The Underground Railroad still has its secrets.

We found the slave hiding place and were sworn to secrecy.

Copywrite 2025.

Photos owned by the author might be shareable if you ask permission first.

Part I of a three part series on the Underground Railroad in Randolph County, Illinois.

I followed my guide to the secret “hidey hole” down the steep rocky hillside. It was 95 degrees with blazing sun as we slid more than walked through native plants, loose rock and brambles. He had insisted on tick spray. Not just any tick spray — 50% Deet saturated our clothing and Permethrin soaked our shoes. Apparently the ticks are bad here.

My cousin Carole, who was along on this “field trip” took one look down the cliff and said, “I am NOT going down there.”

Climbing up out of the steep ravine. Photo by author.

While researching a possible campsite of the famous 1778 George Rogers Clark expedition, I found a reference in an old book to “the old French fort.” The fort was nearby so of course we had to make an effort to find that as well. Stopping at a house adjacent to the alleged fort location, I engaged the homeowner in conversation. He knew nothing about the Clark campsite or the old French fort. But he did know a guy that I should talk to.

I was doubtful with the complex directions of three left turns with landmarks of “double-wides” and farm sheds that I would ever find it, but off we went. Fifteen minutes later we were closer but where was the house? Just then I saw a shirtless middle aged man out mowing his front lawn. I pulled up, jumped out and approached him. I told him who I was looking for and he became apprehensive, peppering me with questions. I then realized this was the the very person I sought.

After an hour of conversation establishing our bonafides, he asked if I would like to see a slave hiding place used on the Underground Railroad. I consented and off we went down the steep ravine. At the bottom was a creek heavily shaded by tall oaks. The most prominent feature was a large rock shelter that could easily hold a dozen people and from its floor a steady stream of spring water trickled out. The place felt ancient, primeval.

“Do you see it?”

I looked where he was pointing and there it was. At eye level an X was carved in the stone and above and slightly to the left was a star. Created by four intersecting lines it was clearly a symbolic North Star and the alignment suggested a deliberate orientation. Was that true north?

“I need a compass.”

As if reading my thoughts, before I could access the compass app on my cell phone, the man showed me the compass on his. It was a near perfect alignment that pointed north. Could it be more clear? The rock shelter, the spring, the north star guide symbol, and the remote location? I was standing in a hiding place on the underground railroad!

There are no museum velvet ropes here, and no interpretive signs. This was real and untouched. There was only the sound of trickling water and the musky smell of damp earth and vegetation. I found myself searching the ground for remains of a camp, a small fire or a discarded item, perhaps a chicken leg bone. But 175 years has erased those ephemeral details, leaving only the north star carved in the rock face and the ghosts of long ago.

The man continued the story. The operator of this section of the URR would lower a bucket by rope over the cliff edge. Food and supplies were delivered without having to make the dangerous trip down into the ravine. And when the neighborhood was clear of slave hunters, the runaways would make their way to the next stop on their journey north.

How many generations had faithfully passed the story (along with title to the land) down through time?

I asked for a photo but my request was denied. The location was known only to a few in the historic preservation community and it was going to stay that way. I was merely an interloper. Only an improbable series of events had led me to this location on this scorching hot day.

We have all seen it before. A statue or grave marker is destroyed because it irks someone’s feelings. A rare natural feature gets trashed by the thoughtless. And sometimes historic sites are loved to death by well meaning throngs of tourists.

The power of mass media and GPS allow people to invade almost anywhere. I was privileged to see this special place only by agreeing to never reveal its location. And in case you are wondering, the locational data has been scrubbed from the one photo above, that I was permitted to take.

A guardian protects this special place. And one day some other person will find it and promise to keep its location secret yet again. And eventually a new protector will take over the task of watching. How many other special places are watched over in this way, keeping the casual gawker at bay?

Secret hallowed places still exist. But you have to be worthy to see them. Or really really lucky.

Please hit the ❤️ button at the bottom of the page to help this story reach more readers. And if you’re not already a subscriber, I’d love to have you join me. Thanks!