The figure we are diving into today is, I mean,
she's one of the foundational icons of American
history. But the image we often carry, it's this
idea of the kindly, brave conductor. And that
image, it really masks a revolutionary, a deeply
complicated and profoundly effective military
mind. It really does. So today we're taking a
deep dive into the life of Harriet Tubman, and
we're moving far beyond the Underground Railroad
mythology to uncover the scout, the spy, the
uncompromising warrior, and the woman who fought
for compensation and dignity long after the war
was even won. And what's so great is that the
sources we have now give us a truly comprehensive
look. We can actually connect the dots between
the early life trauma she suffered as Araminta
Ra, as Minty, right? And then see her development
into this religious mystic and revolutionary
and then her critical, even formal role as a
Union military asset. This mission for us is
really about understanding the full spectrum
of her 90 years from, well, roughly March 1822
until 1913. And when you just look at the list
of her contributions, American abolitionist.
social activist, nurse, suffragist. It's just
overwhelming. It is. But today, we are really
focusing on her operational genius. I mean, her
work involved guiding enslaved people to freedom
through 13 separate missions. 13. Rescuing approximately
70 individuals directly. Directly. That's a key
word. And then providing explicit guidance to
another 50 to 60. The success rate in an environment
of total existential risk is just. It's unmatched.
And we really have to start by recognizing the
absolute pinnacle of her operational career.
I mean, our sources confirm this stunning piece
of history that often just gets relegated to
a footnote. Tubman is widely credited as the
first woman to lead an armed military operation
in the United States. And this wasn't just participation.
This was leadership. It was command and strategy
during the crucial Combahee River Raid of 1863.
Leadership that was fueled by success. The name
that defines her. Moses. It stems directly from
the results. She was the one leading people out
of bondage in a way that just echoed the Old
Testament narrative she held so dear. Indeed.
And her personal motto and claim, which, you
know, historians rely on heavily when discussing
the operational success of the Underground Railroad,
was that she never lost a passenger. Never lost
a passenger. In all her journeys. And given the
sheer difficulty, the psychological pressure,
the constant threat of betrayal and capture,
that claim just speaks volumes about her planning,
her discipline, and frankly. the ruthlessness
she was willing to apply to ensure the group's
safety. OK, so let's unpack the origins of this
legend. We have to start in Dorchester County,
Maryland. She was born Araminta Ross to Ritt
Green and Ben Ross, who were both enslaved by
the brightest family. Right. But even just her
birth date is shrouded in the, you know, the
obfuscation of the slavery system. That's exactly
right. For those born into bondage, precise records
were rarely kept. Or if they were, they were
often based on economic value, not on, you know,
human record. Of course. Historians generally
place her birth around March 1822, and that's
based on scattered records like a payment to
a midwife and then later runaway advertisements.
But the dates on her death certificate and her
gravestone are all over the place. All over the
place. 1815, 1820, 1825. This uncertainty immediately
illustrates how slavery just stripped away a
fundamental right, the knowledge and documentation
of your own existence. And the threat to her
existence and her family unit was immediate.
It was constant. Her mother, Ritt, was a cook
for the Broadus family, and she fought desperately
to keep her nine children together. But the system
was just designed to destroy those bonds. It
was inevitable. Three of her sisters, Lena, Mariah
Ritty, and Sephora, were sold away. Just permanent
separations that deeply scarred the family. I
can't even imagine. When we think of Tubman's
later dedication to her family, it's rooted right
here in this traumatic experience of witnessing
those losses. The knowledge that any day, any
of them could be pulled away and sent south to
the cotton fields. That was the central, unrelenting
anxiety of their lives. But there's a powerful,
pivotal moment of defiance that really seems
to have set a precedent for Tubman's own resistance.
An anecdote involving her mother, Ritt. Oh, this
story is incredible. Our sources detail this,
and it must have been foundational to how Minty
understood defiance. A slave trader from Georgia
arrived, intending to buy Ritt's youngest son,
Moses. Not her eventual husband, but a brother
named Moses. Right, her brother. Ritt managed
to hide him for an entire month, with help from
others in the community. But when Edward Broadus
and the trader finally cornered her, Ritt, a
woman who supposedly had no power, she confronted
them. What did she do? She physically stood between
them and her child. Wow. And what's so fascinating
here is that the resistance worked. It worked.
Broadus, the enslaver, he actually backed away.
He abandoned the sale because writ presented
such a credible threat of violence. That's a
crucial, tangible victory. It proves that resistance,
even by the seemingly powerless, was possible
and could, you know, alter the system's calculus,
if only temporarily. It could. But Tubman's own
childhood was defined not by victories, but by
sustained brutality. I mean, she was hired out
as a nursemaid as young as five or six years
old. Basically a disposable laborer. And the
treatment was just appalling. Absolutely brutal.
We know she was subjected to severe repeated
beatings. There's one recollection from her later
life where she speaks of being lashed five times
before breakfast on a single day. Five times
with her breakfast. Those scars, physical and
emotional, she carried them throughout her life.
Her attempts at resistance back then were small
but so resourceful. Running away for short periods
or wearing layers of thick clothing to try and
cushion the force of the lashes. But the defining
moment, the experience that irrevocably changed
her mind, her body, her spirit, that occurred
in her adolescence. The severe traumatic head
injury. This is where it gets really interesting,
because the physical violence of slavery literally
rewrote her neurological state and her worldview.
How did it happen? She was standing in a doorway
when an overseer, furious that another enslaved
man had attempted to flee, hurled a two -pound
metal weight that was intended for the runaway.
It missed its target and struck Tubman directly
on the head. And she was left unconscious and
bleeding. A devastating physical blow. The neglect
that followed the injury was just. It was criminal.
She was laid on a rough loom seat for two days
without any medical intervention whatsoever.
For two days. She remained comatose for weeks,
and the impact was permanent. For the rest of
her life, she suffered from debilitating, painful
headaches, chronic dizziness, and what observers
just called seizures or spells. And these spells
included episodes of hypersomnia, right? A profound,
uncontrollable urge to sleep. Yes, often causing
her to fall instantly and deeply unconscious,
though she claimed that during these spells she
was actually acutely aware of her surroundings.
Medically, historians often suggest this symptomology
aligns with temporal lobe epilepsy, maybe narcolepsy,
or possibly cataplexy, all conditions directly
caused by that severe blunt force trauma to her
head. The specific medical diagnosis is, of course,
difficult to confirm retrospectively. But the
fact remains, her brain was permanently altered
by that violence. And this physical trauma led
directly to a profound spiritual shift. This
is the key. After the injury, she began experiencing
vivid visions, intense dreams, auditory sensations.
Which she immediately and unequivocally interpreted
as divine premonitions and revelations from God.
So the pain. The seizures, the sensory overload,
that became the engine of her faith. She wasn't
simply a religious woman. She was a mystic who
believed she was receiving direct, actionable
instructions from God. Precisely. She grew up
absorbing Bible stories, mostly from the Old
Testament, through her mother and likely attended
a Methodist church. But her faith became intensely
passionate and radically non -passive. Right,
because the religion taught by white slave owners
encouraged submission and obedience. Exactly.
Tubbin drew on the Exodus story. the god of deliverance,
and used her mystical inspiration as a guide.
She came to see her own suffering and her subsequent
visions as proof that she was chosen for a revolutionary
purpose. This fusion of physical resilience,
this unending chronic pain, and this prophetic
absolute certainty, it fundamentally shaped her
revolutionary courage. And this spiritual evolution
seems to coincide with her adopting a new name.
Yes, she changed her name from Araminta, or Minty,
to Harriet. She adopted her mother's name, Ritt,
whose full name was reportedly Harriet right
around the time of her marriage or her escape.
It was an act of honor and maybe a step toward
embracing the destiny that the newly named Harriet
would fulfill. It really marked the transition
from the enslaved girl to the future conductor.
So the immediate catalyst for her own escape
in 1849 was this chilling knowledge that her
life was measured purely in economic terms. Right.
She had fallen ill yet again, probably exacerbated
by her head injury, which diminished her value
as property. Her enslaver, Edward Broaddus, tried
to sell her but failed to find a buyer immediately.
And this fear of being sold spurred that now
-famous episode of prayer. It did. She prayed
initially for Broaddus to change his heart. But
when that didn't happen, her prayer shifted dramatically.
It reflected her new, uncompromising, Old Testament
-inspired faith. She prayed, and I'm quoting
here, And then, Bodas died a week later. A week
later. For a woman who interpreted her headaches
and dreams as direct divine communication, that
event must have been the ultimate affirmation
of her mission. It cemented her sense of destiny.
But his death actually created a more immediate...
practical danger, didn't it? It did. When an
enslaver died, the estate had to be settled,
which almost always meant the family and the
enslaved people were sold off to pay debts. So
this increased the probability that her remaining
family would be scattered forever. Tubman realized
she had to act immediately. And she initially
tried to leave with her husband, John Tubman,
who was a free man, but he actively discouraged
her. He was afraid of the risks, but she rejected
his fear, stating that creed that would define
her life. There was one of two things I had a
right to, liberty or death. She was absolutely
resolved. Completely. The first attempt, in September
1849, involved her brothers, Ben and Henry. But
they lost their nerve shortly after leaving,
likely out of fear for the wives and children
they left behind, and they forced Minty to return
with them. That temporary failure only intensified
her resolve. It did. So the successful solo escape
came shortly after, in October or November of
1849. And how did she signal her intentions to
the few people she trusted? She relied on coded
communication through song. She would quietly
hum or sing spirituals to trusted members of
the community, notably a friend named Mary. Her
farewell song contained the clue, I'll meet you
in the morning, I'm bound for the promised land.
Such a subtle, beautiful way to communicate a
massive, life -altering decision without alerting
the overseers. And that journey itself, nearly
90 miles by foot from Dorchester County, guided
by the North Star, must have been an extreme
test of endurance we need to remember this was
a woman who suffered from chronic agonizing headaches
and possible seizures walking through hostile
territory it's an incredible feat of physical
and mental resilience the road took her through
the difficult terrain of the eastern shore traveling
northeast along the chop tank river then into
Delaware, and finally crossing into Pennsylvania.
And she relied heavily on that informal, network
-free, and enslaved black people and white abolitionists,
particularly the Quakers in the Preston area,
who risked everything by giving her shelter and
aid. And her description of finally crossing
into freedom is just so evocative of the shift
she experienced. It was an epiphany for her.
She recalled looking at her hands and questioning
if she was the same person. She said, But that
feeling of pure freedom was threatened almost
immediately by changing federal law. Oh, absolutely.
You're referring to the Fugitive Slave Act of
1850. How did that law change the operational
environment for Tubman and the Underground Railroad?
Well, it made the North, even Pennsylvania, completely
treacherous. The law essentially deputized federal
law enforcement and even ordinary citizens to
aid in the capture of fugitives, regardless of
whether the state itself had outlawed slavery.
So freedom seekers could be legally seized and
returned to the South from places like Boston
or New York. Exactly. This drastically shifted
Tubman's operational scope. It forced her to
guide travelers farther north, often all the
way into British North America, specifically
southern Ontario, which remained the only truly
safe destination. The danger was heightened,
which means her tactical ingenuity had to increase
tenfold. What were her specific strategies for
evasion and secrecy? She was a master of operational
security and timing. For instance, she preferred
working in the winter months. Why winter? Well,
the nights were longer, offering more hours of
cover. And the bitter cold helped dissuade general
movement and reduce the likelihood of chance
encounters. But most crucially, she often started
her missions on Saturday evenings. That timing
detail, starting on a Saturday, that's the sort
of operational planning that tells us she understood
the mechanics of the opposition. Oh, she viewed
the press as part of the surveillance network.
She knew that slave owners often placed runaway
advertisements in local newspapers immediately.
By starting on Saturday night, she and her passengers
gained a critical 48 -hour window before the
newspapers could print those runaway notices
on Monday morning. Giving them a vital head start
on the search parties. A huge head start. And
her use of disguise and psychology was equally
effective. She utilized the societal assumptions
about enslaved black women as camouflage. You
have to tell us about the chickens. Horses provide
these two incredible examples of her subterfuge.
Once, she disguised herself with an old bonnet
and carried two live chickens. Upon realizing
she was walking straight toward a former enslaver,
she just yanked the strings holding the bird's
legs, causing them to flap violently. The distraction
was enough that the enslaver just glanced at
her, saw a poor woman struggling with farm animals,
and ignored her completely. A perfect use of
chaos and misdirection to avoid recognition.
And the second, equally powerful instance occurred
on a train. She recognized a former enslaver
sitting nearby. Knowing that she was illiterate,
she quickly snatched a nearby newspaper and pretended
to read it. The enslaver? who would have been
looking for a fugitive, likely dismissed her
because the sight of a black woman reading a
newspaper just defied his preconceived notions
of who she was. She was calculating the psychology
of the oppressor. She was turning his own assumptions
against him. And the spirituals she used, like
Go Down Moses, they were adapted specifically
to communicate those operational shifts in the
moment, weren't they? Yes, the spirituals acted
as a living code. They might signal that a safe
house was clear or, conversely, that danger was
ahead, requiring a change in route or a sudden
retreat. And when a group successfully reached
freedom, her customary exclamation was a profound
affirmation of that faith. Glory to God and Jesus
too. One more soul is safe. Okay, let's discuss
the most difficult moral aspect of her leadership,
the extreme measures she took to ensure success.
We know she carried a revolver. Yes. primarily
for protection against slave catchers, but also
for her own passengers. This is where the term
uncompromising warrior truly applies she made
it absolutely clear she threatened to shoot anyone
in her group who tried to turn back and her logic
was brutal but practical completely one person
turning back out of fear or duress could be captured
tortured and forced to betray the entire network
the roots the safe houses the identities of those
who helped them so she forced resolve on the
entire party to protect the fragile existence
of the operation go on or die The sources suggest
that while she was capable of immense empathy,
her prophetic conviction just superseded that
emotional burden. She believed she was enacting
God's will. And in that framework, the risk of
failure, the risk of dozens of people dying or
being returned to bondage, that was a greater
moral offense than forcing one fearful person
forward. And there are stories that confirm this.
There is one story that confirms her steadfastness.
A man insisted on returning to the plantation.
Tubman held the gun to his head, and days later,
that same man successfully crossed into Canada
with the rest of the group. Her perfect record,
never losing a passenger, is deeply intertwined
with that uncompromising discipline. It is. Now,
before we move on to her military service, we
have to address the financial myth. This idea
of a $40 ,000 bounty on her head is almost as
famous as her name. It's a classic example of
historical hyperbole. It was propagated by later
supporters, including her biographers, who wanted
to dramatically underscore her value and the
scale of her defiance. So there's no documentation
for that? None. No documentation exists for a
reward anywhere near $40 ,000 or even the $12
,000 that was sometimes reported. The actual
runaway notices for Minty and her brothers offered
$100 for each of them. $100 was significant,
but it tells us the legendary threat level wasn't
really reflected in the paper trail. Correct.
But the real numbers, they speak for themselves.
Forget the mythic reward. Focus instead on the
reality. 13 separate expeditions, rescuing approximately
70 people directly and guiding dozens more, all
while remaining uncaptured. That is the true
measure of her operational genius. So the natural
progression from this highly effective armed
operative of the Underground Railroad was into
direct conflict. And that shift seems to have
been catalyzed by her meeting with John Brown
in 1858. Brown, who advocated for the violent
overthrow of slavery, he immediately recognized
her competence and ferocity. He was the one who
first gave her that unofficial military title,
calling her General Tubman. And she was ready
for his message. Oh, absolutely. She claimed
she had a prophetic vision of their meeting before
it even happened, which in her mind affirmed
his revolutionary path. So she actively helped
him plan and recruit for his mission. Yes. Leveraging
her extensive network and her deep, intimate
knowledge of the abolitionist and fugitive networks
spanning the border states, Pennsylvania, Maryland
and Delaware. She was instrumental in bringing
former slaves living in southern Ontario into
Brown's planned fighting force. But she missed
the actual. 1859 raid on Harper's Ferry. She
did. She was ill in New Bedford, Massachusetts,
but her support was unwavering even after his
failure and subsequent execution. She saw him
as a martyr, not a failure. Exactly. She famously
said Brown done more in dying than a hundred
men would in living. For Tubman, who merged her
spiritual beliefs with political action, Brown's
sacrifice became this sacred act of revolutionary
martyrdom. And this belief was important because
at the same time she was securing a physical
base of operations for herself. The seven -acre
farm in Auburn, New York, which she purchased
in 1859 from Frances Adeline Seward. That was
an incredibly complex move, given her status
as a fugitive. It was complicated and very risky.
The sale was technically illegal under federal
law. However, the Sewards, that's the family
of Senator William Seward, they managed the transaction
carefully. They held the mortgage as a private
arrangement and strategically delayed the official
deed transfer. And that act of abolitionist support
provided Tubman with a crucial sanctuary. It
did. A place where she could finally bring her
aging parents back from Canada to live permanently
in the U .S. and a place that served as a safe
haven for other Black Americans. So when the
Civil War erupted in 1861, how did she interpret
the meaning of the conflict through her prophetic
lens? She saw it as divine intervention. A certainty
that the war would inevitably lead to abolition.
Her conviction was immediate. She volunteered
for the Union cause in January 1862, traveling
to Port Royal, South Carolina. Which was a crucial
Union staging ground. And home to vast encampments
of newly escaped enslaved people, often called
contraband. She initially served as a cook and
a nurse. And she wasn't shy about offering political
critique to the Union leadership. Not at all.
She condemned President Lincoln's initial reluctance
to make the war explicitly about ending slavery.
Her critique was sharp and theologically grounded.
God won't let Master Lincoln beat the South till
he does the right thing. She believed that by
freeing and arming the enslaved, the Union could
win quickly. And save the lives of white soldiers
who were dying needlessly. That was her argument.
Her nursing methods were also really resourceful,
moving beyond official government supplies. She
was a folk healer. She had an intimate knowledge
of local plants and prepared traditional remedies,
which proved highly effective in treating soldiers
suffering from infectious diseases common in
camp, like dysentery. And she rejected government
rations entirely. She did to avoid any perception
that she was benefiting unduly from the government.
Instead, she earned her own money by making and
selling pies and root beer in the evenings. That's
a fascinating detail. She's running a military
intelligence operation during the day and a small
business at night. The sheer exhaustion must
have been unimaginable. It speaks to her ceaseless
drive. But her role changed fundamentally after
the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863. She transitioned
fully from a civilian nurse to an official military
intelligence operative. That's the key shift.
How did her Underground Railroad experience translate
into her new role as an armed scout and spy?
Perfectly. I mean, her decades of moving covertly
through hostile terrain, her ability to memorize
routes, her deep connections with enslaved people
who remained behind Confederate lines, all of
that made her invaluable. She was formerly working
under the authority of Secretary of War Edwin
Stanton. She led a band of scouts. Yes, mapping
unfamiliar terrain, identifying Confederate logistical
points, and gathering crucial strategic intelligence
around the Port Royal region. Her work even aided
Colonel James Montgomery in the temporary capture
of Jacksonville, Florida in March. 1863. But
the single greatest military action she led was
the Combahee River Raid of June 1863. So take
us through the operational details of that day.
All right. So Tubman guided three Union steamboats
up the Combahee River, a crucial waterway in
South Carolina's Lowcountry. Her specific knowledge
of the river was critical because the Confederates
had strategically placed mines, or torpedoes,
in the water to sink Union vessels. And she successfully
guided the boats past these hidden dangers. She
did. Once past the mines, Colonel Montgomery's
troops assaulted several major plantations along
the riverbanks. The Union troops set fires, destroyed
key Confederate infrastructure wharves, storehouses,
rice mills, and seized supplies. A significant
logistical blow to the Confederate war effort
in the region. A huge blow. But the liberation
was the lasting legacy. Right, because Tubman's
spy network had pre -warned the enslaved communities
nearby. They had. As the Union steamboat sounded
their whistles, enslaved people realized this
was their moment. Yeah. Over 700 individuals
rushed to the riverbank seeking freedom. And
Tubman personally went ashore to help manage
the chaos. Directing the newly liberated onto
the boats, armed overseers tried desperately
to stop the flight, but they just failed against
the speed and surprise of the raid. 700 people
liberated in a single action, and over 100 of
those newly freed men immediately joined the
Union Army. That's a strategic win of staggering
magnitude. It's a phenomenal human and military
success, and it cemented her recognition as the
first woman to lead an armed military operation
in the U .S. Though she held no official rank,
her nickname, General Tubman, was widely used
by the press and her colleagues. And she ensured
that the official reporting credited the bravery
not just of Montgomery, but of the black troops
and scouts in his regiment. She did. She later
gave a historian this incredible, almost biblical
description of the brutal reality of battle,
describing the assault on Fort Wagner in July
1863. I want to hear this. She said, we saw the
lightning, and that was the guns, and then we
heard the thunder, and that was the big guns,
and then we heard... heard the rain falling,
and that was the drops of blood falling. And
when we came to get the crops, it was dead men
that we reaped. She continued her service, nursing
the wounded, for two more years until several
months after the Confederacy surrendered in April
1865. So after three years of monumental, life
-risking, service -guiding military vessels scouting
enemy lines, nursing the sick and wounded Tubman
received almost nothing. Little to no official
compensation. Our sources indicate she received
a total of only $200 for those three years. $200.
Her status was largely unofficial, making it
nearly impossible to document her service to
the U .S. government. And this condemned her
to constant poverty for the rest of her life.
That administrative injustice, the failure to
recognize her formal military contributions,
it's shocking. But the indignity she faced didn't
stop at bureaucracy. It was physical and personal,
exemplified by that horrific 1865 train incident.
This incident is such a stark reminder that military
service did not erase the reality of post -war
racism. She was traveling home on a half -fare
ticket granted specifically because of her service.
When a conductor demanded she move from the regular
passenger car to the smoking car, she refused,
asserting her right as a veteran. And she physically
resisted, didn't she? She did. The conductor
became abusive, cursing her, grabbing her. When
she resisted forcefully, he called for assistance.
They physically dragged her out of the seat and
muscled her into the smoking car, injuring her
in the process. And the worst part is what the
other passengers did. The source material confirms
that the white passengers did not come to her
aid. Instead, they cursed her and cheered on
the assault. Some even yelled for the conductor
to physically kick her off the train. She returned
home, General Tubman. physically assaulted, and
publicly humiliated because of the color of her
skin. That is just a profound tragedy, a complete
betrayal of her service. It is. So back in Auburn,
she settles into what was still a life dedicated
to community. She took in boarders. She supported
her parents on this meager income. In 1869, she
found some stability, marrying Nelson Davis,
a former enslaved man and Civil War private who
was significantly younger than her. And they
adopted a baby girl, Gertie, in 1874. But even
with that support, the poverty was grinding,
and it made her desperate, leading to one of
the most tragic episodes of her later life, the
swindle of 1873. The story of the trunk of gold.
Right. Given her history as this highly intelligent
operative, how could she have been lured into
such a scheme? The context is crucial here. She
was approached by two men claiming they knew
of a former slave who had escaped South Carolina
with a trunk full of gold coins. Now, during
the Civil War, many wealthy white families in
the South had buried valuables to keep them from
Union troops, and black men were often tasked
with the digging. So the claim that a former
slave had recovered a trunk seemed plausible
to her. It did, and she was deeply desperate
for money to maintain her home and care for her
family. So believing this might be her only way
to achieve financial security, she borrowed money
from a wealthy friend to purchase this trunk.
Exactly. She arranged a meeting for a late -night
transaction, but it was a setup. She was lured
into the woods where she was violently assaulted,
knocked unconscious with chloroform, and robbed
of the money she had borrowed. And the trunk?
When they finally found the trunk, it contained
nothing but rocks. It was a vicious crime committed
against a national hero. It's just gut wrenching.
But ironically, that public humiliation and the
news coverage of the swindle drew attention back
to her neglected military service, forcing local
leaders and politicians to. finally try and secure
her some form of compensation. The irony is powerful.
In 1874, a bill was finally introduced in the
United States Congress, specifically seeking
a $2 ,000 lump sum payment for her years of service
as a scout, nurse, and spy. The attempt was serious,
backed by her network of prominent abolitionist
friends. And did Congress approve the payment?
No. It was defeated in the Senate. The political
landscape of the post -Reconstruction era was
hardening against official recognition and financial
support for black veterans, especially those
who had performed unofficial roles. So the government
wanted to acknowledge nursing, which was seen
as a charitable, appropriate role for a woman,
but not armed espionage or scouting. That's it.
That crossed institutional gender and racial
boundaries. So after the swindle and the failed
congressional bill, what was the actual final
outcome of her decades -long fight for a military
pension? The compensation she finally received
was piecemeal and conditional. It began in 1895
when she was granted a widow's pension of $8
per month, and that was based solely on the service
of her late husband, Nelson Davis, a Civil War
private. Not her own. Not her own. Four years
later, after relentless lobbying, Congress finally
approved a compromise. This compromise raised
her monthly payment to $20. But even this was
carefully categorized. It was the original $8
for being a widow, plus $12 for her service as
a nurse. The distinction is critical. They refused
to acknowledge the scouting and spy work. They
did. Congress never officially recognized her
contributions as an armed scout and spy in the
military records during her lifetime. It was
a painful institutional dismissal of her revolutionary
effectiveness in the field. She was, in the government's
eyes, a widow in a nurse roles deemed acceptable,
but never the General Tubman who led men into
battle. And beyond these battles for financial
security, she found time to fight for the future
of all women. becoming active in the women's
suffrage movement alongside leaders like Susan
B. Anthony. Her presence in the suffrage movement
was profoundly impactful. She would stand before
audiences and describe her wartime actions and
her life of sacrifice, asking the audience to
judge her capabilities against those of men.
And when asked directly if women should vote.
Her response just perfectly encapsulated her
life. I suffered enough to believe it. She felt
that her physical and existential sacrifice had
earned her the franchise, and by extension, all
women deserved it. She used her experiences as
concrete proof that women were not simply passive
citizens. She also established a major piece
of her local legacy in Auburn, the Harriet Tubman
home for the aged. She deeded her property to
the AME Zion Church in 1903, and it officially
opened in 1908. She was immensely proud of it,
seeing it as a realization of her lifelong commitment
to the most vulnerable. But she was quickly frustrated
by the church's financial necessities. Right,
specifically their rule requiring a $100 entrance
fee for new residents. Her original vision was
far more radical. She didn't want any barriers
to entry, did she? Her commitment to the destitute
was absolute. She stated clearly that she wanted
the rule to be that nobody should come in unless
they didn't have no money at all. It shows that
even in her retirement, her instincts remain
focused on providing absolute charity and refuge,
a continuation of the mission that began on the
Underground Railroad. And even as she provided
care for others, her own physical health was
failing her, haunted by the violence of her youth.
The lifelong pain from that head injury became
unbearable. The symptoms, the crushing headaches,
and the constant buzzing she reported in her
head, they became debilitating toward the turn
of the century. In the late 1890s, she sought
surgery at Massachusetts General Hospital, and
she gave a harrowing description of the procedure,
the doctor sawing open her skull to relieve the
pressure and pain. And the incredible detail
that accompanies this surgery, a detail that
just perfectly summarizes her life as a warrior.
It's tragic and profoundly symbolic. She reportedly
received no anesthesia for this extremely painful
procedure. Instead, she bit down on a bullet,
mimicking the action she had seen Civil War soldiers
perform during amputations. It was her final
act of endurance. Meeting her physical pain with
the grit and discipline of a hardened soldier,
she died of pneumonia on March 10, 1913, surrounded
by friends and family. Her last quoted words
were from the Gospel of John, an affirmation
of her enduring faith. I go away to prepare a
place for you. Her impact was recognized immediately
upon her death, though. She was buried with semi
-military honors at Fort Hill Cemetery, and her
stature has only grown in the decades since,
solidifying her place as one of the most famous
figures in American history. Inspiring generations
of civil rights leaders and the tangible honors
they continue to accumulate, recognizing her
diverse contributions. We see national parks
and historical sites dedicated to her in Maryland
and New York. She broke barriers, even posthumously,
becoming the first African -American woman honored
on a U .S. postage stamp in 1978. And the modern
recognition is strong. In 2024, the U .S. Mint
issued commemorative coins depicting her various
stages of life, the conductor, the soldier, the
humanitarian. But perhaps the most visible and
widely discussed symbol of her enduring legacy
is the ongoing plan to feature her portrait on
the front of the $20 bill replacing Andrew Jackson.
Who was an enslaver himself. Right. And perhaps
the most fitting, if long overdue, acknowledgement
came recently in 2024. The ultimate military
honor that official records denied her in life.
What was that? She was posthumously commissioned
as a one -star general in the Maryland National
Guard. It is a powerful official recognition
of her Civil War service as a scout and spy,
the very contribution that Congress dismissed
and refused to pay for during her lifetime. This
delayed honor finally rectifies that historical
oversight. But her story also gives us a crucial
lesson in historiography, how history is actually
created and passed down, especially for an individual
who was illiterate and couldn't write her own
memoirs. This is a critical point for a deep
dive audience. For decades, the public's understanding
of Tubman was filtered almost entirely through
the lens of early authorized biographies. Specifically,
Sarah Hopkins Bradford published two key works
in 1869 and 1886. And Bradford took significant
artistic license. A lot. She wasn't seeking objective
truth. She was primarily trying to raise money
for Tubman and make her story palatable to white
abolitionists and religious audiences. So she
essentially created a persona for the public
to digest. Precisely. Bradford portrayed her
less as a nuanced, complex woman and more as
a moralistic figure, a latter -day Joan of Arc.
While these books preserved her memory, they
often dramatized events and suppressed the more
difficult realities, like her violent resistance,
her political critiques, the true extent of her
medical condition, all to fit a narrative of
saintly heroism. So the objective truth, the
full historical picture, remained largely obscured
by this romanticized version for a long time.
A very long time. It wasn't until Earl Conrad,
an academic, published his work in 1943 that
the first full biography based on rigorous, objective
academic research appeared. And he reportedly
struggled for four years just to find a publisher
willing to take on a serious, complex look at
her life. Which demonstrates how firmly entrenched
that simplified moralistic narrative was in the
American consciousness. Exactly. It has taken
academic work since the mid -20th century to
synthesize the identity we now recognize. The
identity of a religious mystic whose visions
were likely fueled by severe trauma, a phenomenally
skilled and uncompromising military operative
at the Underground Railroad, and an unyielding
warrior for justice whose fight for dignity continued
long after the official conflict ended. That's
the woman. So this deep dive has truly taken
us from Araminta Minty Ross, the enslaved girl
profoundly scarred by physical violence, all
the way to Moses, the resourceful conductor,
and finally to General Tubman, the military intelligence
operative. It's an incredible arc. The core insight
remains this intrinsic link between her trauma
and her revolutionary courage. Her unwavering
faith, arguably intensified by her head injury,
was the psychological engine that drove the discipline
ensuring that perfect record. She truly never
lost a passenger. And for you, the listener,
understanding her post -war life is essential
to understanding the full scope of American freedom.
The shift in narrative from victory to this exhausting
fight for recognition, the brutal train assault,
the calculated swindle, the decades -long battle
for a proper military pension. It reveals that
the battle for dignity and institutional recognition
often continues long after official freedom is
declared. It does. Her relentless pursuit of
compensation shows she understood the material
value of her sacrifice, even if the government
would only recognize the acceptable roles of
nurse and widow. It's a powerful lesson in who
gets paid for heroism and whose sacrifice is
simply expected. Which brings us to our final
thought for you to consider. We have detailed
how Tubman's most effective tactics, both in
escape and in military intelligence, involved
blending in, using subterfuge, and appearing
harmless carrying agitated chickens pretending
to read, using the assumed illiteracy of a black
woman as camouflage. What? Given the constant
mortal threat of capture she faced across 13
missiles, how might this mastery of deception
honed by the very system that oppressed her have
been her most powerful and enduring weapon? Was
she primarily a mystic guided by God, or was
she a brilliant strategist who successfully convinced
her enemies to underestimate her until the very
moment she struck?