulberry tree, which grew in the yard, so that his feet were raised a few inches from the ground, while a sharpened stick was driven underneath, that he might rest his weight on it, or swing by his hands. In this condition 100 lashes were laid on his bare body. I stood by and witnessed the whole, without as I recollect, feeling the least compassion. So hardening is the influence of slavery, that it very much destroys feeling for the slave.

Weld’s compilation includes other observations by Gildersleeve on the topics of food, clothing, housing and working conditions.  All tell of the horrors he witnessed, leading to his lifelong determination to end the institution of slavery, and help runaways find freedom.  He had this to say about the clothing provided:

It is an everyday sight to see women as well as men, with no other covering than a few filthy rags fastened above the hips, reaching midway to the ankles. I never knew any kind of covering for the head given. Children of both sexes, from infancy to ten years are seen in companies on the plantations, in a state of perfect nudity. This was so common that the most refined and delicate beheld them unmoved.

His mother Amarinthia died in 1807, and Cyrus married another widow, Francis Caroline Wilkinson (1783-1856). The couple added seven children to the growing family, although not all lived to adulthood.  William must have been relieved when the Gildersleeves moved away from Georgia in 1811 to the free state of New Jersey. They lived in Bloomfield, where Cyrus was pastor of the Presbyterian Church from 1812 to 1821.  Cyrus’s final ministry was in Wilkes-Barre, as pastor of the Presbyterian church there. Along with his father, William settled in the town, became an elder of the church, and opened his dry goods store, where he was known to hire formerly enslaved people.  Eventually that store became an important stop on the Underground Railroad, along with the nearby Bethel African Methodist Episcopal (A.M.E.) Church.  

History is a harsh winnower.  The names of the mob leaders who raided Gildersleeve’s house in 1837, who paraded him around the town with tar and feathers in 1839, or castigated him in the newspapers during the Fugitive Slave Case, are long forgotten. None have a plaque acknowledging their contributions to the history of Wilkes-Barre.  But of Gildesleeve, the Scranton Tribute said, “He was one of our oldest and best citizens, known and honored by all men.”  

I honor his memory.

Note: Footnotes with sources for all references and quotes are available upon request.  Email me for a PDF of this post with all footnotes.  I can be reached at patriciathrushart@gmail.com.

After three years of research, and two years in the publishing cycle, my historical nonfiction book, CURSED, is up on Amazon from Adelaide Books! You can find it on Amazon, here.

When young Marion Alsobrook Stahlman falls ill after giving birth to her second son, her husband Douglas is hundreds of miles away, working for a cult that advocates faith healing over medicine. He returns to her side in February of 1901 and makes a series of draconian decisions, with the national press eagerly reporting on every aspect of the controversy.

Who was Marion Alsobrook Stahlman, the center of this tragedy? How did she come to be the focus of intense press coverage and the subject of protests outside her sickroom window? This book explores Marion’s family saga, from her ancestor landing in Jamestown in 1609 to the death of her youngest son in 1962. Using a combination of narrative nonfiction and fictional vignettes, the stories explore the changing role of women, the tensions between the growing medical profession and faith, Southern slavery, yeoman farming and more.

Coming soon from Mammoth Books, INSPIRED BY THEIR VOICES is poetry drawn from the testimonies of abolitionists, fugitives and Underground Railroad operatives whose words remind us of the courage it takes to resist evil, especially when it is sanctioned by law. Watch this space for information about the publication date, availability and related events!

My poem, The Waning, appearing in the latest edition of The Watershed Journal.

Recently I had a chance to talk about my upcoming book, titled “Cursed,” regarding the life of Marion Alsobrook Stahlman on Sunny 106/ConnectFM out of Dubois, PA. In the four-minute spot, I got to describe the book and my motivations for writing it.

Check it out!