A Lesson on Slavery from Across the Wide River

An excerpt from Across the Wide River, a story about the Rankin Family and the Underground Railroad.

Oh, Lowry could parrot the story of why his family had left east Tennessee, all right, but it was just a tale he had memorized. It did not concern him, except that the Rankins had not made it to Ohio, because the people of Carlisle, Kentucky needed a preacher. At first, Father had refused to settle in another slave state, but the people had insisted, and it had all worked out. The Rankins had learned to live peaceably among the slaveholders.

That thought brought Lowry back to the present. Why would his family move to Ohio now, he wondered, when they were so happy here in Kentucky? He looked up at Father, who was still reading the Bible to Sherwood and him. Father could not have held a Bible school if the slave masters in the neighborhood had not consented, so the masters could not be so bad. Some of them even allowed their slaves to attend church services and be baptized. Lowry’s friend Sherwood was a slave, yet he was the happiest boy Lowry knew, always cutting a shine. Sherwood even loved his master, Mr. Roberts.

Mr. Roberts was a kind, rich man who owned a hemp farm. He never raised his voice or his hand to his slaves, and he and Father were good friends. In fact, most of the slave owners in Carlisle respected Father and attended his church, even after the church decided slaveholders could not become official members. One Sunday, a visiting minister had asked Mr. Roberts how he felt about that rule. What Mr. Roberts said had gotten back to Father, who had in turn repeated it to Lowry. “I go quite often to Mr. Rankin’s church,” Mr. Roberts had answered, “and enjoy his preaching, even if I cannot be a member there. I don’t think there is one preacher who does not believe that some time in the future Christianity will destroy human slavery. Well, why not preach it, as Mr. Rankin does? I think he is the most consistent Christian in the state of Kentucky. He has my profound respect, for he does not hesitate to preach and practice what he believes.” The words had made Lowry feel proud.

“What’s that mean right there, Mr. Rankin?” Lowry sat up straight. Sherwood was asking Father a question in his slow, soft drawl.

“You mean, ‘And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free,’ Sherwood?” Father repeated patiently.

“Yes, sir.”

Lowry slanted a furtive glance at Sherwood. The older boy was leaning forward and breathing in quick puffs. His eyes shone brighter than a flash of summer lightning. He plainly wanted to know the answer so much that Lowry was ashamed; he wished he had paid more attention to what Father had read.

The next instant, he wished it even more. “Lowry, suppose you explain it to Sherwood,” Father prompted. “You have heard this text many times.”

Lowry squirmed. Frantically, he wondered why Sherwood was so interested in this particular verse. He was already an honest boy, always truthful. Maybe the truth was what Father was after; maybe he knew that Lowry had not been paying attention. His face grew warm and he hung his head. “I’m sorry, Father. I wasn’t minding.”

Father sighed. “Well, Lowry, you must do better next time. We must always be ready to give an answer for the hope that is within us.” He consulted his pocket watch. “It’s powerful warm this afternoon, and past time for you to be back, Sherwood. We’ll stop now, but I will be over to visit your master later. I’ll explain it to you then.”

“Yes, sir.” Sherwood’s shoulders drooped until Lowry could almost taste his keen disappointment. For the first time, he wondered if Sherwood was as happy as he always seemed.

“You may be excused, Sherwood. I’d like to talk with Lowry privately. Just wait out on the porch. We’ll be out directly.”

“All righty, Mr. Rankin.” Sherwood lifted the latch and pushed the door wide.

Lowry shuffled to the front of the room. “I’m sorry, sir,” he began. He half-hoped his apology would forestall a scolding.

“Lowry, I—” Father bit off his words and snapped to attention. The color washed out of his face until he was whiter than a hen’s egg. “What was that?”

Then Lowry heard a scream split the air. Was Ibby in trouble again? His skin crawled. He tried to move, to run, but his knees buckled. He opened his mouth to ask Father a question, but Father was gone. Somehow, Lowry followed him out the door.

When he reached the edge of the schoolhouse clearing, Lowry relaxed. A man he did not know stood over some unfortunate animal. He guessed it must be a balky mule, for the man raised a cowhide whip, a whip as thick as Father’s wrist in the middle. The leaded tips whistled through the air and the hoarse screams stopped. Then Father sprinted pell-mell and bellowed in his Sunday voice, “Stop! Stop it at once!”

Lowry followed at a distance, curious to see what was going on. He loved all animals, not just wild orphans, and he felt sorry for the poor old mule, but he was surprised at Father’s reaction. Then he stiffened. There was no mule. What he saw was a crumpled heap of reddened tow-linen on the ground. He touched it and drew away fingers sticky with blood. Slowly his mind puzzled out the rest of the scene: the long arms and legs, the curly mop of hair, the golden skin that was now paler than a beeswax candle, except where red gashes oozed. His friend Sherwood lay curled there, still as death. Cold crept from Lowry’s fingertips throughout his body until even his lips felt numb. A great buzz filled his ears and everything went black.

Something brushed his cheek and he opened his eyes. He was stretched flat on the ground and Father was leaning over him, shaking his shoulder. Lowry saw Father’s mouth move, but he could hear no words. Dimly he knew that something was wrong, that he must get up. Then he remembered with shock: Sherwood! He rolled groggily to his knees and struggled slowly to his feet. Father offered him a steadying hand before turning to tend once again to the young slave.

As Father knelt and tenderly lifted Sherwood’s limp body, giving no thought to his own white shirt, which quickly became stained with the boy’s blood, a string of curse words drew Lowry’s attention to the whip-wielding stranger. He had mounted his horse and was jeering from a safe distance.

“That’ll learn you to truck with slaves and teach ’em to read! You ain’t the only one as can teach lessons. Run him home to his master and tell him, if you dare! You can’t be everywheres at once. If I catch that boy out here again, I’ll finish the job!” Father’s expression was bleak as the man spurred his horse and cantered away.

“Is Sherwood—” Lowry’s voice cracked. Father said nothing but hurried toward Mr. Roberts’ plantation. Sherwood’s head lolled against Father’s arm as he carried him down the path. Lowry trotted woodenly behind them. It was unbearable not to know. He burst out, “Oh, Father, is Sherwood dead?”

“No, son. He’s alive, though just.” Father could barely speak. “That man is right. I cannot be everywhere at once. Mr. Roberts will have to send Sherwood away.”

“But, Father!” Lowry sniffled. He was crying in earnest now. “Sherwood’s my friend!”
“Yes, he is your friend, so you must help me. Run and tell Mother what has happened. She’ll know what to do.”

“Yes, sir.” He felt better for having something to do, but he hesitated. “Will I see Sherwood again?”

“No, son. He is not safe here. Don’t worry about him, Lowry. God is everywhere at once, and he will take care of Sherwood. Run on now!”

Still in shock, Lowry whispered, “Good-bye, Sherwood.” He stumbled blindly for home. He tried not to think, but suddenly the realization was there—this was slavery. He stopped and dragged his sleeve across his eyes. A slave might have a good, kind master and be happy like Sherwood, but it could all change in the twinkling of an eye. Even a good man like Father could not control slavery. At last, Lowry understood why Father had left Tennessee, and why he wanted to leave Kentucky now.

He ignored the stitch in his side as his feet pummeled the path. If Sherwood was as good as gone, then there was nothing left to keep Lowry here in Kentucky. He never wanted to see anyone suffer like that again. He had to get away from slavery forever. He had to get to Ohio.

About the author:


During her childhood, Stephanie Reed's family would often pass through Ripley on their way to her grandparents' home. The signs she read there about the Rankin house were what prompted her to write this story. After working for nearly a decade with the Dayton Metro Library, Stephanie is currently a volunteer spotter for the National Weather Service. She lives with her husband and two children in Dublin, Ohio.

For more information on Across the Wide River, click here.