Riding the Rails

Hobo Markings (and the Underground Railroad that led me there)

A recent meeting I attended included a tour of a home that was on the Underground Railroad. I have to admit I signed up for the meeting simply because I really wanted to know more about the house and the Underground Railroad. I’ve frequently wondered if my great great grandparents were a stop and with no way to find out, I’ve been curious about it. My great great grandfather Eldridge moved to Illinois to get away from slavery.

I’d like to think that my great grandparents took a stand and worked to help people make an escape. Over time I’ve learned what I can about how people worked to help and am curious about how families were able to even find how to join the Underground Railroad and become a stop. The way the laws worked, a family trusting the wrong person or making the wrong comment could result in fines or jail. Things I’ve found about Illinois include:

The 1848 Constitution ended that and made Illinois a free state that did not permit slavery. But then in 1853, the state legislature passed a law which made the settlement of African Americans in Illinois a crime. If African Americans remained in Illinois beyond 10 days, they could be arrested and fined.

Illinois had then enacted a law that anyone must stop Blacks and ask to see their Freedom Papers. Illinois was really only a free state for five years. Laws later made it so slaves were legally required to be turned in and at that point had to continue on to Canada. At the tour, the guide wasn’t able to address the questions of how homes became a stop and didn’t seem to know anything about the Abolitionist history in Illinois. She also was murky on the history of quilts on the Underground Railroad. (Most of the history due to the need for secrecy though is undocumented)

While on the tour, hobo quilts were mentioned. Somehow I had never heard the story of hobo quilts or even hobos riding the rails. After mentioning it at home, my aunt then told me stories about how she remembered my grandparents providing sandwiches to hobos that road the rails past their house. Stories about my grandfather throwing chickens to the train in exchange for coal. My aunt remembered sweeping the dirt behind their house as a little girl while people ate sandwiches in the backyard. With my dad gone, I wasn’t able to ask him about the stories, but my cousin that spent many hours with my dad, told about the candy that was thrown from the train around the holidays. He…