The Underground Railroad: Crown Hill Cemetery Indianapolis, Indiana

The Secret Path: A Story About the Underground Railroad

Eight-year-old Malia looked up at her grandfather as they strolled through Crown Hill Cemetery in Indianapolis. The tall trees swayed gently, and the cemetery was quiet, except for the soft crunch of their footsteps on the gravel path.

“Grandpa, why are we here? I thought cemeteries were for visiting people who’ve passed away,” Malia asked, holding his hand.

Grandpa smiled and knelt beside her. “This place holds more than graves, Malia. It holds history. Did you know that some of the people buried here helped others find their freedom long ago?”

Malia's eyes widened. “Freedom? Like how?”

“Let me tell you a story,” Grandpa began. “More than 150 years ago, there was something called the Underground Railroad. It wasn’t a real railroad with trains, though. It was a secret network of people who helped those who were enslaved escape to freedom, far away in the North or even Canada.”

Malia nodded, her imagination already running wild. “But why did they need to escape?”

Grandpa took a deep breath. “Because back then, in the southern parts of our country, people owned slaves—men, women, and children—just because of the color of their skin. But brave people, like a man named Levi Coffin, helped them run away to freedom. He was known as the ‘President of the Underground Railroad,’ and though he lived in Indiana, he helped thousands of people escape.”

Malia’s heart raced. “Did he help people here in Indianapolis too?”

Grandpa nodded. “Oh yes. The Underground Railroad had routes right through this city. Crown Hill Cemetery is close to where many people, both Black and white, worked together to help those escaping slavery. They would hide them in secret places—houses, barns, even in wagons—and guide them at night so they wouldn’t be caught.”

Malia looked around the cemetery, feeling a sense of pride in the quiet surroundings. “Were the people who helped them ever in danger?”

“They were,” Grandpa said gently. “Helping someone escape was illegal. People like Levi Coffin risked their lives. But they did it because they believed no one should be enslaved.”

They continued walking, and Grandpa pointed toward the distance. “Some of the people who helped with the Underground Railroad are buried here. Their names might not be famous like Levi Coffin’s, but they were just as brave.”

Malia felt a tingle of excitement. “It’s like a secret mission! Do we know any more stories?”

Grandpa chuckled. “There’s one story of two girls who escaped from Tennessee. Their former owner tracked them down to a small town in Indiana, but the community came together, protecting them. They dressed the girls as boys and smuggled them to safety. People like Levi Coffin and others helped them escape to Canada.”

Malia’s eyes sparkled. “I want to be like them, Grandpa! I want to help people.”

Grandpa smiled warmly. “You can, Malia. Learning our history and standing up for what’s right is the first step. We may not have to fight the same battles they did, but we can carry the lessons of courage and kindness with us.”

Malia hugged her grandfather tight. “I’ll never forget this, Grandpa. I’ll always remember the secret paths of the Underground Railroad.”

And as they left Crown Hill, Malia felt as if she, too, had walked along one of those hidden paths to freedom, guided by the stories of those who had come before her.