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On the Trail of Black History  by Stephen Bastide A few steps along the trail. Stairs to the sanctuary of the African Meetinghouse on Beacon Hill in Boston, Mass. Boston, 2008 At night flickering shadows cast by the gas lamps own the trail. Sometimes, when the light is right, lingering spirits seem to fly in and out of the shifting shadows. If they're ghosts they probably feel right at home. Their old neighborhood doesn't look much different from the days when they lived and walked these steep city back streets. Days long gone now, over a century-and-a-half ago, but that they might speak of as yesterday. Boston, 1850 The fugitives arrived silently under cover of darkness. Only the nosiest neighbor ever saw the increasing stream of late night visitors to Lewis and Harriet Hayden's house. It took at least a raucous brawl for people to part their curtains and peer down into Southack Street. This 'seat of sin' on the backside of respectable Beacon Hill had been Boston's redlight district from well before the Revolution - both patriots and redoats drank, whored and gambled here. The neighbors had long ago seen it all. The 'conductor' of this little band of slaves fleeing from the South along the Underground Railroad mounted the Hayden's front steps and the 'packages' he was responsible for delivering huddled behind him in the shadows of the entryway. Raising the brass door knocker, he smartly tapped out the special code that he'd mailed ahead with their anticipated date of arrival After an interval, a sidelight curtain parted slightly and Lewis Hayden carefully surveyed the scene. "Hand me the candle Harriet," he said, and opened the door a few inches leaving the safety chain on. In these troubled times, after the receent passage of the filthy Fugitive Slave Act which forced every citizen to become a slave catcher, one couldn't be too cautious if your business ran to smuggling escaped slaves to freedom. The guttering taper he held had a dual purpose - half light and half deadly dark. The first was as to carefully scrutinize the visitors' faces. The second was in case they proved to be federal marshalls or bounty hunters in disguise come to storm the house to steal the escaped slaves already in their care. In that case, the candle would fall from between his fingers through a hole in the floor onto two kegs of gunpowder in the cellar below. The entire house would be blown to bits but the Haydens, who themselves had only escaped from a particularly cruel slavery six years before, had resolved that no former slave would ever be torn from the sanctuary of their home and dragged back south into slavery. Only frightened black faces lined with long suffering stared back into his own. Lewis opened the door wide and whispered, "Welcome brethren, come in - quickly - you'll be safe here." Boston, 2008 And in fact, through all the long years of struggle and the hundreds of souls who were hidden here, no fugutuve slave was ever taken from the Hayden's house, and the house still stands - On the Trail of Black History. Map of the Black Heritage Trail on Beacon Hill in Boston, Massachusetts.   This article is a work in progress. It is anticipated to be finished by September 2009. To comment, please email contact@roofscapemagazine.com with Trail in the subject line. © Roofscape Magazine 2009. Previous Page 1 On the Trail of Black History  by Stephen Bastide Paths to the Past Next