Nate let the paper curl up again and placed it into a drawer of the nightstand. He stood and put books back into the boxes. When he finished, he shoved them into his closet then carried the ones from the library downstairs, but kept the U through W encyclopedia. The note had to be about the Underground Railroad. It read like coded directions. Maybe learning more about the UGRR would help decipher the meaning. Too excited to sleep, Nate settled down with the U encyclopedia in a wing chair in a corner of his room. After reading the volume's short account of the UGRR, he wanted to learn about the conductors who had run it. In the library, he found that the encyclopedias had information on some of the ones he already knew about. John P Parker, Harriet Tubman, and Peg Leg Joe, all had risked their lives time and again and made incredible sacrifices. He wondered about the many others who hadn't made it into the pages of a book. How many of their stories had gone untold? His generation would probably never be asked to make such a sacrifice, but if they were, how many would answer the call? Before he knew it, daylight showed outside the window. Finally, Nate returned to bed and slept till his granddad woke him at eight-thirty for breakfast. At the table he asked, "Do your books ever do anything funny?" Nate yawned but was too tired to put energy into covering a mouth full of cheese grits. "I'm afraid we weren't able to ascertain any books inclined to do stand-up comedy," Granddad said. "The ones we have just stay put until we come to read them." "Funny," Nate said. "Like it would be so unusual for things to move on their own around this place." "Nathan." Grandma looked at him as though she intended to check his forehea... ... middle of paper ... ...en. We'll be back in a few hours." His grandma stood and walked into their bedroom then came out wearing a hat and gloves. His granddad jingled his pockets and pulled out the keys. The ring of keys had about a dozen keys hanging from it. Nate wondered what they did with all those keys since they never locked up anything. "Nathan," Grandma said, "would you please tidy the kitchen while we're gone?" "Sure, Grandma." Nate followed them to the foyer and out the door to the porch. He stood watching them drive away for a moment then went into the house. In the foyer he turned and looked with a frown toward the driveway. Odd, his grandparents were driving thirty-five miles into town to pick up a package for the Reverend. Except, the Reverend was already in town. Why couldn't he pick up his own package? He shook his head and ran up the stairs to dress for the hike.
He collapsed at the base of the house, the one with lights, music and grandparents. A young girl swung open the door and ushered the two inside.
The paternal grandfather discussed the living pattern which they had with Stuart. He indicated, when his son was single, they had a key to his apartment. The paternal grandfather stated that he and his wife also had a key to the apartment with Danielle. He indicated that they did not go over unannounced.
The Underground Railroad brought freedom to countless passengers in the years leading up to the Civil War, thanks to conductors who risked their own lives to help slaves escape and lead them to slavery. Harriet Tubman is one of the most famous conductors to have worked on the Underground Railroad, whose journeys were made even more dangerous due to the fact that she was an escaped slave herself. Tubman was nicknamed “Moses” for helping hundreds of slaves find freedom and was very proud to say to say of her time as a conductor, “I never ran my train off the track and I never lost a passenger” (Harriet Tubman).
Due to high tensions, severe possibilities of being caught and challenges, fugitive slaves depended on themselves and were deeply gracious and appreciative of help received from others. Through time and the consistent effort of free Blacks, escaped slaves and abolitionists, the loose co-operative network of assistance to fugitive slaves would be coined the Underground Railroad. The UGRR in its lifetime would help some 100,000 fugitive slaves set foot on free soil and some 40,000 of them would find themselves in what we know as Canada today.
Because the Underground Railroad had a lack of formal organization, its existence often relied on the efforts of many people from many different aspects of life in North Carolina who helped slaves to escape. Accounts are limited of individuals who actually participated in its activities. Usually conductors hid or destroyed their personal journals to protect themselves and the runaways. However some first hand accounts from runaway slaves were recorded. The shortage of evid...
The bell rang and she carefully put the bookmark in the book. She ran to the librarian’s desk and quickly checked out the book, then she muttered a “thank you,” and “goodbye” to the librarian, and jogged out the door.
Some of the awe-inspiring characters were Harriet Tubman, who single-handily led hundreds of slaves to freedom and Thomas Garrett, a person that was friends with all runaways. Last but not least, Ellen Craft, a woman who inspired many to escape from their plantation and her stories lifted the spirits of others to keep on fighting for freedom. In conclusion, the theme of sacrifice for freedom not only implies to Harriet Tubman: Guide to Freedom it is demonstrated throughout human history and in today’s daily
As George was writing Slim entered the bunkroom. George quickly put the pen and paper away trying to hide it.
Harriet Tubman is probably the most famous “conductor” of all the Underground Railroads. Throughout a 10-year span, Tubman made more than 20 trips down to the South and lead over 300 slaves from bondage to freedom. Perhaps the most shocking fact about Tubman’s journeys back and forth from the South was that she “never lost a single passenger.”
He felt restless in the night, sort of like he had better things to do while everyone else slept. Taking a walk tended to calm him down, but he didn't really want to go to sleep. Being tired in the morning was a better alternative to the dreams, which were full of odd flashes of things that were familiar, but that he didn't quite seem to remember clearly in the morning. He knew they had something to do with that island, from what feels like a lifetime ago.
After a while of talking he decided it was time to go home, after apologizing for the broken door, and the food he ate the night before, she insisted that it was no problem and that they were very glad to have helped. She walked out the door to get her husband.
After explaining the grandmother the story, they return to the house. After a search around the house they find the two letters on the doormat.
I am sitting in a still room, borrowing a moment to inhale the serenity that seems to float in the air like a cloud of fog, and listening to the silence. Listening closely, I notice that the silence, an absence of apparent sound, is its own symphony; it is an orchestration that is being kept alive by a carefully beating drum. I concentrate on the drum’s beats, observing that its rhythm is steadily and confidently throbbing. When glancing, I make a discovery and erupt with laughter. At this moment, precisely 1:43 PM, I realize that the incessant pulsation is not the tempo of tranquility, but rather the ticking of my watch. A small, thin, golden band strapped to my wrist, the watch is a living creature; it has a face, hands, a heartbeat. It has its own mechanized mind, a willpower to keep ticking at the same pace despite the circumstances; some of the more durable watches even tick under water. Within each brisk movement of the second-hand, a human has laughed, some have shed tears, one is gripped by death, and yet another is being given the gift of life.
I entered my room, stood for a brief moment, and basked in my room’s impeccability. I loved entering my room knowing I would not be disturbed and that my books were always waiting to take me in an escape from life during times when I needed to shut the world out and enter into new ones. I dropped the armful of books onto my bed and began to sort through my stack of library books from my research materials. While doing this, I came across a slim volume I didn't recognise with a plain, soft black cover nestled between two large ones looking greatly out of place. I couldn’t for the life of me, remember checking it out. It’s cracked spine and curled pages would not have looked appealing enough for me to consider it. I guess it must have fallen in while I was checking the books out of the library. It had happened before, but not quite by accident. In the days when I was still new to the university library, I used to intentionally yet inadvertently drop an extra novel into my book bag when I thought no one was looking. But this time I was absolutely certain I had not taken this book out on purpose.