Life and travels of Addison Coffin

Front matter

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Preface

For sometime past many of my companions of early life have solicited me to write a history of my life, and my knowledge of and connection with the Underground Railroad, as I am now the last survivor of those who entered the service of that mysterious institution in or previous to 1835.

The thought of appearing as an author or writer had not entered my mind at this period of life; I had not kept a diary, or even notes of the passing events, always depending on memory for reminiscences of the past. My memory has become a wonder to many people, and it is the impression it has made that prompts the request of many for me to write a biography. In regard to memory, it is but just to say that it is not universal in its capacity; things in which I am interested, things that are striking, things that touch and arouse sympathy, sorrow, joy, anger, disgust, hatred, hope, and fear; things that arouse, excite, or deeply impress; things that inspire, exalt, and refine, etc., require no effort on my part to remember; willing or unwilling they fix themselves upon my memory,

8 PREFACE.

and cannot be forgotten. This peculiarity has come down to me through a long line of tribal heredity from pre-historic times, known in the past as second sight, and the gifts of the bards. My ability to locate and remember places was also very good, which made me peculiarly fitted for the dangerous position of conductor on the Underground Railroad. I was not above the average in the athletic sports of the time, but had great powers of endurance, could “out wind”’ in running any boy or man in the neighborhood, was stout, but lubberly till nearly grown, then became active and swift on foot, which gave me marked ability for my dangerous life. I also found it necessary to assume and cultivate odd ways and odd ideas, im order the better to conceal my real character and dangerous employment. To some extent I was cut off from much of the social enjoyment common among my fellows, my peculiarities sometimes made me unpopular with my lady associates and school mates; this was wounding to inner sensitiveness and caused me to shed many bitter tears, but above all and through all there was a conviction and o’ermastering impulse in my heart that always said, ‘Go forward, fear not, I am with thee.” The threadbare escapes, the feats of agility in running, the doors that were opened for escape when all seemed closed in, and it appeared as though I would pay the forfeit by a vio-

PREFACE. 9 lent death, are too startling for even this generation, and as they are not essential to the upbuilding of humanity, will soon be buried with me.

Now that age and infirmity are weakening my faculties, the memories of childhood come back with startling vividness; whole chapters could be written about the little family, incidents of every day life, and the details of one day at school would fill many pages; with the memory of the incidents come back the faces, forms, dress and voices of the children, making a wonderful panorama. It was so with my mother; in her ninety-third year she could call up the names of her childhood associates, give their history, where and when they died, etc., etc., ete. So it is no great wonder that my memory is retentive and distinct; yet all through life I have felt a conscious detect in many ways, and many times would gladlv have exchanged my memory for other abilities that

T lacked.

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.

It is becoming popular in writing biographies to give the genealogy of the person and family. Accordingly I will give a brief sketch of my ancestry~> as kept in the family record on the Island of Nantucket, and as found among the old records of Southern Sweden in Northern Europe. My father, Vestal Coffin, was the son of William, who was the son of Samuel, who was the son of John, who was the son of Tristram Coffin, who was one of a company of nine who, in 1660, purchased the Island of Nantucket from the Indians, the deed being signed by two chiefs, Wanackmamack and Nickanoose.

Beyond Tristram Coffin the line is unbroken back to Sir Richard Coffin, who came to England from Normandy with William, the Conqueror. Then still back beyond Sir Richard it can be traced to the arrival of the Danites in Denmark in the second century, and through the Danites through the wander-

_ ings of the ten tribes of Israel to Samaria in 720 B. C., and then back to Abraham.

From the sixth to the tenth century the Coffins (11)

bore an active part in all the conquests of the old Viking kings and rovers who terrorized Western Europe for many centuries.

My mother’s maiden name was Alethea Fluke, a direct descendant of the Albanoids (White Race} of Ireland, the last of the prehistoric race. When the first colony of Hebrews came to Ireland 1200 B. (. the Albanoids were in possession of the island, and had been for an unknown period; they were highly civilized, had a regular alphabet and written language, and knew many arts unknown to the Hebrews—who were supposed to have known all the civilization of Egypt at that time. |

Soon after the landing of the Hebrews, strife arose between them and the Albanoids, which resulted in open war, which continued much of the time for 2000 years, when the latter were almost exterminated in a sanguinary battle, followed by an indiscriminate and merciless massacre. In 1784 there were but fifteen of the Albanoids alive in all the earth. They left Ireland and came to America. When my grandmother, Mary Fluke, died in 1827, my mother and her four children, even the last of one of the surviving families who ever had any children, and one other, lacks but two of being extinct to-day.

Here I will say that when in Ireland in 1892 1 found the ruins of the last stronghold of my anceson tors. Thirty-six centuries ago there was a large Druid temple in what is now County Down, or Doon, built for worship and defense; when St. Patrick came he turned it into a Christian church. Successive sieges had destroyed nearly all. the outer defenses and its final capture and destruction 800 years ago left none to rebuild; yet a portion of the walls were too strong for the destroyers and remain to tell a story of blood and death not excelled in all [reland.

_.. ,Tthe Albanoid language was distinct from any other in Europe and had legendary traditions that go so far back that one could easily suspect Ignatus Donnelly of drawing largely from it, in weaving his pleasing, plausible, wondrous story of “Lost Atalantis’ that. carries us back into the antediluvian world and to Adamic time.

With such ancestry it is little wonder that I inherited peculiar traits of character, and managed to hold a place amid surrounding difficulty. On my father’s side the spirit of adventure manifested itself in thé Underground Railroad business and love of travel; on my mother’s side a wonderfully retentive memory and fluent tongue, with the singular second sight, or mind reading.

My father died in 1826, leaving my mother with four little children, one daughter and three sons; my sister Elizabeth was the oldest one, Alfred next, then myself; Emory was the youngest. My sister was gifted and beautiful above the average of her associates. My brother Alfred V. is living yet in Kansas, broken in constitution and almost helpless. His life has been one of unceasing storm, struggle and conflict. He entered the Underground Railroad service early in life and was one of the chief managers in North Carolina, from 1836 to 1852, when he had to flee for his life, being betrayed by one whom he least suspected, in aiding fugitive slaves to escape. He reached my home © in Indiana where he and his family resided till New Year 1863, when he was called into the medical ser- . vice of the government, for he was a physician. He was given charge of the refugee tribes of loyal Indians in Southern Kansas, where he finally settled. During his connection with the Indians he had someterribly narrow escapes and desperate struggles for life. On one occasion he was assailed by bushwhackers twice in one day, and saved his life each time after _ a desperate hand-to-hand encounter. The first assault was by two men who suddenly attacked him, the next time by three; he had no firearms, but his only weapon was a picket stake, like a policeman’: club, which he wielded with such frantic energy that he saved his life. For three years he was in the midst of murder, assassination and bloodshed. By riding through what seemed certain death he saved the lives- of 250 Union soldiers and:a valuable convoy of supplies. For all of which he was never recognized or rewarded by the government, and he scorned the idea of asking for that which should have been given as doubly due, and he will go to his grave with bitterness of heart toward a thankless government, which pensions deadbeats and frauds.

Brother Emory died the Fourth of July, 1863, at my home in Indiana. He was on his way to Kansas to look for a new location. He left a widow and seven children. He was the most gifted in judgment and business ability of any of the family, could read the character of a man almost at sight, but was unusually kind and generous, especially to those in distress.

The day of his death was a dark day at my home. William Thomas, who married my niece, Miriam <A. Henly, died in the early morning, and he in the evening, and I was worn out and broken down with watching and loss of sleep; and as I look back to that time I feel that a special Providence alone carried me through.

I was born January, 22, 1822, consequently was not four years old when my father died, yet I can remember his form and face, sometimes with striking vividness, and in my dreams am still a child as when he was alive. He and my mother little thought that my memory was at that time taking impressions of words and deeds; many times in after years mother would be astonished at my _ reciting events with unerring precision that happened when a mere infant in age; but dwelling on this part of my life seems bordering on the supernatural, so [ will only mention one other item here. I learned to read looking at the words as my sister would read in a book; learned the words before I knew how to spell the most simple ones, and the result was I never did learn to spell anything like ordinary people, and in’ our literary societies it was next to impossible for any but my immediate associates to decipher my compositions.

CHAPTER FIRST: Events oF EaRuy LIFE

My father was born near New Garden, Guilford county, N. C., in 1792, and died in 1826 in the house in which he was born, and on his birthday, October 10th. His mother, Elizabeth (Vestal) Coftin, was left a widow with four small children, one daughter and three sons, who grew to man and womanhood under many privations common to the lot of the widow and the fatherless of that age of southern civilization. At an early age my father entered the anti-slavery movement, and his ready, natural ability soon brought him to the front. When Benjamin Lundy visited North

Carolina in 1816 he was among the first to join the Manumission Society organized by that celebrated .man. In 1818 he was the only man who had the courage to attack the then domineering slave power in the South. Jt came about in this way. <A young free negro, named Benjamin Benson, was kidnaped in the State of Delaware, and brought to Greensboro, where he was sold to'a very wealthy and influential slave-owner named Thompson. A slave owned by (17)

General Hamilton learned the facts concerning Benjamin Benson, and gave the information to my father, who interviewed Benson, then wrote to Delaware, and got sufficient evidence to get out a writ for Thompson requiring him to produce Benson and show cause why he should not have his freedom. The officer who served the writ gave opportunity for Thompson. to conceal Benson, and on the hearing denied ever having such a negro in his possession. The case was dismissed and that night Benson was run off secretly to Georgia and sold. This notorious outrage on law and justice caused much excitement and intensified the spirit of opposition to slavery. |

My father was now joined by Dr. George Swain and Enoch Macy, and determined to push the case to the end. They wrote again to Delaware and enlisted the anti-slavery men there to the extent that the State Legislature made an appropriation of money for expense, and made my father and his two friends legal agents to push the case, and sent a man to identify Benjamin Benson. In the meantime, the slave of General Hamilton, known as Hamilton’s Saul, had been secretly listening and learning all the plans of Thompson and the slave power, which information. was invaluable in the case.

When all was ready, another writ was served, in which it was ordered that Benson should be produced in open court. This brought things to a crisis.

Thompson had to go to Georgia, where the-man to whom he had sold the negro made him pay $1600 before he would give him up. At the trial Benson was mixed up with a score of negroes to test the man from Delaware, but he identified him at sight. The evidence was so conclusive that the negro was set at liberty at once, and he returned to his home and corresponded with my father up to the time of his death.

This case naturally placed my father in the front rank of anti-slavery men, and he was an object of hatred among the more violent and vindictive slaveholders. Seemingly, without being conscious of how it came about, he was expected to do all the dangerous work, to take all the responsibility and leadership ; others were ready and willing to share the cost, do all the business, fetch and carry, if he would be the leader in the hours of trial.

In my History of Friends in North Carolina I give the origin of the Underground Railroad, and will not repeat it here, excepting to say, that father originated and operated the first of the kind in America, in 1819. His cousin, Levi Coffin, who in after years

became famed as an Abolitionist, took his first les-

sons under my father, and many were the secret con-

ferences they held after night, never meeting in the 2 same place the second time, to prevent espionage or betrayal.

A negro eared John Dee was freed ie his master in the lower part of the State; he married a freed woman who had been owned by a neighbor. They came up to New Garden for safety, where they fived in peace for several years, and had seven children. The old master of John died; immediately two of his sons came secretly to New Garden on pretense of buying stock; they located John Dimery’s house, stopped over night at a near neighbor’s; sometime after midnight they slipped quietly out, went to the house, called Dimery out and pretended to have been hunting and were lost. No sooner was he out of the house than he was seized and a desperate struggle ensued; the wife, Aunt Sally, ran out, but was knocked down, almost senseless; then Dimery shouted to his oldest daughter to run for Mr. Coffin, my father, which she did like a wild deer. Father had just stepped out to get wood to start a fire; without stopping — for coat or hat he ran at full speed, providentialiv meeting Isaac White, a special friend. He just said, “Qome,” and they both ran like the wind. The kidnapers had finally overpowered Dimery and taken him to the neighbor’s, bound securely. In spite of threats, Dimery told the neighbor that Mr. Coffin would soon be there and begged their protection. The kidnapers

OF ADDISON COFFIN. AR and neighbor were ready to come to blows, when father and Isaac White rushed in; then: the scene changed; the kidnapers were told that they would be taken before the nearest magistrate and prosecuted for their crime. This brought them to a standstill, and while they were debating the case, the lady of the house had been quietly untying the rope, and before any one knew it Dimery sprang out and made for the woods; the kidnapers rushed after him, calling a large dog and. setting him after the fugitive, but - when the dog came near, Dimery clapped his hands and hallooed as though there was game ahead; the dog: went tearing into the woods, and the fugitive close after, when they both disappeared. Father and Isaac White now renewed their threats of arrest, which so alarmed the men that they soon mounted their horses and galloped out of the neighborhood and were seen no more. John. Dimery was started on the Underground Railroad that night and soon landed at Richmond, Indiana, where he worked and sent money to his family for their support. for-two years, and then had them sent to him.

There was more of this kind of business done :ai that period than in-assisting.real fugitive slaves. In 1772 the friends of North Carolina freed their slaves, as did many Methodists and other conscientious people. . The number amounted to thousands thus liberated, and it was frequently the case that heirs would try to re-enslave those freed people; this constant harassing and kidnaping finally drove thousands of the negroes across the Ohio river into free territory. The mountaineers in Virginia were so used to seeing negroes going westward that it was less dangerous for fugitives to escape that way than through Kentucky.

After my father’s death many fugitives continued to come to the old home, and my mother would advise and counsel with them as time and opportunity offered, until brother Alfred and I were old enough to take the post of danger our father occupied; but this is anticipating Hee and we will go back to earlier days.

My mother died November 3, 1891. Soon after her death, Dr. Nereus Mendenhall of Guilford College, wrote a short account of her lite for the ‘“‘Guilford Collegian,” which was copied in “Christian Worker” for January 14, 1892, which may come in place here.

~“Alethea Coffin was born at Big Spring, two miles west of Greensboro, Guilford county, N. C., on the 16th of April, 1798. Her husband’s name was Vestal Coffin; her marriage with him was on the 27th of November, 1817. In the fall of 1826 they were both sick, and upon his death she was left with four small children, the oldest eight years old, the young-.

ALETHEA COFFIN.

ba ey ad

Spat i.

est two. Greatly weakened by sickness and the shock given by her husband’s death, the fall work not

| done, the winter clothing not prepared, corn not gathered, the prospect before her was, indeed, a gloomy one. Some of her children yet remember many a sad day of that winter; many a time of shivering by a small fire, the mother sick, the oldest boy hardly able to carry wood, the daughter not able to do much in the way of cooking, no wonder that sometimes they all cried until late at night.

“Tt was in this dark winter that the Lord answered her prayers for help. Ever after she never doubted, never faltered, never stopped for any misfortune, failure in crops, loss of stock or betrayal of trust. She never hesitated to divide her scanty means with the poor and homeless; many a sick and homeles, boy was taken in, washed, nursed and cared for, clothed with the garments of her own children, while she washed and mended his.

“Her own faith and trust in God were the means ‘of drawing to her for advice those in darkness and discouragement, especially the widows, the fatherless -and the motherless. Her education was in advance of the women of her generation, and the severe school-

‘ing of necessity made her a wonder of economy and business management, hence she was consulted by her neighbors in making calculations in warping, striping, reeling and all the arts of cloth making and household matters; and to this advanced education and home ability, her children were indebted for much of their education; they were started early in general reading; all had read the Bible through before they wer sixteen.

“The nullification excitement in 1830 caused many of her neighbors to move to Indiana. She and -her children entered into the spirit of the emigration, and measures were taken to secure a home in this “Far West.’ With her limited means it seemed a hopeless task to save $100 to pay for 80 acres of land. The matter was presented to the Lord in prayer; the answer was, ‘Go,’ and by rigid economy $50 was saved in two years, and Job Coffin (brother-in-law), furnished the other $50 on long time, so in 1833 in company with Elihu and Jane Coffin and Aunt Rhoda Gurley—she putting in a horse as her part of the outfit—she started to Indiana. Among the mountains everything was so grand and new, she and Rhoda Gurley walked more than half the time, preferring it to being jolted in the wagon over the rough stones. At Richmond, Ind., she borrowed a saddle, took. her horge, and set out to find her old neighbors 100 miles away. Alone, following the roads and by-ways, she found her old friends settled at Spiceland, in Henry county, Walnut Ridge in Hancock, and in White Lick,

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OF ADDISON COFFIN. oF in Hendricks counties, and finally reached her old neighbor, Asahel Hunt. He and other old neighbors turned out through the thick, tall forest, and soon found a lot of good land still vacant. arly next morning in a continuous rain, she set out for the Land Office at Crawfordsville, 25 miles further on. She entered the land, remained over night and the next day returned to Asahel Hunt’s. Her journey was now accomplished, and she was the owner of a home in the free West. In the ride to Crawfords: ville there were no roads, only a blazed horse path, with settlements sometimes five miles apart; yet the trip was made in safety with no fear of danger or accident, for she felt the presence of the Lord with her all the time. Resting and visiting a few days, she was ready to start on her long journey home. |

“On arriving at Richmond she found Elihu Coffin ready to return but anxious to buy a very fine, large horse if there was any way to get him home. She told him if he would get a good saddle she would ride the horse; this he did at once, and she rode all the distance from Richmond, Ind., to New Garden, N. C., _ over 500 miles. She enjoyed the ride and stood the trip better than in the wagon. When it rained she put on a waterproof overcoat and was safe from storm and blast. It was springtime, and to the day of her death, that grand overland mountain mde was one of the bright spots in her memory.

“She died on the land then purchased, and it was the only tract’ in Hendricks county that had not changed hands. The last tax receipt bore date a few days before her death in her own name. Her intention was to move to Indiana in two or three years, but in the fall of 1833 at North Carolina Yearly Meeting she was appointed on the committee to consider and perfect a plan for New Garden Boarding-School, and becoming deeply interested in the school determined to stay and give her children some of the benefit of the school. Of this school she subsequently was matron for some time, in which capacity her management was a model of carefulness and economy. After moving to Indiana in 1852, she was for nearly nine years assistant matron of Earlham College. This connection with the two colleges gave her a very large acquaintance, and at Earlham the children of the New Garden Boarding-School pupils were often under her care, and she would give them reminiscences of their parents, and tell more about them than they had ever known.

“Though she attained a great age her hair did not turn grey, nor did her sight fail, as is usual with age. Up to ninety she could read ordinary print without glasses, and large print up to the time of her death. She could not bear to be idle; if nothing else could be found for her to do, she would get some wool or flax and sit down and spin thread and yarn, and then knit it into stockings for presents to her grandchildren. She would at other times take the pruning-shears and go among the fruits and grape vines, or into the orchard, and take delight in trimming and pruning for hours ata time. Her long life as a farmer made her an expert at all kinds of work within her strength.

_ “She was nota birthright member of the Society of Friends, but joined them soon after her marriage. She attended Sandy Spring Meeting till 1817, wheu she removed to New Garden. | “About a year ago, when called upon by the His-

torical Society of Henry and Wayne Counties, Ind., she was able to give the names of more than 300 families that had moved from Guilford county to Indiana between 1805 and 1835. Did time and space permit, many interesting and thrilling incidents of her life might be dwelt upon; as of the handkerchief given her in 1852, on her departure for Indiana, as a keepsake by her friend Asenath Clark, which she sent to her son, Nathan H. Clark, with the message, ‘The two mothers will soon be together again.’ Also of the photograph, hundreds of which have been called for, and more still in demand, a photograph of herself sitting at work at her little spinning-wheel. Of the family reunion a year ago in which a greatgreat-granddaughter was presented to her by the child’s grandmother. A grandmother presenting her grandchild to her grandmother, a rather impressiv? scene. Again, of the discourse which in her 90th year she made toa large company of small children on Children’s Day; when she stepped out before them, she drew from her pocket a primer about four inches square; holding it up she said: “This is my first primer, bought in 1804;’ then gave to the little folks a deeply interesting account of education from that day up to 1890, the whole discourse a surprise, not only to others, but herself, for she was carried back to childhood again, and looking along the life journey saw herself, now old and worn with age, standing before the little children and saw herself restored to childhood in them; but this sketch must come to a close. 3 “Her greatest objection to moving West was a et that her remains might repose in New Garden burial ground beside those of her husband, mother and daughter. Her son, Addison, promised her that if practicable her wish should be complied with. She gently passed away on the 3d of November, 1891, and her gon with filial love and true to his promise made 49 years ago brought the remains and saw them deposited by those of her husband. The burial on the 5th was attended by the students and officers of Guilford College and her old neighbors who still survived. Testimonials as to the excellence of her character were given by Mary C. Woody and Rufus P. King (and Nereus Mendenhall, added), and the latter part of the 31st chapter of Proverbs was read as appropriate to the occasion.” —Nereus Mendenhall, in Guilford Collegian. ,

_ In spite of hardship and privation, my sister and brother were strong and healthy, and we grew like other children, and mother’s fund of knowledge helped to keep us interested and thus our minds were taken off the unpleasant struggle to make ends meet. We soon made common cause in all home interests, and resolved within our young hearts that we would make a living and one day be independent, not dependent; and this resolve our favorite guardian, Uncle Job Coffin, always encouraged us in, and let no opportunity slip to fire our zeal on that line of aspiration, and with his care, counsel and help we succeeded.

As heretofore stated, my memory was a part of my inheritance, an inseparable part of myself, and in early infancy was active and grew with my growth; ‘but that other inheritance also manifested itself at an early date. At six years of age the first clear, distinctive manifestation came. I was alone in the or chard, when suddenly I seemed surrounded by a soft, warm influence that seemed lifting me up in the air, then all at once an infinite expanse opened to my eyes, so full of wonderful, and to my young mind awful things, that I was terrified, and ran screaming to the house. Mother met me and at first sight comprehended the terrible reality. Second-sight had come upon me, and it filled her with sadness and suffering, for she knew too well by the tribal tradition that all who inherited it went to an early grave, unless they had an iron ‘constitution. From that hour life to me was full of hidden terror; I was too young to comprehend the situation; every effort was now made by the few who knew about this condition to arrest the further development, and I had a sore, sad life of it until I was twelve years old.