Harriet Tubman’s courage echoes across the ages. Having escaped from slavery in the antebellum South, she repeatedly returned to the South to help others escape from slavery. She used her close observations of landscape and human character as an anti-slavery activist, and eventually as a scout for the Union Army during the Civil War. Her heroism is now generally accepted and celebrated, but it was not always so, as historian Catherine Clinton chronicles in her 2004 biography Harriet Tubman: The Road to Freedom.
Clinton, a professor of history at the University of Texas San Antonio (UTSA), has focused in her career on Southern U.S. women’s history, and therefore her focus on this particularly heroic African American woman from the Southern U.S. is well-considered. In looking at Tubman’s early years as an enslaved person in Dorchester County on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, Clinton not only captures the difficulties and traumas of Tubman’s early years – e.g., the severe head injury that she suffered when a slaveholder threw a heavy lead object at an enslaved person who was running from a store – but also emphasizes the specific historical context within which Tubman moved from enslaved person to self-liberated anti-slavery activist.
The threats to enslaved people went beyond the obvious threats to life and health – for instance, the fact that “The mortality rate for black children in the Chesapeake during the first half of the nineteenth century was double that of white infants” (p. 12). One threat, which specifically targeted the unity of enslaved families, related to a provision in the U.S. Constitution at the time of its ratification in 1788: “By 1808 [14 years before Tubman’s birth in 1822], the external slave trade was prohibited due to constitutional mandate” (p. 12). Clinton notes that “When the international slave trade ended, the enslaved population in America was not quite 2 million” (p. 12); at that time, slavery was becoming less profitable in Upper South states like Maryland and Virginia, even as it was becoming more profitable in Lower South states like Alabama and Mississippi.
A domestic slave trade developed, as Upper South slaveholders sold enslaved people to slave traders who would convey their unfortunate prisoners down to the hellish conditions of Deep South plantations. Tubman experienced this horror of Southern slavery for herself, as two of her sisters were sold off by just this means. On the one hand, slaveholders saw enslaved children as “a means of anchoring adult slaves on the plantation. Owners believed parenthood reduced the rate of runaways.” On the other hand, “Slaveholders treated slave children as commodities” (p. 13), and did not hesitate to break up enslaved families if doing so seemed like the “profitable” thing to do.
Against the drudgery and hopelessness of slavery, and the brutal punishments that could be meted out at a slaveholder’s whim, Harriet’s faith sustained her. “Growing from a girl into a young woman, Araminta [Tubman's original name] experienced an intensification of her Christian faith, a deep and abiding spiritual foundation that remained with her throughout her life” (p. 20). That depth of religious faith sustained Harriet Tubman through many travails, many harrowing experiences, as she worked to free people from slavery.
Harriet Tubman: The Road to Freedom benefits from observations that Clinton shares regarding what she observed in the course of her research, as when she describes the still-extant village store where Tubman suffered her head injury:
On a deserted road in Dorchester County, a small wooden structure, once a store, can still be found. The building has a porch and ceilings too low for anyone over six feet to stand upright. At the small crossroads of Bucktown, Maryland, only the asphalt and telegraph lines, plus an occasional passing car, suggest it is a later century than Tubman’s. A sense of the past haunts this secluded spot. Even on a bright day, the place has an air of melancholy. (p. 21)
The slaveholder who held Tubman in bondage died in 1849. Facing an uncertain future that included the possibility of being “sold south” as two of her sisters had, Tubman resolved to escape from slavery. “Years later, Tubman likened her decision to an epiphany: ‘I had reasoned this out in my mind; there was one of two things I had a right to, liberty or death; if I could not have one, I would have the other’” (p. 28).
It provided a measure of hope for any enslaved person seeking to escape that “By the 1840’s, informal networks were well established, as was the reigning metaphor of the Underground Railroad (UGRR)” (p. 31). Tubman successfully made her escape to the free-state city of Philadelphia, and “Once freed, Araminta decided to take a new first name: Harriet. This was the name of her mother, and may also have been the name of one of her sisters who disappeared in the South” (p. 29).
Yet this escape was only a beginning to Tubman’s anti-slavery activism. Not long after her escape to Philadelphia, the United States Congress passed a strengthened Fugitive Slave Law: “Blacks and abolitionists nicknamed it the Bloodhound Law” (p. 43). Opposing to the Bloodhound Law and its enforcers were the “Promoters of the liberty lines”, UGRR activists who “echoed the sentiments of America’s founders: impassioned opposition to tyranny and oppression” (p. 52).
Tubman opposed the strengthened pro-slavery laws on the most practical level possible. She became known as “the Moses of her people” for the way she repeatedly journeyed back into the slave South to lead mass escapes of enslaved people. Her determination was absolute. On one mass escape, when one enslaved man decided to turn back and return to the plantation, Tubman realized that the man’s impulse “would compromise the entire operation” (p. 69) and put a gun to the man’s head, saying, “Move or die.” The man moved, and it became widely known that if you set forth with Harriet Tubman on one of her mass escapes, you might go North to freedom, and you might go to Heaven, but you were not going back to slavery.
Clinton chronicles the friendship between Tubman and John Brown – kindred spirits who sensed each other’s anti-slavery militancy. Tubman supported Brown’s plan for a raid on the federal arsenal at Harper’s Ferry, and even when the plan went awry, “Tubman never wavered in her support” for Brown. For her, “Brown was someone with whom she had felt a special kinship, and someone whose loss was deeply personal”; moreover, “his death in some ways reinforced her own prophetic powers, as she had witnessed his demise in a dream” (pp. 101-02).
When the American Civil War began, Tubman’s anti-slavery career took a new direction. She traveled south to South Carolina, where she treated ill and wounded ex-slaves in coastal areas that had been liberated by Union forces. Yet her gift for covert operations against slavery found an outlet in one last great campaign of liberation – the Combahee River Raid of June 1863. Tubman served as a scout on this expedition of 150 African American soldiers of the U.S. Army, guiding two Union ships up the river. The expedition freed more than 750 enslaved people from Confederate plantations, and then Tubman led the ships safely back down the river to Union-held territory. The success of the raid raised morale in the North, and embarrassed the Confederates. As Clinton dryly puts it, “Moses was alive and well – and ‘above ground’ in the war to end slavery” (p. 128).
Later chapters of Harriet Tubman: The Road to Freedom discuss Tubman’s retirement to Auburn after Union victory in the war, as well as her continued humanitarian and philanthrophic activities like her work “to establish a separate charitable institution in Auburn for the needy and neglected of her race” (p. 150). To the end of her life, she never stopped fighting to provide relief, succor, and help for those who had known, and were still fighting, oppression.
A thoughtful final chapter, “Harriet Tubman’s Legacy,” provides a thoughtful look at how Tubman and her times are interpreted – everything from women’s shelters that bear her name, to arguments over whether a “billboard-sized portrait” of Tubman in her native state of Maryland should or should not show her holding a rifle. As Clinton points out, “Tubman died the same year that Rosa Parks was born” (p. 159) – a telling indicator of the continuity of this nation’s civil-rights history.
On a recent journey to Dorchester County, Maryland, I had the opportunity to visit the Harriet Tubman Underground Railroad visitor center, part of a park that is jointly administered by the National Park Service and the Maryland Park Service. The visitor center was open, with state employees staffing it, in spite of the ongoing government shutdown -- something that I can't help thinking Ms. Tubman would have liked -- and its exhibits provide eloquent testimony to the heroism and courage Ms. Tubman exhibited during her repeated trips down and back up the Eastern Shore of Maryland.
In nearby Cambridge, Maryland -- a city where pre-Civil Rights Era segregation was particularly harsh, and where race-related civil disturbances drew national attention through much of the 1960's -- Ms. Tubman's courage is acknowledged and celebrated by residents of all backgrounds. I take that as a sign of progress, and as reason for hope.
The "Take My Hand" mural on the side of the Harriet Tubman Museum and Educational Center, on Race Street in downtown Cambridge, shows Ms. Tubman, standing next to a rowboat, with an Eastern Shore creek behind her, reaching out toward the viewer. She reaches out to us still, inviting us to join her in the quest to achieve freedom for all people.
Because Clinton published this book in 2004, she was not able to include some other indicators of Harriet Tubman’s ongoing influence – e.g., Kasi Lemmons’s Oscar-nominated biographical film Harriet (2019), or plans for Tubman’s likeness to replace that of Andrew Jackson on the $20 bill. But Clinton’s Harriet Tubman: The Road to Freedom is certainly an important step in encouraging greater understanding of the work and the contributions of this great American.