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The Old Stone House

The Old Stone House at Clinton, Iowa: Many years ago, say in the early 60’s, in this great free country of ours, founded on the principle of Liberty and Independence, a free nation was holding within their borders another nation enslaved. This was not the issue of the Civil War but became a mighty weapon in its service. Some of the masters were kind and really cared for the comfort of their slaves, many were cruel and hired hard-hearted slave drivers, who used the lash freely, as many a dark back could testify; and there was always the heart-rending custom of selling the children away from the parents to work in distant fields.Stories of the freedom of the working people of the North, their comfortable homes and happy family life, filtered through along the highways to the South. What wonder that in the hearts of those people there sprang up a longing for freedom, even though at first they would not know what to do with it. They learned it from “the rocks and rills, from the woods and templed hills” where God had written it. They talked it in quiet groups when their masters were asleep, and every now and then a man would disappear and work his way to the North and Canada, night after night, followed by blood hounds.

Many an attic or hayloft in those days sheltered a runaway. These formed the mysterious underground railway. Clinton had several stations, the most noted was said to be the “Old Stone House” which alone stands as a marker in this vicinity. Children of the preceding generation knew it as the “Haunted House”, and the Saturday class picnic among the hazel nut bushes west of Lyons was never complete till we had stopped at the Haunted House to hunt for ghosts. We would watch with popping eyes, and when a stick or stone loosened and fell, with a thud to the floor beneath, all would scatter with beating hearts. They had almost seen a ghost.

Haunted? Yes, by the spirits of the terror stricken black men who were racing their way to freedom. There are always incredulous ones who doubt all romantic stores but Mr. Tourist, if you are a doubter, just spend a night here beneath the stars, close your eyes, and you will, no doubt see dusky forms flitting in and out of the “Old Stone House,” and if you listen, you may hear voices saying “Bless you, Mr. White Man, you’ll sure get rewarded for this sometime,” and with his little lunch he will pass on to make room for the next one.

Romance is hard to kill, it clings like ivy to a moulding wall, for the enjoyment of future generations.

Donated by Vici Johnson and Paula Clement
Paula’s grandmother wrote this article regarding the “The Old Stone House”