was taken by my new master to South Carolina. This was in the month of March. I remained there until October when, in company with another slave, we stole a horse and started to make our escape. In order not to tire the animal, we traveled from 10 o’clock at night until daybreak the next morning when we ran the horse into the woods and left him, for we knew what would happen to us if two slaves were seen having a horse in their possession. We kept on our way on foot, hiding by day and walking by night. We were without knowledge of the country, and with nothing to guide us other than the north star, which was oftentimes obscured by clouds, we would unwittingly retrace our steps and find ourselves back at the starting point. Finally, after days of tedious walking and privations, fearing to ask for food and getting but little from the slaves we met, we reached Petersburg. From Petersburg we easily found our way to Richmond and thence, after wandering in the woods for three days and nights, we came to my old home at Westmoreland Court House.
One of the greatest obstacles we had to contend with was the crossing of rivers, as slaves were not allowed to cross bridges without a pass from their masters. For that reason, when we came to the Rappahannock we had to wait our chance and steal a fisherman’s boat in order to cross. Upon my arrival at my old plantation, I called upon my young master and begged him to buy me back. He said he would gladly do it, but he was poorer than when he sold me. He advised me to stow myself away on some vessel going north, and as the north meant freedom I decided to act upon his advice. While awaiting the opportunity to do so, we (the same slave who had accompanied me from South Carolina being with me) secured shovels and dug us three dens in different localities in the neighboring woods. In these dens we lived during the day, and foraged for food in the night time, staying there about three months. At the end of that time we managed to stow ourselves away on a vessel loaded with wood bound for Washington. We were four days without food and suffered much. When we reached Washington the captain of the vessel put on a coat of a certain color, and started out for the public market, telling us to follow and keep him in sight. At the market he fed us and told us in what direction to go, starting us on our journey, giving us two loaves of bread each for food. We took the railroad track and started for Baltimore. We had gone scarcely a mile before we met an Irishman, who decided that we were runaways, and was determined to give us to the authorities. However, by telling him a smooth story that we were sent for by our masters to come to a certain house just ahead, he let us by. Thinking our bundles of bread were endangering our safety by raising suspicion, we threw them away. After that we went several days without food, traveling day and night until we reached the Delaware river. We walked along the bank of the river for some five miles in search of a bridge. We finally came to one, but on attempting to cross were stopped, as we had no passes. It was a toll bridge, and there was a woman in charge of it, who upon our payment of a penny for each and the promise to come back immediately, allowed us to go by. By this time we were very hungry, but had no food. At the other end of the bridge we were stopped again, as the gates were opened only for teams. However, by exercising our ingenuity and pretending to look around, we finally managed to slip by in the shadow of a team, and then, glorious thought! we were at last on the free soil of Pennsylvania.
We again took to the woods, knowing that we were liable to be apprehended at any time. We made a fire, which attracted attention, and we were soon run out of our hiding place. We sought another place and built another fire, and again we were chased away. We made no more fires. In the course of our further wanderings we were chased by men and hounds, but managed to escape capture, and finally arrived in Philadelphia, being three days on the road. In Philadelphia we found friends who gave us the choice of liquor or food. I took the food, my companion the liquor.
As kidnappers were plenty, it was thought best for our safety that we separate, and we parted. I saw no more of my companion. The only weapon for defense which I had was a razor, one which I had carried all through my wanderings. In company with some Philadelphia colored people, I was taken to New York, and it was there I first met members of the Abolition party. At New York I was put on board a steamboat for New Haven. Arrived in that city, a colored man took me to the Tontine Hotel, where a woman gave me a part of a suit of clothes. I was fed and made comfortable, and then directed to Deep River, with instructions that upon arriving there I was to inquire for George Read or Judge Warner. I walked all the way from New Haven to Deep River, begging food by the way from the women of the farm houses, as I was afraid to apply to the men, not knowing but what they would detain me and give me up. I traveled the Old Stage Road from New Haven to Deep River and in going through Killingworth I stopped at the tavern kept by Landlord Redfield but was driven away. Upon reaching the “Plains” this side of Winthrop, I could not read the signs on the post at the forks of the road, and asked the way of Mrs. Griffing. She drove me away, but called out, “Take that road,” and pointed to it. Further on I met Harrison Smith, who had a load of wood which he said was for Deacon Read, the man I was looking for.
I reached Deep River at last, weary and frightened. I called at Deacon Read’s, told him my circumstances and gave him my name as Daniel Fisher. All this was in secret. The good deacon immediately told me that I must nevermore be known as Daniel Fisher, but must take the name of “William Winters,” the name which I have borne to this day. He furthermore told me that I must thereafter wear a wig at all times and in all places. After that I worked at different times for Ambrose Webb and Judge Warner in Chester, and for Deacon Stevens in Deep River, getting along very nicely, though always afraid of being taken by day or by night and carried again to the South.
In spite of Winters’ anxiety, he was relatively secure in Deep River. In those years it was “a sort of out-of-the-way location and all Abolitionist,” which made it “a pretty safe refuge for runaway slaves.”4 It was largely self-contained and self-supporting; there was no Valley Railroad, no Shore Line; even the steamers, recently introduced on the river, ran at inconvenient hours. “The first colored man there,” a native wrote in later years, “was Billy Winters, a real Christian man, a runaway slave… . We boys flocked to see him carry up from the brook a large tub of water on his head without spilling any. Deacon Read took Billy to his home, and he always sat at meals with the family.”5
This domestic arrangement was quite in line with Deacon Read’s reputation as a “very generous and public spirited” man who had a significant role in the growth of a “thoroughly democratic village,”6 where the word “servant” was never used. Read, in fact, was for years an active stationmaster on the Underground Railroad, like Judge Ely Warner and his son Jonathan in Chester. In such an atmosphere, Uncle Billy Winters lived a life that was apparently happy enough. He was a great favorite among the village’s children, and with their help taught himself to read, going about among them with a spelling book and asking them what was this word or that.7 The street on which he lived is known to this day as Winters Avenue.
If the Underground Railroad operated adequately for William Winters in 1828, it ran even more smoothly ten years later when James Lindsey Smith journeyed over its tracks from Philadelphia north. But he had many fears and difficulties before he reached that entry port of freedom. Smith was born in Virginia, where he passed his early years as a slave. In boyhood he suffered a serious injury when a timber was dropped on his knee; through his master’s indifference he did not receive proper treatment, with the result that he was lamed for life.8
In spite of this handicap, Smith made a break for freedom in 1838, along with two other slaves, Lorenzo and Zip. At their suggestion, he joined them in commandeering a boat on the Cone River, by which they meant to escape to Maryland and beyond. It was quite calm as they started on a Sunday, but once out in the bay they found a good wind. With sails set, they made brisk time as they headed up Chesapeake Bay, and on the Tuesday night they landed near Frenchtown, Maryland. “We there hauled the boat up as best we could, and fastened her,” wrote James in after years, “then took our bundles and started on foot. Zip, who had been a sailor from a boy, knew the country and understood where to go. He was afraid to go through Frenchtown, so we took a circuitous route, until we came to the road that leads from Frenchtown to New Castle. Here I became so exhausted that I was obliged to rest; we went into the woods, which were near-by, and laid down on the ground and slept for an hour or so, then we started for New Castle.”
As they walked on, however, James found it difficult to keep up with his companions, who occasionally had to stop and wait until he caught