Personal Narrative: My 19th Trip To Canada

Some people work. Some people may stay at home and knit with tea by their side. Not I. I fight for freedom for a living. My heart is drawn to the hard work of freeing my people from the bonds of slavery.
This time, my 19th trip, I agreed to bring eleven slaves that wanted freedom all the way to Canada. Their hopes and dreams of a life of freedom is in my hands, under my care. I am responsible for them. A life without beatings, whippings, and discrimination is our goal. As I sang the arrival song for my passengers, I knew I had an arduous journey ahead of me.
***
“Too many, too many. It’s not safe!”
The owner of the first safe house slammed the door rudely in my face. I was in the middle of nowhere, and the snow was getting thick and frosty.
The door, almost an inch away from my rough face, was a dark brown wood that was chipping away. The house was painted grey and the small windows seemed to look down on us like we were dirty animals. I turned around and saw the disappointment in each of my passengers faces.
I had eleven slaves standing behind me and nowhere to stay. I had promised my passengers food, water, shelter and warmth; but all of that was cut down to frostbite, sleeplessness and hungry stomachs. “It is better to keep going, so we are closer to freedom.” I sighed sadly, but very hopeful. I had never gone to Canada and knew nothing but to follow the North star. The North Star has become my map in the darkest of nights, my guide through the wilderness towards freedom. Although I hated to do so, I had my pistol by my side. If my hope for freedom sees any obstacle, my pistol would have to be my protection or my words of encouragement.
***
We walked through the thick snow and trees. The slaves complained that their hands were freezing off and that they were missing home. I had to distract them. My stories went on and on. I told them about Thomas Garrett in Wilmington, Delaware, and that we would stay in his house for shelter and food.
As our journey went on, while marching towards our hopeful shelter, we were miserable. Even if we lay down to sleep, we could not sleep because everyone was so worried that there would be a slave catcher just around the corner. We slept on the cold ground with a thin blanket on top of us all. We could have no light because it was too risky. If any deputy saw a light in the woods, they would surely seek it out.
I looked up at the rabbit in the moon, which was poking out of the trees. It was a frigid and hushed night in the shadowy woods and all of a sudden we heard a stick snap.
***
We sat up promptly.
“It must be a slave catcher!” we all thought to ourselves.
I lit a candle and looked around panic-stricken and saw a dog. It must have been a dog of one of the slave catchers. If there is a dog, there must be a person. We got up and started running.
The pooch started barking, so I shot it.
I heard more twigs snapping, and I knew we might be caught. Ten of the slaves were fast, but one had frostbite on his foot and a huge cut from stepping on a spiky stick.
“Somebody help me carry him! Quick!!!” I whispered.
Another vigorous slave and I carried the wounded one.
We ran for about ten minutes, and I realized there were only ten slaves instead of eleven. I pushed my passengers behind a boulder covered in frost.
“Stay here,” I commanded my passengers, “Don’t make a sound.”
I sprinted as fast as I could, my heart was beating so loud it could be heard from a mile away. I may have lost a 1,000 dollar slave!!
Finally, I spotted a body on the ground. It was one of my slaves!!! She had been shot on the hand and had probably fallen down in shock. I had to get out of there because there could be another slave catcher near. It started to snow and I knew we were running out of time.
“Get up. Quick!!” I yelled at her.
She seemed fine, but her hand was bleeding all over the snow. I took my red bandana and tied it around her hand. I could not risk having a track of blood leading to the safe house.
“Stay calm” I told her, out of breath.
Once I gathered all the slaves, I told them that we were five miles from Thomas Garrett’s house (our shelter). We were four miles away from the shelter and we gradually just fell asleep because we were so tired. When we woke up, we were haggard and freezing.
“I want to go home. NOW!!!” wailed one of the slaves.
“I’m sorry but we are way too far now from your plantation and it is not safe if you go
back.”
The passenger was angry and started to sprint the other way. “I’m going home.”
I took out my gun and pointed it at the slave.
“If you take one more step the opposite way I will shoot you.”
I would never have shot a passenger before, but with freedom on the line, I was prepared to do anything.
***
We walked on and finally made it to the shelter. There was milk and bread in a cabinet and a warm fire burning. We had not eaten for two days. The brick walls around us seemed to smile down on us like they were impressed that we had made it. As the fire crackled and the passengers started snoring, I drifted into a long, warm sleep.
I had a dream that all black people would be free one day, free from all the white people calling them names and treating them horribly. When I woke up, ready for the next part of the adventure. I knew that somehow, my dream of a new life would come true.