Because of its location, the first free state north of the Mason-Dixon line, Pennsylvania was very active in the Underground Railroad. Abolitionists, Quakers, and others provided a haven for those looking to escape slavery in the southern states.

According to information from the Susquehanna Greenway Project: “Scholars estimate that thousands of fugitive slaves passed through Pennsylvania. One local historian believes that as many as 1,000 runaway slaves, with the aid of Underground Railroad agents, moved safely through the Freedom Road area of Williamsport—without one apprehension. Freedom seekers moved discreetly through the region by trail, rail, road, and water, heading north in search of a better life. African American communities, Quakers, and other staunch abolitionists aided many runaways along their journey despite the risk of fines and imprisonment. In 1793, the fine for assisting a fugitive slave was $500. This cost rose to $1,000 in 1850 and could correspond with a six-month imprisonment.[1]

One man who escaped from his master’s grip was Charles Bell. His freedom eventually led to faithful service for some forty years as an attaché at Bucknell University in Lewisburg. Prior to his passing in December 1912, Bell shared his story of escape to freedom, which began on a night in August 1849.

 "I was born a slave. My master was James H. Inship, a West Virginia planter. I had never known what it was to be a slave, for my master was very kind to me and treated me just as a servant. I tended to the fires, acted as waiter and helped about the kitchen, learning good manners and also how to read and write. As I grew older, I became very strong and sturdy. I was sent to labor in the fields and, on account of my strength, was considered very valuable.

"Just as I was reaching manhood, my master died. At the time I was away at work, having been 'farmed out.' In order to settle up his estate, the slaves had to be sold. Accordingly, I was sent back to my master's plantation for appraisal. The appraiser said that on account of a broken jaw, which I had received in an accident, I was worth $800. However, at the sale I brought in $1,050. After the sale, my new master, a Mr. Marner, took those of us he had purchased away to his plantation. Then, for the first time in my life, I fully realized that I was a slave. I shall never forget how my mother looked when she left her. 'Goodbye, mother,' I said to her. 'Goodbye,' she answered, and turned away. As she covered her face with her hands, I heard her say, 'My poor boy is gone.' That was the last time I saw her till after the war.

"Mr. Holmes was very harsh with me, allowing no liberties whatever. When he found out that I could write, he was at first very much astonished and then very angry. He told his brother, Joe, that he would sell me. Joe told William Kerns, a planter who had been very kind to me. Mr. Kerns came out to the grain field where I was cradling and said to me, 'Keep wide awake, and don't let him get his hands on you.'

"My former master had a son whose name was also James H. Inslip. Like his father, he was very kind to us Negroes. At heart he was an abolitionist, though of course, he kept his sentiments to himself.

"One night my master told me to go to the station to meet a man from Georgia. The minute I set eyes on him, I knew he was a slave trader and had come to buy me. I drove him home to the plantation and that night, ran away. I went straight to my old master's son. He talked to me for a long time about Canada and about my running away and going there. He told me how to get there and what to do on the way. He said my wife could go with me - she was still his property.

"That night, a Sunday in August 1849, my wife and I left Romney. We walked thirty miles to the Potomac River. We followed the river until we came to a bridge and, before daylight, were outside of the state of West Virginia. We made straight for the mountains, never stopping until we reached them. Rain had been falling all day. For a week, it poured. We had no shelter nor a way to keep ourselves dry. During the day we rested as best we could under some thick tree or overhanging rocks, which sheltered us a little from the rain. At night we traveled. As soon as it was dark, we worked our way down to the highway, and all night long we stumbled along in the mud. Alone, either one of us would have given up. However, we encouraged each other, and although we were wet and hungry and foot-sore, we never lost our determination. We knew that if we went back or were captured, we should be sold 'down the river.' For four weeks we kept to the mountains. After we had been traveling for a week or two, we came down to the highway, but almost the first thing we saw was a poster, nailed to a dead tree, describing me and offering a reward for my return. That frightened us so that that we never again ventured out in daytime.

"Only once in all four weeks did we speak to anybody. One day we came in sight of a little farmhouse in a clearing. We were very hungry and decided to go down to the house and try to get something to eat. There were two women there. We asked for some food. The women looked us over and said they had nothing to give us then, but if we would come back a little later they would have something for us. That made me suspicious at once. My wife and I went back among the trees and hid ourselves. Presently we saw one of the women leave the house and hurry over to some men on the hillside. She talked with them for a minute, and then the men dropped their tools and came over to the house. We knew they intended to try to catch us, and we hurried away as fast as we could go. By this time, we were so used to traveling in the woods that we could go very fast. The farmers never overtook. That lesson was sufficient. After that, we neither ventured out in the daytime nor spoke to another person. When we got into more open country, we were able to find a little green corn. This corn and the berries we gathered on the mountains were the only things we had to eat during the four weeks it took us to reach Pittsburgh.

"We had endured many hardships in the mountains, but we were really safe there. Now came the most dangerous part of our journey. We might very easily be captured and taken back: it depended on whose hands we fell into in Pittsburgh, and we had to trust to luck and take our chances. We were very fearful when we entered the town. It. was two o'clock in the morning. The first person we met was a market man. We asked him if this was Pittsburgh. He said it was, but that it was against the law for anyone to enter before four o'clock in the morning. He told us to go down a street he pointed to and remain there. We came to a brickyard. There we hid ourselves and stayed until four o'clock. Then we walked back to Pittsburgh. We had hardly gotten into town before we saw a man standing in the doorway of a shop. 'Where are you from?' he asked us. 'From Southern Pennsylvania,' I replied. 'No, you are not a Pennsylvanian,' he replied, 'you come from over the mountains. You are a Virginian., I know. Don't be afraid of me.' Then he called an old colored man. Take these folks and get them a place to stop,' he ordered. 'I'll be responsible for their board.' Our guide took us to a place where there were a good many colored folks. Aunt Nellie Tokus, who had run away from Romney a long time before, was one of these people. She introduced us to them all. That is why we had so many friends there.

"The president of that part of the Underground Railway was 'Squire James Marshall. The Underground Railway people had wagons and carriages of their own. These were covered all over with canvas. They used to carry fugitive slaves in them. The wagons were closed up tight and then, when they got out of the city, were opened so that the inmates could have fresh air. Just as soon as possible, 'Squire Marshall sent us away in one of these wagons. We went to the farm of Wm. Bickel, an Irishman who lived at Bakertown, about fifteen miles north of Pittsburgh. He had a farm of about 500 acres. He was an abolitionist. I dug 1200 bushels of potatoes for him. We stayed there all winter. My wife worked in the house, and I did the chores.

"In the spring there was an opportunity for us to go on. Bickel gave me $30, and 'Squire Marshall offered the same amount. It was all in paper money, however, and paper money was not good in Canada. So 'Squire Marshall took my paper money and gave me $50 in gold. We went to Moorheadville, 12 miles north of Erie, a trip of 100 miles in the covered wagon.

"We lived in Moorheadville for about a year. A railroad had just been completed along the lake and upon this road we again took up our journey. We got off the train at Manchester, quite near to the old suspension bridge across the Niagara River. Getting into a stagecoach at this point, we found ourselves, at about. three o'clock in the afternoon, crossing the great and famous bridge. The driver of the stagecoach guessed that we were runaway slaves and at the middle of the bridge, turning to me, he said quietly, 'Now you are in Canada and as free as anybody.' The stage coach carried us through to St. Catherines, a town perhaps twelve miles from the river. I got off here, at the American House, a freeman, safe, under the British Lion's paw. Thus ended my journey to freedom.”

Upon arriving in Canada, Mr. Bell was forced to leave his wife to seek employment. As a newly free man, Bell ventured south again to Lewisburg, where he was employed by Bucknell University for over 40 years. During this time, Bell managed to reunite with his wife, and they lived together in a house on neighboring St. George Street.

In 1907 he was retired by the University, with a pension for life, an act done for the faithful service he rendered for Bucknell. Charles Bell died in 1912 and was laid to rest in Lewisburg Cemetery in Union County: Find a Grave (Memorial ID 105221840)