“Maybe not, Jerome, but many people were caught.”
“How did they travel, Mr. Greene?” asked Nicole.
“Sometimes by wagon, but mostly they traveled on foot.”
“You mean they walked from way down South to way up North?” asked Jerome with amazement. “I rode in a car from Georgia to Ohio with my grandmother and my two loud little sisters, and it seemed to take forever!”
“Do you know anybody who walked here, Mr. Greene?” asked Mimi, a small, quiet girl sitting on the grass near Rico.
“I sure do, little one,” replied Mr. Greene. “That’s why your teacher asked me to come today. My granddaddy, Mac, came to Cincinnati on the Underground Railroad!”
“Well, don’t just sit there, mon! Tell us the story!” Ziggy urged.
“When Mac was just a little older than you kids are, his mama decided to leave slavery in Georgia and try to get to freedom here in Cincinnati. She had heard her owner say that he was going to sell her, so she left that night with a small pack in one arm, her only son, Mac, holding on to the other, and a dream in her heart to be free.”
“Selling people! That stinks!” Tiana cried indignantly.
“Yes,” Mr. Greene said, smiling ruefully at Tiana’s exclamation. “It certainly did stink. So she left. She walked slowly through the woods each night, following the North Star when the nights were clear, and looking for other signs—like moss on the trees and the direction of flowing streams—when clouds covered the night sky. She was afraid of the sounds and the darkness of the night, but she was more afraid of being captured and returned to slavery. She and Mac hid during the day and tried to sleep in the woods with leaves and branches over them. It was very hot and insect bites covered them.”
“Bugs?” asked Jerome. “It must have been awful!”
Mr. Greene chuckled. “The bugs were nothing compared to the hunger. All they had to eat was berries from the woods. Just when they thought they could go no farther, a wagon appeared on the road. Mac was afraid they’d be captured, but the driver of the wagon was friendly. He took them to his house, where he fed them and hid them in a tunnel under his basement for three days.”
“Underground! Now I get it!” said Rico.
“That courageous person took Mac and his mama to a farm where someone else hid them in a barn for a week. I think they must have hidden at several different homes. Each stop got them closer to the river. When they finally got to the Ohio River—”
“They got in a car and came across the bridge, mon!” finished Ziggy, giggling.
“Yeah, right,” Mr. Greene replied with a smile. “None of these bridges had even been built yet. What really happened was, they were put in a packing box, addressed to a lady in Cincinnati, and put on a ferry boat to cross the river. The lady was here on the other side when they arrived, they were unpacked in Ohio, and were free!”
“Hooray!” the class cheered. “Mac and his mama were safe!”
“Not quite,” said Mr. Greene, sighing. “They still had to hide for several weeks until they could get proper papers. If a slave catcher saw them, they could be forced to return to slavery.”
“That’s not fair!” several kids shouted at once.
“You’re right,” said Mr. Greene.
“So where did they hide?” Rico wanted to know.
“Well, there were many possibilities,” answered Mr. Greene. “There were basements and attics and barns that were used as hiding places. Also, many of the houses built back then had secret rooms.”
“Secret rooms?” asked Nicole.
“Here in Cincinnati?” Tiana wondered.
“How could a room be secret?” Jerome asked.
“Some rooms were hidden behind walls or under trapdoors,” replied Mr. Greene. “They were very small. And some were just dirt tunnels that served as a means of escape from the house to the outside.”
“So where did Mac and his mama hide?” asked Rico.
“They hid,” Mr. Greene said dramatically, “in secret rooms that are located right underneath your school!” For a moment the children were silent with disbelief.
“What do you mean secret rooms under our school?” Jerome finally asked.
“Have you seen any of the secret rooms, Mr. Greene?” asked Rashawn.
“No, Rashawn, I haven’t. But my daddy and my granddaddy Mac used to tell me stories about them. You see, an old farm that was a hiding place for the Underground Railroad used to stand where your school is now located. When your school was built almost a hundred years ago, the old tunnels and secret rooms were lost, but not forgotten.”
“Is that true, Mrs. Powell?” asked Rico.
“Mr. Greene is the expert on this,” replied Mrs. Powell. “I’ve always heard stories about the secret passageways hidden under our school, but I never really believed them … just like the story of the River City Ghost.”
“Ghost? What ghost? Who is the River City Ghost?” The children fired questions at Mrs. Powell. Rico glanced at Ziggy and shivered.
“My grandmother used to tell me the story of the River City Ghost when I was just a little girl,” replied Mrs. Powell. “I’m sure it’s just something she made up to make us behave. But the tunnels and the Underground Railroad—those aren’t make-believe. Those are real.”
“So there really are tunnels under our school,” Jerome remarked. “Amazing!”
“Yes, but they’ve been closed up and lost for more than a hundred years,” reminded Mr. Greene.
“What about the ghost?” asked Rico. “Will you tell us the story that your grandmother told you, Mrs. Powell?”
“Maybe the River City Ghost lives in one of those lost tunnels, mon!” Ziggy suggested eagerly.
“It’s strange that you should say that, Ziggy,” replied Mrs. Powell. “There is a tunnel in the story. Maybe there’s a connection!”
“Tell us the story, Mrs. Powell,” Tiana pleaded. She shivered and moved closer to Rashawn.
“All right,” agreed Mrs. Powell. “Listen, children!”
“Awesome, mon,” said Ziggy eagerly. “Marvelous mysteries all around us!”
“LATE AT NIGHT, AFTER EVERYONE HAD GONE TO bed,” Mrs. Powell began, “a strange whistling wind could be heard, blowing from the river and over the streets of Cincinnati. Sometimes it sounded like a voice; sometimes it sounded like a song.”
“Did you ever hear it?” asked Nicole.
“One night while I was sleeping in my grandma’s big, soft feather bed, I heard it, or at least I thought I did.”
“Were you scared?”
“No, because I was warm and safe in my grandma’s bed. Then she heard that whispering wind too, so she told me the story.”
With the wind from the river blowing gently about them, the children sat spellbound, listening to Mrs. Powell’s tale. Mr. Greene, with a twinkle in his eye, smiled at the scene.
Mrs. Powell continued. “Long before there were bridges and highways, about the time that Mr. Greene’s grandpa Mac and his mother came here, there lived an old Shawnee Indian woman down by the river. She was about a hundred years old and was very wise. All the river men knew her and looked out for her. They would bring her fish, or cloth, or pretty shells that they collected in their travels on the river. In turn she helped them if they got sick or if they needed a place to sleep.
“Many people said that she also helped escaped slaves, but no one knew for sure. Some said that a tunnel ran from her place by the river, all the way under the city; others said it just seemed that way because she moved so silently and quickly.
“But everyone knew about her songs. Her voice, sometimes sounding like a bird, sometimes like the whispering wind itself, soothed and comforted all who heard it. Listening to her song made anyone smile. She would sit by the water’s edge at sunset and sing. Long after dark, her songs filled the night.”
“What was her name?” asked Mimi.
“They called her Sun Spirit,” Mrs. Powell answered.
“That’s a
beautiful name,” Mimi remarked.
“One night the songs were silent,” continued Mrs. Powell. “The folks who lived by the river searched for the old woman, but they found only the ashes of an old campfire and seven small, smooth stones.”
At the mention of the seven stones, Rico looked at Ziggy in amazement.
“You know, in some cultures the number seven means good luck,” Mrs. Powell added.
“I told you!” Ziggy whispered to Rico in triumph.
“So is Sun Spirit the ghost?” asked Jerome.
“No one knows, Jerome,” Mrs. Powell replied softly. “But late at night, after everyone has gone to bed, that strange whistling wind can still be heard, blowing from the river and over the streets of Cincinnati. Sometimes it sounds like a voice; sometimes it sounds like a song,” she said, finishing her story as she’d begun it.
The children shivered, even though the sun was warm and bright. “That was a good story,” whispered Nicole.
* * *
Mrs. Powell stood up, looked at her watch, and announced, “It’s about time to head for the boat, class. That’s where we’ll eat our lunch.” Everyone stretched and walked slowly and quietly to the bus. Each child seemed to hold a little bit of the morning in his or her mind.
“Thanks, Mr. Greene,” Mrs. Powell added. “Your knowledge about the past makes it all seem very real to us.”
“It was my pleasure,” Mr. Greene replied. “And thank you, Mrs. Powell, for your story as well. The children will help us keep the old stories alive. We must never forget the past.”
“Rashawn took my lunch!” screamed Tiana. “He said he was going to throw it in the river!”
“Rashawn, unless you plan to swim in the river to get her lunch back, give Tiana her lunch and get on the bus!” called Mrs. Powell.
“I was just playing,” Rashawn protested with a grin as he tossed Tiana her lunch bag. “I don’t want her stinky old sandwich anyway!”
A short bus ride to the riverbank took the class to the boat launch.
“Ooh. Yuk!” Nicole complained as they boarded the boat. “I see a dead fish!”
“You’d be dead too, if you had to swim in that polluted water where the boat docks, mon,” said Ziggy.
The captain of the brightly painted BB Riverboat smiled as each student stepped off the walkway and onto the boat. The boat was large enough to hold lots of people, but they had it to themselves this afternoon. There were tables set up for them to eat their lunches, and large open windows to view the river.
Jerome stood by the window, felt the soft river breeze, and smiled with satisfaction. “I should be a riverboat captain! This is the life!”
Mr. Greene laughed. “Lots of people love the river and have made their living here. Go for it!”
Jerome, Rico, Rashawn, and Ziggy sat at a table together and ate lunch. The captain cheerfully rattled off facts about the number of bridges and the depth of water while the boat chugged down the river. People from the shore waved as they passed by.
“Are we having a meeting of the Black Dinosaurs this week?” Rico asked as he stared dreamily at the water.
“I think we should,” said Jerome. “We missed last week because of all that rain.”
“Sure, mon,” said Ziggy. “Saturday morning—ten o’clock.”
“Sounds good to me,” added Rashawn.
Rico liked to watch the sunlight dance on the ripples of the water. Jerome dreamed of fishing from the side of the boat. Ziggy hardly sat still, jumping up to see every new sight. Rashawn kept looking at Tiana, although he pretended to be looking for other boats on the river.
“I wonder if anybody tried to swim across the river to freedom,” mused Mimi.
“Oh, yes, I’m sure some did,” replied Mr. Greene. “And they had to swim at night, when it was dark and even more frightening.”
“Wow, it sure is wide,” observed Nicole.
“And terrifying!” added Mrs. Powell.
“Why do you think it’s so scary, Mrs. P?” asked Rico.
“Because I can’t swim!” she admitted with an embarrassed grin.
Everyone laughed, and soon the boat returned to the dock. The tired kids climbed onto the bus with smiles of satisfaction. The ride back to school was quiet.
As Mr. Greene got off the bus to go home, several kids called to him, “Thanks, Mr. Greene. Come back again sometime.”
“I’ll do that!” he replied. “But first I have to rest up from this trip. Young people have too much energy for these old bones! Pay attention to your teachers, you hear? Bye now!”
“Good-bye!”
Back in the classroom Ziggy glanced at the clock. “Fifteen minutes before time to go home! Now, that’s my kind of school day, mon!”
Mrs. Powell had been in a good mood all day, but she still remembered to pass out homework.
Jerome groaned. “What a terrible end to a wonderful day.”
“If you give it a chance, I think you’ll like this assignment,” Mrs. Powell told Jerome and the rest of the class.
“What do we have to do?” asked Rashawn.
“You better give Ziggy two of those sheets, Mrs. Powell,” teased Rico. “You know how he loses and forgets his homework!”
“You might be right, Rico.” She laughed as she handed Ziggy two of the assignment sheets.
“It’s never my fault, mon,” Ziggy protested, trying to explain. But he took the two sheets anway.
Mrs. Powell smiled at Ziggy and said, “What I want you to do is write a story.”
“A story? On what?” asked Nicole.
“I want you to call it ‘From Slavery to Freedom: A Story of Escape.’ I want you to make up a story about either a person who was trying to escape from slavery or a person who helped someone to escape,” explained Mrs. Powell.
“You mean like Mr. Greene told us this morning?” asked Rico.
“Exactly!” replied Mrs. Powell. “But this time you’re telling the story. Think about the river and think about the people in slavery. Then make up a story about escape.”
“I think this is going to be fun,” said Tiffany. “When do we have to turn it in?”
“Today is Thursday. Let’s turn them in next Wednesday. If you like, you can read your story to the class.
“Don’t forget now, Ziggy,” Mrs. Powell gently reminded him. “No more excuses, okay?”
“When have I ever missed a homework?” Ziggy asked with fake innocence. The whole class groaned and laughed. At that, the bell rang, and the school day full of river memories came to an end.
SATURDAY MORNING DAWNED COOL AND BRIGHT. Rico headed down the street toward Ziggy’s house. “Hey, Rico!” shouted Jerome from across the street. “My grandma brought doughnuts for us!”
“Great! I’m starving. My mom quit buying doughnuts when she went on a diet. We have a house full of healthy food!”
They stopped in front of Rashawn’s house. His dog, Afrika, slept on the front porch. He glanced at the boys, wagged his tail once, and went back to sleep. Rashawn hurried through his front door and tossed Afrika a dog biscuit as he jumped down the steps, two at a time. Afrika lifted his head, sniffed the biscuit, and seemed to ignore it, but he put his paw over it before he went back to sleep.
“Your dog is so lazy!” said Jerome.
“He’s a retired police dog,” explained Rashawn. “He spent his whole life chasing bad guys and finding missing people. He’s like Mr. Greene—just sitting around and dreaming about the past. He’s allowed to relax now.”
Just then Ziggy yelled to them from the end of the driveway, standing at the edge of his backyard. “Hurry! Come back here! I have something to show you.”
The three boys rushed across the street and followed Ziggy around the corner of his house, down a path, to their clubhouse hidden in the back corner of his huge, tree-filled backyard. Breathless and laughing, the boys glanced over to see Afrika, asleep in the front of the clubhouse.
“How did he get here before we did?” asked
Jerome.
“He knew where we were headed. He just took a shortcut,” explained Rashawn proudly. “I told you he was a police dog. He’s really smart.”
“Yeah, when he’s not asleep!” teased Rico.
“So what’s the big surprise, Ziggy?” asked Jerome.
“I found a clue to a secret from the past, mon!” replied Ziggy excitedly.
“What secret?”
“A clue? To what?”
Ziggy said with mock seriousness, “We must first go inside and have an official meeting of the Black Dinosaurs. I say the password today is ‘Mysterious’!”
Ziggy was always forgetting the official password, and the other three always had fun watching him try to remember it. “I bet he can’t even remember his own password,” Rashawn whispered to Rico and Jerome.
Rico opened the door of the clubhouse. As he entered, each boy touched the huge, black plastic dinosaur that was hanging inside. Dusty leaves covered the floor, and a slightly chilly breeze blew through the holes in the walls that served as windows.
“Looks like we need to sweep up a little,” said Rashawn.
“Looks to me like we need to spray for bugs!” Jerome replied quickly. “It’s been a while since we’ve been here and spiders may not know they’re not welcome!”
“We can do all that in a few minutes, mon,” cried Ziggy. “Let me show you what I have!”
Rico couldn’t wait any longer. “Show us!” he pleaded.
“First, tell me the password,” Ziggy demanded.
“That’s easy,” said Jerome. “It’s ‘Ghost.’”
Ziggy roared with pleasure. “Finally! Someone besides Ziggy forgot the password!”
“I know,” Jerome said with a grin. “I was just messin’ with you, Ziggy. Isn’t the word ‘Mustard’?”
“It’s ‘Mysterious,’” Rico called out cheerfully. “Now what do you have to show us?”
Ziggy pulled a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket. He slowly unfolded it, smoothed it out, and placed it on the card table that Jerome’s grandmother had given them. “It’s a map!” he whispered.
“A treasure map?” asked Jerome hopefully.