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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75237-0.txt b/75237-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..13e851c --- /dev/null +++ b/75237-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14326 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75237 *** + + + + + + _There was once a slave_... + + SHIRLEY GRAHAM + + + _The heroic story of_ + FREDERICK DOUGLASS + + JULIAN MESSNER, Inc., NEW YORK + + + + + THERE WAS ONCE A SLAVE, _The Heroic Story of Frederick Douglass_ + by Shirley Graham, received the sixty-five hundred dollar JULIAN + MESSNER AWARD FOR THE BEST BOOK COMBATING INTOLERANCE IN AMERICA. The + judges were: Carl Van Doren, Lewis Gannett, and Clifton Fadiman. Miss + Graham’s work was selected from over six hundred manuscripts submitted + in the contest. The original award was augmented by a grant from the + Lionel Judah Tachna Memorial Foundation, established by Max Tachna in + memory of his son who lost his life in the Battle of the Coral Sea. + + + + + PUBLISHED BY JULIAN MESSNER, INC. + 8 WEST 40TH STREET, NEW YORK 18 + + COPYRIGHT, 1947 + BY SHIRLEY GRAHAM + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + BY MONTAUK BOOK MANUFACTURING CO., INC. + + + + + To Peoples on the March + + + _You cannot hem the hope of being free + With parallels of latitude, with mountain range or sea; + Put heavy padlocks on Truth’s lips, be callous as you will, + From soul to soul, o’er all the world, leaps the electric thrill._ + --JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL + + + + + _Contents_ + + + _Prologue_ ix + + PART I · THE ROAD + + CHAPTER PAGE + + 1 _Frederick sets his feet upon the road_ 3 + + 2 _The road winds about Chesapeake Bay_ 16 + + 3 _An old man drives his mule_ 29 + + 4 _Frederick comes to a dead end_ 36 + + 5 _One more river to cross_ 63 + + + PART II · THE LIGHTNING + + 6 _Is this a thing, or can it be a man?_ 83 + + 7 _Jobs in Washington and voting in Rhode Island_ 103 + + 8 _On two sides of the Atlantic_ 119 + + 9 “_To be henceforth free, manumitted and discharged ..._” 137 + + 10 _A light is set in the road_ 155 + + + PART III · THE STORM + + 11 _The storm comes up in the west and birds fly north_ 175 + + 12 _An Avenging Angel brings the fury of the storm_ 190 + + 13 “_Give us arms, Mr. Lincoln!_” 208 + + 14 _Came January 1, 1863_ 223 + + + PART IV · TOWARD MORNING + + 15 _When lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed_ 229 + + 16 _Moving forward_ 240 + + 17 _Fourscore years ago in Washington_ 256 + + 18 “_If slavery could not kill us, liberty won’t_” 272 + + 19 _Indian summer and a fair harvest_ 288 + + 20 _The Môle St. Nicolas_ 294 + + _Epilogue_ 309 + + _Bibliography_ 311 + + _Footnotes_ + + + + + _Prologue_ + + I keep my eye on the bright north star and think of liberty. + --FROM AN OLD SLAVE SONG + + +They told him that he was a slave, that he must bend his back, walk +low, with eyes cast down, think not at all and sleep without a dream. +But every beat of hoe against a twisted root, each narrow furrow +reaching toward the hill, flight of a bird across the open field, creak +of the ox-cart in the road--all spoke to him of freedom. + +For Frederick Douglass had his eyes upon a star. + +This dark American never knew the exact date of his birth. Some time in +1817 or 1818 or 1819 he was born in Talbot County on the Eastern Shore +of the state of Maryland. Who were his people? “Genealogical trees,” he +wrote in his autobiography, “did not flourish among slaves. A person of +some consequence in civilized society, sometimes designated as father, +was literally unknown to slave law and to slave practices.” + +His first years were spent in a kind of breeding pen, where, with dogs +and pigs and other young of the plantation, black children were raised +for the fields and turpentine forests. The only bright memories of his +childhood clung round his grandmother’s log hut. He remembered touching +his mother once. After he was four or five years old he never saw or +heard of her again. + +This is the story of how from out that breeding pen there came a Man. +It begins in August of the year of our Lord, 1834. Andrew Jackson was +in the White House. Horace Greeley was getting a newspaper going in +New York. William Lloyd Garrison had been dragged through the streets +of Boston, a rope around his neck. Slavery had just been abolished +wherever the Union Jack flew. Daniel O’Connell was lifting his +voice, calling the people of Ireland together. Goethe’s song of the +brotherhood of man was echoing in the hills. Tolstoy was six years old, +and Abraham Lincoln was growing up in Illinois. + + + + + Part I + + _THE ROAD_ + + The dirt receding before my prophetical screams + --WALT WHITMAN + + + + + CHAPTER ONE + + _Frederick sets his feet upon the road_ + + +The long day was ending. Now that the sun had dropped behind scrawny +pine trees, little eddies of dust stirred along the road. A bit of +air from the bay lifted the flaccid leaves and lightly rustled the +dry twigs. A heap of rags and matted hair that had seemed part of +the swampy underbrush stirred. A dark head lifted cautiously. It +was bruised and cut, and the deep eyes were wide with terror. For a +moment the figure was motionless--ears strained, aching muscles drawn +together, ready to dive deeper into the scrub. Then the evening breeze +touched the bloated face, tongue licked out over cracked, parched lips. +As the head sagged forward, a single drop of blood fell heavily upon +the dry pine needles. + +_Water!_ The wide nostrils distended gratefully, tasting the moisture +in the air--cool like the damp bricks of the well. Cracked fingers +twitched as if they wrapped themselves around a rusty cup--the rough +red cup with its brimming goodness of cool water. It had stood +right at the side of his grandmother’s hut--the old well had--its +skyward-pointing beam so aptly placed between the limbs of what had +once been a tree, so nicely balanced that even a small boy could move +it up and down with one hand and get a drink without calling for help. +The bundle of rags in the bushes shivered violently. Benumbed limbs +were coming alive. He must be quiet, lie still a little longer, breathe +slowly. + +But the stupor which had locked his senses during the heat of the +August day was lifting. Pain which could not be borne made him writhe. +He gritted his teeth. His head seemed to float somewhere in space, +swelling and swelling. He pressed against the ground, crushing the pine +needles against his lips. Faces and voices were blurred in his memory. +Sun, hot sun on the road--bare feet stirring the dust. The road +winding up the hill--dust in the road. He had watched his grandmother +disappear in the dust of the road. His mother had gone too, waving +goodbye. The road had swallowed them up. The shadows of the trees were +blotting out the road. There were only trees here. He lay still. + +Darkness falls swiftly in the pine woods. He raised himself once more +and looked about. A squirrel scurried for cover. Then everything was +still--no harsh voices, no curses, no baying of hounds. That meant they +were not looking for him. With the dogs it would have been easy enough. +Covey had not bothered to take time out from work. Covey knew he could +not get away. + +Masters who sent their slaves to this narrow neck of stubborn land +between the bay and the river knew their property was safe. Edward +Covey enjoyed the reputation of being a first-rate hand at breaking +“bad niggers.” Slaveholders in the vicinity called him in when they +had trouble. Since Covey was a poor man his occupation was of immense +advantage to him. It enabled him to get his farm worked with very +little expense. Like some horse-breakers noted for their skill, who +rode the best horses in the country without expense, Covey could have +under him the most fiery bloods of the neighborhood. He guaranteed to +return any slave to his master well broken. + +Captain Auld had turned over to Covey this impudent young buck who had +been sent down to the Eastern Shore from Baltimore. Among the items +of his wife’s property, Captain Auld had found this slave listed as +“Frederick.” + +“Sly and dangerous!” The Captain’s voice was hard. “Got to be broken +now while he’s young.” + +“Frederick!” Covey had mouthed the syllables distastefully, his +small green eyes traveling over the stocky, well-formed limbs, broad +shoulders and long brown arms. “Too much name--too much head!” The +comment was a sort of low growl. But his tones were servile as he +addressed the master. + +“Know his kind well. Just leave him to me. I’ll take it out of him.” + +Then Frederick had lifted his head. His broad, smooth face turned to +his master. His eyes were eloquent. _Why?_ But his lips did not move. +Captain Auld spoke sternly. + +“Watch yourself! Don’t be bringing him back to me crippled. He’ll fetch +a fair price in a couple of years. Comes of good stock.” + +Thomas Auld (why “Captain” no one knew) had not been born a +slaveholder. Slaves had come to him through marriage. The stench of +the whole thing sickened him, but he despised himself for his weakness. +He dreaded his wife’s scorn. She had grown up on the Lloyd plantation +where there were more slaves than anybody could count and there was +always plenty of everything. Colonel Lloyd never had trouble with his +slaves, she taunted her husband. Auld would tighten his colorless, +thin lips. God knows he tried hard enough--starved himself to feed a +parcel of no-good, lazy blacks. He thoroughly hated them all. This one +now--this sleek young buck--he’d been ruined in the city by Hugh Auld. +By his own brother and by that milk-faced wife of his. Teaching him to +read! Ruining a good, strong field hand! Well, he’d try Covey. See what +he could do. + +“Take him along!” + + * * * * * + +That had been shortly after “the Christmas.” It was now hot summer. For +Frederick a long, long time had passed. He was indeed “broken.” + +A shuddering groan escaped the boy. Part of Covey’s irritation could be +understood. He _had_ been clumsy and slow about the fields and barn. +But he dared not ask questions, and since nobody took the trouble to +tell him anything his furrows were shallow and crooked. + +He failed at running the treadmill. He had never even seen horned +cattle before. So it was not surprising that his worst experiences had +been with them. The strong, vicious beasts dragged him about at will, +and day after day Covey flogged him for allowing the oxen to get away. +Flogging was Covey’s one method of instruction. + +At first Frederick tortured himself with questions. They knew he’d +never learned field work. “Old Marse” had sent him to Baltimore when +he was just a pickaninny to look after the favorite grandchild, +rosy-cheeked Tommy. He remembered that exciting trip to Baltimore and +the moment when Mrs. Auld had taken his hand and, leading him to her +little son, had said, “Look, Tommy, here’s your Freddy.” + +The little slave had shyly regarded his equally small master. The white +child had smiled, and instantly two small boys became fast friends. +Fred had gone everywhere with Tommy. No watchdog was ever more devoted. + +“Freddy’s with Tommy,” the mother would say with assurance. + +It was perfectly natural that when Tommy began to read he eagerly +shared the new and fascinating game with his companion. The mother was +amused at how quickly the black child caught on. She encouraged both +children because she considered the exchange good for Tommy. But one +day she boasted of Freddy’s accomplishment to her husband. Mr. Auld was +horrified. + +“It’s against the law,” he stormed. “Learning will spoil the best +nigger in the world. If he learns to read he’ll never be any good as a +slave. The first thing you know he’ll be writing, and then look out. A +writing nigger is dangerous!” + +It was difficult for Mrs. Auld to see the curly-headed dark boy as a +menace. His devotion to Tommy was complete. But she was an obedient +wife. Furthermore she had heard dreadful stories of slaves who “went +bad.” + +“Oh, well, no harm’s done,” she consoled herself. “Freddy’s just a +child; he’ll soon forget all about this.” And she took pains to see +that no more books or papers fell into his hands. + +But Freddy did not forget. The seed was planted. Now he wanted to +know, and he developed a cunning far beyond his years. It was not too +difficult to salvage school books as they were thrown away. He invented +“games” for Tommy and his friends--games which involved reading and +spelling. The white boys slipped chalk from their schoolrooms and drew +letters and words on sidewalks and fences. By the time Tommy was twelve +years old, Freddy could read anything that came his way. And Tommy had +somehow guessed that it was best not to mention such things. Freddy +really was a great help. + +The time came when they were all learning speeches from _The Columbian +Orator_. Freddy quite willingly held the book while they recited +Sheridan’s impressive lines on the subject of Catholic emancipation, +Lord Chatham’s speech on the American War, speeches by the great +William Pitt and by Fox. Some things about those speeches troubled the +boys--especially those on the American Revolution. + +“Them folks--you mean they _fight_ to be free?” Freddy asked. + +The four boys were comfortably sprawled out on the cellar door, well +out of earshot of grownups, but the question made them look over their +shoulders in alarm. + +“Hush your big mouth!” + +“Slaves fight?” Freddy persisted. + +“Wasn’t no slaves!” + +“Course not, them was Yankees!” + +“I hate Yankees.” + +“Everybody hates Yankees!” + +The crisis had passed. Freddy thoughtfully turned the page and they +started on the next speech. + +Then suddenly Tommy was growing up. It was decided to send him away +to school. And so, after seven years, his dark caretaker, no longer +a small, wide-eyed Pickaninny, was sent back to the Eastern Shore +plantation. + +“Old Marse” had died. In the division of property--live stock, farm +implements and slaves--Frederick had fallen to Colonel Lloyd’s ward, +Lucille, who had married Captain Thomas Auld. So the half-grown boy +went to a new master, whose place was near the oyster beds of St. +Michaels. The inhabitants of that hamlet, lean and colorless as their +mangy hounds, stared at him as he passed through. They stared at his +coat and eyed the shoes on his feet--good shoes they were, with soles. +They could not know that inside his bundle was an old copy of _The +Columbian Orator_. + +The book had brought him into Covey’s hands. At the memory came a +sudden stab of pain, blotting out everything in a wave of nausea. The +trees assumed diabolical forms--hands stretching out to seize him. +Words flaming in the shadows--leaping at him--burning him. What did he +have to do with books? He was a slave--a _slave for life_. + +His new master’s shock and horror had been genuine. Nothing had +prepared him for such a hideous disclosure. Fred, arriving at the +plantation, had been quiet and obedient. Captain Auld appraised this +piece of his wife’s inheritance with satisfaction. The boy appeared to +be strong and bright--a real value. But before he had a chance to show +what he could do, “the Christmas” was upon them and all regular work on +the plantation was suspended. + +Throughout the South it was customary for everybody to knock off +from work in the period between Christmas Day and New Year’s. On the +big plantations there were boxing, wrestling, foot-racing, a lot of +dancing and drinking of whiskey. Masters considered it a good thing +for the slaves to “let go” this one time of the year--an exhausting +“safety valve.” All kinds of wild carousing were condoned. Liquor was +brought in by the barrel and freely distributed. Not to be drunk during +the Christmas was disgraceful and was regarded by the masters with +something like suspicion. + +Captain Auld’s place was too poor for much feasting; but complete +license was given, and into half-starved bodies were poured jugs of rum +and corn whiskey. Men and women careened around and sang hoarsely, +couples rolled in the ditch, and little boys staggered as they danced, +while the overseers shouted with laughter. Everybody had a “good time.” + +All this was new to the boy, Frederick. He had never witnessed such +loose depravity. He was a stranger. Eagerly he inquired for those he +had known as a child. No one could tell him anything. “Old Marse’s” +slaves had been divided, exchanged, sold; and a slave leaves no +forwarding address. The youth had no feeling of kinship with the +plantation folks. He missed Tommy and wondered how he was getting along +without him. On the other hand, the field workers and oyster shuckers +looked upon the newcomer as a “house nigger.” + +For a while he watched the dancing and “jubilee beating,” tasted the +burning liquid and then, as the afternoon wore on, slipped away. The +day was balmy, with no suggestion of winter as known in the north. +Frederick had not expected this leisure. He had kept his book hidden, +knowing such things were forbidden. Now, tucking it inside his shirt, +he walked out across the freshly plowed fields. + +So it happened that Captain Auld came upon him stretched out under a +tree, his eyes fastened on the book which lay before him on the ground, +his lips moving. The boy was so absorbed that he did not hear his name +called. Only when the Captain’s riding whip came down on his shoulders +did he jump up. It was too late then. + +And so they had called in Covey, the slave-breaker. All that was seven +months ago. + + * * * * * + +The moon over Chesapeake Bay can be very lovely. This night it was +full, and the pine trees pointing to a cloudless sky were bathed in +silver. Far out on the water a boat moved with languid grace, her sails +almost limp, sending a shimmering ripple to the sandy shore. + +The dark form painfully crawling between the trees paused at the edge +of the cove. The wide beach out there under the bright moonlight was +fully exposed. Should he risk it? + +“Water.” It was a moan. Then he lifted his eyes and saw the ship +sailing away on the water. _A free ship going out to sea. Oh, Jesus!_ + +He had heard no sound of footsteps, not the slightest breaking of a +twig, but a low voice close beside him said, + +“Rest easy, you! I get water.” + +The boy shrank back, staring. A thick tree trunk close by split in two, +and a very black man bent over him. + +“I Sandy,” the deep voice went on. “Lay down now.” + +The chilled blood in Frederick’s broken body began to race. Once more +he lost consciousness. This time he did not fight against it. A friend +was standing by. + +The black man moved swiftly. Kneeling beside the still figure he +slipped his hand inside the rags. His face, inscrutable polished ebony, +did not change; but far down inside his eyes a dull light glowed as he +tore away the filthy cloth, sticky and stiff with drying blood. Was he +too late? Satisfied, he eased the twisted limbs on the pine needles and +then hurried down to the river’s edge where he filled the tin can that +hung from a cord over his shoulders. + +Frederick opened his eyes when the water touched his lips. He sighed +while Sandy gently wiped the clotted blood from his face and touched +the gaping wound in the thick, matted hair. His voice sounded strange +to his own ears when he asked,“How come you know?” + +“This day I work close by Mr. Kemp. Car’line come. Tell me.” + +At the name Frederick’s bones seemed to melt and flow in tears. +Something which neither curses, nor kicks, nor blows had touched gave +way. Caroline--Covey’s own slave woman, who bore upon her body the +marks of his sadistic pleasure, who seldom raised her eyes and always +spoke in whispers--Caroline had gone for help. + +Sandy did nothing to stay the paroxysm of weeping. He knew it was good, +that healing would come sooner. Sandy was very wise. Up and down the +Eastern Shore it was whispered that Sandy was “voodoo,” that he was +versed in black magic. Sandy was a full-blooded African. He remembered +coming across the “great waters.” He remembered the darkness, the +moans and the awful smells. But he had been fortunate. The chain which +fastened his small ankle to the hold of the ship also held his giant +mother, and she had talked to him. All through the darkness she had +talked to him. The straight, long-limbed woman of the Wambugwe had been +a prize catch. The Bantus of eastern Africa were hard to capture. They +brought the highest prices in the markets. Sandy remembered the rage +of the dealer when his mother was found dead. She had never set foot +on this new land, but all during the long journey she had talked--and +Sandy had not forgotten. He had not forgotten one word. + +This mother’s son now sat quietly by on his haunches, waiting. Long ago +he had learned patience. The waters of great rivers move slowly, almost +imperceptibly; big trees of the forest stand still, yet each year +grow; seasons come in due time; nothing stays the same. Sandy knew. + +After a long shuddering sigh Frederick lay silent. Then Sandy sprang up. + +“We go by my woman’s house. Come,” he said. + +Frederick made an effort to rise. Sandy lifted the boy in his strong +arms and stood him on his feet. For a moment he leaned heavily; then, +with Sandy supporting him, he was conscious of being half-dragged +through the thicket. His body was empty of pain, of thought, of +emotion. Otherwise he might have hesitated. He knew that Sandy was +married to a free colored woman who lived in her own hut on the edge +of the woods. In her case the penalty for sheltering or aiding a +recalcitrant slave might be death. “Free niggers” had no property value +at all. Further, they were a menace in any slaveholding community. +Their lot was often far more precarious than that of plantation hands. +Strangely enough, however, the slaves looked upon such rare and +fortunate beings with almost awesome respect. + +On the other side of the woods, where good land overlooked the bay, the +woman, Noma, sat in the opening of her hut gazing at the fire. It was +burning low. The pieces of coke, glowing red in the midst of charred +wood, no longer turned the trees around the clearing to flickering +shadows. On this warm evening the woman had built her fire outdoors +and hung the iron pot over it. The savory odor coming from that pot +hung in the air. It was good, for into it had gone choice morsels put +by during the week of toil. Noma was part Indian. Here on the shore +of the Chesapeake she lived much as her mother’s people had lived for +generations back. She made and sold nets for shad and herring, and she +fished and hunted as well as any man. She was especially skillful at +seine-hauling. Sandy had built the hut, but she planted and tended her +garden. Six days and nights she lived here alone, but on the evening of +the seventh day Sandy always came. Except in isolated communities and +under particularly vicious conditions slaves did little work on Sunday. +Sandy’s master allowed him to spend that one day a week with his wife. +She sat now, her hands folded, waiting for Sandy. He was later than +usual, but he would come. + +The fire was almost out when she heard him coming through the brush. +This was so unusual that she started up in alarm. She did not cry out +when he appeared, supporting a bruised and battered form. She acted +instantly to get this helpless being out of sight. They carried the +boy inside the hut and gently deposited him on the soft pile of reeds +in the corner. No time was lost with questions. + +Quickly she brought warm water and stripped off the filthy rags. She +bathed his wounds and wrapped a smooth green leaf about his head. She +poured oil on the back, which all along its broad flatness lay open and +raw, an oozing mass. A rib in his side seemed to be broken. They bound +his middle with strips which she tore from her skirts. + +Then she brought a steaming bowl. Frederick had had nothing to eat all +day. For the past six months his food had been “stock” and nothing +more. Now he was certain that never had he tasted anything so good +as this succulent mixture. Into the pot the woman had dropped bits +of pork, crabs and oysters, a handful of crisp seaweed and, from her +garden, okra and green peppers and soft, ripe tomatoes. In the hot +ashes she had baked corn pone. Frederick ate greedily, smacking his +lips. Sandy squatted beside him with his own bowl. A burning pine cone +lighted them while they ate, and Sandy smiled at the woman. + +But hardly had he finished his bowl when sleep weighted Frederick down. +The soothing oil, the sense of security and now this good hot food were +too much for him. He fell asleep with the half-eaten pone in his hand. + +Then the other two went outside. The woman poked the fire, adding a few +sticks. Sandy lay down beside it. He told his wife how that afternoon +he had spied Caroline hiding in the bushes near where he worked. She +acted like a terrified animal, he explained, so he had gone to her. Bit +by bit she told him how Covey had beaten Captain Auld’s boy, striking +his head and kicking him in the side, and left him in the yard. She had +seen the boy crawl away into the woods. Surely this time he would die. + +“I do not think he die now. Man die hard.” Sandy thought a moment. “I +help him.” + +“How?” Noma’s question took in the encircling woods, the bay. How could +this boy escape? Sandy shook his head. + +“He no go now. This one time, he go back.” + +The woman waited. + +“I hear ’bout this boy--how he read and write. He smart with white +man’s learning.” + +“Ah!” said the woman, beginning to understand. + +“Tonight I give him the knowing of black men. I call out the strength +in his bones--the bones his mother made for him.” + +Sandy lay silent looking up through the tall trees at the stars. He +spoke softly. + +“I see in him great strength. Now he must know--and each day he will +add to it. When time ripe--he go. That time he not go alone.” + +And the woman nodded her head. + + * * * * * + +It was not the dawn flooding the Bay with splendor which woke +Frederick, though the sun did come up like a golden ball and the waters +turned to iridescent glory. Nor was it the crying of crows high up +in the pine trees, nor even the barking of a dog somewhere down on +the beach. Rather was it a gradual awareness of flaming words. Had +he found a book, a new book more wonderful even than his precious +_Columbian Orator_? He didn’t see the words; yet they seemed to be all +around him--living things that carried him down wide rivers and over +mountains and across spreading plains. Then it was people who were +with him--black men, very tall and big and strong. They turned up rich +earth as black as their broad backs; they hunted in forests; some of +them were in cities, whole cities of black folks. For they were free: +they went wherever they wished; they worked as they planned. They even +flew like birds, high in the sky. He was up there with them, looking +down on the earth which seemed so small. He stretched his wings. He was +strong. He could fly. He could fly in a flock of people. Who were they? +He listened closely. That’s it: he was not reading, he was listening. +Somebody was making a speech. But it wasn’t a speech--not like any he +had ever heard--not at all like the preacher in Baltimore. + +Frederick opened his eyes. The dream persisted--a shaft of brightness +surrounding a strange crouching figure swaying there beside him, the +flowing sound of words. The light hurt his eyes, but now Frederick +realized it was Sandy. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, head +erect, eyes two glowing balls of fire, making low musical sounds. If +they were words, they conveyed no meaning to Frederick. Bright sunshine +poured through an opening in the cabin where a door hung back. Outside +a rooster crowed, and memory jerked Frederick to full consciousness. +He raised his hand to his eyes. The flow of sound ceased abruptly, and +while the boy stared a mask seemed to fall over the man’s shining face, +snuffing out the glow and setting the features in stone. For a moment +the figure was rigid. Then Sandy was on his feet. He spoke tersely. + +“Good. You wake. Time you go.” + +The words were hard and compelling, and Frederick sat up. His body felt +light. His sense of well-being was very real, as real as the smell +of pine which seemed to exude from every board of the bare cabin. He +looked around. The woman was nowhere in sight, but his eyes fell on +a pail of water near by; and then Sandy was back with food. The bowl +was warm in his hands, and Sandy stood silent waiting for him to eat. +Frederick drew a long breath. + +He was remembering: black men, men like Sandy, going places! He must +find out--He looked up at Sandy. + +“When--When I sleep--You talking.” Sandy remained silent. Frederick +rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead. Suddenly he felt a +little foolish. He’d had a silly dream. But--Something drove him to the +question. + +“You talk to me?” + +“Yes.” The simple statement made him frown. + +“But, I do not understand. What you saying? I was asleep.” + +A flicker of expression crossed Sandy’s face. When he spoke his voice +was less guttural. + +“Body sleep, the hurt body. It sleep and heal. But you,” Sandy leaned +over and with his long forefinger touched Frederick lightly on the +chest, “you not sleep.” + +“But I--How could I--?” Before the steady gaze of those calm +eyes Frederick’s protest died. He did not understand, but he was +remembering. After a moment he asked simply, “Where am I going?” + +This was what it meant. Sandy had a plan for him to run away. Well, +he would try it. He was not afraid. Freedom sang in his blood. And so +Sandy’s reply caught him like a blow. + +“Back. Back to Covey’s.” + +“No! No!” + +All the horror of the past six months was in his cry; the bowl dropped +to the floor; shivering, he covered his face. + +The pressure of Sandy’s hand upon his shoulder recalled him. The +terror gradually receded and was replaced by something which seemed to +surround and buoy him up. He could not have told why. He only knew he +was not afraid. But he wanted to live. He must live. He looked up at +Sandy. + +“Covey will kill me--beat me to death.” There was no terror in his +voice now, merely an explanation. Sandy shook his head. + +“No.” He was picking up the thick bowl. It had not broken, but its +contents had spilled over the scrubbed floor. Sandy scraped up the +bits of food and refilled the bowl from an earthen erode on the hearth. +Frederick sat watching him. Sandy observed how he made no move--just +waited. And his heart was satisfied. _This boy will do_, he thought. +_He has patience--patience and endurance. Strength will come._ Once +more he handed the bowl to Frederick. + +“Eat now, boy,” he said. + +And Frederick ate, emptying the bowl. The food was good and the water +Sandy gave him from the pail was fresh and cool. Frederick wondered +where the woman had gone. He wanted to thank her. He wanted to thank +her before--he went back. He said, “I’m sorry I dropped the bowl.” + +Then Sandy reached inside the coarse shirt he was wearing and drew out +a small pouch--something tied up in an old piece of cloth. + +“Now, hear me well.” + +Frederick set the bowl down. + +“No way you can go now. Wise man face what he must. Big tree bend in +strong wind and not break. This time no good. Later day you go. You go +far.” + +Frederick bowed his head. He believed Sandy’s words, but at the thought +of Covey’s lash his flesh shivered in spite of the bright promise. +Sandy extended the little bag. + +“Covey beat you no more. Wear this close to body--all the time. No man +ever beat you.” + +Frederick’s heart sank. He made no move to take the bag. His voice +faltered. + +“But--but Sandy, that’s--that’s voodoo. I don’t believe in charms. +I’m--I’m a Christian.” + +Sandy was very still. He gazed hard into the boy’s gaunt face below the +bloodstained bandage wrapped about his head; he saw the shadow in the +wide, clear eyes; he thought of the lacerated back and broken rib, and +his own eyes grew very warm. He spoke softly. + +“You be very young.” + +He untied the little bag and carefully shook out its contents into the +palm of his hand--dust, fine as powder, a bit of shriveled herb and +several smooth, round pebbles. Then he held out the upturned hand to +Frederick. + +“Look now!” he said. “Soil of Africa--come cross the sea close by my +mother’s breast.” + +Holding his breath Frederick bent his head. It was as if a great hand +lay upon his heart. + +“And here”--Sandy’s long fingers touched the withered +fragment--“seaweed, flowered on great waters, waters of far-off lands, +waters of many lands.” + +Holding Frederick’s wrist, Sandy carefully emptied the bits upon the +boy’s palm, then gently closed his fingers. + +“A thousand years of dust in one hand! Dust of men long gone, men who +lived so you live. Your dust.” + +He handed Frederick the little bag. And Frederick took it reverently. +With the utmost care, lest one grain of dust be lost, he emptied his +palm into it. Then, drawing the cord tight, he placed the pouch inside +his rags, fastening the cord securely. He stood up, and his head was +clear. Again the black man thought, _He’ll do!_ + +The boy stood speechless. There were things he wanted to say, things +he wanted to promise. This day, this spot, this one bright morning was +important. This man had saved his life, and suddenly he knew that his +life was important. He laid his hand on the black man’s arm. + +“I won’t be forgettin’,” he said. + +They walked together out into the morning and stood a moment on the +knoll, looking down at the bay. Then Frederick turned his back and +walked toward the trees. At the edge of the woods he stopped and waved +his hand, then disappeared in the hidden lane. + + + + + CHAPTER TWO + + _The road winds about Chesapeake Bay_ + + +The roof of the colorless house needed mending. Its sagging made the +attic ceiling slope at a crazy angle. Rainy weather--it always started +in the middle of the night--it leaked, and Amelia had to pull her bed +out onto the middle of the floor. The bed was a narrow iron affair, not +too heavy to move. Amelia never complained. She was grateful for the +roof her sister’s husband had put over her head. + +Edward Covey was considered a hard man. Amelia’s neighbors could barely +hide their pity when she announced that she was going to live with her +sister. + +“You mean the one who married Ed Covey?” + +Then they sort of coughed and wished they hadn’t asked the question. +After all, where else could Tom Kemp’s poor widow go? Lem Drake chewed +a long time without a word after his wife told him the news. Then he +spat. + +“’Melia never did no harm to nobody,” he said. + +“Old devil!” + +Lem knew his wife was referring to Edward Covey. Otherwise he would +have reproved her. Wasn’t fitting talk for a woman. + +So Amelia Kemp came down to the Bay to live in Edward Covey’s house. +Amelia was still bewildered. At thirty, she felt her life was over. +Seemed like she hadn’t ought to take Tom’s death so hard. She’d known +her husband was going to die: everybody else did. But Tom had kept +on pecking at his land up there on the side of the hill. His pa had +died, his ma had died, his brother had died. Now he was dead--all of +them--pecking at the land. + +Edward Covey was different. He was “getting ahead.” Her sister +Lucy had stressed that difference from the moment of her arrival. +Unnecessarily, Amelia was sure; because in spite of her heavy heart +she had been properly impressed. What almost shook the widow out of +her lethargy was her sister Lucy. She wouldn’t have known her at all. +True, they had not seen each other for years, and they were both older. +Amelia knew that hill women were apt to be pretty faded by the time +they were thirty-four. But Lucy, living in the low country, looked like +an old hag. Amelia was shocked at her own thoughts. + +“Mr. Covey’s a God-fearing man.” + +These were almost her sister’s first words, and Amelia had stared at +her rather stupidly. All of her thoughts kept running back to Tom, +it seemed. Amelia was sure her sister hadn’t meant to imply that Tom +hadn’t been a “God-fearing” man. Though, as a matter of fact, she was +a little vague in her own mind. She’d never heard Tom _say_ anything +about fearing God. He’d never been very free with talk about God. + +That was before she met Mr. Covey. She had come up on the boat to St. +Michaels where, on the dock, one of Edward Covey’s “people” was waiting +for her. This in itself was an event. There weren’t any slaves in her +county, and she felt pretty elegant being driven along the road with an +obsequious black man holding the reins. After a time they had turned +off the highway onto a sandy lane which carried them between fields +jutting out into the bay. She could see the place from some distance, +and in the dusk the sprawling building with barn and outhouses loomed +like a great plantation manor. This impression hardly survived the +first dusk, but Covey’s passion to “get ahead” was plain to see. + +Very soon Amelia Kemp was glad that she had been given a bed in the +attic. The first few evenings, climbing up the narrow ladder from +the lower floor, she had wondered about several rooms opening out on +the second floor. They seemed to be empty. Soon she blessed her good +fortune, and it wasn’t long before she became convinced the idea had +been her sister’s--not Covey’s. + +Only when she lowered the attic trap door could she rid herself of +him. Then she couldn’t see the cruel, green eyes; she didn’t feel him +creeping up behind her or hear his voice. It was his voice particularly +that she wanted to shut out, his voice coming out of the corner of his +mouth, his voice that so perfectly matched the short, hairy hands. At +the thought of the terrible things she had seen him do with those hands +her flesh chilled. + +Lucy had married Covey down in town where she had gone to work. He had +not come to her home to meet her folks. So Amelia didn’t know about +the “slave-breaking.” When she saw the slaves about, she assumed that +her brother-in-law was more prosperous than she had imagined; and that +first evening she could not understand why her sister was so worn. + +Her education began the first morning, when they called her before +dawn. She was used to getting up early, only she’d thought folks with +slaves to do their work could lie abed till after sun-up. Though she +dressed hastily and hurried downstairs, it was quite evident she was +keeping them waiting in the big room. The stench of unwashed bodies +stopped her in the doorway. + +Her first impression was one of horror. Covey seated at the table, a +huge book spread open in front of him, thrust his round head in her +direction and glared wolfishly. The oil lamp’s glare threw him into +sharp relief. The light touched Lucy’s white face and the figure of +another man, larger than Covey, who gave her a flat, malignant stare. +But behind them the room was filled with shadows frozen into queer and +grotesque shapes. + +“You’re late, Sister Amelia.” Her brother-in-law’s tone was benign. +“This household starts the day with worship--all our big family.” + +He waved his arm, taking in all the room. A ripple of movement +undulated the darkness, quivered, and then was gone. + +“I’m so sorry,” Amelia managed to murmur as she groped her way to a +chair. Gasps came from behind her. She dared not turn around, and sat +biting her lips. Covey seemed to hear nothing. He was peering at the +book, his short, stubby finger tracing each word as he began to read +slowly and painfully: + + “O give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good; for his mercy endureth + for ever. + Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom he hath redeemed from the + hand of the enemy; + And gathered them out of the lands, from the east, and from the + west, from the north, and from the south. + They wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way; they found no + city to dwell in. + Hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted in them. + Then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble and he delivered them + out of their distresses. + And he led them forth by the right way, that they might go to a city + of habitation.” + +“Praise the Lord!” added Covey and closed the Bible with a heavy thump. +“Now then, Fred, lead us in song.” + +Amelia heard the choked gasp behind her. She could feel the struggle +that cut off the panting breath. Waiting was unbearable. + +“You, Fred!” The command jerked a cry from the shadows. A memory +flashed across Amelia’s mind. _Sid Green lashing his half-crazed horse, +which had fallen in the ditch--Tom grabbing the whip and knocking Sid +down._ + +Then a strained voice began to quiver. It missed several beats at +first but gathered strength until Amelia knew it was a boy behind her, +singing. In a moment, from Covey’s twisted mouth there came uneven, +off-key notes, then Lucy’s reed-like treble sounded. From the shadows +the music picked up, strange and wild and haunting. At first Amelia +thought this was an unfamiliar chant, then she recognized the rolling +words: + + “O for a thousand tongues to sing + My great Redeem’s praise, + The glories of my God and King, + The triumphs of his grace.” + +When the music died away Covey fell on his knees, his face lifted +beside the oil lamp. His words poured forth with a passion and fervor +which pounded like hammers in the stifling gloom. He groveled in +shameless nakedness, turning all the hideousness of his fear upon +their bowed heads. Then he rose, face shining and picking up a heavy, +many-pronged cowhide from the corner, drove the shuffling figures out +into the gray morning. Amelia remembered the cold: she had shivered in +the hallway. + +The only slave left to help her sister was a slow, silent creature who +now moved toward the kitchen. + +“We’ve et. The--the--” Lucy was speaking with a hesitation which Amelia +recalled later. “The--woman will show you. Then you can help me with +the renderin’.” + +It was warm in the big kitchen. A smoking lamp hanging from the ceiling +swayed fretfully as the door closed and Lucy threw a piece of wood on +the fire. Remains of a hasty meal were scattered upon the table. + +“Clean up this mess and give Miss Amelia some breakfast.” + +Amelia saw her sister shove the woman forward as she spoke. The tight +hardness in her voice fell strangely upon Amelia’s ears. Without +another word Lucy disappeared into the pantry. + +Amelia was afraid. She suddenly realized that it had been fear that +had first stopped her on the threshold, and nothing had taken place +to dissipate that fear--not the scripture reading, not the singing, +not the prayer. She was afraid now of this silent, dark woman, whose +face remained averted, whose step was noiseless. Surely some ominous +threat lay behind the color of such--such creatures. Irrelevantly she +remembered Tom’s black horse--the one on which he had come courting. +Amelia made a peremptory gesture. + +“I’ll eat here!” Fear hardened her voice. She would eat like a grand +lady being served by a nigger. + +And then the woman turned and looked at her. She was not old. Her brown +skin was firm and smooth, her quivering mouth was young, and her large +eyes, set far apart, were liquid shadows. + +_A man could drown himself in those shadows._ The thought was +involuntary, unwilled, horrible--and instantly checked--but it added to +her fear. + +She picked up bits of information throughout the long morning, while +Lucy stirred grease sizzling in deep vats, dipped tallow candles and +sewed strips of stiff, coarse cloth. The work about the house seemed +endless, and Lucy drove herself from one task to another. Amelia +wondered why she didn’t leave more for the slave woman. Finally she +asked. The vehement passion in Lucy’s voice struck sharply. + +“The lazy cow!” Then, after a pause she added, “She’s a breeder.” Her +lips snapped shut. + +“A breeder? What’s that? Does she have some special work?” + +Lucy laughed shortly. + +“Ain’t they no niggers up home yet?” she asked. + +Amelia shook her head. + +Lucy sighed. It was a sound of utter weariness. + +“Mr. Covey says you can’t git ahead without niggers. You jus’ can’t.” + +“But you said--” began Amelia. + +“Mr. Covey bought her,” Lucy explained with a sort of dogged grimness, +“for--for more--stock. Mr. Covey’s plannin’ on buyin’ all this land. +Niggers come high. You wouldn’s believe what Mr. Covey paid for that +there Caroline.” Pride puckered her lips like green persimmon. + +Amelia swallowed. Her mouth felt very dry. She cleared her throat. + +“Well, he’s makin’ a good start.” + +“Oh, them!” Lucy bit her thread. “They ain’t all hissen. He takes +slaves over from the plantations hereabouts to--train.” + +“Then he--” + +A cry of stark terror coming from the yard brought Amelia up in alarm. +Lucy calmly listened a moment. + +“Sounds like Mr. Covey’s having to whop that Fred again,” she said. +“He’s a bad one!” + +What Amelia was hearing now bleached her face. Lucy’s composed +indifference rebuked her. She tried to control the trembling of her +lips. + +“You mean--the boy--who sang this morning?” + +“That’s him--stubborn as a mule. Reckon that singin’ will be a mite +weaker tomorrow.” + +And Mrs. Covey giggled. + +The day unwound like a scroll. By mid-afternoon fatigue settled all +along Amelia’s limbs. Outside the sun shone brightly--perfect February +weather for early plowing. The kitchen door stood open to the sunshine, +and Amelia paused a moment looking out toward the bay. + +A small child two or three years old crawled out from under a bush and +started trotting across the littered back yard. Amelia stood watching +her. Beneath the tangled mass of brown curls the little face was +streaked with dirt. It was still too cool for this tot to run about +barefoot, Amelia thought, looking around for the mother. She held out +her hand and the child stopped, staring at her with wide eyes. + +“Well, little one, where do you come from?” There was no answering +smile on the child’s face. In that moment Amelia heard a swift step +behind her. + +“Don’t touch that nigger!” Lucy’s voice cracked like a whip. Her face +was distorted with fury. Amelia saw the dark woman, bending over a tub +in the corner, lift her head. Lucy leaped at her and struck her full in +the face. + +“Get that brat out of here,” she screamed. “Get her back where she +belongs. Get her out!” + +With one movement the woman was across the floor and outside the door. +She swept up the child in her arm and, holding her close, ran behind +the barn. + +“How dare she! How dare she!” + +Lucy was shaking as with an ague--she seemed about to fall. Still +Amelia did not understand. + +“But, Lucy--what are you saying? That child’s white.” + +“Shut up, you fool!” Her sister turned on her. “You fool! It’s her’s. +It’s her’s, I tell you. And what is she? She’s a nigger--a filthy, +stinking nigger!” + +She began to cry, and Amelia held her close, remembering the large +green eyes, set in the little girl’s pinched face. + + * * * * * + +Nothing much was happening in Maryland that spring of 1834. In Virginia +they hanged Nat Turner. John Brown, on a wave of prosperity, was making +money in his Ohio tannery. William Lloyd Garrison was publishing the +_Liberator_ in Boston, and a man named Lovejoy was trying to start an +Abolitionist paper out West, trying both Kansas and Ohio. But Maryland +had everything under control. + +The Coveys had no neighbors. The farm, surrounded on three sides with +water, lay beyond a wide tract of straggling pine trees. The trees +on Covey’s land had been cut down, and the unpainted buildings were +shaken and stained by heavy northwest winds. From her attic window +Amelia could see Poplar Island, covered with a thick black forest, +and Keat Point, stretching its sandy, desert-like shores out into the +foam-crested bay. It was a desolate scene. + +The rains were heavy that spring, and Covey stayed in the fields until +long after dark, urging the slaves on with words or blows. He left +nothing to Hughes, his cousin and overseer. + +“Niggers drop off to sleep minute you turn your back,” he groaned. +“Have to keep right behind ’em.” + +Amelia battled with mud tracked from one end of the house to the other. + +Then came summer with its oppressive heat and flashing thunder storms +that whipped the waters to roaring fury. + +“Family” prayers were dispensed with only on Sunday mornings. +Regardless of the weather, Mr. Covey and his wife went to church. +It was regrettable that the slaves had no regular services. Big +plantations could always boast of at least one slave preacher. Mr. +Covey hadn’t reached that status yet. He was on his way. He observed +the Sabbath as a day of rest. Nobody had to go to the fields, and +nothing much had to be done--except the cooking, of course. + +So Amelia could lie in bed this Sunday morning in August. All night +the attic had been like a bake-oven. Just before dawn it had cooled a +little, and Amelia lay limp. By raising herself on her elbow she could +see through a slit in the sloping roof. White sails skimmed across the +shining surface of the bay. Amelia sighed. This morning the white ships +depressed her. They were going somewhere. + +The heat, she thought, closing her eyes, had made things worse than +usual. Mr. Covey would certainly kill that Fred--that is, if he wasn’t +already dead. Well, why didn’t he do his work? She had thought at +first the boy had intelligence, but here of late he’d lost every spark +of sense--just slunk around, looking glum and mean, not paying any +attention to what was told him. Then yesterday--pretending to be sick! + +“Reckon I ’bout broke every bone in his body,” Mr. Covey had grunted +with satisfaction. + +“Captain Auld won’t like it,” Lucy warned. + +That made Mr. Covey mad as hops. Lucy kept out of his way the rest of +the evening. Amelia saw him twist Caroline’s arm till she bent double. +That wench! _She_ wasn’t so perk these days either--sort of dragged one +leg behind her. + +_Well_, Amelia thought, swinging her own bony shanks over the side of the +bed, _I’m glad they didn’t send the hounds after him_. He was sulking +somewhere in the woods. But Mr. Covey said the dogs would tear him to +pieces. _A bad way to die--even for a nigger._ + +“He’ll come back,” Covey had barked. “A nigger always comes crawlin’ +back to his eatin’ trough.” + +Amelia left the cotton dress open at the neck. Maybe it wouldn’t be so +hot today. Lucy was already down, her eyes red in a drawn face. Her +sister guessed that she had spent a sleepless night, tossing in the big +bed, alone. Caroline was nowhere in sight. + +When he appeared, dressed in his Sunday best, Mr. Covey was smiling +genially. This one day he could play his favorite rôle--master of a +rolling plantation, leisurely, gracious, served by devoted blacks. He +enjoyed Sunday. + +“Not going to church, Amelia?” he asked pleasantly as he rose from the +table. + +Amelia was apologetic. “No, Mr. Covey, I--I don’t feel up to it this +mornin’. Got a mite of headache.” + +“Now that’s too bad, Sister. It’s this awful heat. Better lie down a +while.” He turned to his wife. “Come, my dear, we don’t want to be +late. You dress and I’ll see if Bill has hitched up.” Picking his +teeth, he strolled out to the yard. + +Amelia started scraping up the dishes. + +“Leave ’em be.” Lucy spoke crossly. “Reckon Caroline can do something.” + +So Amelia was out front and saw Fred marching up the road! Funny, but +that’s exactly the way it seemed. He wasn’t just walking. She was +digging around her dahlias, hoping against hope they would show a +little life. She had brought the bulbs from home and set them out in +front of the house. Of course they weren’t growing, but Amelia kept at +them. Sometimes dahlias surprised you. + +She straightened up and stared. It was Fred, all right, raising a dust +out there in the road. + +Mr. and Mrs. Covey were coming down the porch steps just as Fred swung +in the gate. He kept right on coming. Poor Lucy’s mouth sagged open, +but Mr. Covey smiled like a saint. + +“Well, now, you’re back, and no worse for wear.” He paused, taking in +the discolored bandage and the spattered tatters. He spoke impatiently. +“Get yourself cleaned up. This is Sunday.” The boy stepped aside. Mr. +Covey and his wife moved toward their buggy. As Fred turned to go +around back, Mr. Covey called to him. “Oh, yes, round up those pigs +that got into the lower lot last night. That’s a good boy.” + +Then the master leaned over, waved his hand at Amelia and drove away, +sitting beside his good wife. It made a pretty picture! Amelia could +see Fred, standing at the side of the house, facing the road. There was +a funny look on his face. + +Amelia’s thoughts kept going back to the way he’d come marching up the +road. Her mind kept weaving all sorts of queer fancies. Did slaves +really think like people? Covey had beaten him half to death. How could +he walk so? Just showed what a thick skin they had. And that great head +of his! She hadn’t noticed how big it was till this morning. + +Covey’s manner didn’t fool her a mite. He never flogged slaves on +Sunday, but he’d sure take it out of that boy in the morning. + +She woke up Monday morning thinking about the look on Fred’s face and +hurried downstairs. Seemed like Mr. Covey cut the prayers short. Maybe +he had something on his mind, too. As they started out, Amelia heard +him tell Fred to clean out the barn. That meant he wouldn’t be going to +the fields with the others. Covey lingered a few minutes in the house, +tightening the handle on his lash. + +Amelia had always tried to get away from the awful floggings. Lucy said +she was chicken-hearted. But this morning she was filled with an odd +excitement. She wanted to see. She decided against going out in the +yard. With a quick look at Lucy’s bent back, she slipped out of the +kitchen and almost ran up the stairs. Her attic window overlooked the +yard. + +It was fully light now. Covey and the overseer were standing a few +feet from the back door. Hughes held a looped cord in his hand and +was showing something to Covey, who listened closely. Amelia could +see them plain enough, but they were talking too low for her to hear. +Then Fred swung the barn doors back and fastened them. Both men turned +and watched him. He certainly was going about his job with a will. He +wasn’t wasting any time standing around. Evidently he was getting ready +to lead out the oxen. + +She saw Hughes start away, stop and say something. Then she heard +Covey’s, “Go ahead. I’ll manage.” + +Her attention was attracted by the way Fred was handling the oxen. They +were ornery beasts, but he didn’t seem afraid of them at all. Covey +too was watching. Amelia couldn’t see what he had done with his lash. +He held in his hand the cord Hughes had handed him. Fred seemed to be +having some trouble with one of the oxen. He couldn’t fasten something. +He backed away, turned and in a moment started climbing up the ladder +to the hayloft. + +The moment the boy’s back was turned, Covey streaked across the yard. +The movement was so unexpected and so stealthy that Amelia cried out +under her breath. She saw what he was going to do even before he +grabbed Fred by the leg and brought him down upon the hard ground with +a terrible jar. He was pulling the loop over the boy’s legs when, with +a sudden spring, the lithe body had leaped at the man, a hand at his +throat! Amelia gripped the ledge with her hands and leaned out. They +were both on the ground now, the dark figure on top. The boy loosened +his fingers. Amelia could see Covey’s upturned face. He was puffing, +but it was bewilderment, not pain, that made his face so white and +queer. The boy sprang up and stood on his guard while Covey scrambled +to his feet. + +“You ain’t resistin’, you scoundrel?” Covey shouted in a hoarse voice. + +And Frederick--body crouched, fist raised--said politely, “Yessir.” He +was breathing hard. + +Covey made a move to grab him, and Fred sidestepped. Covey let out a +bellow that brought Lucy running to the door. + +“Hughes! Help! Hughes!” + +Amelia saw Hughes, halfway across the field, start running back. +Meanwhile the boy held his ground, not striking out but ready to defend +himself against anything Covey could do. + +_The slave boy has gone mad!_ She’d heard of slaves “going bad.” She +ought to go down and help. They’d all be murdered in their beds. But +she couldn’t leave her window. She couldn’t take her eyes off the +amazing sight--a dumb slave standing firmly on his feet, his head up. +Standing so, he was almost as tall as Covey. + +Now Hughes came bolting into the yard and rushed Fred. He met a kick in +the stomach that sent him staggering away in pain. Covey stared after +his overseer stupidly. The nigger had kicked a white man! Covey dodged +back--needlessly, for Fred had not moved toward him. He stood quietly +waiting, ready to ward off any attack. Covey eyed him. + +“You goin’ to keep on resistin’?” + +There was something plaintive about Covey’s question. Amelia had a +crazy impulse to laugh. She leaned far out the window. She must hear. +The boy’s voice reached her quite distinctly--firm, positive tones. + +“Yessir. You can’t beat me no mo’--never no mo’.” + +Now Covey was frightened. He looked around: his cowhide--a +club--anything. Hughes, at one side, straightened up. + +“I’ll get the gun,” he snarled. + +Covey gave a start, but he spoke out of the corner of his mouth. + +“It’s in the front hall.” + +Amelia saw Hughes coming toward the house; his face was livid. Then she +heard Lucy’s shrill voice and Hughes’s curses. She guessed what Lucy +was saying--that they dare not kill Captain Auld’s slave. + +The boy had not moved. He was watching Covey, whose eyes had fallen on +a knotty piece of wood lying just outside the stable door. He began +easing his way toward it. Amelia’s breath was coming in panting gulps. +Her knees were shaking. + +Her fingers felt numb on the splintery wood of the ladder. She nearly +slipped. Her legs almost doubled up under her when she leaned over the +banister, peering down into the hall below. She couldn’t see the gun, +but she could still hear Hughes’s angry voice out back. + +Shadows seemed to clutch at her skirts, the stairs cracked and creaked +as she crept down, while the thick, heavy smell that lurked in the hall +nearly sickened her. Her cold, shaking fingers clutched the barrel +of the gun standing upright in the corner, and she somehow managed +to get up the stairs before the door at the back of the hall opened. +She crouched against the wall, listening, not daring now to climb her +ladder. She heard Hughes clumping about below, his heavy boots kicking +objects aside. She heard him curse, at first softly, then with a roar. +A few feet away a door stood partly open. Holding the gun close, she +tiptoed along the wall and into one of the rooms. + +Meanwhile, Frederick knew that Hughes had gone for a gun, but that was +not as important as Covey’s cautious approach to the thick, knotty +stick of wood. + +_He’ll knock me down with it_, Frederick thought. He breathed evenly, +knowing exactly what he was going to do. The moment Covey leaned over +to grab the stick, the boy leaped forward, seized his shirt collar with +both hands and brought the man down, stretched out full length in the +cow dung. Covey grabbed the boy’s arms and yelled lustily. + +Feet, suddenly no longer tired, were hastening toward the back yard. +The news was spreading. + +Bill, another of Covey’s “trainees,” came around the house. He +stared--open-mouthed. + +“Grab him! Bill! Grab him!” Covey shouted. + +Bill’s feet were rooted to the ground, his face a dumb mask. + +“Whatchu say, Massa Covey, whatchu say?” + +“Get hold of him! Grab him!” + +Bill’s eyes were round. He swallowed, licking out his tongue. + +“I gotta get back to mah plowin’, Massa. Look! Hit’s sun-up.” With a +limp hand he indicated the sun shooting its beams over the eastern +woods and turned vaguely away. + +“Come back here, you fool! He’s killing me!” + +A flash of interest flickered across the broad, flat face. Bill took +several steps forward. Frederick fixed him with a baleful gaze and +spoke through clenched teeth. + +“Don’t you put your hands on me!” + +Bill sagged. “My God, ye crazy coon, I ain’t a-gonna tech ye!” And he +shuffled around the barn. + +Covey cursed. He could not free himself. The boy was like a slippery +octopus, imprisoning him with his arms and legs. + +Frederick was panting now. His heart sank when he saw Caroline. She +must have been milking in the shed, for she carried a brimming pail. +Covey could make her help him. She really was a powerful woman, and +Frederick knew she could master him easily now, exhausted as he was. + +Covey, too, saw her and called out confidently. Caroline stopped. She +set down the pail of milk. Covey relaxed, an evil grin on his face. + +And then--Caroline laughed! It wasn’t loud or long; but Covey sucked in +his breath at the sound. + +“Caroline! Hold him!” The iron in his voice was leaking out. + +Caroline’s words were low in her throat--rusty because so seldom used. +Two words came. + +“Who? Me?” + +She picked up the pail of milk and walked toward the house, dragging +her leg a little. + +Frederick felt Covey go limp. And in that moment he sprang up, himself +grabbed the knotty chunk of wood and backed away. Covey rolled over on +to his side. He was not hurt, but he was dazed. When he did get to his +feet, swaying a bit, the yard seemed crowded with dark, silent forms. +Actually only four or five slaves, hearing the outcries, had come +running and now showed the whites of their eyes from a safe distance. +But Covey’s world was tottering. He must do something. + +The boy stood there, holding the stick. Now Covey went toward him. +Frederick saw the defeat on his face, and he made no move to strike +him. So Covey was able to take him by the shoulders and shake him +mightily. + +“Now then, you wretch,” he said in a loud voice, “get on with your +work! I wouldn’t ’a’ whipped you half so hard if you hadn’t resisted. +That’ll teach you!” + +When he dropped his hands and turned around, the dark figures had +slipped away. He stood a moment blinking up at the sun. It was going +to be another hot day. He wiped his sleeve across his sweating face, +leaving a smear of barnyard filth on his cheek. The kitchen door was +closed. _Just like that skunk, Hughes, to go off and leave me!_ He’d +send him packing off the place before night. But he didn’t want to go +into the house now. He was tired. Covey walked over to the well and +stood looking out toward the bay. + +Frederick once more started up the ladder. He would get some sweet, +fresh hay for the oxen. Then he could lead them out. + + + + + CHAPTER THREE + + _An old man drives his mule_ + + +When Covey came down sick right after Hughes was fired, his wife was +certain things would go to rack and ruin. Strangely enough, they did +not. The stock got fed; the men left for the fields every morning; wood +was cut and piled, and the never-ending job of picking cotton went on. + +Amelia thought she’d never seen anything prettier. Cotton didn’t grow +up in the hills, and now the great green stalks with their bulbs of +silver fascinated her. With no more floggings going on out back, she +began to notice things. She found herself watching the rhythm of a +slave’s movements at work, a black arm plunged into the gleaming mass. +She even caught the remnants of a song floating back to her. There was +peace in the air. And the boy Fred went scampering about like a colt. + +Inside the house, Covey groaned and cursed. After a time he sat silent, +huddled in a chair, staring at the wall. + +He’d sent Hughes packing, all right. But there had been hell to +pay first. Hughes had been all set to go in town and bring out the +authorities. The nigger had struck him, he blubbered, and should get +the death penalty for it. The young mule certainly had given his +dear cousin an awful wallop. Had Covey let himself go, he would have +grinned. But, after all, it was unthinkable for a black to strike a +white man. _The bastard!_ But had it got about that he, Covey, couldn’t +handle a loony strippling--not a day over sixteen--he would be ruined. +Nobody would ever give him another slave to break. So Hughes’s mouth +had to be shut. He was willing to go, but he had forced a full month’s +salary out of Covey. The worst thing was Hughes’s taking the gun along +in the bargain! + +Hughes swore he couldn’t find the gun. But Covey knew he had cleaned +that gun just the day before and stood it right behind the hall door. +That’s where he always kept it, and he knew it was there. No use +telling him one of the boys took it. A black won’t touch a gun with a +ten-foot pole. No, it had gone off with Hughes, and he’d just have to +get himself another one next time he went to Baltimore. + +By now Covey had convinced himself that most of his troubles stemmed +from Hughes. Take the matter of Captain Auld’s boy. After Hughes left, +he’d handled him without a mite of trouble. + +Frederick for his part had tasted freedom--and it was good. “When a +slave cannot be flogged,” he wrote many years later, “he is more than +half free.” + +So it was as a free man that he reasoned with himself. He would prove +to Covey--and through him to Captain Auld--that he could do whatever +job they assigned. When he did not understand, he asked questions. +Frederick was not afraid. He was not afraid of anything. Furthermore, +his fellow-workers looked up to him with something like awe. Until now +he had been just another link in the shackles that bound them to the +mountain of despair. Their hearts had been squeezed of pity, as their +bodies had been squeezed of blood and their minds of hope. But they had +survived to witness a miracle! They told it over and over, while they +bent their backs and swung their arms. They whispered it at night. Old +men chewed their toothless gums over it, and babies sucked it in with +their mothers’ milk. + +The word was passed along, under cover, secret, unsuspected, until all +up and down the Eastern Shore, in field and kitchen, they knew what had +happened in “ole man Covey’s back yard on ’at mawnin’!” And memories +buried beneath avalanches of wretchedness began to stir. + +Something heard somewhere, someone who “got through!” A +trail--footprints headed “no’th”--toward a star! And as they talked, +eyes that had glazed over with dullness cleared, shoulders straightened +beneath the load, and weary, aching limbs no longer dragged. + +It was a good fall. Even Covey, forcing himself through the days, had +to admit that. Crops had done well, and the land he had put in cotton +promised much. Undoubtedly cotton was the thing. Next year he would buy +a gin and raise nothing else. But now it was a big job to weigh, bale, +and haul his cotton into town. + +Covey’s strength came back slowly. He had Tom Slater in to help him +for a spell, but Tom wasn’t much good at figuring; and figuring was +necessary, if he didn’t want those town slickers to cheat him out of +every cent. + +One Sunday evening he was sitting out front, waiting for it to get dark +so he could go to bed. Around the house came Amelia, trowel in hand. +Covey didn’t mind Amelia’s flowers. That little patch of purple was +right nice. But Amelia had hardly knelt down when from out back came +the boy Fred. He stopped at a respectful distance and bowed. + +“You sent for me, Miss Amelia?” + +Covey sucked his tongue with approval. They had said this nigger was +house-broke. He sure had the manners. Amelia had jumped up and was +talking brightly. + +“Yes, Fred. I wonder if you can’t fix that old gate. Even with our +netting this yard has no protection as long as the gate’s no good.” + +She indicated the worm-eaten boards sagging between two rotten posts. +Fred turned and studied them a moment before replying. + +“Miss Amelia,” he said slowly, “I better make you a new gate.” + +_Damn!_ thought Covey. + +“Can you do that?” Amelia was delighted. + +“Yes, ma’m. I’ll measure it right now.” + +Covey watched him hurry across the yard, draw a piece of string from +somewhere about him, and with clear-cut, precise movements measure the +height and width between the two posts. + +“I’ll have to allow for straightenin’ these posts and the swing in and +out, but I’m sure I can find the right sort of pieces in the barn,” he +explained. “If it’s all right with Mr. Covey.” + +“Oh, I’m sure he won’t mind.” + +The next thing, Amelia was coming toward him. His wife’s sister +certainly wasn’t as droopy as she used to be. Didn’t seem to be moping +around any more. + +“Mr. Covey, don’t you think it would be very nice if Fred makes us a +new gate? He says he can. It’ll help the appearance of the whole yard.” + +Yes, she sure had perked up. + +“Go ahead,” he grunted. + +Fred made one last calculation with his string. “I’ll go see about the +wood right away,” he said, and turned to leave. + +“Wait till tomorrow,” Covey barked. “It’s still the Sabbath.” + +“Yes, sir,” said Fred, and disappeared around the house. Amelia bent +over her flowers. + +A thought was breaking through the thick layers of Covey’s brain. +Damned if that fresh nigger didn’t sound just like one of those city +slickers! The way he had measured that opening! _I’ll bet he can +figure!_ + +It was a staggering thought and struck him unprepared. Full on like +that, it was monstrous. But when the first shock had passed--when the +ripples sort of spread out--he calmed down and began to cogitate. + +He went back over what Captain Auld had said--how the buck had been +ruined by the Captain’s city kin, coddled and taught to read until he +was too smart for his own or anybody else’s good. + +“Take it out of him!” Captain Auld had stormed. “Break him!” + +And he had promised he would. _Well!_ + +Covey was so still that Lucy, coming to the door and peeping out, +thought he was dozing. She went away shaking her head. _Poor Mr. Covey! +He’s not himself these days._ + +He was turning it over in his mind, weighing it. Really big plantations +all had some smart niggers on them, niggers who could work with tools, +niggers who could measure and figure, even buy and sell. Naturally +he hated such niggers when he came across them in town, often as not +riding sleek, black horses. But having one on your own plantation was +different. Like having a darky preacher around, like being a Colonel in +a great white plantation house with a rolling green and big trees. + +The last faint streaks of color faded from the sky. For a little while +the tall pines in the distance loomed blade against soft gray. Then +they faded, and overhead the stars came out. + +Covey rose, yawned and stretched himself. Tomorrow he would talk to +Fred about that figuring. It was still the Sabbath. + +There was nothing subtle about Covey the next day. He was clumsy, +disagreeable and domineering. Frederick suspected that he was being +tricked. But there was no turning back. He said, “Yes, sir, I can chalk +up the bales.” + +So he marked and counted each load of cotton, noted the weighing of the +wheat and oats, set down many figures. And Covey took his “chalk man” +to town with him. It got about among the white folks that the “Auld +boy” could read and write. The white masters heard other whisperings +too--vague, amusing “nigger talk.” But it was disturbing. Couldn’t be +too careful these days. There had been that Nat Turner! And a cold +breath lifted the hair on the backs of their necks. + +Frederick’s term of service with Edward Covey expired on Christmas day, +1834. The slave-breaker took him back to Captain Auld. The boy was in +good shape, but Captain Auld regarded both of them sourly. The talk had +reached his ears, and he had been warned that he had better get rid +of this slave. “One bad sheep will spoil a whole flock,” they said. +Captain Auld dared not ignore the advice of his powerful neighbors. +His slave holdings were small compared to theirs. Yet he did not want +to sell a buck not yet grown to his full value. Therefore he arranged +to hire the boy out to easy-going Mr. William Freeland, who lived on a +fine old farm about four miles from St. Michaels. + +Covey covered the dirt road back to his place at a savage pace. He +was in a mean mood. That night he flogged a half-wit slave until the +black fainted. Then he stomped into the house and, fully dressed, +flung himself across the bed. Lucy didn’t dare touch him and Caroline +wouldn’t. + +Frederick’s return to the Auld plantation was an event among the +slaves. Little boys regarded him with round eyes; the old folks talked +of his grandmother. There were those who claimed to have known his +mother; others now recalled that they had fed from the same trough, +under the watchful eye of “Aunt Katy.” He had returned during “the +Christmas” so they could wine and dine him. He saw the looks on their +faces, felt the warm glow. For the first time he saw a girl smiling at +him. Life was good. + +Early on the morning of January 1 he set out from St. Michaels for the +Freeland plantation. He had been given a fresh allotment of clothes--a +pair of trousers, a thin coarse jacket, and even a pair of heavy shoes. +Captain Auld did not intend his slave to show up before “quality” in +a state which would reflect shame on his owner. Though not rich, the +Freelands were one of the first families of Maryland. + +Life would be easier for him now, Frederick knew. But, as he walked +along the road that morning, he was not hastening toward the greener +grass and spreading shade trees on Mr. Freeland’s place. He was +whistling, but not because he would sleep on a cot instead of on the +floor, nor because his food would be better and ampler. He might even +wear a shirt. But that wasn’t it. Two strong, brown legs were carrying +his body to the Freeland plantation, but Frederick was speeding far +ahead. + +He carried his shoes in his hand. Might need those good, strong shoes! +They’d take him over sharp rocks and stubby, thorn-covered fields and +through swamplands. _Rub them with pepper and they leave no scent!_ He +kicked the sand up with his bare feet. It felt good. He stamped down +hard, leaving his footprints in the damp earth. + +He met an old man driving a mule. + +“Whar yo’ goin’, boy?” the old man asked. + +“I’m on my way!” It was a song. + +The old man peered at him closely. He was nearly blind and knew his +time was almost over. But he wanted to see the face of this young one +who spoke so. + +“Whatchu say, boy?” He spoke sharply. + +“My master’s sending me over to Mr. Freeland’s place,” Frederick +explained. + +“Oh!” the old man said, and waited. + +Frederick lowered his voice, though there was no one else in sight. + +“It is close by the bay.” + +The old man’s breath made a whistling sound as it escaped from the +dried reeds of his throat. + +“God bless yo’, boy!” Then he passed on by, driving his mule. + + * * * * * + +Several hours later Amelia passed the same old man. She had offered +to drive into town and pick up some things for the house. When Covey +had snarled that all the boys were busy, she said cheerfully she could +drive herself. + +“I did all of Tom’s buying,” she reminded him. Covey frowned. He didn’t +like opinionated women. + +Amelia urged Lucy to go along; the drive would do her good. But poor +Lucy only shrank further into herself and shook her head. + +The fact was that Amelia was expecting some mail at the post office. +Also, she wanted to mail a letter. She was writing again to Tom’s +cousin who lived in Washington. + +Tom had missed Jack terribly when he went away. They had shot squirrels +and rabbits together, but Jack never took to plowing. He was kind of +wild. Jack had urged Tom to give up, to leave the hills. Tom had hung +on--and now he was dead. They had told Amelia she must be resigned, +that it was “God’s will.” + +When Amelia began to wonder, she wrote Jack. _Why did Tom die?_ +she asked him. From there she had gone on to other questions, many +questions. Words had sprawled over the thin sheets. She had never +written such a long letter. + +Jack had replied immediately. But that letter had been only the first. +He had sent her newspapers and books. As she read them her astonishment +increased. She read them over and over again. + +Now she was thinking about going down to Washington. She was thinking +about it. She hardly saw the old man, driving his mule. + +The old man did not peer closely at her. His mule turned aside +politely. + + + + + CHAPTER FOUR + + _Frederick comes to a dead end_ + + +William Freeland, master of Freelands, gave his rein the slightest tug +as he rode between the huge stone columns. It was good to be alone and +let all memory of the Tilghmans drain from his mind, including Delia’s +girlish laughter. He was glad the Christmas was over. Now he could have +peace. + +Just inside the wrought-iron gates, where the graveled drive was +guarded by a stately sycamore, the big mare came to a quivering pause. +She knew this was where her master wished to stop. From this spot the +old dwelling far up the drive, with tulip poplars huddled around it, +was imposing. + +It was a good house, built in the good old days when Maryland boasted +noble blood. Beside the winding staircase of the wide hall hung +a painting of Eleanor, daughter of Benedict Calvert, sixth Lord +Baltimore. William Freeland was not a Calvert; but the families had +been close friends, and the lovely Eleanor had danced in those halls. +That was before Maryland had broken her ties with England. For a +long time there were those who regretted the day Maryland signed the +Articles of Confederation; but when ambitious neighbors crowded their +boundaries, loyal Marylanders rallied round; and in 1785 William +Freeland’s father, Clive Freeland, had gone to Mount Vernon to contest +Virginia’s claim to the Potomac. He had spoken eloquently, and +Alexander Hamilton had accompanied the young man home. There Hamilton +had been received by Clive’s charming bride, had rested and relaxed +and, under the spell of Freelands, had talked of his own coral-strewn, +sun-drenched home in the Caribbeans. + +In those days the manor house sat in the midst of a gently rolling +green. Spreading trees towered above precise box borders; turfed +walkways, bordered with beds of delicate tea-roses, crossed each +other at right angles; Cherokee rose-vines climbed the garden walls; +and wisteria, tumbling over the veranda, showed bright against the +whitewashed bricks, joined with pink crêpe myrtle by the door and +flowed out toward the white-blossomed magnolias in the yard. The +elegant, swarthy Hamilton lingered, putting off his return to New York +as long as he could. He told them how he hated that city’s crooked, +dirty streets and shrill-voiced shopkeepers. + +All this was fifty years ago. The great estate had been sold off in +small lots. On the small plantation that was left, the outhouses were +tumbling down, moss hung too low on the trees, the hedges needed +trimming and bare places showed in the lawn. Everything needed a coat +of paint. Slowly but surely the place was consuming itself, as each +year bugs ate into the tobacco crop. + +“It will last out our time.” More than that consideration did not +concern the present master of Freelands. + +There was a faint wild fragrance of sweet shrub in the air--the smell +of spring. It was the first day of January, but he knew that plowing +must be got under way. Spring would be early. He sighed. Undoubtedly, +things would have been very different had his elder brother lived. For +Clive, Jr., had had will and energy. He would have seen to it that the +slaves did their work. He would have made the crops pay. Clive had been +a fighter. In fact, Clive had been killed in a drunken brawl. The whole +thing had been hushed up, and young William sent off to Europe. For +several years they spoke of him as “studying abroad.” Actually, William +did learn a great deal. He met lots of people who became less queer as +the days and months passed. He ran into Byron in Italy. + +A cable from his mother had brought him hurrying back home. His father +was dead when he arrived. + +Everything seemed to have shrunk. For a little while he was appalled by +what he saw and heard. Then gradually the world outside fell away. His +half-hearted attempts to change things seemed silly. He had forgotten +how easy life could be in Maryland. + +Now he looked at the substantial old house. Someone was opening the +second-floor shutters. That meant his mother was getting up. He smiled, +thinking how like the house she was--untouched, unmarred, unshaken by +the passing years. At seventy she was magnificent--the real master of +Freelands. He bowed to her every wish, except one. Here he shook his +head and laughed softly. At forty, he remained unmarried. + +His mother could not understand that the choice young bits of +femininity which she paraded before him amused, but did not intrigue, +him. So carefully guarding their pale skin against the sun, so daintily +lifting billowing flowered skirts, so demure, waiting behind their +veils in their rose gardens. He knew too well the temper and petty +shrewishness that lurked behind their soft curls. In some cases there +would be brains, too, but brains lying dormant. None of them could hold +a candle to his mother! He would tell her so, stooping to kiss her ear. + +The mare pawed restlessly. Someone was whistling just outside the gate. +Freeland drew up closer to the low wall. It was a black who had sat +down on the stump beside the road. He was pulling on a shoe. The other +shoe lay on the ground beside him. Apparently he had been walking along +the sandy road in his bare feet. Freeland chuckled. Just like a nigger! +Give them a good pair of shoes, and the minute your back’s turned they +take them off. Don’t give them shoes, and they say they can’t work. +This fellow was undoubtedly turning in at Freelands and didn’t want to +appear barefoot. + +He was standing up now, brushing himself off carefully. A likely +looking youngster, well built. Freeland wondered where he belonged. He +wasn’t black, rather that warm rich brown that indicated mixed blood. + +“Bad blood,” his mother always called it. And she would have rapped her +son smartly with her cane had he questioned the verdict. Why should he? +It would seem that the Atlantic Ocean produced some queer alchemical +changes in bloods. In Europe “mixed blood” was, well, just mixed +blood. Everybody knew that swarthy complexions in the south of France, +in Spain, in Italy, indicated mixed blood. Over here things were +different. Certainly there was nothing about slavery to improve stock. +He had seen enough to know that. + +He suspected that his mother had doubts and suspicions which she did +not voice. Her feverish anxiety to get him safely married didn’t fool +him. He shrugged his shoulders. She need not worry. He knew men who +blandly sold off their own flesh and blood. He rubbed elbows with them +at the tobacco market, but he never invited them to his table. + +In the road Frederick stood looking at the gates a moment. They were +swung back, so he had no hesitancy about entering; but he had never +seen such large gates before. He touched the iron trimmings. Close by a +horse neighed. Frederick turned and knew it must be the master sitting +there so easily on the big red mare. He jerked off his hat and bowed. + +“Well, boy, what do you want?” The voice was pleasant. + +“I’m Captain Auld’s boy, sir. He sent me to work.” + +Freeland studied the brown face. This young darky was unusual; such +speech was seldom heard on the Eastern Shore. He asked another question. + +“Where are you from, boy?” + +Frederick hesitated. It was hardly likely that his master had told his +prospective employer about the year at Covey’s. Had he heard from some +other source? That would be a bad start. He temporized. + +“I walked over from St. Michaels just now, sir.” + +“Must have got an early start. We haven’t had breakfast here yet.” + +The master slid easily to the ground, tossing the reins in the boy’s +direction. “Come along!” + +He had not the faintest idea what this was all about. But things had a +way of clearing up in time. He started walking up the driveway toward +the house. Frederick followed with the horse. + +“Did you bring a note?” Freeland asked the question over his shoulder. + +“No, sir. Captain Auld just told me to get along.” + +_Who the devil is Captain Auld? Oh_, he remembered, _St. +Michaels--yes_. Had said he could send him some help this spring, a +good strong hand. Now what would poor trash like Auld be doing with a +slave like this? He spoke his thoughts aloud, impatiently. + +“You’re not a field hand! What do you know about tobacco?” + +Frederick’s heart missed a beat. He didn’t want him; didn’t like his +looks! He saw the big gates of Freelands--this lovely place--swinging +shut behind him. He swallowed. + +“I--I can do a good day’s work. I mighty strong.” + +Freeland flipped a leaf from a bush with his riding crop before he +spoke. + +“You weren’t raised up at St. Michaels, and you’re no field hand. Don’t +lie to me, boy!” He turned and looked Frederick full in the face. The +boy stopped but did not flinch. Nor did he drop his eyes in confusion. +After all, the explanation was simple. + +“When I was little, Old Marse sent me to Baltimore to look after his +grandson, Tommy. I was raised up there.” + +“I see. Who’s your folks?” + +The answer came promptly. “Colonel Lloyd’s my folks, sir.” + +“Oh!” + +So that was it! Colonel Edward Lloyd--one of the really great places +in Talbot County--secluded, far from all thoroughfares of travel +and commerce, sufficient unto itself. Colonel Lloyd had transported +his products to Baltimore in his own vessels. Every man and boy on +board, except the captain, had been owned by him as his property. The +plantation had its own blacksmiths, wheelwrights, shoemakers, weavers +and coopers--all slaves--all “Colonel Lloyd’s folks.” Freeland’s mother +had known dashing Sally Lloyd, the Colonel’s eldest daughter. They had +sailed together in the sloop called the _Sally Lloyd_. Yes, the old +master was dead now. Naturally many of the slaves had been sold. He was +in luck. + +They had reached the house. Freeland mounted the veranda steps. He did +not look around. His words were almost gruff. + +“Go on round back. Sandy’ll take care of you.” + +He disappeared, leaving Frederick’s “Yessir” hanging in the air. + +Frederick patted the mare’s neck and whispered in her ear, “It’s all +right, old girl. Let’s go find Sandy!” + + * * * * * + +From the road the big house and its tangled yard made a charming +picture of sleepy tranquility. But “round back” all was bustling +activity. “The Christmas” was over. Aunt Lou had emphasized the fact in +no uncertain terms. + +“Yo black scamps clean up all dis hyear trash!” + +Rakes, brooms, mops and wheelbarrows were whisking. There were sleepy +groans and smart cuffs. Already one round bottom had been spanked. +Everybody knew New Year’s was a day to start things _right_. Aunt Lou’s +standards and authority were unquestioned. Mis’ Betsy would be coming +along soon. And Lawd help if everything wasn’t spick and span by then! +’Course Master William was already up and out on that mare of hissen. +But nobody minded Master William too much. Though he could lay it on if +he got mad! Most of the time he didn’t pay no ’tention to nothin’--not +a thing. + +Then came a strange nigger leading Master William’s horse. _Well!_ The +young ones stopped and stared, finger in mouth. Susan, shaking a rug +out of an upstairs window, nearly pitched down into the yard. John and +Handy regarded the intruder with eager interest. Sandy turned and just +looked at him. + +Frederick’s pulse raced, but he made no sign of recognition either. + +Then “voodoo” Sandy smiled, and everybody relaxed. _So!_ + +In the high wainscoted dining room young Henry was serving breakfast. +Old Caleb always served dinner--and even breakfast when there were +guests--but Henry was in training under the eye of his mistress. +Polished silver, gleaming white linen and sparkling glasses--all the +accoutrements of fine living were there. A slight woman in a soft +black silk dress with an ivory-colored collar, sat across from Master +William. Her hair was white, but her blue-veined hands had not been +worn by the years and her eyes remained bright and critical. The +mistress of Freelands had not aged; she had withered. + +“Henry!” She rapped the table with her spoon. “Be careful there! How +many times have I told you not to use those cups for breakfast?” + +“Please, Mis’ Betsy.” Henry’s tone was plaintive. “’Tain’t none of mah +fault. Caleb set ’em out, ma’m. They was sittin’ right hyear on tha +sideboard.” + +“Stop whining, Henry!” Her son seldom spoke with such impatience. Mrs. +Freeland glanced at him sharply. + +“Yessah, Massa William, but--” began Henry. + +“He’s quite right, Mother,” Freeland interrupted. “Caleb served coffee +to the Tilghmans before they left. I had a cup myself.” + +“I’m glad of that.” The cups were forgotten. “I had no idea they were +leaving so early. I should have been up to see my guests off.” + +“No need at all, Mother. I accompanied the carriage a good piece down +the road. They’ll make it back to Richmond in no time.” + +“It was nice having them for the holidays.” She tasted her coffee +critically. + +Mornings were pleasant in this room. The canary, hanging beside the +window, caught the gleam of sunshine on its cage and burst into song. +Some place out back a child laughed. The mistress suppressed a sigh. It +would be a black child. Her son lounged so easily in his chair. She bit +her lips. + +“I never thought Delia Tilghman would grow up to be such a charming +young lady.” She spoke casually. “She’s really lovely.” + +“She is, indeed, Mother,” her son assented; but at his smile she looked +away. + +“I reckon Caleb better wash these cups himself.” Her eyes grew +indulgent as they rested on Henry. He shuffled his feet as she added, +“Henry here was probably out skylarking all night.” + +“Yes, _ma’m_.” Henry gave a wide grin before vanishing kitchen-ward. + +His master’s snort was emphatic. “Henry probably slept twelve hours +last night. The silly ass!” + +“Really, William, I do not understand your attitude toward our own +people. Henry was born right here at Freelands.” + +He laughed and took another hot biscuit. + +“Which undoubtedly should make him less an ass. But does it?” At his +mother’s stricken look he was contrite. “Forgive me, Mother, but I’ve +just found much better material for you to work on, worthy of your +efforts.” + +“What are you talking about?” + +Henry had returned with golden-brown baked apples, swimming in thick +syrup. + +“Henry,” Freeland said, “step out back and fetch in that new boy.” +Henry’s eyes widened, but he did not move. “Run along! You’ll see him.” + +Henry disappeared, moving faster than was his wont. Freeland smiled at +his mother. + +“I took on a new boy this morning. You’ll like him.” + +Mrs. Freeland was incredulous. “You bought a boy this morning?” + +“I’m hiring this fellow from a peckawood over at St. Michaels.” His +mother’s sniff was audible. “But he’s really one of Colonel Lloyd’s +people.” + +“Oh! That’s different. Should be good stock.” + +“Unquestionably. I’d like to buy him.” + +The old lady’s eyes had grown reminiscent. She shook her head. + +“I wonder if that fine old place is going to pieces. How sad that the +Colonel died without a son.” + +The door behind her was shoved open noisily, admitting Henry who +breathed as if he had been running. + +“Hyear he is!” he blurted out. + +Frederick stopped on the threshold. The room made him hold his +breath--sunlight reflected on rich colors and pouring through the +singing of a little bird. He wanted to stoop down to see if his shoes +carried any tiny speck of sand or dust. He must step softly on the +beautiful floor. + +“Come in, boy!” + +The man’s voice was kind. Mrs. Freeland turned with a jerk and stared +keenly at the new acquisition. She noted at once his color, or lack of +color. That meant--the thought was rigorously checked. Who was this +boy her son had picked up in St. Michaels? Why this sudden interest in +buying the half-grown buck? She spoke brusquely. + +“Come here!” + +He drew near, walking quietly but firmly, and bowed. Under her +merciless scrutiny he neither shuffled his feet nor lowered his eyes. +It was the master who broke the silence. + +“Well, Mother--” + +She waved him to silence with a peremptory gesture. + +“Do you have a name?” she questioned. + +“My name is Frederick, ma’m.” His words were respectfully low and +distinct. + +The man nodded his head in approval. His mother did not move for a +moment. When she spoke there was a harsh grating in her voice. + +“Who gave you such a name?” + +Frederick was conscious of something tightening inside of him. His name +always surprised people. He had come to wish that he did know how he +got it. From his grandmother? His mother? His father? In Baltimore he +and Tommy had talked about it. Then the young master had said to his +little slave, “Aw, fiddlesticks! What difference does it make? That’s +your name, ain’t it? Just tell ’em!” + +“Answer me, boy!” this frightening old lady was saying. + +His back stiffened and he said in the same respectful tone, “Frederick +is my name, ma’m.” + +She struck him, hard, with her cane. The master pushed back his chair +and half rose. + +“Mother!” + +“Impudence!” Her eyes blazed. “Get out of my sight!” + +Frederick backed away. He dare not run, he dare not answer. He would +not cower. He had no need of asking how he had offended her. He had +the fierce satisfaction of knowing. “Impudence” could be committed by +a slave in a hundred different ways--a look, a word, a gesture. It was +an unpardonable crime. He knew he was guilty. Henry had backed to the +wall, eyes popping, mouth open. + +Now William Freeland was on his feet. He spoke to Henry rather than to +Frederick, and his voice was hard. + +“Take him out back. I’ll come along in a moment.” + +Frederick had a crazy impulse to laugh at Henry’s face as he came +toward him. The lumbering dark fellow was heavier, perhaps a year or +two older, but in a fair fight Frederick knew he could outmarch him. +There was no question of resistance in his mind now, however. The timid +way Henry took his arm was silly. + +The moment the door had closed behind them, Henry’s entire demeanor +changed. + +“Look-a-hyear, boy,” he whispered, dropping Frederick’s arm, “ain’t you +dat crazy nigger what whopped a white man?” + +Frederick shrugged his shoulders. His tiny spurt of exaltation had +passed. He felt sick. + +“I _am_ crazy.” His words were a groan. + +“I knowed it!” exulted Henry. “I knowed it! Come on out to tha barn. I +gotta tell tha others.” There was no suggestion of whine in his voice, +nor was his head cocked to one side. + +At Henry’s silent arm-wavings they gathered round--the numerous yard +boys and men working in the stables and barns. Frederick dropped on +an empty box, but Henry delivered a dramatic account of what had just +occurred. They kept their voices low, and when Handy slapped his knee +and laughed out loud, John whirled on him. + +“Shut yo’ big mouth! Wanta bring tha house down on us?” + +“Standin’ up to Ole Missus!” + +“Lawd! Lawd! She’ll skin you!” + +They looked at him admiringly. Only Sandy shook his head. “Not good!” +was his only comment. + +And Frederick, sitting there on the empty box, agreed with Sandy. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Freeland’s cane slipped to the floor as the door closed behind the +two slaves. Her hand was shaking. Her son was puzzled as he bent to +pick up the cane. + +“Mother, you have upset yourself. I’m so sorry. But I declare I don’t +see why.” + +The small white head jerked up. + +“You don’t! So this is your idea of better material. That--That +mongrel!” Her words were vehement. + +“Oh, Mother! For heaven’s sake!” The scene he had witnessed suddenly +took on meaning. Was “bad blood” getting to be an obsession with her? + +“Strutting in here with his airs and impudence!” + +“I’ll confess he is a little cocky.” Then he sought to mollify her. +“He’s probably been spoilt. I told you he was from Colonel Lloyd’s +place. He’s not just a common hand.” + +She managed to control the trembling of her lips. _I must not fight +with William._ She pressed back her tears and got to her feet. + +“Keep him, if you like. He looks strong. Only I will not have him in +the house.” + +She started across the floor, her cane muffled by the rug. In the +hallway she turned. + +“I don’t like him. A nigger who looks you straight in the eye is +dangerous. Send Tessie to me!” The keys hanging at her side rattled. + +She ascended the stairs, the cane taps growing fainter. + +“I’ll be damned!” He spoke the words under his breath, looking after +her. Then, returning to the room, he reached for his pipe. Standing +there, he crushed the bits of dried tobacco leaf into its bowl. “Wonder +if the old girl’s right.” + +He sat a while smoking before he went out back. He forgot about Tessie. + +The folks in the yard were surprised when Frederick was sent to the +fields. Obviously he had been considered for houseboy. Then, after he +offended Old Missus, they thought he would go scuttling. But, after +a time, Master William came stomping into the yard. He wore his high +boots and he carried his riding crop. In a loud voice he asked where +that boy was hiding. One little pickaninny began to whimper. Everybody +thought that boy was going to get it. But he came right on out of the +barn. The master just stood there, waiting, drawing the whip through +his hands. He didn’t say anything until the boy was quite close. Then +he spoke so low they couldn’t hear. + +“Do you want to work on my place?” + +Frederick was so surprised by the question that he barely managed to +gasp, “Oh, yes, sir! I do, sir!” + +The master’s next words were louder. + +“Then get down to the bottom tract.” He pointed with his whip. “And +hurry!” he almost shouted. + +Without another word the boy streaked off across the field. Master +William yelled for his horse and went riding lickety-split after him. +The yard folks stared: _Well!_ + + * * * * * + +Some of the boys tried to console Frederick that evening. They +considered field work low drudgery and held themselves aloof from the +“fiel’ han’s.” But Frederick considered himself fortunate. He liked Mr. +Freeland, liked the way he had told an older worker to show him, liked +the way he had gone off, leaving them together. + +He found he was to bunk over the stable with Sandy and John. John was +Henry’s brother, but Henry slept in the house where he could answer +a summons. Handy occupied a cabin with his mother and sister. Before +Frederick went to sleep that first night he knew all there was to know +about these four, who were to be his closest friends. Sandy, though +still owned by Mr. Grooms, had been hired out for the season as usual +to Mr. Freeland. He told Frederick that his wife Noma was well. He +spent every Sunday with her as always. Some Sunday, he promised, he +would take Frederick to see her. The mother of John and Handy had died +while they were quite young. They had never been away from Freelands, +and were curious about what went on “outside.” + +Never had Frederick enjoyed such congenial companionship. The slaves +at Freelands had all they wanted to eat; they were not driven with a +lash; they had time to do many things for themselves. Aunt Lou was an +exacting overseer, but Aunt Lou could be outwitted. After his grueling +labor at Covey’s, Frederick’s duties seemed very light indeed. He was +still a field hand, but he preferred work in the open to any service +which would bring him under the eyes of the Old Missus. Since he had +no business in the house or out front, he could stay out of her sight. +Once in a while he would look up to find Master William watching him at +work, but he seldom said anything. + +Frederick was growing large and strong and began to take pride in the +fact that he could do as much hard work as the older men. The workers +competed frequently among themselves, measuring each other’s strength. +But slaves were too wise to keep it up long enough to produce an +extraordinary day’s work. They reasoned that if a large quantity of +work were done in one day and it became known to the master, he might +ask the same amount every day. Even at Freelands this thought was +enough to bring them to a dead halt in the middle of a close race. + +The evenings grew longer and more pleasant, and Frederick’s dreams for +the future might have faded. But now he found himself talking more and +more earnestly to his friends. Henry and John were remarkably bright +and intelligent, when they wished to be. Neither could read. + +“If I only had my _Columbian Orator_!” + +He told them how he lost his precious book and how he had learned to +read it. Perhaps such a book could be found. + +“What’s in a book?” they asked. + +Frederick told them everything he knew--about stories he and Tommy had +read together, spelling books, newspapers he had filched in Baltimore, +how men wrote down their deeds and thoughts, about things happening in +other places, how once white men fought a war, and a speech one of the +boys had learned from the _Columbian Orator_--a speech that said “Give +me liberty or give me death!” + +“All dat in a book?” But then they noticed Master William sitting with +a book. Evening were long now and warmer. The master rode only in the +mornings. They saw him on the veranda, for hours at a time, sitting +with a book. One day Henry made up his mind. + +“I’ll git me a book!” + +It was easy. Just walk into the room which was usually empty and +take a book! It was his job to dust them, anyhow, so no one noticed. +Henry could hardly wait for evening when Frederick would come in from +the fields. Henry and John and Handy--waiting with a book. They were +excited. + +Frederick’s heart leaped too when he saw the book. He took it eagerly +and opened to the title page. He frowned. The words were very long and +hard-looking. Pictures would have made it easier, but no matter. He +turned to the first page. They held their breath. Frederick was going +to read. + +But Frederick did not read. Letters were on the page in front of +him, but something terrible had happened to them. He strained his +eyes searching--searching for one single word he recognized. Had he +forgotten everything? That could not be. With his mind’s eye he could +see pages and words very clearly. But none of the words he remembered +were here. What kind of book was this? Slowly he spelt out the title, +vainly endeavoring to put the letters together into something that +would make sense. + +“G-a-r-g-a-n-t-u-a-e-t-p-a-n-t-a-g-r-u-e-l.” And underneath all that +were the letters “R-a-b-e-l-a-i-s.” + +He shook his head. Many years later, in Paris, Frederick Douglass +read portions of Rabelais’ _Gargantua et Pantagruel_. And he vividly +recalled the awful sense of dismay which swept over him the first time +he held a copy of this masterpiece of French literature in his hands. + +They were waiting. He swallowed painfully. + +“G’wan, big boy! Read!” Handy was impatient. + +“I--I--” Frederick began again. “This--This book--It’s not--the one I +meant. I can’t make--This book--” He stopped. John drew nearer. + +“Hit’s a book, ain’t it?” He was ready to defend his brother. + +“Yes, but--” + +“Then read hit!” + +Frederick turned several pages. It was no use. He wished the ground +would open and swallow him up. He forced his lips to say the words. + +“I--can’t!” + +They stared at him, not believing what they heard. Then they looked at +each other and away quickly. They’d been taken in. He had been lying +all the time. + +Handy spat on the ground, disgusted. + +But Henry was puzzled. Frederick looked as if he were going to be sick. +He hadn’t looked like that when the old lady struck him, or when Master +William came out after him with his whip. Henry shifted his weight. + +“Looky, Fred! What all’s wrong wid dat book?” + +Gratitude, like a cool breeze, steadied Frederick. He wet his lips. + +“I don’t know, Hen. It’s all different. These funny words--Everything’s +mixed up.” + +“Lemme see!” Henry took the book and turned several pages. He liked the +feel of the smooth paper. + +“Humph!” Handy spit again. + +“Huccome they’s mixed?” John’s suspicions sounded in his voice. The +recklessness of desperation goaded Frederick. + +“Henry, could you get another book? I--I never said I could read _all_ +the books. Could you try another one? Could you, Henry?” + +Henry sighed. He tucked the rejected book under his arm. + +“Reckon.” + +His brief reply brought Hand’s withering scorn. + +“Yo’ gonna lose yo’ hide! Hyear me!” With this warning Handy walked +away. His disappointment was bitter. + +The next day stretched out unbearably. Frederick forced himself +through the motions of his work while his mind went round and round +in agonizing circles. Then suddenly it was time to stop, time for +the evening meal, time to return to the yard. He knew Henry would be +waiting with another book. His moist hands clung to his hoe, his feet +seemed rooted in the cool, upturned earth. Then his legs were carrying +him back. + +He saw them standing behind the barn--John and Henry and, slightly +removed, leaning against a tree, Handy. He went on whittling when +Frederick came up. Handy’s demeanor was that of a wholly disinterested +bystander. But Henry said, “I got hit--anodder one.” His tone was +cautious. + +Frederick took the book with hands that trembled. Handy’s knife +paused. Then Frederick gave a whoop, and Handy, dropping his stick, +came running. + +“The Last of the Mo-hi-cans!” read Frederick triumphantly. He didn’t +know what “Mohicans” meant, but what was one small word? He turned the +pages and shouted for joy. Words, words, words--beautiful, familiar +faces smiled up at him! He hugged the book. He danced a jig, and they +joined him, making such a disturbance that Sandy came out of the barn +to see what was going on. + +Sandy was their friend, so they told him--all talking together. They +hid the book and went to eat, swallowing their food in great gulps. +Afterward they went down to the creek, and Frederick read to them until +darkness blotted out the magic of the pages. They talked, then, turning +over the words, examining them. + +This was the beginning. As summer came on and the long evenings +stretched themselves over hours of leisure, the good news got around; +and additional trusted neophytes were permitted to join them at the +creek. Learning to read was now the objective. More books disappeared +from the house. After Frederick slipped up in the attic and found +several old school books, real progress began. Then trouble arose. + +Seemed like everybody wanted to learn “tha readin’.” That, argued the +select few, would not do. This certainly was not a matter for “fiel’ +han’s.” Field hands, however, were stubborn in their persistence. The +fact that the teacher was a field hand seemed to have erased their +accustomed servility. One of them even brought in Mr. Hall’s Jake, an +uncouth fellow from the neighboring plantation. They vouched for Jake’s +trustworthiness, and he proved an apt pupil. Then Jake brought a friend! + +Sandy counseled caution. Frederick, happy in what he was doing, was +hardly aware of the mutterings. So they wrestled with their first +problem in democracy. + +Then, one Sunday afternoon, they were nearly caught. + +It was a scorcher, late in July. The noon meal was over, and they were +sitting in the shade of a big oak tree at the edge of the south meadow, +ten or twelve of them under the big tree. Jake appeared, coming over +the ridge that marked the boundary of Freelands. He saw them and waved, +then started walking down. + +“Glad I ain’t walkin’ in no hot sun.” John had just learned a new word, +and he felt good. Suddenly Jake was seen to straighten up, wave both +arms frantically and start running in the opposite direction. + +Books were whisked out of sight, papers disappeared as if by magic. +When Master William and his guest came trotting around the dump of +trees, all they saw was a bunch of lazy niggers stretched out in the +shade. + +“Watch out, there!” Freeland’s mare shied away. With a sleepy grunt, +Henry rolled over. + +The guest was from Baltimore. He had been speaking vehemently for such +a hot day. + +“Look at that!” he burst out. “Show me a bunch of sleek, fat niggers +sleeping through the day in Boston.” + +The master of Freelands laughed indulgently. His guest continued. + +“Those damned Abolitionists ought to come down here. Freein’ niggers! +The thieving fools!” He jerked his horse’s head savagely. + +William Freeland spoke in his usual, pleasant, unheated voice. + +“I’d kill the first Abolitionist who set foot on my land, same as I +would a mad dog.” + +They rode on out of hearing. + +No one moved for a long minute. Then Henry sat up abruptly. + +“Where is mah book?” He jerked it from under the belly of a sweating +stable boy. + +Black Crunch, long, lean and hard like a hound, moved more slowly. He +was thinking. + +“Fred,” he asked, leaning forward, “does yo’ know whar is dat dar +Boston place?” + + * * * * * + +After this, the “Sunday School” grew in numbers. There was no more talk +of restricting “members.” The name was Frederick’s idea, and everybody +followed the lead with complete understanding. It was well known that +masters seldom raised any objection to slaves leaving the plantation +for Sunday services, even when they went some distance away. So now +it was possible to talk freely about the Sunday School over on Mr. +Freeland’s place! + +Somebody hailed William Freeland one day as he rode along. + +“Hear your niggers are holding some kind of a revival, old man,” he +called. “Got a good preacher?” + +“I wouldn’t know.” Freeland laughed back, waving his whip. Next +morning, however, he spoke to Henry. + +“Oh, Henry, what’s this I hear about a revival going on?” + +“Whatchu sayin’, Massa William?” Henry’s lips hung flabby. Not a trace +of intelligence lighted his face. + +“A revival! You know what a revival is.” Freeland tried to curb his +impatience. + +“Oh, yessuh!” Henry showed his teeth in a wide grin. “Yessuh, Ah knows +a revival. Yes, _suh_!” + +“Well, is there a revival going on around here?” + +“Revival? Roun’ hyear?” The whites of Henry’s eyes resembled marbles. + +Freeland kicked back his chair. What the hell difference did it make? + +At the end of the year William Freeland rode over to St. Michaels and +renewed his contract with Captain Auld for his boy’s services. He +reported that the slave had worked well; he had no complaints to make. +Captain Auld’s eyes glittered when he took the money. Evidently that +buck was turning out all right. Another year and he’d bring a good +price in the market. + +The master was really touched by Frederick’s gratitude when told that +he was to remain on. As a matter of fact, Frederick had been deeply +worried. As the year had drawn to a close he felt he had wasted +valuable time. There was much to do--plans to make and lines to be +carefully laid--before he made his break for freedom. + +Another Christmas and a new year. And New Year’s Day was a time to +start things right. Everybody knew that! + +They heard it first in the yard, of course. Black Crunch had run away! +When the horsemen came galloping up the drive not a pickaninny was +in sight. Old Caleb opened the front door and bowed with his beautiful +deference. But they shoved him out of the way unceremoniously, calling +for the master. Old Missus sniffed the air disdainfully, standing very +straight, but Master William rode off with them. + +The next night all along the Eastern Shore slaves huddled, shivering +in dark corners. The baying of the hounds kept some white folks awake, +too. They didn’t find Black Crunch. They never found Black Crunch. + +There was a hazy tension in the air. The five friends bound themselves +together with a solemn oath of secrecy--Frederick, Handy, Henry, John, +and Sandy. They were going together--all five. John pleaded for his +sweetheart, little Susan, to be taken along; and Sandy knew the danger +that threatened his wife if he left her. Though a free woman herself, +she could be snatched back into bondage if he ran away. Noma knew this +also. Yet the woman said simply, “Go!” + +The Eastern Shore of Maryland lay very close to the free state of +Pennsylvania. Escape might not appear too formidable an undertaking. +Distance, however, was not the chief trouble. The nearer the lines of a +slave state were to the borders of a free state, the more vigilant were +the slavers. At every ferry was a guard, on every bridge sentinels, in +every wood patrols and slave-hunters. Hired kidnappers also infested +the borders. + +Nor did reaching a free state mean freedom for the slave. Wherever +caught they could be returned to slavery. And their second lot would be +far worse than the first! Slaveholders constantly impressed upon their +slaves the boundlessness of slave territory and their own limitless +power. + +Frederick and his companions had only the vaguest idea of the geography +of the country. “Up North” was their objective. They had heard of +Canada, they had heard of New York, they had heard of Boston. Of what +lay in between they had no thoughts at all. + +After many long discussions they worked out their plan for escape. On +the Saturday night before the Easter holidays they would take a large +canoe owned by a Mr. Hamilton, launch out into Chesapeake Bay and +paddle with all their might for its head, a distance of about seventy +miles. On reaching this point they would turn the canoe adrift and bend +their steps toward the north star until they reached a free state. + +This plan had several excellent points. On the water they had a chance +of being thought fishermen, in the service of a master; hounds could +not track them; and over Easter their absence might not be noted. On +the other hand, in bad weather the waters of the Chesapeake are rough, +and there would be danger in a canoe, of being swamped by the waves. +Furthermore, the canoe would soon be missed; and, if absent slaves +were suspected of having taken it, they would be pursued by some +fast-sailing craft out of St. Michaels. + +They prepared for one quite possible emergency. Any white man, if he +pleased, was authorized to stop a Negro on any road and examine and +arrest him. Many a freeman, being called upon by a pack of ruffians to +show his free papers, presented them, only to have the hoodlums tear +them up, seize the victim and sell him to a life of endless bondage. + +The week before their intended start, Frederick wrote a pass for each +of the party, giving him permission to visit Baltimore during the +Easter holidays. He signed them with the initials of William Hamilton, +tobacco planter whose place edged on the bay and whose canoe they had +planned to take. The pass ran after this manner: + + This is to certify that I, the undersigned, have given the bearer, + my servant John, full liberty to go to Baltimore to spend the Easter + holidays. + + Near St. Michaels, Talbot Co., Md. W. H. + +Although they were not going to Baltimore and intended to land east of +North Point, in the direction they had seen the Philadelphia steamers +go, these passes might be useful in the lower part of the bay, while +steering toward Baltimore. These were not, however, to be shown until +all other answers had failed to satisfy the inquirer. The conspirators +were fully alive to the importance of being calm and self-possessed +when accosted, if accosted they should be; and they more than once +rehearsed to each other how they would behave under fire. + +With everything figured out, the days and nights of waiting were long +and tedious. Every move, every word, every look had to be carefully +guarded. Uneasiness was in the air. Slaveholders were constantly +looking out for the first signs of rebellion against the injustice +and wrong which they were perpetrating every hour of the day. And +their eyes were skilled and practiced. In many cases they were able to +read, with great accuracy, the state of mind and heart of the slave +through his sable face. Any mood out of the common way gave grounds for +suspicion and questioning. + +Yet, with the plowing over, with spring in the air and an Easter +holiday drawing near, what more natural than that the slaves should +sing down in their quarters--after the day’s work was over? + + “Oh Canaan, sweet Canaan, + Ah’m boun’ fo’ the lan’ o’ Canaan.” + +They sang, and their voices were sweet. William Freeland, sitting on +the veranda, took his pipe from between his teeth and smiled at his +mother. + +“I always say there’s nothing like darkies singing--nothing. Some of +our folks have really beautiful voices. Listen to that!” The master of +Freelands spoke with real pride. + +Inside the house old Caleb fussed with the curtains. He felt a +trembling inside of him. That dear, young voice out there in the dusk: + + “Ah thought Ah heared them say + There was lions in the way + I don’ expect to stay + Much longah here.” + +The buoyant refrain--all the voices singing triumphantly: + + “Oh Canaan, sweet Canaan, + Not much longah here!” + +“Crazy fools!” whispered Caleb. “Singin’ lak dat!” + +_Singing for all the world to know!_ He wanted to warn them. He shook +his head. Caleb had been young once, too. And he had dreamed of +freedom. He was old now. He would die a slave. He shuffled back to the +pantry. Shut in there he could no longer hear the singing. + +Two days before the appointed time Sandy withdrew. He could not go off +and leave his wife. They pleaded with him. + +“You young ones go! You make good life. I stay now!” + +John was the most visibly shaken. John whose little Susan had wept +several times of late because of his moody silences and bad temper. +After saying that nothing could change his mind or intention he walked +away stiffly. + +Then Sandy confessed that he had had a dream, a bad dream. + +“About us?” Frederick asked the question, his heart heavy. This was +bad, coming from Sandy. And Sandy spoke, his voice low and troubled. + +“I dream I roused from sleep by strange noises, noises of a swarm of +angry birds that passed--a roar like a coming gale over the tops of the +trees. I look up. I see you, Frederick, in the claws of a great bird. +And there was lots of birds, all colors and all sizes. They pecked at +you. Passing over me, the birds flew southwest. I watched until they +was clean out of sight.” He was silent. + +Frederick drew a long breath. + +“And they took me with them?” + +“Yes.” + +Frederick did not meet his eyes. He stiffened his back. + +“It was just a dream, Sandy. Look, we’re worried and jumpy. That’s all. +Hen, that’s right--don’t you think? What’s a little dream?” + +Henry spoke with unaccustomed firmness. + +“Ain’t no little ole dream gonna stop _me_!” + +Frederick gripped his arm, thankful for Henry’s strength and +determination. He keenly felt the responsibility of the undertaking. If +they failed it would be his fault. He wished Sandy had not told him the +dream. + +The day dawned. Frederick went out to the field earlier than usual. He +had to be busy. At breakfast Henry broke one of the precious cups. He +was roundly berated by Old Missus. Her son said nothing. Henry had been +more clumsy than usual lately. + +The morning dragged. Frederick had been spreading manure for what +seemed to him an eternity when--for no apparent reason at all--he +experienced a sudden blinding presentiment. + +“We’ve failed!” + +It was as if a hundred eyes were watching him--as if all his intentions +were plainly written in the sky. A few minutes after this, the long, +low, distant notes of the horn summoned the workers from the field to +the noon-day meal. Frederick wanted nothing to eat. He looked around +probing the landscape for some reason for the awful certainty in his +mind. He shook himself. He pressed the back of his hand hard against +his mouth. + +As he crossed the field he saw William Freeland come out of the house +and go toward the barn. He came nearer, and the long graveled driveway +was in full view. And so he saw the four men on horseback turn into the +drive and approach the house. Then he saw two blacks whom he could not +identify walking behind. One of them seemed to be tied! + +_Something has happened! We’ve been betrayed!_ + +_No need to run now._ He came on, cutting across the front yard; he +climbed over the low hedge and was stooping to pass under the rotting +rose trellis as one horseman, far in the lead and riding very rapidly, +reached the house. It was the tobacco planter, Mr. William Hamilton. +The horseman pulled his horse to an abrupt stop and hailed Frederick. + +“Hey, boy! Where’s your master?” + +Even in this bitter moment of defeat some perverse imp inside Frederick +forced him to reply, speaking very politely, “Mr. Freeland, sir, just +went to the barn.” + +Hamilton’s whip jerked in his hand, but he did not bring it down on +Frederick. He wheeled about in a flurry of gravel and rode off toward +the stables. By this time the other three had come up, and Frederick +saw that they were constables. + +He burst into the kitchen, heedless of Aunt Lou’s wrath. But the +kitchen was quiet with an ominous stillness. Only John was there, +his back to the room, looking out the window. He turned quickly, and +Frederick saw his quivering face. They grasped each other by the hand +and stood together, waiting. + +The outside door opened a second time, admitting Master Freeland. His +eyes were glinting steel in a grim face. His voice was harsh. + +“So, here you are!” He was looking at Frederick. “Go outside! These men +want to question you.” + +“He ain’t done nothin’, Massa William.” There was panic in John’s +appeal. + +“Shut up!” Freeland shoved Frederick toward the door. + +As he stepped outside, two constables seized him. + +“What do you want? Why do you take me?” + +A blow in the mouth cut his lip. They twisted his arm, throwing him to +the ground. + +Hamilton, standing beside his horse, pointed to John, who had followed +Frederick to the door. + +“That one, too. Take him!” He held a rifle in his hand. + +John cried out when they seized him. + +All this was taking place just outside the kitchen door, some distance +from the barns and outhouses. Motionless black figures could be seen. +Now a kind of hushed wail was heard. + +Henry, running with Sandy behind him, was coming from the barn. A +constable met him, a heavy gun at his side. He carried a rope. Hamilton +had pointed to Henry, nodding his head. + +“Tie him!” + +“Cross your hands!” ordered the constable. Henry was panting. He did +not speak at once. In that moment he had seen everything. Then, looking +straight at the man in front of him, he said, “I won’t!” + +They were all taken by surprise. The master of Freelands stared at a +Henry he had never seen before. The constable sputtered. + +“Why you black ----! You won’t cross your hands!” He reached for his +revolver. + +“Henry!” His master’s voice cracked. + +And Henry looked at him and said, with added emphasis, “No! I won’t!” + +The three constables now cocked their revolvers, surrounded him. Mr. +Hamilton was agitated. He also drew his rifle. + +“By God, Freeland, he’s dangerous!” + +William Freeland could say nothing. Iron bands seemed to be choking +him. _Henry!_ That clumsy, silly slave had grown a foot. + +“Shoot me! Shoot me and be damned! I won’t be tied!” + +And at the moment of saying it, with the guns at his breast, Henry +quickly raised his arms and dashed the weapons from their hands, +sending them flying in all directions. + +In the confusion which followed Frederick managed to get near John. + +“The pass?” he asked. “Do you have the pass?” + +“It’s burned. I put it in the stove.” + +“Good!” This much evidence was gone, anyway. + +Henry fought like a tiger. Inside the house, Old Missus heard the +uproar and came out back. + +“Henry! Henry! They’re killing Henry!” she shrieked. Her son rushed to +her, trying to explain. She pushed him away. “Stop them! Stop those +ruffians!” + +Finally they had Henry overpowered. As he lay on the ground trussed +and bleeding, Frederick and John, helpless though they were, stood +accused in their own eyes because they too had not resisted. John +cried bitterly, in futile rage. Frederick stood rigid, every breath +a separate stab of pain. Mrs. Freeland, her own eyes wet, tried to +comfort John. + +“Don’t, Johnny. I know it’s all a mistake. We’ll fix it. We’ll get you +and Henry out of it!” + +They took Sandy, whose black face remained unfathomable. Then the +tobacco planter spoke. + +“Perhaps now we’d better make a search for those passes we understand +Captain Auld’s boy has written for them.” + +Freeland was almost vehement, insisting that they be taken immediately +to the jail and there carefully examined. To himself he said that his +mother’s outburst had unnerved him. He wanted to get the whole business +over and done with--get it out of his sight. + +As they stood, securely bound, ready to start toward St. Michaels, the +mistress came out with her hands full of biscuits which she divided +between John and Henry, ignoring both Sandy and Frederick. And as they +started around the house she pointed her bony finger at Frederick. + +“It’s you! You yellow devil!” she called out after him. “You put it in +their heads to run away! John and Henry are good boys. You did it! You +long-legged, yellow devil!” + +At the look which Frederick turned on her, she screamed in mingled +wrath and fright and went in, slamming the door. + +The constables fastened them with long ropes to the horses. Now +Frederick recognized the two dark forms he had seen from a distance +as Handy and a boy owned by Mr. Hamilton. Handy had slipped off that +morning to hide their supplies near the canoe. This boy had somehow +become involved. Maybe Handy had solicited his aid--maybe that was +what happened. Frederick turned the possibility over inside his aching +head. The boy had been beaten. His shirt hung in stained utters. Under +the watchful eyes they gave no sign of knowing each other. They waited +while the horses pawed restlessly, kicking up sharp bits of gravel into +their faces. + +As Freeland mounted his big mare, the tobacco planter pointed at Sandy. + +“Is that one of your own niggers?” + +“No,” the master of Freelands shook his head. “I hire him from a man +named Groomes, over in Easton.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “I +hate to lose the best carpenter we’ve had in a long time.” + +“I’ve seen him somewhere before.” Hamilton looked thoughtful. “Believe +he’s the one they call a voodoo.” Freeland shrugged his shoulders, +settling himself firmly in the saddle. Hamilton continued, his voice +grim. “Best keep an eye on him.” + +“Don’t tell me you take stock in nigger black magic!” Freeland mocked +him. + +It was Hamilton’s turn to shrug his shoulders, as his ungracious host +headed the procession down the drive and out into the highway. + +Inside the house old Caleb straightened the worn, brocaded curtains, +his stiff fingers shaking. He felt old and useless. Upstairs Susan +sought to muffle her sobs in Old Missus’ feather bolster, heedless of +the fact that she was staining the fine linen slip. The children down +in the slave quarters were very still, hardly breathing. + +Easter was in the air. The sun shone bright and warm. Folks were +thinking about the holiday, and overseers were relaxed. In the fields, +slaves leaned on their hoes and watched them go by--five white men, +their hats pulled low, their shirts open at the neck, riding on horses; +and behind them, jerking, grotesque figures, pulled by the horses, dust +blinding and choking them, their bare feet stumbling over rocks and +raising a cloud of dust, their bare heads covered with sweat and grime. + +Frederick, fastened with Henry to the same horse, pulled hard on the +rope, endeavoring to slacken the pace. He knew what torture Henry was +enduring. The constable, noticing this tugging, lashed out once with +his whip. Then he chose to ignore the matter. It was a long, hot drive +to the Easton jail, and the constable was in no particular hurry. + +Henry managed to get his breath. The mistress had made them loose one +of his hands. In this free hand he still clinched his biscuits. Now, +looking gratefully at Frederick, he gasped, “The pass! What shall I do +with my pass?” + +Frederick answered immediately. “Eat it with your biscuit!” + +A moment later Henry had managed to slip the piece of paper into his +mouth. He chewed well on the biscuit and swallowed with a gulp. Then he +grinned, a trickle of blood starting from his cut lip. + +The word went round from one bound figure to another, “Swallow your +pass! Own nothing! Know nothing.” + +Though their plans had leaked out--somehow, some way--their confidence +in each other was unshaken. Somebody had made a mistake, but they were +resolved to succeed or fail together. + +By the time they reached the outskirts of St. Michaels it was clear +that the news had gone on ahead. + +A bunch of runaway niggers! Fair sport on a Saturday afternoon. The +“insurrection”--the word stumbled off their tongues--had been started +by that “Auld boy,” the “smart nigger.” + +“A bad un!” + +“Ought to be hanged!” They laughed and ordered another drink of burning +whiskey. _Wish something would happen in this God-forsaken hole!_ + +The procession stopped first at Captain Auld’s. The Captain was loud in +his cries of denunciation. + +“Done everything for this boy, everything! I promise you he’ll be +punished--I’ll take all the hide off him! I’ll break every bone in his +body!” + +He was reminded that Frederick and the others were already in the hands +of the law. Beyond a shadow of doubt they would be punished. At this +the Captain calmed down. Here was a horse of another color. Frederick +was _his_ property. His slow mind began to revolve. He dared not offend +either Mr. Freeland or Mr. Hamilton. He had no stomach for losing a +valuable piece of property to anything as vague and unrewarding as +“the law.” He fixed a stern eye on Frederick--noting the thick broad +shoulders and long legs. + +“What have you done, you ungrateful rascal?” + +“Nothin’, Massa, nothin’, nothin’, nothin’! The whistle blowed, I come +in to eat--an’ they took me! They took me!” + +Frederick’s mind also had been working. He was resolved to throw the +burden of proof upon his accusers. He could see that the passion of his +outcry now had its effect. The Captain grunted with satisfaction. He +asked the gentlemen for more details. Just exactly what _had_ the boy +done? + +Of course, no single pass was found on them. All six of the accused +said the same thing--they had been going about their work as usual. +They had not the slightest idea why they had been arrested. Handy +explained in great detail how he had been sent over to Mr. Hamilton’s +place by Aunt Lou. He was returning from that errand. The Hamilton +boy had been down on the beach mending a net. Their protestations of +innocence were loud and voluble. Too voluble, each master thought to +himself. But he did not put his thoughts into words. It would never do +to admit that they were being outwitted by a bunch of sniveling darkies. + +They were taken to the county jail and locked up. It was a ramshackle, +old affair. A good wind coming in from the bay could have knocked it +over, and a very small fire would have wiped it out in short order. +But it was prison enough for the six. Henry, John, and Frederick were +placed in one cell and Sandy, the Hamilton boy, and Handy in another. +They had plenty of space, since the cells really were rooms of the +building. They were fed immediately and were left completely alone +throughout the night. They were thankful for this respite. + +Early Easter morning they were at them--a swarm of slave-traders and +agents of slave-traders who, hearing of the “catch” in the county jail +at Easton, hurried over to ascertain if the masters wanted to rid +themselves of dangerous “troublemakers.” Good bargains could often be +picked up under such circumstances. Rebellious slaves were usually +strong and vigorous. Properly manacled, they were rendered helpless. +And there was a demand for them on the great plantations where they +were beginning to grow enormous crops of cotton. Word had gone out that +these captured slaves were young and in unusually good condition. + +The sheriff willingly obliged the traders. So they fell upon the +prisoners like a bunch of vultures, feeling their arms and legs, +shaking them by the shoulders to see if they were sound and healthy, +making them jump up and down on one foot, examining their teeth, +examining their testicles. + +“This one, now,”--the trader was “going over” Frederick--“he’d go fine +with a piece I picked up last week. She’s swellin’ with heat. They’d +make a litter!” + +The two men laughed. + +“How’d you like to go with me, buck boy?” He kicked him lightly. + +Frederick, his rage choking him, did not answer. + +“Um--no tongue,” the second trader grunted. + +“Look at his eyes!” the first man said. “If I had ’im, I’d cut the +devil out of him pretty quick!” + +This went on for several days, with no further questions nor any +beatings. The suspense was terrible. The dream of freedom faded. + +Then one afternoon the master of Freelands appeared with Mr. Hamilton +and took away all the prisoners except Frederick. They were going back +with no further punishment. Old Missus had persuaded her son that this +was the just and correct course. + +“Nobody’s to blame but that hired boy! Bring our folks home!” + +He talked it over with Hamilton. For want of an alternative, he +assented. + +Freeland could not have explained to himself why he allowed them to +tell Frederick goodbye. All that his mother had said about him had +been proven true. He _was_ dangerous. He was certain that this boy, +standing there so quietly, had planned an escape for his slaves. How +many were involved and where were they going? Why should they wish to +leave Freelands? They had far less to worry them than the master had--a +shelter over their heads, clothing, food. His mother nursed them when +they were sick. Their work was not heavy. He would have liked to ask +this boy some questions. + +It was evident that the others did not want to go. Henry clung to +Frederick’s arm, his big, ugly face working. He heard Sandy, who seldom +spoke, say, “Big tree bow in the wind. Big tree stand!” + +“I will not be forgettin’!” Frederick answered. + +They went away then and climbed into the waiting wagon. They were going +back in state--riding with one of Mr. Hamilton’s men driving the mules. +The masters were on horseback. Frederick, standing beside the barred +window, saw them wave as the wagon turned into the road. + +Alone in the prison Frederick gave way to complete misery. He felt +certain now that he was doomed to the ever-dreaded Georgia, Louisiana, +or Alabama. They would be coming for him now, to take him “down the +river.” Even in his despair he was glad that the others were not going +with him. At least they were no worse off than before their heads had +been filled with dreams of freedom. And now they could read. Eventually +they would get away. But he was too young to derive much comfort from +this thought--too young and too much alive. + +A long week passed, and then to Frederick’s joyful relief Captain Auld +came for his boy. In a loud voice he told the sheriff that he was +sending him off to Alabama to a friend of his. + +The sheriff looked at Frederick. Pity a clean-looking hand like that +couldn’t behave himself! He spat out a fresh cud of tobacco. It had +lost its taste. + +Frederick’s heart fell, but obediently he went with his master. The +next several days went by in comparative idleness on the Auld place +just outside St. Michaels. Frederick’s stature with the other slaves +had grown. By them he was treated as an honored guest, and in this +he found some comfort. But the Alabama friend did not put in an +appearance, and finally Captain Auld announced that he had decided to +send him back to Baltimore again, to live with his brother Hugh. He +told Frederick that he wanted him to learn a trade, and that if he +behaved himself properly he might emancipate him in time. + +Frederick could hardly believe his ears. The morning came when they +went into St. Michaels, and there he was placed in the custody of +the captain of a small clipper. They set sail over the waters of the +Chesapeake Bay toward Baltimore. + + + + + CHAPTER FIVE + + _One more river to cross_ + + +On its way to the sea, the Patapsco River cuts through the old city +of Baltimore. Here the fall line--the point where the harder rocks of +the Piedmont meet the softer rocks of the coastal plain--moves close +to the coast, and the deep estuary affords a large sheltered harbor. +Baltimore was a divided city: by temperament, dreamily looking toward +the South; but, during business hours at least, briskly turning her +face to the North. The old English families seemed to be dwindling, and +the “upstarts” wanted business. + +Early in the nineteenth century, Baltimore became second only to New +York as port of entry for immigrants from Europe--Irish, Italians, +Greeks, Poles, Scandinavians. They spread out from Baltimore all +over Maryland. The increase of population in Baltimore, especially +foreign or non-British population, made the counties afraid. When +the Federalists were overthrown in 1819 the issue of apportioning +of delegates by population came up in the Assembly. It was defeated +because the counties refused to place the great agricultural state of +Maryland “at the feet of the merchants, the bank speculators, lottery +office keepers, the foreigners and the mob of Baltimore.” + +For many years this attitude helped to retard enfranchisement of Jews. +Not until 1826 were Jews allowed to vote. This was just two years after +thin, stoop-shouldered Benjamin Lundy came walking down out of the +backwoods of Tennessee, a printing press on his back, and began turning +out the _Genius of Universal Emancipation_, first antislavery journal +to appear in the whole country. + +After the “Jew Bill” got by, Baltimoreans paid more attention to +Lundy’s journal. There was talk of “outside influence”; and one day +Austin Woolfolk, a notoriously mean slave-trader, beat up the editor on +the street and nearly killed him. + +The city’s business was expanding. Shipbuilding had started in the +Colonial days. With the new roads bringing in products from the west, +merchants were soon making shipments in their own vessels and the +town’s prominence as a seaport was assured. By 1810 the city had become +the third largest in America. The population had quadrupled since the +Declaration of Independence, mainly because of the maritime business. +Baltimore clippers brought coffee from South America, tea and opium +from China, and slaves from Africa. + +It was well known that smuggling sprang up, after the importation of +African slaves was made a felony. By 1826 the interstate traffic was +enormous. Boatloads of slaves, manacled together, were conveyed in +sailing vessels along the Atlantic and Gulf coasts to New Orleans, +great slave mart of the South. These cargoes of living freight were +listed openly in the papers with the regular shipping news. Law or +no law, the great city of Baltimore had little patience with “loose +talk” about so lucrative a market. A meddling outsider, William Lloyd +Garrison, was thrown in jail. Publication of the _Genius_ ceased, and +all copies of the incendiary journal were destroyed. At least that’s +what the merchants thought. But old marked sheets had a way of turning +up in the queerest places! + +Even as a child--a slave child, following his young master from place +to place--Frederick had not been wholly unaware of the swelling, +pushing traffic of the growing city. As he sat on the school steps +waiting for Tommy to come out, he watched heavy carts go by on their +way to the wharf. Sometimes one would get stuck in the mud; and then, +while the mule pulled and backed, the “furriners” yelled funny-sounding +words. A stalk of sugar cane dropped from the load made a good find. +If it was not too large, Frederick would hide it until night. Then he +and Tommy would munch the sweet fiber, the little master in his bed, +the slave stretched out on the floor. The day came when the growing +boys slipped off to the wharves where vessels from the West Indies +discharged their freight of molasses, to gorge themselves on the stolen +sweet, extracted on a smooth stick inserted through a bunghole. + +Frederick had seen coffles of slaves trudge through Baltimore +streets--men and women and sometimes little children chained together. +The boys always stopped playing and stared after them. + +The year 1836 had been a good year for the South. Cotton was rolling +up into a gleaming ball--an avalanche which would one day bring ruin; +but now prices were soaring. On the June evening when Frederick sailed +into Baltimore’s harbor, tall masts of square-rigged vessels bowed and +dipped. They spoke to him of places in the far corners of the world; +they beckoned to him. He nodded, his heart leaping. + +He had left Baltimore a child; he returned a man. He looked around now, +thinking, evaluating, remembering places he must go, people he must +look up. + +But first, there was Mr. Hugh Auld waiting for him on wharf. Tommy was +nowhere in sight. Then he remembered. Tommy also was a man--a free, +white man. A little stab of pain shot through Frederick. + +Hugh Auld and his brother Thomas had come South to seek their fortunes. +Raised in Vermont, they had found the lush softness of Maryland very +pleasant. Employed by Colonel Lloyd on his rolling tidewater acres, +Hugh had in due time married the Colonel’s youngest daughter and set up +business in Baltimore. Hugh Auld had prospered. He was now part owner +of a shipyard. Soon it would be Auld & Son. + +“Good evening, Captain. I see you’ve got my boy.” + +Mr. Auld greeted the captain though Frederick had hurried forward, his +face alight. + +“Yes, sir; shipshape, sir. And not a mite of trouble.” Nantucket Bay +was more familiar to the captain than Chesapeake, but he liked the +southern waters and he found Baltimore people friendly. They stood +chatting a while and Frederick waited. + +“Well, I thank you.” Mr. Auld was adjusting his panama hat. “Now I’ll +be taking him off your hands.” + +“Go along, boy!” the Captain said. + +Mr. Auld stepped to the waiting rig, motioning Frederick to climb up +beside the driver, and they were off toward Lower Broadway. They wound +their way between warehouses, great piles of cotton bales and tobacco, +pyramided kegs of rum and stinking fish markets; and finally Mr. Auld +spoke. + +“So, Fred, we’re going to make a caulker out of you!” + +“Yes, sir.” Frederick turned his head. + +“Well, you’re big and strong. Ought to make a good worker. Watch +yourself!” + +After that they drove in silence, the driver casting sidelong glances +at Frederick, neither slave saying anything. Their time to talk would +come later. The rig bumped over the cobblestones on Thames Street with +its shops and saloons, and came out into a pleasant residential section +of shuttered windows, dormered roofs and paneled doors. + +Here the June evening was lovely. They passed a fine old house beside +which a spreading magnolia tree, all in bloom, spilt its fragrance out +into the street. In gardens behind wrought-iron handrails children were +quietly playing. Young dandies passed along the sidewalks, parading +before demure young misses. On white stoop or behind green lattice, +the young ladies barely raised their eyes from their needlework. Negro +servants moved to and fro, wearing bright red bandanas and carrying +market baskets tilted easily on their heads. They passed a gray +cathedral and came to a small brick house with white marble steps and +white-arched vestibule. + +Frederick’s heart turned over. The house had been freshly painted, +the yard trimmed and cut. The place with its lace curtains had an air +of affluence which Frederick did not recall; but this had been the +nearest thing to a home that he had ever known, and he felt affection +for it. Was Tommy at home? After the master had descended, they drove +around back. There was the cellar door down which he and Tommy had +slid; the gnarled tree was gone. He wondered what Tommy had done with +the notebooks they had hid inside the trunk--those notebooks in which +Frederick had so painfully traced his young master’s letters. As they +climbed down from the rig Frederick, trying to keep the urgency from +his voice, turned to the boy. + +“Is Master--Master Tommy at home?” + +The black boy stared at him a moment without answering. Then he asked, +“Young Massa?” And at Frederick’s nod, “Yes--Massa Thomas, he hyear.” + +So it was “Master Thomas” now. Frederick checked his sigh as he smiled +at this boy of his own color. + +“My name’s Fred. What’s yours?” he said cordially. + +“I Jeb.” The boy answered immediately, but there was a puzzled look on +his face. They were unhitching the horse now. He cleared his throat and +burst out, “Say, yo’--Yo’ talks lak white folks. Huccome?” + +Frederick hesitated. Should he tell him about the notebooks and reading +lessons--that he and the Young Master had learned together? He decided +not. So he only laughed and said, “Fiddlesticks!” + +Jeb studied the newcomer covertly as they went inside. He liked this +Fred--liked the way he looked at you--liked the way he walked; but Jeb +recognized that here was something to think about. + +The ugly, gaunt woman at the stove turned when they entered the +kitchen. She did not smile, and Frederick felt her dark eyes, set deep +in bony sockets, take him in from head to foot. Then she motioned them +to places at the scrubbed pine board. They sat down on stools. + +“Hit’s Nada.” Jeb leaned forward and whispered. “She free! She free +’oman!” + +Now it was Frederick’s turn to stare at the big woman. She moved +slowly, clumsily, as if the springs of her body were giving way. The +deep ridges of her face were pitted with smallpox, the scars extending +from her eyes to the wide sad space of her mouth. But she was free, and +Frederick looked at her with envy. + +There were several hundred “free people of color” in Baltimore at +this time. Their lot was one of inconceivable hardship. Yet no slave +having purchased or having been granted his freedom ever voluntarily +went back into slavery. Under the laws of the state, he had no rights +as a citizen. At times he was restrained from working at certain +occupations, from selling tobacco and other commodities without a +certificate from the justice of peace. He couldn’t keep a dog, carry +firearms, belong to a secret order, or sell spirituous liquors. The +mere word of a white man could convict the Negro of any offense. And +punishment was swift and severe. + +These people did what work they could for the smallest possible +wages--as caulkers in the shipyards, hod carriers, dock workers. A few +were good bricklayers and carpenters. No matter what their work, they +had to take what they were given. Therefore, they were despised and +hated by white workers who were often ousted by this cheaper labor. +The rising merchant and business class of the city found it cheaper to +employ such help for a few cents a week than to buy slaves to work in +their homes. A master had some responsibility for his slave’s upkeep. +He had none for his “paid servants.” So, Nada worked for Mrs. Hugh Auld +from six o’clock in the morning until eight or nine at night. Then she +disappeared down the alley--no one ever bothered to find out where. + +After supper Mrs. Auld came back to speak to Frederick. She was a Lloyd +and remembered Frederick’s grandmother. Now she asked after her foster +sister, Captain Auld’s wife, whom she had not seen for many years. She +had a moment of nostalgia for those girlhood days on the plantation, +and patted his arm. + +“You’ve grown to be a fine, upstanding boy,” she said. “We’re proud of +you!” + +Master Thomas did not come. + +It was not until the next afternoon when he had been set to work in the +shipyard that he heard a pleasant voice at his elbow. + +“Hello, Fred! They tell me you’re going to build ships.” + +He looked up at the tall, clean young man in his tailored suit. He +tried to smile. + +“Yes, Massa Thomas,” he said, but his voice was gruff. + +Something like a veil slipped over the white man’s face. They stood +there a moment facing each other. And the cloud, which in their boyhood +had been no larger than a man’s hand, now enveloped them. Frederick +hardly heard his words as he turned away. + +“Well--Good luck! So long!” + +Frederick never saw him again. A few days afterward Thomas Auld sailed +on one of his father’s ships. A year later he was drowned in a gale off +the coast of Calcutta. + + * * * * * + +William Gardiner, big shipbuilder on Fells Point, was having trouble. +Some time before he had put down demands for higher wages in his yard +by peremptorily hiring a number of colored mechanics and carpenters. + +“And damned good mechanics!” he had pointedly informed his foreman. +“Now you can tell those blasted micks, kikes and dagos they can leave +any time they don’t like what we’re paying.” + +Labor organizations were getting troublesome in Baltimore, but so far +he had been fairly lucky in getting around them. He shuddered, however, +looking into the bleak future. He’d better save all the money he could +now by hiring more cheap niggers. + +The white workers had swallowed their disappointment. Some of the more +skilled did leave, swearing vengeance, but most of them hung on to +their jobs. + +“If we could only kill off these niggers!” + +They did what they could, seriously injuring several, and bided their +time. + +Their chance came when Gardiner ambitiously contracted to build two +large man-of-war vessels, professedly for the Mexican government. It +was a rush job. The vessels were to be launched in August. Failure +to do so would cause the shipbuilder to forfeit a very considerable +sum of money. Work was speeded up. Some of the blacks were given jobs +requiring the highest skill. + +Then, all at once, the white carpenters swore they would no longer work +beside the freedmen. + +William Gardiner saw his money sinking to the bottom of Chesapeake Bay. +Frantic, he appealed to his friend and associate, Hugh Auld. The small +shipbuilder was flattered. Gardiner was a powerful man. Mr. Auld took +the matter under consideration and came up with a solution. + +“Let some of the niggers go,” he said. “Then take over a lot of +apprentices--whites and blacks. Work them at top speed under good +supervision. You’ll pull through.” + +The older man frowned, pulling at his stubby mustache. + +“Oh, come now.” Mr. Auld clapped his friend on the back. “I’ve got +several good boys I can let you have.” + +Frederick was one of the apprentices sent to the Fells Point shipyard. +He had worked hard and under very good instruction. But when he arrived +at Gardiner’s yard he found himself in a very different situation. + +Here everything was hurry and drive. His section had about a hundred +men; of these, seventy or eighty were regular carpenters--privileged +men. There was no time for a raw hand to learn anything. Frederick was +directed to do whatever the carpenters told him. This placed him at the +beck and call of about seventy-five men. He was to regard all of them +as his masters. He was called a dozen ways in the space of a single +minute. He needed a dozen pairs of hands. + +“Boy, come help me cant this here timber.” + +“Boy, bring that roller here!” + +“Hold on the end of this fall.” + +“Hullo, nigger! Come turn this grindstone.” + +“Run bring me a cold chisel!” + +“I say, darky, blast your eyes! Why don’t you heat up some pitch?” + +It went on hour after hour. “Halloo! Halloo! Halloo!”--“Come here--go +there--hold on where you are.” “Damn you, if you move I’ll knock your +brains out!” + +Although Frederick was only an apprentice, he was one of the hated +threats to their security. They had no mercy on him. The white +apprentices felt it degrading to work with him. Encouraged by the +workmen, they began talking contemptuously about “the niggers,” saying +they wanted to “take over the country” and that they ought to be +“killed off.” + +One day the powder keg exploded. + +It was a hot afternoon. Frederick had just lowered a heavy timber into +place. Someone called him. He stepped back quickly, jostling against +Edward North, meanest bully of them all. North struck him viciously. +Whereupon, with one sweep, Frederick picked up the white fellow and +threw him down hard upon the deck. + +They set on him in a pack. One came in front, armed with a brick, one +at each side, and one behind. They closed in, and Frederick, knowing he +was fighting now for his life, struck out on all sides at once. A heavy +blow with a handspike brought him down among the timbers. They rushed +him then and began to pound him with their fists. He lay for a moment +gathering strength, then rose suddenly to his knees, throwing them off. +Just as he did this one of their number planted a blow with his boot in +Frederick’s left eye. When they saw his face covered with blood there +was a pause. + +Meanwhile scores of men looked on at this battle of four against one. + +“Kill him!” they shouted. “Kill the nigger. He hit a white boy!” + +Frederick was staggering, but he grabbed up a handspike and charged. +This time they were taken by surprise. But then several of the +carpenters grabbed Frederick and held him powerless. He was sobbing +with rage. What could he do against fifty men--laughing, jeering, +cursing him? At that moment the division superintendent was seen coming +to investigate the uproar. They thinned out. Taking advantage of the +lull, Frederick dropped over the side of the hull and escaped from the +yard. He knew he would find no justice at the hands of the authorities +there. + +Bleeding and battered, he made his way home, nearly frightening the +wits out of Jeb. At Nada’s call, Mrs. Auld came running to the kitchen. +She had them carry him to his attic room, and herself saw that his +wounds were bathed. She bound up his battered eye with a piece of fresh +beef. + +“The brutes! The beastly brutes!” she kept saying while she rubbed his +head with ointment. + +There was no question about Mr. Auld’s reaction when he reached home +that evening. He was furious. It never entered his head that his +friend, William Gardiner, was in any way to blame. He heaped curses on +the shipyard ruffians; it might well be some “Irish plot,” and he was +going to see that the scoundrels were punished. + +Just as soon as Frederick was somewhat recovered from his bruises, +Mr. Auld took him to Esquire Watson’s office on Bond Street, with a +view to procuring the arrest of the four workers. The Master gave the +magistrate an account of the outrage. Mr. Watson, sitting quietly with +folded hands, heard him through. + +“And who saw this assault of which you speak, Mr. Auld?” he coolly +inquired. + +“It was done, sir, in the presence of a shipyard full of hands.” + +The magistrate shrugged his shoulders. + +“I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot move in this matter, except upon the oath +of white witnesses.” + +“But here’s my boy. Look at his head and face!” Mr. Auld was losing his +temper. + +“I am not authorized to do anything unless white witnesses come forward +and testify on oath as to what took place.” + +For one flashing moment the veil was torn from Hugh Auld’s eyes. His +blood froze with horror. It would have been the same had the boy been +killed! He took Frederick by the arm and spoke roughly. + +“Let’s get out of here!” + +For several days Hugh Auld fussed and fumed. He went to call on Mr. +Gardiner. The big shipbuilder received the younger man coolly. + +“You’re loosing your head, Auld,” he observed shrewdly, “and you’re +following a line that may cause you to lose your shirt. Do you think +I’m going to upset my shipyard because one fresh nigger got his head +cracked? I’ve got contracts to fill.” + +“But--” Mr. Auld’s confidence was oozing out. + +“Of course,” continued Mr. Gardiner, still cold, “I’ll compensate you +for any expense you’ve had. Did you have to get a doctor to patch him +up?” He reached for his wallet. + +Outside, with the August sun blistering the boardwalks, Hugh Auld +shivered. + + * * * * * + +Before the year had passed it was decided that Frederick would be more +valuable to his master as a journeyman caulker than working in his +small shipyard. He was therefore allowed to seek paying employment. He +was in the enviable position of being able to pick his job and demand +wages. He was known as “Hugh Auld’s boy” and was reputed remarkably +bright and dependable. He made his own contracts and collected his +earnings, bringing in six and seven dollars a week during the busy +season. At the end of some weeks he turned over nine dollars to his +master. + +Frederick congratulated himself. His lot was improving. Now he could +increase his little stock of education. On the Eastern Shore he had +been the teacher. As soon as he had got work in Baltimore, he began +looking up colored people who could teach him. So it happened that he +heard about the East Baltimore Mental Improvement Society and met a +free colored girl named Anna Murray. + +The Oblate Sisters of Providence had been attracted by dark-eyed, +slender Anna Murray. Madame Montell herself had brought the girl to +the side door of St. Mary’s Seminary. She told the sisters she was of +free parentage and employed in her household. Madame wished the girl +carefully instructed. + +Then Madame Montell died. And the weeping girl was told that she +had been provided with a dowry--a great feather bed, eider-down +pillows, some real silver and linen, dishes. Her heart was filled with +gratitude. Madame’s relatives did not deprive the faithful girl of her +wealth. They had packed a trunk for her and seen her safely installed +with the nice Wells family on South Carolina Street. All this before +they returned to their beloved France, where Madame had once planned to +take Anna. + +The Wellses were not French, but they were gentle people and Anna was +not unhappy with them. + +Anna was a great favorite among the free Negroes of Baltimore. She had +had access to Madame’s books, and anything she said was likely to start +an inspiring line of thought. The Negroes from Haiti were drawn to her. +She understood their French, though she herself seldom tried to speak +it. + +In spite of the staggering obstacles, groups of free Negroes did manage +to sustain themselves even within the boundaries of slave states. They +ran small businesses, owned property, were trusted in good jobs. In +the 1790’s statesmen from Washington and merchants from Richmond and +Atlanta came to Baltimore to buy the clocks of Benjamin Banneker, Negro +clockmaker. + +Any meeting of Negroes was safest in a church. The whites readily +encouraged religious fervor among the “childlike” blacks. “Slaves, +obey your masters” was a Biblical text constantly upon the lips of the +devout. Over all blacks the ease and glories of heaven were sprayed +like ether to deaden present pain. It was especially good for free +Negroes to have lots of religion. + +The East Baltimore Mental Improvement Society usually met in the +African Methodist Episcopal Church on Sharp Street. Having carefully +established their purpose by lusty singing and a long, rolling prayer, +watchers were set and copies of the _Freedom’s Journal_, published in +New York, or a newer paper called the _Liberator_, were brought out. + +One evening a group of shipyard workers from Fells Point had something +to say. They wanted to present a new name for membership. + +“He is a young man of character,” their spokesman said. + +“A good caulker, steady and industrious,” added his companion. + +“He writes and ciphers well,” put in another. + +“Invite this newcomer, by all means.” The chairman spoke cordially. +“What is his name?” + +There was a moment of embarrassment among the Fells Point workers. + +“He is--He is still a--slave.” + +A horribly scarred old man with only one leg spat contemptuously. He +had been one of the followers of Gabriel in the Virginian insurrection. +He had seen the twenty-four-year-old giant die without a word. He +himself had been one of the four slaves condemned to die, who had +escaped. Now, he had little patience with “strong young men” who were +content to remain slaves. + +“Let ’im be!” He rumbled deep in his throat. + +One of the caulkers turned to him. He spoke with deference, but with +conviction. + +“Daddy Ben, I have seen him fight. He is a man!” + +“His name?” asked the chairman. + +“He is known as Frederick.” + +So Frederick was admitted to membership. At his first meeting he sat +silent, listening. He felt very humble when these men and women rose to +their feet and read or spoke. His head whirled. It seemed that he could +not bear any more when a young woman, whom he had noticed sitting very +quietly in a corner, rose. She held a paper in her hand, and when she +spoke her voice was low and musical. At first he heard only that music. +He shook himself and tried to attend to what she was saying. + +“This third edition of the _Appeal_ has been wholly reset and contains +many corrections and important additions. David Walker is dead, but +let us remember that his words are addressed to us, to every one of +us. Remember the preamble to his four articles, his own words ‘To the +Colored Citizens of the World, but in particular, and very expressly, +to those of the United States of America.’ The hour is too late for +you to hear the entire text of his final message. But in this time of +great stress and discouragement I should like to call your attention to +this one paragraph.” + +And then, standing close to the smoking oil lamp, she read from the +paper in her hand: + + “For although the destruction of the oppressors God may not effect by + the oppressed, yet the Lord our God will bring other destruction upon + them, for not infrequently will He cause them to rise up one against + the other, to be split, divided, and to oppress each other. And + sometimes to open hostilities with sword in hand.” + +She sat down then amid complete and thoughtful silence. The meeting +broke up. They dispersed quickly, not loitering on the street, not +walking together. But first Frederick buttonholed his friend from Fells +Point. + +“What’s her name?” he whispered. His friend knew whom he meant. + +“Anna Murray.” + +The bonds of slavery bit deeper than before. The calm, sweet face of +Anna Murray shimmered in his dreams. He had to be free! + +He was living and working among free men, in all respects equal to them +in performance. Why then should he be a slave? He was earning a dollar +and a half a day. He contracted for it, worked for it, collected it. +It was paid to him. Turning this money over to Mr. Auld each Saturday +became increasingly painful. He could see no reason why, at the end of +each week, he should pour the rewards of his toil into the purse of a +master. + +It is quite possible that Mr. Auld sensed some of this rebellion, +though not its intensity. Each time he carefully counted the money and +each time he looked searchingly at the young man and asked, “Is that +all?” + +It would not do to let the boy consider himself too profitable. On the +other hand, when the sum was extra large he usually gave him back a +sixpence or shilling along with a kindly pat. + +This dole did not have the intended effect. The slave took it as an +admission of his right to the whole sum. In giving him a few cents the +master was easing his conscience. + +Frederick could not think what to do. At this rate he could not even +_buy_ his freedom. To escape he needed money. His free friends offered +a suggestion: that he solicit the privilege of buying his time. It +was not uncommon in the large cities. A slave who was considered +trustworthy could, by paying his master a definite sum at the end of +each week, dispose of his time as he liked. + +Frederick decided to wait until his actual master, Captain Auld, came +up to Baltimore to make his spring purchases. Master Hugh was only +acting as the Captain’s agent, but Frederick was confident that the +report concerning him given to the Captain would be a good one. + +In this he was not disappointed. Captain Auld was told that his slave +had learned well, had worked diligently. But when Frederick presented +his request, the Captain’s face turned red. + +“No!” he shouted. “And none of your monkey business!” + +He studied the slave’s gloomy face. His own eyes narrowed. + +“Get this through your black skull. You can’t run away! There’s no +place you can go that I won’t find you and drag you back.” His voice +was grim. “Next time I won’t be so easy. It’ll be the river!” + +He meant he’d “sell him down the river.” Frederick turned away. + +“Give ’em an inch and they want an ell,” grumbled the Captain to his +brother. + +Hugh Auld shook his head sympathetically. He was having his own +troubles. Along with a lot of other speculators he was beginning to +doubt the wisdom of his “sure” investments. He had taken out stock +in both the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad and the Chesapeake and Ohio +Canal. Now there were dire whispers of an impending crash. The Bank of +Maryland had closed--temporarily, of course--but the weeks were passing +and business was falling off. + +Therefore, when, a month later, Frederick came to him with the same +proposition, he said he would think about it. Jobs for journeymen +caulkers were going to be fewer, wages were coming down. He had this +big hulk of a fellow on his hands. No telling what would happen within +the next months. Let him try himself. He told Frederick he could have +all his time on the following terms: he would be required to pay his +master three dollars at the end of each week, board and clothe himself +and buy his own caulking tools. Failure in any of these particulars +would put an end to the privilege. + +His words staggered Frederick. The week just ended had not been good. +He had worked only four and a half days. That meant there would be no +sixpence for him tonight. They were standing in the kitchen. Frederick +had been eating when the master came in. + +“Well? Speak up?” + +Frederick watched his week’s earning go into the small black pouch. A +slight movement from Nada at the stove caused him to look at her. She +was forming the word “Yes” with her lips, nodding her head vigorously +at him. Mr. Auld spoke complacently. + +“You see, being your own boss means more than just keeping your money. +Do you want your time or don’t you?” + +Frederick’s face did not change expression, but he squared his +shoulders. + +“Yes, sir,” he said to Mr. Auld. “I’ll take my time.” + +“Very well. You can start Monday.” The master joined his wife in the +living room. She did not like what he told her. + +“You shouldn’t let him,” she frowned over her mending. “They can’t look +out after themselves. It’s wicked!” + +“He’ll be back.” Mr. Auld settled himself comfortably in his favorite +chair. “The young buck’s restless. This will be a good lesson to him.” + +Back in the kitchen Frederick turned worried eyes on Nada. She gave him +one of her rare smiles. + +“No worry!” she said. “Yo’ come live by me.” + +Jeb was appalled. Frederick had taught him to read, and he regarded the +young man with something akin to adoration. That night in their attic +room they talked. + +“Yo’ gonna run away! Yo’ gonna run away!” All the terrors of pursuing +hounds, starvation and dragging chains choked the boy’s voice. + +“Hush!” Frederick gripped his shoulder. Then he whispered fiercely, “Do +you want to be a slave all your life?” + +“No! Oh, Jesus! No!” He began to sob. + +“Then keep still--and let me go!” + +The boy gulped piteously. He put his mouth close to Frederick’s ear. + +“Take me wid yo’, Fred, take me wid yo’! I not feared.” But Frederick +pushed him away gently. + +“Don’t talk. Wait!” + +“Yo’ not forget me?” + +And Frederick promised. “I will not forget.” + +The following evening when Nada disappeared down the alley, Frederick +was with her. + + * * * * * + +Events now moved rapidly. The entire membership of the East Baltimore +Mental Improvement Society was concerned with Frederick. They all knew +what he was trying to do. The caulkers were on the alert for any extra +jobs, older men advised, and Anna Murray’s eyes began to glow softly. +Sometimes Frederick entered into the discussions at the meeting now, +but usually he sat silent, listening. Afterward he walked home with +Anna, avoiding the lighted streets. And he poured into her willing ear +his whole mad scheme. The stringent cordon thrown around Baltimore to +prevent slaves from escaping demanded a bold plan. Frederick knew that +he had to get well away or he would surely be captured, and he knew +that a second failure would be fatal. + +The railroad from Baltimore to Philadelphia was under such rigid +regulations that even free colored travelers were practically excluded. +They had to carry free papers on their persons--papers describing +the name, age, color, height and form of the traveler, especially +any scars or other marks he had. Negroes were measured and carefully +examined before they could enter the cars, and they could only go in +the daytime. The steamboats had similar rules. British seamen of color +were forbidden to land at Southern ports. An American seaman of African +descent was required to have always on him a “sailor’s protection,” +describing the bearer and certifying to the fact that he was a free +American sailor. + +One night Frederick was introduced to a sailor who appeared to be well +known to the group. The older ones, standing round, studied the two +young men talking together. Then Daddy Ben said briefly, “It will do!” + +After that Frederick spent every moment away from his work in the +sailor’s company. They leaned over bars in crowded saloons off Lower +Broadway and swapped talk with old salts who had not yet recovered +their land legs. They swore at the fresh young landlubber, but his +friend, laughing heartily, warded off their blows. + +On the last Sunday in August, as was his custom, Frederick reported +with his three dollars. + +“I’m taking Mrs. Auld to the country over next Sunday,” Mr. Auld said. +“This awful heat is bad for her. Come in next Monday.” + +Frederick knew the time had come. He reported at each place punctually +that week. He took every extra job he could find. Sunday evening he +slipped into the little garden behind the house on South Carolina +Street. Anna was waiting. + +“Take care! Oh, take care!” she whispered. + +“You’ll be getting a letter from up North--soon!” he boasted. + +The next morning the Philadelphia train was puffing into the Baltimore +and Ohio station when a swaggering young sailor strode across the +platform. Several Negro passengers stood in a huddled group to one +side. All had passed their examinations. The impatient young sailor +did not join them. His bell-bottom trousers flopped about his legs, +the black cravat fastened loosely about his neck was awry, and he +pushed his tarpaulin hat back on his head, as he peered anxiously up +the street. The conductor had yelled “All aboard!” when a ramshackle +old hack drew up. The sailor ran to it, flung open the door before +the stupid old hackman could move, and grabbed a big, battered bag, +plastered with many labels and tied with strong hemp. + +“Damn you!” cursed the sailor, “yo’ makin’ me miss ma ship!” + +He sprinted for the last car of the train, leaving the blinking old +hackman unpaid. The conductor laughed. + +The train was well on the way to Havre de Grace before the conductor +reached the last car to collect tickets and look over the colored +folks’ papers. This was rather perfunctory, since he knew they had +all been examined at the station. He chuckled as he spied the sailor +slumped in a back seat, already fast asleep. Bet he’d made a night of +it--several nights, no doubt! Probably overstayed his time and knew +the brig irons were waiting for him. _Oh, well, niggers don’t care._ +So long as they had their whiskey and women! He shook the sailor +playfully. Frederick stared up at him, blinking. + +“All right, sailor boy, your ticket!” + +“Yes, _suh_.” Frederick fumbled in his blouse, producing a not too +clean bit of cardboard. He appeared to be groggy. + +“I reckon you got your free papers?” + +The fellow showed the whites of his eyes. He shook his head. + +“No, suh. Ah nevah carries mah papahs to sea wid me.” + +“But you do have something to show you’re a free man, haven’t you?” + +The sailor’s face beamed. + +“Yes, _suh_. Ah got a papah right hyear wid da ’Merican eagle right on +hit. Dat little ole bird carries me round da world!” + +From somewhere about himself he drew out a paper and unfolded it +carefully. The conductor immediately recognized it as a sailor’s +protection. He looked at the spread American eagle at its head, nodded +and went on down the aisle. + +Frederick’s hand was trembling as he folded the paper. It called for +a man much darker than himself. Close examination would have brought +about not only his arrest, but the arrest and severe punishment of the +sailor who had lent it to him. + +The danger was not over. After Maryland they passed through Delaware, +another slave state, where slave-catchers would be awaiting their prey. +It was at the borders that they were most vigilant. + +They reached Havre de Grace, where the Susquehanna River had to be +crossed by ferry. Frederick was making his way to the rail so that he +could stand with his back to the other passengers, when he literally +bumped into Henry! + +Henry saw him first. In a second the big fellow pushed him violently +to one side; and so Mr. William Freeland did not catch a glimpse of +the young sailor. A sailor who no longer swaggered but whose legs +hardly managed to bear him up as he clung to the rail. On shore Henry, +watching the ferry pull away from the dock, was also trembling. + +“What’s the matter with you, Henry?” asked Mr. Freeland. The fellow +looked as if he was going to be sick. + +“Nothin’, suh! Nothin’ at all!” Henry answered quickly. + +On the other side of the river Frederick ran into a new danger. A +German blacksmith for whom he had worked only a few days before looked +him full in the face. Two trains had stopped on tracks next to each +other--one going south, the other going north. The blacksmith was +returning to Baltimore. The windows were open and Frederick, sitting +close to his window, was bareheaded. The German opened his mouth. Then +his face froze like Frederick’s. He flicked ashes from his big cigar +and turned away from the window. + +Frederick sank back into his seat, closed his eyes and pulled his hat +over his face as if he were asleep. + +The last danger point, and the one he dreaded most, was Wilmington. +Here he had to leave the train and take the steamboat for Philadelphia. +It was an hour of torture, but no one stopped him; and finally he was +out on the broad and beautiful Delaware on his way to the Quaker City. + +He had eaten nothing and his head felt very light as he stood on the +deck. He knew that never would he see anything so beautiful as that +river. Yet he dared not relax one moment of watchfulness. + +They reached Philadelphia late in the afternoon. The sky was a crimson +glow as he stepped first upon free soil. He wanted to shout and sing, +but he had been warned not to pause until he reached New York--there +only might he savor the taste of freedom. He asked the first colored +man he saw in Philadelphia how he could get to New York. The man +directed him to the Willow Street depot. He went there at once, and +had no trouble buying a ticket. During the several hours’ wait for his +train, he did not leave the station. It seemed as if the train would +never come, but at last he was safely aboard. + + * * * * * + +He thought something was wrong. It was still dark, but all the +passengers were getting off. He was afraid to ask questions. + +“Come on, sailor!” the conductor said. And when he looked up stupidly, +the conductor added, “It’s the ferry. You have to take the ferry over +to Manhattan.” + +He watched the skyline of New York come up out of the dawn. The hoarse +whistles along the waterfront made a song; the ships’ bells rang +out freedom. He walked across the gangplank, set his battered bag +down on the wharf and looked back. The busy river was like a crowded +thoroughfare. A barefoot Negro had leaned against a pile, watching him. + +“What river is this, boy?” Frederick asked. The boy stared. + +“That’s tha Hudson River. Where you come from, sailor?” + +The fugitive from slavery’s Eastern Shore smiled. + +“A long way, boy. I’ve crossed a heap of rivers!” + + * * * * * + +Then, early in the morning of September 4, 1838, he walked up into New +York City. He was free! + + + + + Part II + + _THE LIGHTNING_ + + + And what man moves but on the crest of history! + The spark flashes from each to each. + The incandescence fuses-- + Blooms out of the ghetto pit-- + Roars to the sky-- + Fans into a fiery liberty tree + Showering its seed to the last beaches of the embattled earth! + --HARRY GRANICK + + + + + CHAPTER SIX + + _Is this a thing, or can it be a man?_ + + +Freedom is a hard-bought thing! Frederick expected to remain in New +York. He was free, he had money in his pocket, he would find work. +He had no plans beyond reaching this big city, where there were +Abolitionists who printed papers calling for the freeing of the slaves, +and many free Negroes. Here he could work in safety. + +“_Voila!_” murmured a little French seamstress, peeping through the +slits of her blinds as the jaunty figure came in view. She had seen +such stepping before, such lifting of the head, such a singing with +the shoulders. She remembered free men marching into the Place de la +Concorde. She smiled and hummed a few bars of the “_Marseillaise_.” +“_Allons, enfants.... Marchons...._” She threw the shutters open. What +a beautiful morning! + +But Frederick didn’t find work that first day. By nightfall he was +feeling uneasy. Job-hunting had brought him up against an unexpected +wall. The colored people he saw seemed to be avoiding him. He walked +straight up to the next Negro he saw and spoke to him. From his +bespattered appearance, and his pail and brush, Frederick judged the +man to be a house painter. + +“Good evening, mister! Could you tell me where I might find a place to +stay? I just got here and--” + +The man’s eyes in his sunken, dark face were rolling in every direction +at once. + +“Lemme be. I donno nothin’.” He was moving on, but Frederick blocked +his path. + +“Look, mister, I only want--” + +The man’s tones were belligerent, though his voice was low. + +“Donno nothin’ ’bout you, sailor. An’ I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’!” + +Frederick watched him disappear around a corner. As night came on he +followed a couple of sailors into a smoke-filled eating place. There he +ate well, served by a swarthy, good-natured fellow, whose father that +day had picked olives on a hillside overlooking Rome. Garlic, coarse +laughter, warmth and the tangy smell of seamen mingled in the dimly +lighted room. Some of the men lifted their foamy mugs in greeting as +Frederick sank into a corner. He waved back. But he hurried through his +meal, not daring to linger long for fear of betraying himself. + +He walked aimlessly in the gathering gloom. He thought a lamplighter, +lifting his wick to the corner lamp, eyed him suspiciously. Frederick +turned down a dimmer thoroughfare. He was tired. The suitcase was heavy. + +Across the street a bearded seaman took his stubby pipe from between +his teeth and looked after the solitary figure. _Young sailors do not +carry heavy suitcases, bumping against their legs!_ The man grunted, +crossed the street and came up behind the young man. He spoke softly. + +“Hi, sailor!” + +With a start Frederick turned. Now it was his turn to hesitate. In the +fading light he could not distinguish whether the face behind the thick +beard was white or colored. So he only answered, “Hi, yo’self!” + +The stranger fell in beside him. “When’d you get in?” + +“Yesterday. Up from the West Indies.” The answer came easily. _But_, +the seaman thought to himself, _it’s the wrong answer_. Out of the +corner of his eye he studied the young man and threw out another +question. + +“What’s your ship?” + +Frederick was well prepared for this question. + +“The _Falcon_.” + +They walked along in silence, the bearded seaman puffing his pipe. +Frederick waited. + +“Might you be headin’ toward the--north star?” + +Frederick’s heart leaped. The words could have only one meaning. Yet +was this man friend or foe? Dared he trust him? + +“I hear tell the north star leads us straight,” he said. + +The stranger took Frederick’s arm. + +“It has led you well. Come!” + +In the little house on Centre Street, Frederick met Tom Stuart’s +mother, a bright-eyed little woman who greeted him warmly. But hardly +could he blurt out an outline of his story before he had fallen +asleep--for the first time in nearly forty-eight hours. + +Then Tom Stuart went quickly to the corner of Lispenard and Church +Streets and knocked on the door of David Ruggles, secretary of the New +York Vigilance Committee. + +“You are right,” said the secretary, when he heard what the seaman had +to say. “He is not safe here.” + +“New York’s full of Southerners. They’re beginning to come back from +the watering-places now,” Stuart added. + +“Looking for work down on the waterfront, he’ll be caught.” + +The scar on Ruggles’ black face twisted into a smile. + +“God’s providence protected him today. Now we must do our part and get +him away.” He covered his sightless eyes with his hand and sat thinking. + +David Ruggles had been born free. He was schooled, alert, and he had +courage. But once he had dared too much for his own good. In Ohio an +irate slave-chaser’s whip had cut across his face. Its thongs had torn +at his eyes, and he would never see again. But the slave whom he was +helping to escape had got away. And David Ruggles had said, “My eyes +for a man’s life? We were the winners!” + +The seaman cleared his throat. + +“There is a girl--a freewoman. She is to meet him here.” + +The secretary frowned. + +“Good heavens! Haven’t we enough to do without managing love trysts?” + +Tom Stuart grinned in the darkness as he walked home. He knew the heart +of this black man. He would show no sign of annoyance the next morning +when he welcomed the young fugitive. + +As for Frederick, he wanted to kiss the hands of this blind man when +they clasped his own so firmly. _An agent of the Underground Railroad! +Underground Railroad!_--a whisper up and down the Eastern Shore. Now +Frederick was to hear them spoken aloud. + +The increasing numbers of slaves who were escaping, in spite of +the rigid cordons thrown round the slave states and the terrifying +penalties for failure in the attempt, gave rise to wild rumors. The +bayous of Louisiana, the backlands of Alabama and Mississippi, the +swamps of Florida and the mountains of the Atlantic states, seemed to +suck them in like a man-eating plant. People said there was a colony +of blacks deep in the Florida scrub, where they lived a life of ease +far inside the bayous that no white man could penetrate. Another group, +so they said, raised crops on the broad flat plains that ran toward the +border of Georgia; and two thousand more hid inside the dismal swamps +of Virginia, coming out to trade with Negroes and whites. + +There was no denying the fact that Negroes showed up across the border +of Canada with surprising regularity--slaves from the rice fields of +Georgia and South Carolina, the tobacco lands of Virginia and Maryland, +and the cotton fields of Alabama. + +“One thousand slaves a year disappear!” John Calhoun thundered in +Congress. “They go as if swallowed up by an underground passage.” + +The idea caught on. Young America expanding--passages opening to new +territory. To a people still using the stagecoach, trains symbolized +daring and adventure. An underground railway to freedom! Men cocked +their hats rakishly, cut off their mustaches and tightened the holsters +at their belts; small shopkeepers put heavy padlocks on their doors +and slipped out to meetings; tall, lean men wearing linen and nankeen +pantaloons--sons of planters among them--emptied their mint juleps and +climbed into the saddle; the devout Quaker put a marker in his Bible +and dug a new deep cellar underneath his house, partitioned off rooms +with false walls and laid in fresh supplies of thick wide cloaks and +long black veils. + +What more natural than that slaves down in their quarters sang, _Dat +train comin’, hit’s comin’ round da bend!_ and _Git on board, lil’ +chillun, git on board!_ + +The “train” might be a skiff, securely fastened under overhanging +reeds. Or it might be a peddler’s cart, an open wagon filled with hay, +or the family carryall, driven by a quiet man in a wide-brimmed Quaker +hat, who spoke softly to the ladies sitting beside him, neatly dressed +in gray, with Quaker bonnets on their heads and veils over their faces. +The “train” might simply be a covered-up path through the woods. But +the slave voices rose, exulting: + + “Da train am rollin’ + Da train am rollin’ by-- + Hallelujah!” + +“Conductors” planned the connections. And David Ruggles in the house +on Church Street routed the train in and out of New York City. He +collected and paid out money, received reports and checked routes. +David Ruggles was a busy man. + +He heard Frederick through quietly. Frederick was worried. If he could +not stay in New York, where would he go? + +“It’s a big country,” Mr. Ruggles assured the young man. “A workman is +worthy of his hire. We shall look about.” Then he asked abruptly, “Have +you written the young lady?” + +Frederick felt his face burn. Being among people with whom he could +share his precious secret was a new experience. + +“Y-es, sir,” he stammered. “I--I posted a letter this morning--On my +way here.” + +He looked toward Tom Stuart, whose eyes were laughing at him. The +seaman put in a word. + +“Got up and wrote the letter before dawn!” + +“Since she is a freewoman,” Mr. Ruggles smiled, “she can no doubt join +you immediately.” + +“Yes--Yes, sir.” + +“Very well. Then you must remain under cover until she comes.” + +“He’s safe at my house,” Tom Stuart said quickly, and the secretary +nodded. + +“That is good,” he said. “And now for the record.” + +At this word a slender boy of nine or ten years, who had been sitting +quietly at the table, opened a large ledger and picked up a quill +pen. He said nothing but turned his intelligent, bright eyes toward +Frederick. Mr. Ruggles laid his hand on the boy’s arm. + +“My son here is my eyes,” he said. + +Frederick regarded the little fellow with amazement. He was going to +write with that pen! + +“You are called Frederick?” the father asked. + +Frederick gave a start. “I have sometimes heard of another +name--Bailey,” he said. “I--I really don’t know. They call me +Frederick.” + +“For the present, we shan’t worry about the surname. It is safer now to +lose whatever identity you might have. Write Frederick Johnson, son!” +The boy wrote easily. “There are so many Johnsons. But now that you are +a free man, you must have a name--a family name.” + +“Oh, yes, sir!” + +The days passed swiftly. Anna arrived--warmly welcomed by Tom Stuart’s +mother and whisked quickly out of sight until the moment when she +stood beside him. Anna, her eyes pools of happiness, wearing a lovely +plum-colored silk dress! They were married by the Reverend J. W. C. +Pennington, whose father, after having been freed by George Washington, +had served him faithfully at Valley Forge. He refused the fee offered +by the eager young bridegroom. + +“It is my wedding gift to you, young man. God speed you!” + +They were put aboard the steamer _John W. Richmond_, belonging to the +line running between New York and Newport, Rhode Island. + +“New Bedford is your place,” David Ruggles had said. “There are many +Friends in New Bedford, and the shipyards are constantly fitting out +ships for long whaling voyages. A good caulker will find work. Good +luck, my boy!” + +Since colored passengers were not allowed in the cabins, the bride and +groom had to pass their first night on the deck. But what mattered +whether they were cold or hot, wet or dry; whether they stood leaning +over the rail, jammed against sticky kegs, or sat on the hard boards? +They were free--they were young--they were on their way, to make a +home, to build a life _together_. + +Oh, how bright the stars shone that night! Anna saw Frederick’s lips +move as he gazed at them. She leaned closer and he tightened his arm +about her. “I must not forget!” he murmured. + +The nights on the open deck--they had two of them--enfolded them and +shut out all the world. The ache of all their lonely years dissolved +before the new happiness in their hearts. Then, out of the gray mist +and the darker shadows, emerged the gaunt shores of their new world. +Anna gripped her husband’s arm and trembled. But he lifted her face to +his and kissed her. + +As the boat approached New Bedford, the crowded harbor, with its +stained, weather-beaten ships and dirty warehouses, was a golden +gate--let down from the clouds just for them. Frederick wanted to shout. + +“Look! Look!” He was pointing at an imposing house that stood on a +hill behind the town. “That’s the kind of house we’ll have. A fine, +big house! I’ll make it with my own hands. I’m free, Anna, I’m free to +build a house like that!” + +Her eyes laughed with him. + +So it was that they landed on the rocky shores of New England, where +free men had set their feet before them. Leif, son of Eric the Red, +touched this coast with his Norsemen. In 1497 and ’98 John Cabot, +Venetian navigator, explored here and gave England her claim to the +region. Cabot under the British flag, Verrazzano under the _fleur de +lis_, and Gomez under the flag of Spain, all of them had come even +before the Pilgrim Fathers. + +It was from Rhode Island--from Roger Williams and Anne Hutchinson, all +part of the rising winds of rebellion--that New Bedford got its start. +Time and again this salty breeze had blown through the Massachusetts +commonwealth. It rose and blew steadily during most of the eighteenth +century, bringing gains in political freedom and education and +religious tolerance. Impoverished farmers had followed Daniel Shays; +and an early governor, James Sullivan, had been stirred to say, “Where +the mass of people are ignorant, poor and miserable, there is no public +opinion excepting what is the offspring of fear.” The winds had died +down during the rise of Federalism, but now once more a little breeze +fanned the cheeks of the mill girls in Lowell and the mechanics in +Boston. It rustled the dead, dry leaves piled high in Cambridge and +Concord. It was scattering the seeds of Abolitionism. + +Boston had William Lloyd Garrison, whom neither jails, fires, threats, +nor the elegant rhetoric of William Ellery Channing could stifle. He +waved his paper, the _Liberator_, high in the air, whipping the breeze +higher. He stood his ground and loosed a blast destined to shake the +rafters of the nation. + +“Urge me not to use moderation in a cause like the present. I am in +earnest. I will not equivocate. I will not excuse. I will not retreat a +single inch--and I will be heard!” + +Certain slave states had set a price on William Lloyd Garrison’s head. +But in February, 1837, the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society had +convened in the hall of the House of Representatives in Boston, and +after every space was filled nearly five thousand people were turned +away. Nathan Johnson had been one of the delegates from New Bedford. + +Nathan Johnson was proud of the commonwealth of Massachusetts. His +people had lived in the midst of a group of Dutch dairy farmers +comfortably spread out over the meadowlands near Sheffield. They had +owned a tiny piece of land. Nathan had gone to school, learned a trade +and, like many another Massachusetts farm boy, made a trip to sea. +For a time he had lingered in Scotland where a Negro was a curiosity. +There was something about the hills and valleys with their jutting +rocks that drew him. Then he realized he was homesick. He returned to +Massachusetts, married and plied his trade--he was a carpenter--near +the sight and sound and smell of the sea. He had seen the face of +slavery, but he believed the State of Massachusetts would educate the +nation away from such evil practices. + +David Ruggles had written Nathan Johnson about Frederick. The answer +had come back: “Send him along!” And Johnson had hurried to the dock to +meet the “poor critters.” + +But the young man who stepped from the boat and took his hand with such +a firm grip did not call forth pity. To the Yankee he had the look +neither of a fugitive nor a slave. + +Ma Johnson blocked all questions while she bustled about setting a +good, hot meal before the newcomers. + +“Dead beat, I know,” was her comment. “Now you just wash up and make +yourselves right at home.” She poured water and handed them thick white +towels, while little Lethia and Jane stared with wide eyes. + +Everything floated in a dreamy mist. This house, this abundant table, +this room were unbelievable. Frederick’s fingers itched to take down +the books from their shelves, to pick up papers lying about. With an +effort he brought his eyes back to the animated face of his host. + +“There ain’t a thing in the laws or constitution of Massachusetts to +stop a colored man being governor of the state, if the folks sees fit +to elect him!” Lethia nodded her small head gravely and smiled at +Frederick. + +Ma Johnson sighed gently. Nathan was off on his favorite +topic--Massachusetts! But that was safe talk for these two nice young +people. They could just eat in peace. She set a plate of savory clam +chowder in front of Anna. + +“No slaveholder’d dare try takin’ a slave out of New Bedford!” The +glasses quivered as Johnson thumped the table. Frederick smiled. + +“I’m glad to hear that--after what they told me about New York.” + +“Humph!” The Yankee snorted. “New York ain’t in Massachusetts, young +man. All sorts of people there. Can’t count on ’em!” Ma Johnson gently +intervened. + +“Reckon we have some troublemakers, too, even in New Bedford.” + +“Ay, and I reckon we know how to take care of ’em!” + +It was Indian summer in New England. The evenings were still long, with +no suggestion of frost in the air. After supper they sat in the yard, +and between long puffs on his pipe the host talked and gradually drew +out the young man. Came the moment when he took his pipe from his mouth +and sat forward on his chair, lips pressed together in a grim line. + +“I cannot understand how such things be!” he said, shaking his head. + +The women had gone inside. Lights shone in the cottage across the +way, and on the other side of the white picket fence a girl laughed. +Frederick stood up. Even in the dusk, Johnson was conscious of the +broad shoulders and the long, lithe limbs. He was looking up at the +trees. + +“Almost--Almost I am afraid,” Frederick said. + +“Afraid? Now? Your time to be afraid is gone. Now you are safe!” + +“That’s it! _I_ am safe. I’m afraid of so much happiness.” + +“A mite o’ happiness won’t spoil you, my boy. There’s strength in you. +And now I reckon your wife is waiting.” Nathan Johnson stood up. + +Inside the house Frederick turned and clasped the hand of his host. + +“How can I thank you?” he asked. + +The older man smiled. “Fine words ain’t needed, son. The two of you are +good for Ma and me. Now go ’long with you!” + +And he sent him to Anna. + +They were awakened by church bells. Then they heard the children +getting off to church. Anna started up guiltily. Perhaps they were +delaying Mrs. Johnson. + +But over the house lay a sweet Sabbath calm; it ran all up and down +the street--and over all New Bedford. The day passed in unhurried +discussion of jobs and plans for the young folks. Now indeed Frederick +must have a name. + +“Some take the name of their old master.” + +“I won’t.” Frederick spoke emphatically. + +“Ay,” agreed Nathan. “No sense in tying a stone round your children’s +necks. Give ’em a good name.” He grinned at Frederick and Anna. “When +I look at you I think of somebody I read about--fellow by the name of +Douglass.” + +“You want to name him from a book, Pa?” His wife laughed. + +“Why not? He’s already got a heap out of books. And this Scotchman, +Douglass, was a fine man. The book says he had a ‘stalwart hand’.” + +Then Nathan launched into a vivid description of Scotland as he had +seen it. He came back to the name. + +“Ay, Douglass is a bonny name.” + +Anna spoke softly. “Frederick Douglass--It has a good, strong sound.” + +“You like it, Anna?” Frederick’s eyes drew her to him. + +And Anna smiled, nodding her head. So Douglass was the name he passed +on to their children. + +The next day he went down to the wharves and caught his first view of +New England shipping. + +“The sight of the broad brim and the plain, Quaker dress,” he +recalled later, “which met me at every turn, greatly increased my +sense of freedom and security. _I am among the Quakers_, thought I, +_and am safe_. Lying at the wharves and riding in the stream, were +full-rigged ships of finest model, ready to start on whaling voyages. +Upon the right and the left, I was walled in by large granite-fronted +warehouses, crowded with the good things of this world. On the wharves, +I saw industry without bustle, labor without noise, and heavy toil +without the whip. There was no loud singing, as in Southern ports +where ships are loading or unloading--no loud cursing or swearing--but +everything went on as smoothly as the works of a well-adjusted machine. +How different was all this from the noisily fierce and clumsily absurd +manner of labor-life in Baltimore and St. Michaels! One of the first +incidents which illustrated the superior mental character of Northern +labor over that of the South, was the manner of unloading a ship’s +cargo of oil. In a Southern port, twenty or thirty hands would have +been employed to do what five or six did here, with the aid of a single +ox hitched to the end of a fall. Main strength, unassisted by skill, is +slavery’s method of labor. An old ox worth eighty dollars was doing in +New Bedford what would have required fifteen thousand dollars’ worth +of human bone and muscle to have performed in a Southern port.... The +maid servant, instead of spending at least a tenth part of her time +in bringing and carrying water, as in Baltimore, had the pump at her +elbow. Wood-houses, indoor pumps, sinks, drains, self-shutting gates, +washing machines, pounding barrels, were all new things, and told me +that I was among a thoughtful and sensible people. The carpenters +struck where they aimed, and the caulkers wasted no blows in idle +flourishes of the mallet.”[1] + +He remembered little about the hardships of that first winter in the +North, and only mentioned in passing that he was not permitted to use +his skill as a caulker. Even here white labor shut the black worker +out. The difference between the wage of a caulker and that of a common +day-laborer was 50 per cent. But Frederick would not be stopped. He was +free. So he sawed wood, dug cellars, shoveled coal, rolled oil casks +on the wharves, loaded and unloaded vessels. It was the cold that he +remembered. + +Nothing had prepared them for the cold--the silent, thick, gray cold +that shut down like a vise over the land. The tiny house on a back +street, which had seemed the fulfillment of their dreams, now was a +porous shed. It had none of the Northern conveniences, and each trip +through the snowdrifts to the distant well with its frozen buckets was +a breath-taking effort. + +Each morning Anna got her husband’s breakfast by candlelight, and +Frederick set out for work. Odd jobs were not as easy to find nor as +steady as he would have liked. Many cotton mills in New England were +still that winter, and many ships lay idle all along Cape Cod. Down in +Washington a new President was proving himself weak and ineffectual. +Banks were tottering and business houses were going down in ruins. This +was the year Susan B. Anthony’s father lost his factory, his store, +his home; and the eighteen-year-old Quaker girl, with Berkshire hills +mirrored in her eyes, went out to teach school. + +During the hardest part of the winter, Frederick’s wages were less than +ten dollars for the month. He and Anna were pinched for food. But they +were never discouraged: they were living in a new world. When he could, +Frederick attended the meetings of colored people of New Bedford. These +meetings went far beyond the gatherings of the East Baltimore Mental +Improvement Society, and once more Frederick sat silent, listening and +learning. He was constantly amazed at the resolutions presented and +discussions which followed. All the speakers seemed to him possessed of +marvelously superior talents. + +Two events during his first months in New Bedford had a decisive effect +upon his life. + +“Among my first concerns on reaching New Bedford,” he said years +later, “was to become united with the church, for I had never given +up, in reality, my religious faith. I had become lukewarm and in a +backslidden state, but I was still convinced that it was my duty to +join the church.... I therefore resolved to join the Methodist church +in New Bedford and to enjoy the spiritual advantage of public worship. +The minister of the Elm Street Methodist Church was the Reverend Mr. +Bonney; and although I was not allowed a seat in the body of the house, +and was proscribed on account of my color, regarding this proscription +simply as an accommodation of the unconverted congregation who had not +yet been won to Christ and his brotherhood, I was willing thus to be +proscribed, lest sinners should be driven away from the saving power of +the Gospel. Once converted, I thought they would be sure to treat me as +a man and a brother. _Surely,_ thought I, _these Christian people have +none of this feeling against color_.... + +“An opportunity was soon afforded me for ascertaining the exact +position of Elm Street Church on the subject.... The occasion ... +was the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.... At the close of his (Mr. +Bonney’s) discourse, the congregation was dismissed and the church +members remained to partake of the sacrament. I remained to see, as +I thought, this holy sacrament celebrated in the spirit of its great +Founder. + +“There were only about a half dozen colored members attached to the +Elm Street Church, at this time.... These descended from the gallery +and took a seat against the wall most distant from the altar. Brother +Bonney was very animated, and sung very sweetly, ‘Salvation, ’tis +a joyful sound,’ and soon began to administer the sacrament. I was +anxious to observe the bearing of the colored members, and the result +was most humiliating. During the whole ceremony, they looked like sheep +without a shepherd. The white members went forward to the altar by the +bench full; and when it was evident that all the whites had been served +with the bread and wine, Brother Bonney--pious Brother Bonney--after +a long pause, as if inquiring whether all the white members had been +served, and fully assuring himself on that important point, then raised +his voice to an unnatural pitch, and looking to the corner where his +black sheep seemed penned, beckoned with his hand, exclaiming, ‘Come +forward, colored friends!--come forward! You, too, have an interest in +the blood of Christ. God is no respecter of persons. Come forward, and +take this holy sacrament to your comfort.’ The colored members--poor, +slavish souls--went forward, as invited. I went _out_, and have never +been in that church since, although I honestly went there with the view +of joining that body.”[2] + +The second event was happier. Not long after they moved into the +little house a young man knocked on their door. Frederick had just +come in from a particularly hard and unproductive day. Anna, turning +from the stove where she was about to serve the evening meal, listened +attentively. She wanted to say something. Then she heard Frederick’s +tired voice, “Subscribe? the _Liberator_?” + +“Yes,” the young man spoke briskly, “You know, William Lloyd Garrison’s +Abolitionist paper. Surely _we_ ought to support him!” + +Anna moved to the doorway, but Frederick was shaking his head. + +“I wish I could, but--We--I can’t--now.” + +Anna slipped her hand in his. It was warm and a little moist. The young +man understood. He cleared his throat. + +“You’d _like_ to read it?” he asked. + +“Oh, yes!” It was Anna who breathed the answer. + +“Then--you can pay me later!” + +“Oh, Freddie, that’s wonderful!” Anna said, but her eyes were beaming +at the young man, who grinned and disappeared around the corner. + +“_She’s_ got brains!” he thought, with thorough appreciation. + +Back at the stove, Anna was fairly singing. + +“We hardly dared get the _Liberator_ through the mail in Baltimore. Now +to think we can sit in our own yard and read it!” + +Every week Anna watched eagerly for the paper. When it came she waved +the sheet triumphantly over her head as she walked back from the +mailbox. Garrison was a hero. The authorities had run the New Englander +out of Baltimore. But it had been from the sparks he drew that the East +Baltimore Improvement Society had come into being. Anna sent their +copies to Baltimore after they had finished with them. + +“E-man-ci-pa-tion,” Frederick stumbled over the long word. “What does +it mean, Anna?” + +“Freedom, Frederick--or rather _setting_ the people free. Listen to +this!” The two dark heads bent near the oil lamp. “‘The Constitution +of the United States knows nothing of white or black men; makes no +distinction with regard to the color or condition of free inhabitants.’” + +Frederick learned to love the paper and its editor. Now he and Nathan +Johnson could really talk together. Nathan found an apt pupil, and Ma +Johnson took Anna under her wing. + +As the days grew cooler folks began talking about Thanksgiving. + +“What is it?” Anna asked, wrinkling her brow. + +Then Ma Johnson told her about the Pilgrims, of their first, hard +winter, of how now each year after harvest time the people of New +England set aside a special feasting day in their memory, a day when +they gave thanks for all the good things of the earth. + +“What a beautiful idea!” Anna turned it over in her mind. “A day of +thanksgiving!” + +“Those poor young ones never tasted turkey.” Ma conveyed this tragic +information to Nathan. They decided to take a turkey to them. + +“And I’ll show her how to cook it.” Ma was very fond of Anna. + +They carried the fresh-killed bird, resplendent in all its feathers, to +the little house. Frederick and Anna gazed upon it with awe. + +“Hot water! Plenty of hot water!” Nathan rolled up his sleeves, and +while they followed his movements like two children he plucked the fowl +and handed it to Anna. + +“We’ll have meat all winter!” Frederick laughed, his eyes on Anna’s +shining face. + +The little house was fairly bursting with happiness that fall. They +were going to have a child--a child born on free soil. + +“He’ll be a free man!” Frederick made the words a hymn of praise. + +And Anna smiled. + +In April William Lloyd Garrison came to New Bedford. + +“You must go, Frederick,” Anna said, “since I can’t. Look at me!” + +“Not without you.” The young husband shook his head, but Anna laughed +and rushed supper. Frederick was one of the first to arrive at the hall. + +He saw only one face that night, he heard only one voice--a face which +he described as “heavenly,” a voice which he said “was never loud or +noisy, but calm and serene as a summer sky, and as pure.” + +Garrison was a young man then, with a singularly pleasing face and an +earnest manner. + +“The motto upon our banner has been, from the commencement of our +moral warfare, ‘Our country is the world--our countrymen are all +mankind.’ We trust it will be our only epitaph. Another motto we have +chosen is ‘Universal Emancipation.’ Up to this time we have limited +its application to those who are held in this country, by Southern +taskmasters, as marketable commodities, goods and chattels, and +implements of husbandry. Henceforth we shall use it in its widest +latitude: the emancipation of our whole race from the dominion of man, +from the thralldom of self, from the government of brute force, from +the bondage of sin--and bringing them under the dominion of God, the +control of an inward spirit, the government of the law of love, and +into the obedience and liberty of Christ, who is the same yesterday, +today, and forever.” + +Frederick’s heart beat fast. He was breathing hard. The words came +faint; for inside he was shouting, “This man is Moses! Here is the +Moses who will lead my people out of bondage!” He wanted to throw +himself at this man’s feet. He wanted to help him. + +Then they were singing--all the people in the hall were singing--and +Frederick slipped out. He ran all the way home. He could not walk. + +Summer came. There was more work on the wharves, when his son was born. +Frederick laughed at obstacles. He’d show them! “Them” became the whole +world--the white caulkers who refused to work with him, anybody who +denied a place to his son because his skin was rosy brown! The young +father went into an oil refinery, and then into a brass foundry where +all through the next winter he worked two nights a week besides each +day. Hard work, night and day, over a furnace hot enough to keep the +metal running like water, might seem more favorable to action than +to thought, yet while he fanned the flames Frederick dreamed dreams, +saw pictures in the flames. He must get ready! He must learn more. +He nailed a newspaper to the post near his bellows and read while he +pushed the heavy beam up and down. + +In the summer of 1841 the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society held its +grand convention in Nantucket. Frederick decided to take a day off from +work and attend a session. + +The little freedom breeze was blowing up a gale. Theologians, +congressmen, governors and business men had hurled invectives, abuse +and legislation at the Anti-Slavery Society, at the _Liberator_ and at +the paper’s editor, William Lloyd Garrison. But in London, Garrison had +refused to sit on the floor of the World Convention of Anti-Slavery +Societies because women delegates had been barred; and now the very man +who had founded the movement in America was being execrated by many of +those who professed to follow him. + +But Frederick knew only that William Lloyd Garrison would be at +Nantucket. + +The boat rounded Brant Point Light and came suddenly on a gray town +that rose out of the sea. Nantucket’s cobbled lanes, bright with +summer frocks, fanned up from the little bay where old whalers rested +at anchor, slender masts of long sloops pointed to the sky, deep-sea +fishing boats sprawled on the dirty waters, and discolored warehouses +crowded down on the quays. + +Frederick had no trouble finding his way to the big hall, for the +Abolitionist convention was the main event in the town. It spilled out +into the streets where groups of men stood in knots, talking excitedly. +Quakers, sitting inside their covered carriages, removed their hats and +talked quietly; and women, trying not to be conspicuous, stood under +shade trees, but they too talked. + +The morning session had been stormy. A serious rift had developed +within the ranks of the antislavery movement. During his absence +Garrison had been attacked by a body of clergymen for what they termed +his “heresies”--the immediate charge being his “breaking of the +Sabbath.” Garrison, it seemed, saw no reason why anyone should “rest” +from abolishing slavery any day of the week. He maintained that all +days should be kept holy. He lacked forbearance and Christian patience, +they charged. He “aired America’s dirty linen” in Europe. He “insulted” +the English brethren when he took his stand for full recognition of +women in the World Anti-Slavery Convention, despite the fact that St. +Paul had adjured women to silence. Garrison had made a statement in the +_Liberator_: “I expressly declare that I stand upon the Bible, and the +Bible alone, in regard to my views of the Sabbath, the Church, and the +Ministry, and that I feel that if I can not stand triumphantly on that +foundation I can stand nowhere in the universe. My arguments are all +drawn from the Bible and from no other source.”[3] + +For weeks the controversy had raged--sermons were preached, columns and +letters were written. Theodore Parker, young minister in Boston, was +denounced by his fellow-clergymen because he sided with Garrison. Now +they had all come to Nantucket--Garrisonites and anti-Garrisonites; +the issue of slavery was tabled while scholars drew nice lines in the +science of casuistry and ethics, and theologians chanted dogmas. + +All morning Garrison sat silent. His right hand twitched nervously. +Pains shot up into his arm. His face was drawn and tired. His heart was +heavy. Here and there in the crowd a bewildered black face turned to +him. William Lloyd Garrison lowered his eyes and shut his teeth against +a groan that welled up from his heart. + +And so he did not see one more dark figure push into the hall; but +William C. Coffin, a Quaker and ardent Abolitionist, did. He had met +Frederick at the house of his friend, Nathan Johnson. Coffin made his +way back through the crowd and laid his hand on Frederick’s arm. + +“Thee are well come, my friend,” he said. + +Frederick had been peering anxiously toward the platform. He was so +far back, the crowd was so thick and the people wedged in so tightly, +that he despaired of hearing or seeing anything; but he smiled a warm +greeting at the Quaker. + +“Follow me, there are seats up front,” Friend Coffin was saying. + +The older man led the way down a side aisle, and there close against +the wall was a little space. Frederick gratefully slipped in beside his +friend. + +“This is fine,” he whispered, “I hated to miss anything.” He looked +around at the other occupants of the side seats. He spoke worriedly. +“But--But I don’t belong up here.” + +The Quaker smiled. “This is thy place.” He leaned closer, and his eyes +were very earnest. “Douglass, I am asking thee to speak a few words to +the convention this afternoon.” + +Frederick stared at him. He gasped. + +“Me? Speak?” + +The great hall was a vast arena packed with all the people in the +world! Surely the Quaker was joking. But no, the voice was very low, +but calm and sure. + +“Tell them thy story, Douglass, as thee have told the men at the mill. +Just tell them the truth--no matter how the words come.” Frederick +shook his head helplessly. He couldn’t stand up there before all those +people. He tried to hear what the man on the platform was saying, but +the words were meaningless. The hall was stifling hot. Men were mopping +their brows with damp handkerchiefs. Frederick opened his shirt at the +neck and let his coat slip off his shoulders. + +“Thee cannot escape thy duty, Douglass,” Mr. Coffin urged quietly. +“Look about you! Today, thy people need thee to speak for them.” +Frederick held his breath, and the Quaker added gravely, “And _he_ +needs thee--that good man who has worked so hard needs thy help.” + +Frederick followed the Quaker’s eyes. He was gazing at William Lloyd +Garrison, the man whom he honored and loved above all other men. How +sunken and tired he looked! + +“He needs thee,” the Quaker said again. + +Frederick’s lips formed the words, though no sound came at first. + +“I’ll try,” he whispered. + + * * * * * + +How long it was after this that Frederick found himself on his feet, +being gently pushed toward the platform, he could not have said. Only +when he was standing up there before all those people did he realize +that he had not replaced his coat. It was a clean shirt, fresh from +Anna’s tub and iron, but--! He fumbled with the button at his neck. His +fingers were stiff and clumsy. He could not button it with the faces, a +sea of faces, looking up at him, waiting. Everything was so still. They +were waiting for him. He swallowed. + +“Ladies and gentlemen--” a little girl, all big grave eyes, pushed her +damped curls back and smiled at him, encouraging. Suddenly a mighty +wave of realization lifted and supported him. These people were glad +that he was free. They wanted him to be free! He began again. + +“Friends, only a few short months ago I was a slave. Now I am free!” +He saw them sway toward him. “I cannot tell you how I escaped because +if known those who helped me would suffer terribly, _terribly_.” He +said the word a second time and saw some realization of what he meant +reflected in their faces. + +“I do not ask anything for myself. I have my hands to work--my +strength.... All of the seas could not hold my thanksgiving to Almighty +God--and to you.” He was silent a moment and they saw his eyes grow +darker; his face contracted as if in pain. When he began again, his +voice trembled, they had to lean forward to catch his words. + +“But I am only one. Where are my brothers? Where are my sisters? Their +groans sound in my ears. Their voices cry out to me for help. My +mother--my own mother--where is she? I hope she is dead. I hope that +she has found the only peace that comes to a slave--that last, last +peace in a grave. But even as I stand before you it may be--It may be +that--” He stopped and covered his face with his hands. When he lifted +his head, his eyes shone with resolution. “Hear me,” he said, “hear me +while I tell you about slavery.” + +And then, in a clear voice, he told them of Caroline, why she dragged +her leg, and how she had risked her life to save him; he told them +about Henry and John, Nada and Jeb. He told them of little children he +had seen clinging to their mother as she was being sold away, of men +and women whose “spirits” had to be broken, of degradation. He told +them the content of human slavery. + +“I am free,” his voice went low; but they leaned forward, hanging on +every word. “But I am branded with the marks of the lash. See!” And +with one movement, he threw back his shirt. He turned, and there across +the broad, young back were deep knotty ridges, where the brown flesh +had been cut to the bone and healed in pink lumps. They gasped. + +“I have not forgotten--I do not forget anything. Nor will I forget +while, any place upon this earth, there are slaves.” + +He turned to leave the platform. + +Then in the silence another voice, a golden voice, was heard. It was as +if a trumpet called. + +“Is this a thing--a chattel--or a man?” + +William Lloyd Garrison stood there--his eyes flaming--his face alight. +He waited for an answer, holding Frederick’s hand in his, facing the +audience. And from a thousand voices rose the shout. + +“He is a man!” + +“A man! A man!” + +Garrison let the tumultuous shouts roll and reverberate. Men wept +unashamed. Far down the street people heard the applause and shouting +and came running. Through it all Garrison stood, holding the strong +brown hand in his. At last Garrison pressed the hand gently, and +Frederick stumbled to his seat. Then Garrison stepped to the edge of +the platform. + +Those who had heard him oftenest and known him longest were astonished +by his speech that afternoon. He was the fabulous orator who could +convert a vast audience into a single individuality. + +“And to this cause we solemnly dedicate our strength, our minds, our +spirits and our lives!” + +As long as they lived men and women talked about that August afternoon +on Nantucket Island. + +John A. Collins, general agent of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery +Society, was at Frederick’s elbow when the meeting let out. + +“We want you as an agent,” he was saying. “Come, Mr. Garrison told me +to bring you to him.” + +While the crowd surged about them, the great man once more held +Frederick’s hand, but now he gazed searchingly at the brown face. + +“Will you join us, Frederick Douglass?” he asked. + +“Oh, sir, I am a member of the Society in New Bedford,” Frederick +answered quickly and proudly. Garrison smiled. + +“Of course. But I mean more than that--a lot more. I’m asking +you to leave whatever job you have and work with me. The pay +is--well--uncertain. They tell me you have a family. I too have a +family.” + +“Yes, sir. I know,” Frederick said, his eyes like an adoring child’s. + +“I am asking you to leave your own family and work for the larger +family of God.” + +“Yes, sir, I understand. I want to help. But I am ignorant. I was +planning to go to school.” + +“You will learn as you walk, Frederick Douglass. Your people need your +strength now. We all need you.” + +So Frederick left his job at the foundry and, as an agent of the +Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society, began active work to outlaw slavery +in the nation. + + + + + CHAPTER SEVEN + + _Jobs in Washington and voting in Rhode Island_ + + +Amelia Kemp stood at her attic window. The waters of Chesapeake Bay +tossed green and white and set the thick mass of trees on distant +Poplar Island in motion. A boat rounded Keat Point. For a few moments +Amelia could see the tips of the masts and a bit of white sail against +the sky. Then it all disappeared. But the sight of a boat sailing away +over the waters, of a ship going out to sea, was not at this moment +depressing. She too was going away. + +Lucy was dead. That morning they had laid her worn body in a grave at +the edge of the pines. Covey, his Sunday suit sagging, stared stupidly +while they shoveled in the hard lumps of clay. The preacher had wrung +the widower’s hand, reminding him that “The Lord giveth and the Lord +taketh away”; and they had returned to the unpainted, sagging house. +Now there was nothing further to do. She could go. + +Amelia had tried to persuade her sister to leave with her before it was +too late. She had dared to read her portions of Jack’s letters--“Come +along, there are jobs in Washington--even for women.” But Lucy would +have none of it. Her duty was clear. There were moments when she urged +Amelia to go, others when she clung to her weakly. So the months had +stretched into six years, and Amelia had stayed on. + +Covey dropped into a chair on the front porch when they returned from +the grave. All the lines of his body ran downward. Covey had not +prospered. He knew nothing about a nationwide depression, Van Buren’s +bickering with the banks, wars in Texas, or gag rules in Congress; he +had no idea there was any connection between the 1840 presidential +election and the price of cotton. He did know he was losing ground. +No matter how hard he beat the slaves, crops failed or rotted in the +fields, stock died, debts piled up, markets slumped and tempers were +short all around the bay. + +Now, his wife was dead--_hadn’t been really sick, either. Just, petered +out._ Here it was April, and the sun was scorching. + +He had heard no sound, but Covey was suddenly aware of being watched. +He sat very still and stared hard into the bushes near the corner of +the porch. Two hard, bright eyes stared back. Covey spoke sharply. + +“Who’s that? Who’s that sneakin’ in them bushes?” + +The eyes vanished, but the bushes did not stir. With a snarl, Covey +leaned forward. + +“Dammit! I’ll git my shotgun!” + +The leaves parted and he saw the streaked, pallid, pinched face +in which the green eyes blazed--a face topped with dirty, tangled +tow-colored hair. It was an old face; but the slight body with +pipe-stem legs and arms was that of a child, a girl-child not more +than ten years old. She wore a coarse one-piece slip. One bare foot +was wrapped as if to protect some injury, the other was scratched +and bruised. The child did not come forward, but crouched beside the +porch giving back stare for hard stare. Then with a little cry she +disappeared around the house. + +Covey spat over the porch rail and settled back. It was that brat of +Caroline’s of course, still running about like a wild animal. Time she +was helping around the house. He began to deliberate. Might be better +to get rid of her right off. She’d soon be market size, and yellow +gals brought good prices. He’d speak to Caroline about feeding her up. +Better bring her in the house. Mustn’t let Caroline suspect anything, +though. + +He pulled himself up and turned to go inside. Maybe Caroline had +something for him to eat. + +Amelia stopped him in the hallway. She was wearing a hat and carrying a +suitcase. Covey frowned. + +“Oh, Mr. Covey! I was looking for you.” Her voice had a note of urgency. + +Amelia had a way of emerging from the nondescript background with +startling vividness. Months passed when he hardly saw her. Then there +she was jumping out at him! What the devil did she want now? He waited +for her to explain. + +“I’m going away.” + +Just like that. No stumbling around the words. Covey let his flat eyes +travel over her. Not a bad-looking woman, Amelia. More spirit than her +sister. He spoke slowly. + +“I ain’t putting you out.” + +Amelia’s response sounded grateful enough. “Oh, I know, Mr. Covey. It’s +not that. But now that poor Lucy’s gone, I’ve no right to--to impose.” + +Covey remembered that he _had_ been keeping a roof over her head all +these years. And what had he got out of it? Nothing. His eyes narrowed. + +“Where you aiming to go?” + +“I’m going to Washington. A cousin of Tom’s down there--his name’s Jack +Haley--says I can get a--a job.” + +Her words had started in a rush, but they faltered a little by the time +she reached her incredible conclusion. + +_A job in Washington!_ Was the female crazy? In a surge of masculine +protectiveness, Covey glowered at her. + +“Who said you had to get out and get a job? Eh? Who said so?” + +Amelia swallowed. She had not expected an argument. She did not intend +to argue. She had to be getting along. She would miss her boat. She +spoke firmly. + +“Mr. Covey, it’s all settled. I’m going. Ben told me you were sending +him to town this afternoon. I want to ride with him.” + +Covey spoke deliberately. “The nigger’s lyin’--as usual. He better not +go off the place this afternoon. An’ you best get those fool notions +out of your head. You can stay right here and look after the house. I +ain’t kickin’.” He strode into the kitchen. That took care of that. +It was close to ten miles to St. Michaels. She’d have time to think +it over. But who was this fellow in Washington--a cousin of her late +husband, so she said. Um-um! Yes, Amelia had more spirit than poor Lucy. + +Amelia, left standing in the hall, sighed and set down her bag. _A +pretty kettle of fish!_ Did Covey think he could hold her? Was she one +of his slaves? Then in a flash of realization she saw the truth. She +was indeed a slave--had been for all these years. And she was running +away--just as much as those black slaves she read about. + +Amelia picked up her suitcase, walked out onto the porch, down the +steps, along the path, out to the road. She looked down the long dusty +road to St. Michaels, and started walking. + +It was nearly two miles to Lawson’s place, and when she reached the +welcome shade of his grove she sank down to rest. Not too bad: she was +making time. She rubbed her benumbed arm and wondered if there weren’t +something in the bag she could dump out. She was going to have blisters +on her feet. Soon, now, she’d reach the highway. If she did not get a +ride, she would miss the boat. + +When she set out again, she stumbled and cut her foot against a hidden +stone. There was no time to do anything about it, however, so she +plodded along, fixing her mind firmly on the Washington boat. + +Thus she did not hear the cart until it was close behind her. Then she +stopped, her legs trembling. The mule stopped without any sign from the +Negro driver. + +It was not the same mule, driven by the old Negro who had passed Amelia +one morning more than six years before. There were so many mules being +driven by so many Negroes up and down the Eastern Shore. This Negro +was younger and he could see quite clearly. And what he saw puzzled and +disturbed him--a white woman, alone on a side road, carrying a suitcase +and giving every sign of being about to ask him for a lift! + +_Not good._ He sat, a solid cloud of gloom, waiting for her to speak. + +Amelia smiled. She had to clear her throat. The mule regarded her +stolidly. + +“Boy,” she asked, and the tone of her voice confirmed his worse fears, +“are you going into St. Michaels?” + +“No, _ma’m_. Jus’ up da road a piece, an’ right back. No, ma’m, Ah +ain’t goin’ neah St. Michael. No, _ma’m_.” + +He was too vehement. Amelia saw the confusion in his face and, because +she was in the process of acquiring wisdom, she knew the cause. She +must think of a way to reassure him. She spoke slowly. + +“You see, I’m trying to get to St. Michaels. I want to catch a boat.” + +Amelia saw the man’s eyes flicker. Going somewhere always aroused +interest. He shook his head, but did not speak. Amelia looked away. The +road seemed to quiver in the sun. + +“You see, I’m starting on a journey.” Now she looked full at him--she +looked at him as one looks at a friend and she said softly, “I’m +heading toward the north star.” + +Perhaps the man’s hands tightened on the reins. At any rate the mule +jerked up his head. The black face froze. For one instant everything +stood still. Then the Negro looked up and down the road and to the +right and to the left. There were only dust and fields, and here and +there a tree. + +He climbed down from the cart and picked up her bag. He spoke without +looking at her. + +“Jus’ remembered, ma’m, Ah might could drive toward St. Michael. Jus’ +_might_ could.” + +“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” The warmth in her tone forced a +smile from him. + +“Reckon Ah could fix up a seat for you in back.” + +He did fix a seat, shoving aside sacks and cords of wood. It was not an +upholstered carriage, but it got her to St. Michaels. She alighted at +the market, to arouse less attention. But he insisted on carrying her +bag to the pier. + +“Ma’m,” he said, turning his hat in his hands, “hit seem mighty funny, +but Ah--Ah wishes yo’ luck!” + +And Amelia, eyes shining, answered, “Thank you--Thank you, my friend. +The same to you!” + +The slave leaned lazily against a pile until the gangplank was pulled +up, his eyes under the flopping straw hat darting in every direction, +watching. Then, as the space of dirty water widened and the boat became +a living thing, he stood up, waved his hat in the air and, after wiping +the beads of sweat from his forehead, spoke fervently. + +“Do Jesus!” + + * * * * * + +Washington, D. C. had become a tough problem to the Boston +Abolitionists. A group was meeting one evening in the _Liberator_ +office to map out some course of action. + +“Every road barred to us! Our papers not even delivered in the mail!” +Parker Pillsbury tossed his head angrily. + +“Washington is a slave city. Thee must accept facts.” The Quaker, +William Coffin, spoke in conciliatory tones. + +“But it’s our Capital, too--a city of several thousand inhabitants--and +the slaveholders build high walls around it.” The Reverend Wendell +Phillips was impatient. + +“We should hold a meeting in Washington!” William Lloyd Garrison +sighed, thinking of all the uninformed people in that city. + +His remark was followed by a heavy silence. An Abolitionist meeting in +Washington was out of the question. Several Southern states had already +put a price on Garrison’s head. Frederick, sitting in the shadows, +studied the glum faces and realized that, in one way or another, every +man in the room was marked. They were agents of the Anti-Slavery +Society and they, no more than he, could go South. Washington was +South. Then from near the door came a drawling voice. + +“Gentlemen, trouble your heads no longer. I’m going home.” A slender +man was coming forward into the lamplight. + +At the sound of the soft drawl, Frederick froze. He crouched low, +hiding his face. But no alarm was sounded. There was welcome in +Garrison’s low greeting: “Gamaliel Bailey!” + +The first voice answered, “I heard only enough to agree fully. We +do need a spokesman in Washington. I would not flatter myself, +gentlemen--but I am ready.” + +Garrison spoke with unaccustomed vehemence. + +“No! We need you here.” + +Frederick slowly lifted his head. The man was a stranger to him. His +speech proclaimed him a Southerner. Now Frederick saw an attractive, +dark-haired gentleman in black broadcloth and loosely fitted gray +trousers. He looked down at Garrison, his black eyes bright. + +“This is the job that I alone can do,” he said. + +Wendell Phillips’ golden voice was warm as he nodded his head. + +“He’s right. Garrison. Gamaliel Bailey can go to Washington. He +belongs.” + +“Captain John Smith, himself,” Pillsbury teased, but with affection. + +“At your service, sir.” The Southerner swept him a low bow. + +“This is no laughing matter, Mr. Bailey,” a stern voice interposed. +“They know you have worked with us. You are a known Abolitionist!” + +Gamaliel Bailey flicked a bit of non-existent dust from his waistcoat, +and gave a soft laugh. + +“Once a Virginia Bailey, always a Virginia Bailey! Have no fear, Mr. +Hunton,” he said. He caught sight of Frederick’s dark face lifting +itself among them. His eyes lit up. “This must be the new agent of whom +I’ve been hearing.” + +“Yes,” several said at once. “It’s Frederick Douglass.” + +Their handclasp was a promise. “I go to Washington now, so that you can +come later,” said the Virginian. + +“And I’ll be along!” promised Frederick Douglass. + +William Lloyd Garrison did not smile. His face was clouded with +apprehension. “You’ll need help,” he said. + +“It is best that I find my help in Washington. I know one young man +whom I can count on. Jack Haley. He’ll bring me all the news. You know, +I think I’ll publish a paper!” He grinned. “Since they won’t let the +_Liberator_ in, we’ll see if I can’t get a paper out.” + +So it happened that Jack Haley was not on the dock to meet Amelia’s +boat from St. Michaels. The weekly issue of the _National Era_ had +hit the streets the day before, and scattered like a bomb all up and +down Pennsylvania Avenue. In Congress, on the streets and in the clubs +they raged! Here was heresy of the most dangerous order, printed and +distributed within a stone’s throw of the Capitol. It was enough to +make God-fearing Americans shudder when the son of such an old and +respected family as the Virginia Baileys flaunted the mongrel elements +in their faces. They did shudder, some of them. And grinning reporters +ran from one caucus to the other. + +Jack was much younger than his cousin Tom. He remembered Tom’s wife +with affection. Her letters had intrigued him, and he was glad she was +coming to Washington. + +He found her down on the wharf, surrounded by bales of cotton, serenely +rocking in a highback New England rocker! + +Amelia saw him staring at her and with a little cry of joy she sprang +up. + +“Jack, I knew you’d get here! I wasn’t worrying a bit. And kind Captain +Drayton has made me quite comfortable.” + +The weather-beaten Vermonter, leaning against the rail of his ship, +regarded the late arrival and scowled until his thick eyebrows +threatened to tangle with his heavy beard. + +“Nice way to treat a female!” he boomed. + +Jack held her hands in his. She was so thin, so little. The gray +strands smoothed carefully behind her ears accentuated the hollows in +her face; the cotton dress she wore was washed out, but the blue eyes +looking up at him were young and bright. + +Amelia exclaimed over the little buggy Jack had waiting. He helped her +in, tucked the bag under their feet and flapped the reins. + +Washington in the spring! Heavy wagon wheels bogged down in deep ruts, +and hogs wallowed in the mud; but a soft green haze lay over the +sprawling town and wrapped it in loveliness. They were rolling along a +wide street, and Amelia was trying to see everything at once. Then she +saw the Capitol lifting its glistening dome against the wide blue sky, +and she caught her breath. + +They circled the Capitol grounds, turned down a shaded lane and +stopped before a two-story brick house which sat well back in a yard +with four great elms. + +“Here we are!” Jack smiled down at her. + +“How nice! Is this where you live?” + +“No, ma’am. This is where, I hope, you’re going to live.” + +“But who--?” began Amelia. + +“Just you wait.” Jack jumped out and hitched the reins around a post. +The big trees up and down the street formed an avenue of coolness. +Amelia hesitated when he turned to assist her. + +“Are they--Are they expecting me?” + +Jack chuckled. + +“Mrs. Royall, my dear, is expecting anything--at any time!” + +“Jack! You don’t mean Mrs. Royall--the authoress!” Amelia hung +motionless over the wheel. Jack grasped her firmly by the elbow. + +“Who else? There is only one Mrs. Royall. There’s Her Highness now, +back in the chicken yard. Come along. I’ll fetch the bag later.” + +Amelia shook out her skirts and followed him along the path that led +around the house. + +The little old lady bending over a chicken coop from which spilled +yellow puffs of baby chicks, might have been somebody’s indulgent +grandmother. The calico dress drawn in around a shapeless middle +was faded; so was the bonnet from which escaped several strands of +iron-gray hair. + +“Good afternoon, Mrs. Royall!” There was warm deference in Jack’s voice. + +She stood up and her shoulders squared. There was a certain +sprightliness in the movement, and in the tanned, unwrinkled face +gleamed eyes of a remarkable brightness. When she spoke her voice had +an unexpected crispness. + +“Indeed--it’s Jack Haley. And who is this female with you?” + +“This is a kinswoman of mine, Mrs. Royall. I have the pleasure of +presenting to you, Mrs. Amelia Kemp.” + +“How do ye do!” The little old lady spoke with prim formality, her eyes +flashing briefly over Amelia. + +“I am honored, ma’am.” Amelia scarcely managed the words. + +“She has come to Washington to work,” Jack went on. “So I have brought +her to you.” + +The gray eyes snapped. + +“And why should you bring your kinswoman to me?” + +“Because, Mrs. Royall, it’s newspapers she wants to know about. And +you’re the best newsman in Washington, begging your pardon, ma’am.” He +bowed elaborately. + +“You needn’t!” She turned to Amelia. + +“I’ve read one of your books, ma’am. Jack sent it to me. I learned so +much about America.” + +Undoubtedly the gray eyes softened, but the tone did not change. + +“Why don’t you take her to your friend on the avenue--that infamous +Abolitionist?” + +“Mrs. Royall!” Jack’s voice was charged with shock. “You couldn’t be +speaking about Editor Gamaliel Bailey?” + +“He should be ashamed of himself. Selling out to those long-winded +black coats!” + +“But, Mrs. Royall--” + +“Don’t interrupt. If he’d come to me I’d tell him how to get rid +of slavery. It’s a curse on the land. But those psalm-singing +missionaries--Bah!” + +“May I remind you, Mrs. Royall,” Jack spoke very softly, “that when you +came back from Boston you spoke very highly of the Reverend Theodore +Parker. And he’s a--” + +“He’s _not_ a black coat.” The lady spoke with feeling. Her face +cleared and she added sweetly, “He must be a Unitarian.” Then she +laughed, all shadows and restraint gone. “Forgive an old windbag, +guilty of the very faults she criticizes in others.” She lifted her +eyes. “See how the sun shines on our Capitol. Have you ever seen +anything half so beautiful?” + +Amelia shook her head. + +“I’ve never traveled any place before, ma’am. Washington is more than I +can believe.” + +“It’s too good for the people who live here. But come and rest +yourself. I am a bad hostess.” Her eyes twinkled as she turned to Jack. +“First, does she know I’m a criminal--a convicted criminal?” She made +it sound very mysterious, and Amelia stared. + +Jack laughed. “You tell her, Mrs. Royall!” + +“’Tis very sad.” There was mockery in her voice. “A ‘common +scold’--that was the finding of the jury. In England they would have +ducked me in a pond; but here there was only the Potomac, and the +honored judge deemed that might not be right--the waters would be +contaminated. So they let me go.” They were in the house now and she +was setting out china cups. “You know,” she frowned slightly, “the +thing I really objected to was the word ‘common.’ That I did not like.” + +“I agree with you, madam. Mrs. Royall’s scoldings of senators, +congressmen and even presidents, of bankers and bishops, have always +been in a class by themselves. ‘Common’ was not the word.” And again he +bowed. + +The old lady eyed him with approval. + +“Where, might I ask, did you get your good manners? They are rare +enough in Washington these days.” Before he could reply she had turned +to Amelia--the gracious host to her guest. “Some day, my dear, I shall +tell you of the Marquis de la Fayette. Ah! there were manners!” + +“_Liberté, fraternité, égalité!_” Jack murmured the words half under +his breath, but the old lady turned on him, her eyes flashing. Then, +like an imp, she grinned. + +So Amelia came to live with Anne Royall, long-time relict of Captain +William Royall. He had fought beside Washington in the Revolutionary +War and had been the General’s lifelong friend. In her own way she +waged a war too. Each week she cranked a clumsy printing press in +her shed and turned out a pithy paper called the _Huntress_. It +advocated free schools for children everywhere, free trade, and liberal +appropriations for scientific investigation. Amelia helped her about +the house and with her chickens, accompanied her on interviews, saw +red-faced legislators dodge down side-streets to avoid her. Gradually +she learned something of how news is gathered and dispensed, but she +learned more about the ways of Washington, D. C. + + * * * * * + +Amelia had been in Washington three weeks when one evening Jack stopped +by. + +“I’m going up North!” he announced. + +“Where? What for?” + +“The boss heard something about a rebellion in New England. He’s +tickled pink. Said maybe that would keep Yankee noses out of other +people’s worries. He’s sending me out to puff the scandal!” + +“Do you know anything about it?” Mrs. Royall’s ears were alert. + +“From what I can gather, seems a lot of poor folks in Rhode Island want +to vote. And the bigwigs don’t like it!” + +All of New England had become involved. Two state administrations +were claiming the election in Rhode Island, and a clash was imminent. +Until 1841 Rhode Island had operated under its colonial charter, which +prohibited anyone from voting who did not own 134 acres of land. +Therefore, seats in the state legislature were controlled by the older +conservative villages, while the growing industrial towns, where the +larger portion of the population was disfranchised, were penalized. +That year Thomas Wilson Dorr, a Whig and graduate of Harvard, started a +reform movement; and a new constitution was drawn up. This constitution +was framed to enlarge the basis of representation and abolish the +odious property requirement. But it confined the right of suffrage to +white male citizens, pointedly shutting out the Negroes who had settled +in Rhode Island. + +Quakers were non-resistance men; they held themselves aloof from +politics, but they were always on the alert to protect the black man’s +rights. All antislavery advocates wanted a new constitution, but they +did not want a defective instrument which would require reform from +the start. So they could not back Dorr. The Perry brothers, Providence +manufacturers, wrote to their friend, John Brown, a wool merchant in +Springfield, Massachusetts. + +“The time has come when the people of Rhode Island must accept a more +comprehensive gospel of human rights than has gotten itself into this +Dorr constitution. We have talked to him, and while he agrees in +principle he fears to go further.” + +John Brown sent the letter on to John Greenleaf Whittier, Secretary of +the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society. Whittier talked it over with +the Reverend Theodore Parker, who was considering making a series of +speeches in Rhode Island, denouncing the color bar in what was being +called a “People’s Constitution.” + +“Why should not Negroes vote with all the other workers?” asked +Whittier. “They would limit their gains in throwing out the old +charter.” + +Theodore Parker sighed wearily. + +“It’s the workers who are doing this. Their own struggle has blinded +them.” + +“Thee are right.” Whittier slipped into the Quaker idiom in moments of +great seriousness. “They see the black man only as a threat.” + +Then their eyes met, fusing in a single thought. They spoke almost in +one breath. + +“Frederick Douglass!” + +For a moment they smiled together, congratulating themselves. Then a +frown came on Whittier’s face. He shook his head. + +“But Friend Garrison will not consent. Thee knows his attitude toward +any of us taking part in politics.” + +Theodore Parker was silent a moment, drumming his long, white fingers +on the table. Then his black eyes flashed. + +“Are we discussing politics? We are concerned here with the rights of +men.” + +Whittier shook his head, but he grinned. + +“Thee had best take care! Quoting Thomas Paine will not help.” + +“Fiddlesticks! Tom Paine had more religion than all the clerics of +Massachusetts rolled into one.” The young divine got to his feet, his +thin face alight with enthusiasm. “Douglass goes to Rhode Island! I’ll +take care of Garrison.” + +It was decided, and Douglass was one of the Abolitionists’ trio which +invaded every town and corner of the little state. They were Stephen S. +Foster of New Hampshire, Parker Pillsbury from Boston, and Frederick +Douglass from some unspecified section of the slave world--two white +and one black--young and strong and on fire with their purpose. The +splendid vehemence of Foster, the weird and terrible denunciations +of Pillsbury, and the mere presence of Douglass created a furor from +one end of the state to the other. They were followed by noisy mobs, +they were thrown out of taverns, they were pelted with eggs and rocks +and foul words. But they kept right on talking--in schoolhouses and +churches and halls, in market places, in warehouses, behind factories +and on docks. Sometimes they were accompanied by Abby Kelly, who was +later to become Stephen Foster’s wife. Her youth and simple Quaker +beauty, combined with her wonderful earnestness, her large knowledge +and great logical power, bore down opposition. She stilled the wildest +turmoil. + +The people began to listen. They drew up a Freeman’s Constitution to +challenge Thomas Dorr’s and called a huge mass meeting in Providence. +On streamers and handbills distributed throughout the state, they +listed “Frederick Douglass, Fugitive from Slavery,” as the principal +speaker. + +Jack Haley saw the streamers when he reached Providence late in the +evening. He heard talk of the meeting around the hostelry while he +gulped down his supper. When he reached the crowded hall things were +already under way. There was some confusion as he was pushing his way +in. Someone on the floor seemed to be demanding the right to speak. + +“It’s Seth Luther!” whispered excited bystanders. “Thomas Dorr’s +right-hand man.” + +“Go on, Seth, have your say!” called out a loud voice in the crowd. + +The young man on the platform motioned for silence. He nodded to the +man standing in the aisle. + +“Speak, my friend!” he said. + +The man’s voice was harsh. + +“You philanthropists are moaning over the fate of Southern slaves. +Go down there and help them! We here are concerned with equal rights +for men, with the emancipation of white men, before we run out after +helping blacks whether they are free or in slavery. You’re meddling +with what doesn’t concern you!” + +There was some applause. There were boos and hisses, but the man sat +down amid a murmur of approval from those near him. + +Then Jack saw that the chairman on the platform had stepped aside and +his place had been taken by an impressive figure. Even before he said +a word the vast audience settled into silence. For undoubtedly this +was the “fugitive slave” they had come to hear. Jack stared: this man +did not look as if he had ever been a slave. The massive shoulders, +straight and shapely body, great head with bushy mane sweeping back +from wide forehead, deep-set eyes and jutting jaw covered with full +beard--the poise and controlled strength in every line--called forth a +smothered exclamation from Jack. + +“My God! What a human being!” + +“Ssh-sh!” several people hissed. Frederick Douglass was speaking. + +“The gentleman would have us argue more and denounce less. He speaks +of men and black and slaves as if our cause can differ from his own. +What is our concern except with equal rights for men? And must we argue +to affirm the equal manhood of the Negro race? Is it not astonishing +that, while we are plowing, planting, and reaping, using all kinds +of mechanical tools, erecting houses, constructing bridges, building +ships, working in metals of brass, iron, copper, silver and gold; +that, while we are reading, writing and ciphering, acting as clerks +and secretaries, digging gold in California, capturing the whale in +the Pacific, feeding sheep and cattle on the hillside, living, moving, +acting, thinking, planning, living in families as husbands, wives and +children, and, above all, confessing and worshiping the Christian’s +God, we are called upon to prove that we are men! + +“I tell you the slaveholders in the darkest jungles of the Southland +concede this fact. They acknowledge it in the enactment of laws for +their government; they acknowledge it when they punish disobedience on +the part of the slave. There are seventy-two crimes in the state of +Virginia which, if committed by a black man (no matter how ignorant +he be) subject him to punishment by death; while only two of the +same crimes will subject a white man to the like punishment. What is +this but the acknowledgment that the slave is a moral, intellectual, +and responsible being? It is admitted in fact that Southern statute +books are covered with enactments forbidding, under severe fines and +penalties, the teaching of the slave to read or to write. When you can +point to any such laws in reference to the beasts of the field, than I +may consent to argue the manhood of the black man.” + +Men stamped and shouted and threw their hats into the air. The hall +rang. Douglass took up in a quieter mood. He talked of the meaning +of constitutional government, he talked of what could be gained if +exploited people stood together and what they lost by battling among +themselves. + +“The slaveholders, with a craftiness peculiar to themselves, encourage +enmity of the poor labouring white man against the blacks, and succeed +in making the white man almost as much a slave as the black slave +himself. The difference is this: the latter belongs to one slaveholder, +the former belongs to the slaveholders collectively. Both are +plundered, and by the same plunderers.” + +Afterward Jack tried to go forward and ask some questions of the +amazing orator, but the press of the crowd stopped him. He gave up and +returned to the inn. And the next day they had gone back to Boston, he +was told. Thomas Dorr, through his timidity and caution, had lost the +people. + +When the new Rhode Island constitution was finally adopted the word +_white_ had been struck out. + +Jack Haley returned to Washington and handed in his account of the +“rebellion.” The editor blue-penciled most of it. He said they had +thrown away money on a wild-goose chase. + +But Gamaliel Bailey studied the closely written pages Jack laid on his +desk. True, he could not now publish the material in his _National +Era_; but he drew a circle around the name “Frederick Douglass” and +slipped the sheets into his file for future reference. + +Every drop of blood slowly drained from Amelia’s face while +Jack talked. Mrs. Royall dropped the stick of type she had been +clutching--Jack had interrupted them at work in the shed--and stared at +her helper. + +“She’s sick!” + +But Amelia shook her head. She leaned against the board, struggling to +speak while into her white face there came a glow which changed her +blue eyes into dancing stars. + +“You said his name was Frederick, didn’t you? About how old would you +say he was?” + +“What?” asked Mrs. Royall. + +“_How old?_” asked Jack. + +“Yes.” Amelia was a little impatient. “The one you’re talking +about--that slave who spoke. I’m sure I know who he is!” + +“Oh, my goodness, Amelia! That’s impossible!” The idea made Jack frown. +Mrs. Royall snorted. + +“Describe him to me, Jack,” Amelia insisted, “every detail.” + +She kept nodding her head while Jack rather grudgingly complied with +her request. It seemed such a waste of time. He shook his head as he +finished. + +“There couldn’t possibly have been such an extraordinary slave around +any place where you’ve been. All of us would have heard of him!” + +Amelia smiled. + +“I remember how he came walking up the road that day in a swirl of +dust. He was little more than a boy then. Now he’s a man. It is the +same.” + +Then she told how that morning at dawn she had leaned from her attic +window and watched a young buck slave defy a slave-breaker, how he had +sent the overseer moaning to one side with his kick, how he had thrown +the master to the ground. This was the first time she had ever told the +story, but she told it very well. + +“His name was Frederick--the same color, the same powerful shoulders +and the same big head.” + +“But this man--he looked older--he’s educated! If you had heard him!” +Jack could not believe this thing. + +Amelia only smiled. + +“I found out afterward that even then he could read and write. Mr. +Covey had him help with the accounts.” + +“It’s just too incredible. That man from the Eastern Shore!” + +Mrs. Royall spoke precisely. “Young man, when you’re my age you’ll know +that it’s the incredible things which make life wonderful.” + +And Amelia added, “There couldn’t be two Fredericks--turned from the +same mold!” + + + + + CHAPTER EIGHT + + _On two sides of the Atlantic_ + + +Many people would have shared Jack’s reluctance to believe Amelia’s +story. As time passed the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society found +itself caught in a dilemma. The committee knew all the facts of +Frederick’s case; but for his protection the members took every +precaution, withholding the name of the state and county from which +he had come, his master’s name and any other detail which might lead +to his capture. Even so they realized that they must be constantly on +guard. But the audiences began to murmur that this Frederick Douglass +could not be a “fugitive from slavery.” + +During the first three or four months Frederick’s speeches had +been almost exclusively made up of narrations of his own personal +experiences as a slave. + +“Give us the facts,” said Secretary Collins. “We’ll take care of the +philosophy.” + +“Tell your story, Frederick,” Garrison would whisper as his protégé +stepped upon the platform. And Frederick, smiling his devotion to the +older man, always followed the injunction. + +But Frederick was growing in stature. Scholars’ libraries were thrown +open to him. Theodore Parker had sixteen thousand volumes; his library +covered the entire third floor of his house. + +“Come up any time, Frederick. Books, my boy, were written to be read.” + +And Frederick reveled in Thomas Jefferson, Carlyle, Edmund Burke, Tom +Paine, John Quincy Adams, Jonathan Swift, William Godwin. He became +drunk on books; staggering home late at night, his eyes red, he would +fall heavily across his bed. He pored over the newspapers from all +parts of the country which Garrison gathered in the _Liberator_ +office; he sat at the feet of the greatest orators of the day--Wendell +Phillips, Charles Redmond, Theodore Parker among them. He munched +sandwiches and listened, while John Whittier read his verses; and +always the young fugitive from slavery followed in the wake of William +Lloyd Garrison, devouring his words, tapping his sources of wisdom, +attuning his ears to every pitch of the loved voice. + +Frederick’s speeches began to expand in content, logic and delivery. + +“People won’t believe you ever were a slave, Frederick, if you keep on +this way,” cautioned Collins. But Garrison shook his head. + +“Let him alone!” he said. + +The year 1843 was one of remarkable antislavery activity. The New +England Anti-Slavery Society mapped out a series of one hundred +conventions. The territory covered in the schedule included all of New +England, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio and Indiana. Under Garrison’s +leadership it was a real campaign, taking more than six months to +complete. Frederick Douglass was chosen as one of the agents to tour +the country. + +The first convention was held in Middlebury, Vermont, home of William +Slade, for years co-worked with John Quincy Adams in Congress. Yet in +this town the opposition to the antislavery convention was intensely +bitter and violent. Vermont boasted that within her borders no slave +had ever been delivered up to a master, but the towns did not wish to +be involved in “agitation.” + +What was in this respect true of the Green Mountain State was most +discouragingly true of New York, the next state they visited. All +along the Erie canal, from Albany to Buffalo, they met with apathy, +indifference, and sometimes the mob spirit. Syracuse refused to furnish +church, market, house, or hall in which to hold the meetings. Mr. +Stephen Smith, who had received the little group of speakers in his +home, was sick with distress. Frederick, standing beside a wide window, +looked out upon a park covered with young trees. He turned to his +unhappy host. + +“Don’t worry, my friend,” he said. “We’ll have our meeting.” + +The next morning he took his stand under a tree in the southeast +corner of this park and began to speak to an audience of five persons. +Before the close of the afternoon he had before him not less than five +hundred. In the evening he was waited upon by the officers of the +Congregational church and tendered the use of an old wooden building +which they had deserted for a better. Here the convention continued for +three days. + +In the growing city of Rochester their reception was more cordial. +Gerrit Smith, Myron Holly, William Goodell and Samuel Porter were +influential Abolitionists in the section. Frederick was to know the +eccentric, learned and wealthy Gerrit Smith much better. Now he argued +with him, upholding Garrison’s moral persuasion against Gerrit Smith’s +ballot-box, as the weapon for abolishing slavery. From Rochester, +Frederick and William Bradburn made their way to Buffalo, a rising city +of steamboats, business and bustle. The Friends there had been able to +secure for the convention only an old dilapidated and deserted room +on a side-street, formerly used as a post-office. They went at the +time appointed and found seated a few cabmen in their coarse, wrinkled +clothes, whips in hand, while their teams were standing on the street +waiting for a job. + +Bradburn was disgusted. After an hour of what he considered futile talk +and haranguing, he left. That evening he took the steamer to Cleveland. +But Frederick stayed on. For nearly a week he spoke every day in the +old post-office to constantly increasing audiences. Then a Baptist +church was thrown open to him. The following Sunday he spoke in an open +park to an assembly of several thousand persons. + +In Richmond, Indiana, their meeting was broken up, and their clothes +ruined with evil-smelling eggs. In Pendleton, Indiana, Frederick’s +speaking schedule suffered a delay. + +It had been found impossible to obtain a building in Pendleton in which +to hold the convention. So a platform was erected in the woods at the +edge of town. Here a large audience assembled and Frederick and his +companion speaker, William A. White, were in high spirits. But hardly +had they climbed to the stand when they were attacked by a mob of about +sixty persons who, armed with clubs, picks and bricks, had come out to +“kill the nigger!” + +It was a furious but uneven fight. The Friends tried to protect +Frederick, but they had no defense. White, standing his ground, pleaded +with the ruffians and got a ferocious blow on the head, which cut his +scalp and knocked him to the ground. Frederick had caught up a stick, +and he fought with all his strength; but the mob beat him down, leaving +him, they supposed, dead on the ground. Then they mounted their horses +and rode to Anderson where, it was said, most of them lived. + +Frederick lay on the ground at the edge of the woods, bleeding and +unconscious. Neal Hardy, a Quaker, carried him to his cart and took him +home. There he was bandaged and nursed. His right hand had been broken +and never recovered its natural strength and dexterity. But within a +few days he was up and on his way. His arm was in a sling but, as he +remarked, the rest of him “little the worse for the tussle.” + +“A complete history of these hundred conventions would fill a volume +far larger than the one in which this simple reference is to find +place,” Frederick Douglass wrote many years later. “It would be a +grateful duty to speak of the noble young men who forsook ease and +pleasure, as did White, Gay and Monroe, and endured all manner of +privations in the cause of the enslaved and down-trodden of my race.... +Mr. Monroe was for many years consul to Brazil, and has since been a +faithful member of Congress from Oberlin District, Ohio, and has filled +other important positions in his state. Mr. Gay was managing editor of +the _National Anti-Slavery Standard_, and afterward of the _New York +Tribune_, and still later of the _New York Evening Post_.”[4] + + * * * * * + +The following winter, against the advice of his friends, Douglass +decided on an independent course of action. + +“_Your word_ is being doubted,” he said to Garrison and Phillips. “That +I cannot endure. They are saying that I am an impostor. I shall write +out the facts connected with my experience in slavery, giving names, +places and dates.” + +“It will be a powerful story!” said Garrison, his eyes watching the +glow of light from the fireplace. + +Theodore Parker spoke impatiently. “So powerful that it will bring the +pack on his heels. And neither the people nor the laws of Massachusetts +will be able to protect him.” + +“He’s mad!” Wendell Phillips’ golden voice was hard. “When he has +finished I shall advise him to throw the manuscript in the fire!” + +But Garrison smiled. + +“Gentlemen,” he said, “we’ll find a way. God will not lose such a man +as Frederick Douglass!” + +They looked at him sitting there in the dusk, with the firelight +playing over his calm face. There were times when Garrison’s quiet +faith confounded the two divines. + +A way did reveal itself. In May, 1845, the _Narrative of the Life of +Frederick Douglass_, prefaced by letters by Garrison and Phillips, made +its appearance. Priced at fifty cents, it ran through a large edition. +In August, Douglass, with a purse of two hundred and fifty dollars +raised by his friends in Boston, boarded the British ship _Cambria_ +for England, in company with the Hutchinsons, a family of Abolitionist +singers, and James Buffum, vice-president of the Massachusetts +Anti-Slavery Society. + +Anna stood on the dock and waved goodbye. She smiled, though the ship +was blurred and she could not distinguish his dear face at the rail. +A blast of the whistle made little Freddie clutch her skirts and bury +his face in alarm. He wanted to go home. Close by her side, straight +and unmoved, stood six-year-old Lewis, holding the hand of his weeping +sister, Rosetta. + +“Look after Mother and the children, Son. I’m depending on you!” Lewis +was turning over his father’s parting words. Now he would be the man of +the house. Girls, of course, could cry. He watched his mother’s face. + +A few final shouts, a last flutter of handkerchiefs, some stifled sobs, +and the relatives and friends of the voyagers began to disperse. Anna +felt a light touch on her arm. + +“Come, Mrs. Douglass”--it was Mrs. Wendell Phillips--“we’re going to +drive you home.” + +Friends surrounded her--comforting, solicitous. + +“You can depend upon us, Mrs. Douglass. You know that.” + +Anna smiled. She had wanted him to go, to get out of harm’s reach. She +could not continue to live in the terror that had gripped her ever +since Frederick had returned from the western trip. He had made light +of the “Indiana incident,” but his broken hand could not be hidden. +Each time he left her after that, she knew what _might_ happen. So she +had urged him to go; she had smiled and said, “Don’t worry about us, +Frederick. You must go!” + +“My salary will be paid direct to you.” + +“I’ll manage. Now that we’re in our home, it will be easy.” Nothing but +confidence and assurances for him. + +The summer before they had bought a lot in Lynn, Massachusetts. They +had planned the house together; and in the fall--between trips and with +the help of several friends--Douglass had built a cottage. + +Anna hated to leave New Bedford--“a city of friends,” she called it. + +“But you see,” she explained to them ruefully, “the Douglass family +has simply rent the seams of this little house. We have to have more +room.” + +They had chosen Lynn because it was more on the path for Frederick’s +work and because the town had a thriving Anti-Slavery Society. Came +the day when they moved into their cottage. Anna washed windows and +woodwork, and Lewis followed his father around, “chunking up all the +holes” so that when the cold weather came they would be snug and warm. + + * * * * * + +The highway was good and the May day pleasant as the Reverend Wendell +Phillips drove Douglass’ family back to their home. + +“How long do you think he’ll have to stay away, Mr. Phillips?” + +They were nearly there, before Anna dared ask the question she had been +avoiding. + +Wendell Phillips flicked his whip. It was a moment before he answered. + +“It’s impossible to say, Mrs. Douglass. We’re certain he’ll render +valuable service to the cause of freedom among peoples who do not know +the real horrors of American slavery. Meanwhile, we’ll do what we can +to see that his own return may be safe.” + +“Pray God the time will not be long!” Mrs. Phillips laid her hand over +that of the woman by her side. + +Then they were at the gate and goodbyes were said. The children climbed +down nimbly and rushed up the path. Anna moved more slowly. + +She smiled at the sight of moist, chubby Charlie in the neighbor +woman’s arms. This was their youngest son--hers and Frederick’s. Poor +little fellow! Anna felt her heart contract. _He_ didn’t know his +father was going so far away. + +“Hasn’t whimpered a mite,” the neighbor had kept him during the +family’s absence. “So I mixed up a pot of soup for you. It’s on the +stove all ready. I knew you’d all be starved.” + +Anna’s voice choked when she tried to thank the good soul. The woman +patted her arm and hurried homeward across the vacant lot. + +Small Charlie was quite happy, so Anna left him with the other children +and went to the room she shared with her husband. It was very small. +The wardrobe door, left swinging open, bumped against the washstand +crowding the bed. Anna took off her hat, placed it on the shelf and +closed the door. Moving mechanically, she emptied the half-filled +bowl of water on the stand and hung up an old alpaca coat. Frederick +had discarded it at the last moment. Then she stood motionless, just +thinking. + +She had not told him she was going to have another baby: he might not +have gone. But she knew she needed more money than that tiny salary. +She could not leave the children. There must be something she could do. +She must manage. Suddenly her face lighted. Lynn, Massachusetts, had +one industry which in the early 1840’s spilled over into every section. +Lynn had developed like a guild town in England; and that evening +Anna made up her mind that she could do what was being done in many +households in the town--she would make shoes. + +In time she learned to turn a sole with the best of them. + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile a ship was going out to sea. And all was not smooth sailing. + +“We should have taken one of the French boats--even if they are +slower!” Mrs. Hutchinson regarded the apologetic purser scornfully. + +“I’ll see the Captain at once.” And James Buffum stalked away in search +of him. + +No cabin had been assigned to Frederick Douglass. Though the tickets +had been purchased together, the party was being separated--the +Hutchinsons and Mr. Buffum sent to cabins, Frederick Douglass to the +steerage. + +Douglass took no part in the angry discussion that ensued. It was an +old story to him. Negroes who had the temerity to travel about the +United States were subject to insults and indignities. On the Sound +between New York and Stonington no colored man was allowed abaft the +wheel. In all seasons of the year, hot or cold, wet or dry, the deck +was his only place. Douglass had been in many fights--had been beaten +by conductors and brakemen. He smiled now remembering the time six men +ejected him from a car on the Eastern Line between Boston and Portland. +He had managed to tear away several seats and break a couple of windows. + +But this morning, as the _Cambria_ nosed her way out of the bay and +started back to the Old Country which so many had left in their search +for freedom, Douglass shrugged his shoulders. + +“Let it go!” he said. “We’ll all reach England together. If I cannot go +to the cabins, you can come to me in the steerage.” + +“Oh, yes, Mr. Douglass,” Captain Judkins quickly intervened. “There is +only the formality of an invitation. You can visit your friends at any +time.” + +“Thank you, sir!” Douglass bowed gravely. + +But Mrs. Hutchinson would not be quieted. “It’s ridiculous!” + +Her husband sighed and slipped his arm through Frederick’s. + +“Let’s go now and see that our friend is properly settled,” he said. + +So they all went first to the steerage. And here, to the edification of +the steerage passengers, they spent most of their time. But, as always +happens within a small world, word got around, and during the long +afternoons and evenings other first-class passengers began visiting the +steerage. + +The Hutchinsons, celebrated vocalists, sang their sweetest songs, and +groups gathered on the rude forecastle-deck in spirited conversation +with Frederick Douglass. + +“Always thought Abolitionists were crackpots!” The man from Indiana +frowned. + +“Wouldn’t think any--er--a black could talk like that!” The speaker, +who came from Delaware, certainly had never heard such talk before. + +“This man--he is not black.” The tinge of foreign accent in the words +caused the Americans to glance up sharply. Perhaps the immaculate +swarthy passenger was from Quebec. A Washingtonian eyed him coolly and +rose to his feet. + +“He’s a nigger just the same!” he said, and walked away from the group. + +They fell silent after that. But some time afterward several of the +passengers approached the Captain with the request that he invite this +unusual character to deliver a lecture in the salon. Captain Judkins, +who had been unhappy about the matter, gladly complied. He himself went +to the steerage and sat chatting with the ex-slave. The dark man’s +manners captivated him. + +Announcement was made of the scheduled lecture. News of the Captain’s +visit to the steerage got around. In one of the most expensive suites +on the ship three young men faced each other. They were trembling with +rage. + +“By God, suh,” said one, thumping the table with his fist, “we won’t +stand for it!” + +“Invited to the salon!” said another. + +“By the Captain!” + +The pampered son of a Louisiana planter tore his silk cravat as he +loosened it. + +“Dog of a runaway slave--flaunted in our faces!” His voice choked in +his throat. His cousin quickly assented. + +“Fool Captain ought to be horsewhipped!” + +The fair-haired boy from Georgia emptied his glass of brandy and waved +his hand drunkenly. + +“Just a minute, gentlemen. No rash talk! Gotta plan--that’s it--gotta +plan!” + +“Plan--hell!” The dark face of the Louisianian flushed dangerously. +“We’ll just throw the nigger overboard if he dares show his impertinent +face!” + +“Yes,” agreed his cousin. “That’ll show the damned Yankees!” + +They did not really believe he would come. But, of course, they did not +know Frederick Douglass. + +On the appointed evening the salon filled up early. Few of the ladies +had dared to go to the steerage, and now flowered ruffles and curls +fluttered with excitement as they settled into the cushioned seats. +Promptly on the hour the imposing figure appeared in the doorway. At a +sign from the Captain, who had risen, Douglass walked toward the front +of the room. + +Then it happened. + +The three young men were now five. At Douglass’ appearance the two who +were inside the salon sprang quickly to their feet, the three who had +been watching from the deck came running in. + +“We’ll stop him!” + +“Get the nigger!” + +“Throw him overboard!” + +Ladies screamed, men jumped up, but Frederick only stood still while +they closed in on him. Perhaps he had expected something like this. At +any rate, his face did not change. The clamor increased as, cursing, +the young men knocked aside any opposition. + +But they had reckoned without the Captain. The stern old Britisher’s +voice thundered out. His shipmen came running, and before the rioters +could realize what had happened, they were struggling in the firm grasp +of British seamen, who looked toward the Captain for further orders. + +Captain Judkins was outraged. He glared at the offenders who, utterly +bewildered by the turn of events, were stuttering their objections. The +Captain chose to ignore everything except one obvious fact. + +“Put these young drunks in irons until they sober up!” He turned away, +leaving his competent crewmen to execute the order. + +The Louisianian’s face paled. He stared about stupidly, expecting the +whole roomful of people to rise in protest. But they did not. The faces +swam before his eyes crazily as, stumbling a little, he was led away. +Later he heard them applauding on the upper deck. + + * * * * * + +The next day they sighted land. A mist between the ocean and the sky +turned green, took shape. The man beside Frederick gripped the rail +with his broken nails. + +“’Tis Ireland,” he repeated softly. And there was pain and heartache in +his voice. + +Frederick did not sleep that night. He was one of the huddled group +that stayed on deck. They talked together in low voices, watching the +distant flicker of an occasional light, straining their ears to catch +some sound. Some of them had failed in the bewildering New World, and +they were going back. Others had succeeded and now were returning for +parents or wives and children. + +But Frederick was breaking through the horizon. He was getting on the +other side. He had sailed through the sky. America and all that it had +meant to him lay far behind. How would Europe receive this dark-skinned +fugitive from slavery? + +The ship docked at Liverpool, but certain preliminaries prevented the +passengers from going ashore immediately. Baltimore, New Bedford, not +even New York, had prepared Frederick for the port of Liverpool. It was +rapidly becoming Britain’s monstrous spider of commerce, flinging its +sticky filaments to the far corners of the world and drawing into its +net all that the earth yields up to men. + +Just inside the bottleneck entrance to the Mersey River, kept +relatively free from silt by tidal scour, Liverpool was once a shelter +for fishing vessels which built up a comfortable coastal trade with +Ireland. Medieval sailors gave little thought to the sandstone hill +that lay beyond the marshy fringe. The Dee River silted up and trade +with America grew; and it was found that Liverpool was well situated +to meet the change. The mouth of the old pool was converted into wet +docks, the marshes were hollowed out, and railroads tunneled through +the sandstone hill with ease. The British Empire was expanding. + +Now all along the wharves rode merchant ships of every variety, ships +laden with iron and salt, timber and coal, grains, silks and woollens, +tobacco and, most of all, raw cotton from America. + +Frederick saw them unloading the cotton and piling it high on the +docks. He knew it was going to the weavers of Lancashire. He wondered +if those weavers knew how cotton was planted and chopped and picked. + +The Hutchinsons had been in Liverpool before, so they all went to a +small hotel not far from the wide Quadrant. Frederick stood in the +square gazing up at the great columned building fashioned after the +Greek Parthenon and for a moment he forgot about the cotton. He liked +the quiet, solid strength of that building. He resolved to visit it to +feel the stone and measure the columns. + +Quite unexpectedly Liverpool became aware of Frederick Douglass. + +The young men who had been so rudely halted in their premeditated +violence, went immediately to the police demanding the arrest of the +“runaway slave” and of the ship’s Captain! They were not prepared for +the calm detachment of British justice. Never doubting the outcome, +the young men repaired to the newspapers, where they told of their +“outrageous treatment,” denounced the Captain and all his crew and +heaped abuse upon the insolent instigator of this “crime against +society.” + +British curiosity is not easily aroused. But the young men’s language +pricked both the authorities and the newspapermen. They did not like +it. They dropped in on Captain Judkins. His words were few, brusque and +pointed. The police asked politely if he wished them to lock the young +men up. The Captain considered their proposal coolly and decided he had +no interest in the young men. He _was_ going to take his Missus to hear +the black American speak. She would enjoy it. And now, if the inspector +was finished, his Missus was waiting. The Captain hurried away, rolling +a little on his sea legs; and the newspapermen decided they would visit +the “black American.” + + * * * * * + +The Honorable William Gladstone, down from London for a few days, +re-read a certain column in his paper over a late and solitary +breakfast. The new Colonial Secretary spent most of his time in London; +but Liverpool remained his home. It was a lovely house, well out of +town, away from the dirt and noise of warehouses and docks. Well back +from the graveled road, behind high fences and undulating greens, sat +the residences of England’s merchant princes. Gladstone had represented +his neighbors in the government since he was twenty-three years old, +first as vice-president and then president of the Board of Trade. Now, +at thirty-six, he had been made Colonial Secretary. It took a man who +knew trade and the proper restrictions for its protection to handle the +affairs of Egypt, Australia and fabulously rich India. + +The young man frowned and crumpled his paper. + +“Nevins!” he called. + +“Yes, sir!” + +“Nevins, have you been in town this week?” + +Nevins considered before answering. There must be no mistake about this +matter. + +“Not this week, sir.” + +“Well, have you heard any talk of a British India Society meeting?” + +“I beg your pardon, sir?” + +“India Society,” the Colonial Secretary explained, “or anything +at all about India. I understand there have been meetings in the +provinces--talk about starving India--Indian independence--some sort of +agitation.” + +“We’ve had nothing of that kind in these parts.” Nevins spoke with a +touch of disapproval. + +The Colonial Secretary picked up his paper. He frowned at it a moment. + +“I was wondering if there were any connection. Any connection at all. +Might well be, you know.” + +“I don’t understand, sir.” + +“There’s something here about a runaway slave from America speaking in +town tonight--at one of those workers’ halls. They’re springing up all +over England.” He added the last thoughtfully. + +“Did you say a slave, sir, perhaps an African cannibal?” + +“Exactly. This gives a most extraordinary account of the fellow on +shipboard. Ship’s Captain says he’s educated.” + +“I can’t believe it, sir.” + +“Um--would be very strange, if true. But who would be bringing him over +here?” The American Revolution had not yet become a mellowed memory. +Americans--white or black--would bear watching. + +“Nevins!” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“I should like you to attend this meeting.” + +“I, sir?” + +“Find out what this slave has to say and what’s behind him.” + + * * * * * + +It had really been planned by the Hutchinsons as a concert. The +Anti-Slavery Society had asked Mr. Buffum to say a few words. Douglass +was merely to be presented and to say that he was glad to be in +England. But the newspapers had played up Frederick Douglass’ story +so much that at the last moment they decided to seize the opportunity +and feature him. When, long before dark the hall began to fill, it was +obvious that they had come to hear “the black man.” + +While the crowd listened respectfully to the Hutchinsons, Frederick +studied his first British audience. Somehow it was different. He +realized it bore out what he had witnessed in two days of wandering +about Liverpool. For the first time in his life he had seen white +people whose lot might well be compared with that of the black slave +in America. Here in Liverpool they could indeed leave their jobs, he +thought grimly; but their children would starve. He saw them living in +unbelievable squalor, several families herded together in two or three +rooms, or in a single dirty cellar, sleeping on straw and shavings. + +He sat on the platform and studied their faces. There was something in +their eyes, something in the stolid set of their chins, something hard +and unyielding, some strength which could not be destroyed--something +to join with his strength. And so when he rose he did not fumble for +words. He told them that he was glad that here on British soil he was +truly free, that no slave-hunter could drag him from the platform, no +arm, however long, turn him over to a master. Here he stood a free man, +among other free men! + +They cheered him lustily. And when they had quieted down he began to +talk to them about cotton. He talked to them of the cotton piled high +on the docks of Liverpool and how it got there. He talked to them of +black hands picking cotton and blood soaking into soil around the +cotton stalks. + +“Because British manufacturers need cotton, American slavery can defy +the opinions of the civilized world and block Abolitionists in America +and England. If England bought free cotton from some other part of the +world, if she stopped buying slave-grown cotton, American slavery would +die out.” + +Graphically, he added up the horrors of slavery. He told how the labor +of the slave in chains cheapened and degraded labor everywhere. They +listened, leaning forward in their seats, their eyes fixed. + +“Cotton can be grown by free labor, at a fair cost and in far greater +abundance, in India. England, as a matter of self-interest as well as +on the score of humanity, should without delay redress the wrongs of +India, give protection and encouragement to its oppressed and suffering +population, and thus obtain a permanent and abundant supply of free +cotton produced by free men.” + + * * * * * + +“A powerful speech, sir!” Nevins reported the next morning. + +The Colonial Secretary looked at his man with some impatience. + +“Well, really, Nevins! Let’s be a bit more specific. A black make a +powerful speech--something of an exaggeration, surely!” + +“He’s not really a black, sir,” Nevins answered surprisingly. + +“Good Lord! What is he then?” + +“I couldn’t rightly say, sir.” There was a dogged stubbornness about +Nevins this morning. The Colonial Secretary shrugged his shoulders. + +“Well, well. What did he talk about?” + +A lucid thought flashed across Nevins’ mind. + +“He talked about cotton, sir.” + +“About cotton?” The Colonial Secretary stared. “What on earth did he +say about cotton?” + +“He said that better cotton could be raised in India than in America.” + +The lucid moment passed, and Nevins could tell no more. But the young +Colonial Secretary saw the newspaper accounts of Douglass’s talk before +he returned to London. He took out his notebook and on a clean, fresh +page he wrote a name, “Frederick Douglass.” Then he thoughtfully drew +a circle around it. William Gladstone’s mind had projected itself +into the future, when there might be no more cheap cotton coming from +America. The Colonial Secretary was a solid young man with no nonsense +about him. + + * * * * * + +Across the narrow strip of water, in Dublin, Daniel O’Connell sat in +a ruby-brick house off Rutland Square, while the dusk of a September +evening closed about him. He held a letter in his hand--a letter he +had been re-reading while he waited. From far-off America his friend, +William Lloyd Garrison, had written: + + I send him to you, O’Connell, because you of all men have most to + teach him. He is a young lion, not yet fully come into his strength, + but all the latent power is there. I tremble for him! I am not a + learned man. When confronted with clever phrasing of long words I + am like to be confused. Scholars well versed in theology say I am a + perfectionist.... As Christians, I believe we must convert the human + race. Yet, God forgive me, doubts assail my heart. Here is a man, + a few short years ago a slave. I stand condemned each time I look + into his face. I am ashamed of being identified with a race of men + who have done him so much injustice, who yet retain his people in + horrible bondage. I try to make amends. But who am I to shape this + young man’s course? I have no marks of a lash across my back; I’ve + had the comforts of a mother’s tender care; I speak my father’s name + with pride. I am a free white man in a land shaped and designed for + free white men. But you, O’Connell, know of slavery! Your people are + not free. Poor and naked, they are governed by laws which combine all + the vices of civilization with those of primitive life. The masses of + Ireland enjoy neither the freedom of the savage, left to roam his own + forests and draw fish from his rivers, nor the bread of servitude.... + From you, Frederick Douglass can learn. I commend him to you, with my + love. He will strengthen your great heart. He will renew your faith + and hope for all mankind. + +The old man sat, turning the letter in his hand. The years lay heavy +along his massive frame. His own voice came back to him: _Sons of +Ireland! Agitate, agitate, agitate!_ + +Yet the evictions of starving tenants went on. The great castle in its +circle of wretched cabins, stripped the surrounding country of food +and fuel. People were ignorant because they could not go to school, +slothful because there was nothing they could do. Drunkards because +they were cold. Ireland had long been in subjection harsh enough to +embitter, yet not complete enough to subdue. But the failure of the +potato crop this year had brought a deadening apathy. The Irish cottier +was saying he could never be worse off or better off by any act of his +own. And everywhere there were the gendarmes, sodden with drink and +armed with carbines, bayonets and handcuffs. + +Daniel O’Connell had been thirty-six years old when, in 1812, Robert +Peel came to Dublin. To O’Connell the twenty-four-year-old Secretary +for Ireland was the embodiment of everything English. The Irishman +had been destined and educated for the priesthood, had taken up law +instead, and risen as rapidly as a Catholic could in a Protestant +government. An Irish Catholic could vote, but could not sit in +Parliament; he could enter the army, navy or professions, but could not +rise to the higher ranks. The universities and all the important posts +in the Civil Service were closed to him. + +As an advocate, Daniel O’Connell had been greatly in demand. In those +days he stood six feet tall, with a head of fox-red curls and a face +that had irregular, almost ugly features. They said his voice could be +heard a mile off and was like music strained through honey. Reckless, +cunning, generous and vindictive, O’Connell had fought for Ireland. +They threw him in jail when he challenged Robert Peel to a duel. It +never came off. He finally apologized, thinking to propitiate the +Englishman in the matter of his Catholic Relief Bill that was up before +Parliament. + +Now Robert Peel was Prime Minister of England, and misery still lay +like a shroud over all Ireland. O’Connell shook his head. Garrison was +mistaken. There was nothing he could teach his young man. At seventy, +one’s work is finished, and he, Daniel O’Connell, had failed. + +After a while the girl brought in a lighted lamp and set it on the +table. O’Connell said nothing. He was waiting. + +Then he heard voices in the hall and he stood up, his keen eyes fixed +on the door. It opened to admit Frederick Douglass. The dark man stood +a moment where the lamplight fell on him; then he smiled. And something +in the Irishman’s tired heart ran out to meet that smile. O’Connell +strode across the room. He placed his two hands on the younger man’s +shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. + +“My son, I’m glad you’ve come,” he said. + +So Frederick Douglass saw Ireland and came to know its people. He +learned why women’s faces beneath their shawls aged so quickly. He +watched children claw the débris on the coal-quays of Cork. He saw the +rich grasslands of the Golden Vale where fine, fat cattle fed while +babies died for milk. Looking out over the Lakes of Killarney, he saw +on the one side uncultivated tracts, marshy wastes studded with patches +of heather, with here and there a stunted fir tree; and on the other, +along the foot of the mountains beside the lovely lakes, green, smiling +fields and woods of almost tropical vegetation. He learned that in +Ireland there were only rich and poor, only palaces and hovels. + +“Misrule is due to ignorance and ignorance is due to misrule.” +O’Connell tapped the short stem of his pipe on the table. “Few +Englishmen ever visit Ireland. When they do they drive in a carriage +from country house to country house. The swarms of beggars in Dublin +only fill them with disgust.” + +“But--But why don’t these beggars work?” + +“There are no industries in Ireland. Our wool and wheat go into English +mills. In Ireland, in order to work, one must have a plot of land.” + +Frowning, Douglass grappled with the problem. Oppression then was not +confined to black folks! There was some common reason for it all. + +O’Connell nodded his head. + +“Possession of the land! This is the struggle, whether we’re talking +about the Gaels of Scotland and Ireland, the brown peoples of India, or +the blacks of South Africa. Indeed, where are your red men in America?” + +The young man’s face showed something of horror. Was the earth so small +then that men must destroy each other to have their little bit? + +“Not at all. But there have always been those who would share nothing. +Conquest has come to be a glorious thing. Our heroes are the men who +take, not those who give!” + +The old man was in fine form that fall. The young man with his vibrant +personality and searching questions inspired him. Earlier in the year +he had vetoed plans for a huge rally at the great Conciliation Hall. +The place held twenty thousand people and O’Connell had not felt equal +to it. But now he announced a change of mind: he and Douglass would +speak there together. + +It was an event talked of many a long winter evening afterward. +“Dan--Our Dan,” they said, outdid himself. The massive stooped +shoulders were squared, the white head high. Once more the magnificent +voice pealed forth. + +“Until I heard this man that day,” Douglass himself wrote, “I had +thought that the story of his oratory and power was exaggerated. I +did not see how a man could speak to twenty or thirty thousand people +at one time and be heard by any considerable portion of them, but the +mystery was solved when I saw his ample person and heard his musical +voice. His eloquence came down upon the vast assembly like a summer +thunder-shower upon a dusty road. At will he stirred the multitude to +a tempest of wrath or reduced it to the silence with which a mother +leaves the cradle-side of her sleeping babe. Such tenderness, such +pathos, such world-embracing love! And, on the other hand, such +indignation, such fiery and thunderous denunciation, such wit and +humor, I never heard surpassed, if equaled, at home or abroad.”[5] + +A piece on O’Connell came out in _Brownson’s Review_. Mr. O. A. +Brownson, recently become a Catholic, took issue with the “Liberator” +of Ireland for having attacked American institutions. O’Connell gave +another speech. + +“I am charged with attacking American institutions, as slavery is +called,” he began. “I am not ashamed.... My sympathy is not confined to +the narrow limits of my own green Ireland; my spirit walks abroad upon +sea and land, and wherever there is sorrow and suffering, there is my +spirit to succor and relieve.” + +The striking pair toured Ireland together. O’Connell talked about the +antislavery movement and why the people of Ireland should take part in +it; Douglass preached O’Connell’s doctrines of full participation of +all peoples in government and legislative independence. + + * * * * * + +“There must be government,” said O’Connell. They were talking together +quietly in the old man’s rooms. “And the people must take part, must +learn to vote and take responsibility. You have a fine Constitution in +the United States of America. I have studied it carefully.” + +“I have never read it,” confessed the dark man, very much ashamed. + +“No?” O’Connell studied the somber face. “But you have read the +Declaration of Independence. A glorious thing!” + +“Yes.” And now there was deep bitterness. “And I find it only words!” + +The Irishman leaned over and placed his hand upon the young man’s knee. +He spoke softly. + +“Aye, lad--words! But words that can come alive! And that’s worth +working and even fighting for!” + + + + + CHAPTER NINE + + “_To be henceforth free, manumitted and discharged from all manner of + servitude to me...._” + + +The two letters reached them in the same mail. One came from James +Buffum to Frederick; the other was for Daniel O’Connell from George +Thompson, the English Abolitionist. Thompson, who had been stoned +from his platform in Boston on his last trip to America, had not met +Frederick. However, he had heard from William Lloyd Garrison. + +Their letters said substantially the same thing: “We need Douglass in +Scotland.” + +The facts were brief. It had been proved that the Free Church of +Scotland, under the leadership of the great Doctors Cunningham, +Candlish and Chalmers, had taken money from slave-dealers to build +churches and to pay church ministers for preaching the gospel. John +Murray of Bowlien Bay and other antislavery men of Glasgow had called +it a disgrace. The leading divines had thereupon undertaken to +defend, in the name of God and the Bible, not only the principle of +taking money from slavers, but also of holding fellowship with these +traffickers in human beings. The people of Scotland were thoroughly +aroused. Meetings were being called and strong speakers were needed. +Buffum and Thompson were already on their way to Edinburgh. + +“You’ll come back, Frederick?” O’Connell’s voice was wistful. It was +like parting with a son. + +“Come with us!” Frederick urged. But the “Liberator” shook his head. + +“Our people are threatened with starvation. First our potatoes. And now +the wheat crop has failed in England. There is no longer time. Richard +Cobden writes that the Prime Minister may be with us. A shallow hope, +but I must be on hand if needed.” + +“Perhaps then I shall see you in London?” The thought that he might not +see the old man again was unbearable. + +“Perhaps, Frederick. God bless you!” + + * * * * * + +Frederick found the famous old city of Edinburgh literally plastered +with banners. _Send Back the Money_ stared at him from street corners. +Every square and crescent carried the signs. They had scribbled it on +the sidewalks and painted it in large white letters on the side of the +rocky hill which stands like some Gibraltar, guarding the city: _Send +Back the Money_. + +For several days George Thompson, James Buffum and another American, +Henry C. Wright, had been holding antislavery meetings in the city. As +soon as Douglass arrived, they hurried him off to the most beautiful +hall he had ever seen. The audience was already assembled and greeted +him with cheers. Without taking time to remove the dust and grime of +travel, he mounted the platform and told his story. + +After that, excitement mounted in the town. _Send Back the Money_ +appeared in a banner across the top of Edinburgh’s leading newspapers. +Somebody wrote a popular street song, with _Send Back the Money_ in the +chorus. Wherever Douglass went, crowds gathered. It was as if he had +become the symbol of the people’s demand. + +At last the general assembly of the Free Church rose to the bait and +announced they would hold an open session at Cannon Mills. Doctors +Cunningham and Candlish would defend the Free Church of Scotland’s +relations with slavery in America. The great Dr. Chalmers was in feeble +health at the time. “Besides,” Douglass wrote afterward,[6] “he had +spoken his word on this question; and it had not silenced the clamor +without nor stilled the anxious heavings within.” As it turned out, the +whole weight of the business fell on Cunningham. + +The quartet of Abolitionists made it their business to go to this +meeting of the opposition. So did the rest of Edinburgh. The building +held about twenty-five hundred persons. Long ahead of time, the crowd +gathered outside and stood waiting for the doors to open. + +Douglass always remembered the meeting at Cannon Mills with relish. + +Dr. Cunningham rose to tumultuous applause and began his learned +address. With logic and eloquence he built up his argument, the high +point of which was that neither Jesus Christ nor his holy apostles had +looked upon slaveholding as a sin. + +Just as the divine reached this climax, George Thompson called out, in +a dear, sonorous, but rebuking voice, “Hear! Hear! Hear!” Speaker and +audience were brought to a dead silence. + +“The effect of this common exclamation was almost incredible,” Douglass +reported.[7] “It was as if a granite wall had been suddenly flung up +against the advancing current of a river.... Both the Doctor and his +hearers seemed appalled by the audacity as well as the fitness of the +rebuke.” + +After a moment the speaker cleared his throat and continued. But his +words stuck in his throat--the flow of language was dammed. The speech +dragged on for several minutes, and then the Doctor stumbled to his +seat to scattered patting of hands. + +The Free Church of Scotland held on to its bloodstained money, and the +people bowed their heads in shame. + +“Ours is a long history,” said Andrew Paton, sadly, “of incompetent +leadership and blind, unquestioning following by the ranks.” + +“But this time you did protest. The people of Scotland know what +slavery means now,” George Thompson assured him. + +Thompson, Buffum and Douglass traveled back to London together. They +went by stagecoach, stopping each night at some inn. It was like a +holiday. Frederick thought the soft mist that lay over all the land was +very lovely. And there was something comforting and homelike about the +way the stark grandeur of Scotland’s rugged crags gave way to rounded +hills, wide valleys and gently rolling moors. The roads of Ireland had +been bad, the occasional inns wretched and dirty. Now, for the most +part, they rolled along in state; and, when night came, lights from +an inn twinkled a jolly welcome, the dinner was hot and filling, the +innkeeper genial. Undoubtedly, thought Frederick, life is pleasanter in +England. + +The three Abolitionists were teetotalers--temperance men on principle. +But Frederick could not stifle a desire to taste of the foamy ale which +he saw being tossed off with such gusto. + +“Are you _sure_ it’s alcoholic?” he asked. + +Thompson threw back his head with a hearty laugh. + +“If you mean will a bit of our ale with your dinner make you drunk. +I’ll say no.” He eyed him with a quizzical twinkle. “You’d like some?” + +“Frederick!” Buffum frowned his disapproval. He was three-fourths +Massachusetts Puritan and he felt an older man’s responsibility. + +But the Englishman spread his hands and reasoned. + +“This is a test, Friend Buffum. Here is a newcomer to England. He +observes that ale is a national drink. He asks why?” He leaned forward. +“How can he speak of the temptations of any kind of drink if he has +never even tasted ale? Be logical, man!” Frederick was certain that one +eye winked. He grinned and looked anxiously at the Secretary of the +Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society. By now he really _wanted_ some ale. +Buffum had to laugh, if weakly. He clucked his tongue and shook his +head. + +“Frederick, Frederick! What would the folks at home say?” + +Thompson was signaling to the waiter to bring them a large ale. + +“That,” he said sagely, as he turned back to his companions, “is +something history will not record!” He looked at Frederick’s broad, +rather solemn face and raised his eyebrows. “But I am of the opinion +that a single wild oat sown by our young friend will do him no great +harm.” + +The boy came up, bearing three huge, foaming mugs, having interpreted +the order as he thought right. He set the mugs down with a thump, +scattering the suds in every direction, and departed before anyone +could say “Jack Robinson!” + +“Well”--Thompson shook with laughter--“it seems our young friend here +is not going to sow his oats alone. So be it!” He raised his mug high +in the air and led off. + +“Gentlemen! To the Queen! God bless her!” + +As they neared London they talked plans. + +“First,” said Thompson, “our distinguished visitor must have some +clothes.” + +Frederick wondered whom he was talking about, but Buffum, his eyes on +Frederick, nodded his head thoughtfully. + +“Yes, I suppose so,” he murmured. Then they both looked at Frederick +and he shifted uneasily. Answering the unspoken question in his face, +Thompson explained. + +“You are becoming something of a celebrity. You will be going to +dinners and teas. You must have proper apparel.” + +“But--” Frederick began, flushed and downcast. + +“You are now in the employ of the World Anti-Slavery Society,” Thompson +went on, “our chief and most effective spokesman. In the interest +of the entire cause you must make what the French call the good +impression.” + +Now Frederick’s apprehensions began to mount. How could he go into +English “society”? + +“Clothes do not make a gentleman,” he said, shaking his head violently. +“I am a workingman. I will speak--yes--anywhere. I will tell the +meaning of slavery, I will do anything, but I have no manners or ways +for society.” + +Thompson regarded the young man a long moment before answering. + +“You are right, Frederick,” he said quietly. “Clothes do not make a +gentleman. They only serve to render him less conspicuous.” He placed +the tips of his fingers together and continued. “It will interest you +to know that our word aristocracy comes from the Greek _aristokratia_, +which is to say ‘the best workman.’” He leaned forward. “Someday we’ll +recognize that. Meanwhile, Frederick Douglass, make no mistake about +it--_you_ belong!” + +Came the evening when the swaying stagecoach drew up before the Golden +Cross Hostelry on Charing Cross. The thick fog gave Frederick a feeling +of unreality. He could see nothing but dim lights and looming shadows, +but he was surrounded by a kind of muffled, intermittent rumbling. He +stood in the drizzling rain listening. + +“Come,” said Thompson, taking him by the arm. “Let’s get inside. You’ll +be drenched before you realize it.” + +Thompson lived in Dulwich, a suburb of London, but he was going to stay +in town a few days until his friends had found suitable lodging and +until, as he put it, chuckling, Frederick was “launched.” + +The next few days were busy ones. They found lodgings in Tavistock +Square, not far from the Tavistock House, where Dickens lived for ten +years. London would be Douglass’ headquarters. From there he would make +trips throughout England and in the spring would go to Wales. He was +waited upon by the British India Committee, the Society of Friends, the +African Colonial Society and by a group working for the repeal of the +Corn Laws. + +“It is the poor man’s fight,” they said. + +The newcomer listened carefully, read newspapers morning and night +and asked questions. He spoke at the Freemason’s Hall, taking as his +theme the right of every workman to have bread. Douglass spoke well, +for he had only to step outside his rooms in London to see the pinch +of poverty. Then, just as Thompson had warned him, the writers William +and Mary Howitt sent a charming note asking him for a week-end in the +country. Fortunately Frederick had managed to see a good tailor. + +“Go, Frederick,” his co-workers urged him. “They are Quakers. They have +influence. You will come back rested.” + +Fall was closing around London like a shroud, but Clapham was +delightful. The Howitts greeted him warmly. + +“We have read your _Narrative_, so you are an old friend.” + +This was Frederick’s initiation into English country life. He walked +out into the beautiful garden where, rounding a smilax, he almost +stepped on Hans Christian Andersen! + +It was Mary and William Howitt who had translated the Danish writer’s +works into English. Andersen was very fond of them, and their home in +Clapham was his haven. When they had guests he could always putter +about in the garden. He knew that the famous ex-slave was coming that +afternoon, but he would meet him after the tea party was over. Now, on +his knees, trowel in hand, a smudge of mud on his nose, he stared with +amazement. _So much of darkness and beard--and what a head!_ + +A peal of musical laughter behind him caused Frederick to turn. The +funny little man scrambled to his feet and Mary Howitt, who had +followed Frederick into the garden, was saying, “It is our dear Hans.” + +Andersen knew very little English and Frederick had never before heard +Danish, so they could do very little more than grin at each other. But +later, before an open fire, Frederick read Hans Christian Andersen’s +fairy stories, while Andersen, sipping his brandy, watched the +expressive dark face. Their eyes met, and they were friends. + +The next day Douglass asked the Howitts about their translations and +what it meant to study languages other than one’s native tongue. Then +the writer of fairy tales began to talk. He spoke in Danish, and Mary +interpreted. He talked of languages, of their background and history. +He told Frederick about words and their symbolic magic. And another +corner of Frederick’s brain unfolded itself. + + * * * * * + +There was too much rain the summer and fall of 1845. Robert Peel, Prime +Minister of Great Britain, stood at his window and watched it beat down +on the slippery stones of the court. But he was not seeing the paving +stones, he was not seeing the dripping walls. He was seeing unripened +spikes of wheat rotting in the mud. He knew he had a crisis on his +hands and he was not ready. + +Robert Peel was a Tory. His background and education, his +administration as Secretary of Ireland, his avowed policies, all had +been those of the Conservative party. In appearance he was cold and +proud. But he was an honest man, and he grew in wisdom. + +Until the 1840’s, despite the vast industrial changes of the previous +half-century, some balance had been maintained between industry and +agriculture. British farmers had been able to feed most of the workers +in the new towns and factories and mines. But population had increased, +villages had dwindled, and whole networks of manufacturing towns had +sprung into being. When Peel took office the country was already in +serious straits. The problem was economic, he knew. He listened to the +speeches of John Bright, a Quaker cotton-spinner from Lancashire and he +received Richard Cobden. + +“There are thousands of houses in England at this moment where wives, +mothers, and children are dying of hunger. Come with me and you will +never rest until you give them bread,” Cobden said. + +Cobden backed his facts with logic. High tariffs kept out foodstuffs +and essential commodities; landowners were keeping up the price of +wheat while workingmen starved. Britain was on the verge of social +revolution. + +So Robert Peel, the Conservative, began to reduce customs. In 1842 he +set a gradually lowering scale for corn duties. He sought to shift +the burden of taxation from the poor to the wealthier classes and to +cheapen the necessities of life. He saw that reforms were necessary, +but he wished to avoid hasty changes. And in this caution lay his +undoing. + +His own party fell away. The Whigs distrusted the haughty, gray-eyed +Minister. What did he, a Tory, mean by “seeming” to favor lower +tariffs? The Irish still hated him because he stood firm against +Repeal of the Union. The Catholics opposed him because he had backed +nonsectarian schools. + +But the enemy who kept closest watch was Disraeli. Not for a day did +this ambitious member of Parliament forget that he had been left out of +the new Prime Minister’s cabinet. He took this omission as a personal +slight. Hatred for Peel distorted his every move. Cleverly, coolly, +calculatingly, Disraeli widened the cleavage in party ranks; he drew +young aristocrats about him; he flattered them with his wit and charm, +and whispered that Robert Peel, _their_ Robert Peel, was betraying +them. He was pushing the country into Free Trade. He would open the +gates to a deluge that would destroy England. + +In the spring of 1845 Richard Cobden had risen in the House of Commons +and called for Repeal of the Corn Laws. He said that Free Trade ought +to be applied to agriculture and pointed to what it had done for +British manufacturing. He decried the old fallacy that wages vary +with the price of bread. He thundered that there was no truth in the +contention that wages were high when bread is dear and low when bread +is cheap. The Conservatives drew together, their faces hardening. + +But Robert Peel no longer backed the Corn Laws. He wanted the +drawbridges around Britain lowered forever. But he wondered how +could he, leader of the Conservative party, carry through such a +revolutionary change? He decided to let the present Parliament run its +course. In the next election he would appeal to the country: he would +carry the fight to the people. Then they could send him back, free of +all party ties and obligations, as a Free Trader. + +But the weather is no respecter of parliamentary elections! The wheat +crop failed in England, like the potato crop in Ireland. People were +starving, and the Corn Laws locked out food. Peel called a meeting of +his Cabinet, and the storm broke. + +The Cobden forces were ready. They held great mass meetings, with +Cobden and Bright enlisting every available speaker. Frederick Douglass +addressed crowds in Piccadilly, on the docks, and in Hyde Park. He and +John Bright went down into Lancashire. They talked in Birmingham and +other towns and cities about the worker’s right to have bread. + +Then one morning a week before Christmas, Bright burst into the rooms +on Tavistock Square, waving a newspaper. + +“We’ve won! We’ve won!” he shouted. “The Cabinet’s intact, the Prime +Minister is back, the Repeal stands! We’ve won!” + +James Buffum rolled out of bed and reached for the paper. Frederick, +partly dressed, emerged from behind a curtained cubicle and clapped the +little man on the shoulder. John Bright had watched his wife die of +starvation while he sat at his spindles. But he could not fill enough +spools. He could not spin fast enough. She had died. So John Bright had +left his loom and joined Richard Cobden. Now there would be more food +in England. He stood clinging to the dark man’s hand--this new friend +who knew so much about suffering. + +“I’m going home,” he said in his rich rolling Lancashire brogue. +“I’m going down to tell the folks myself. Come with me. We’ll be glad +together!” + +So it happened that Frederick spent the Christmas in a spinner’s shack +in Lancaster. On Christmas Eve he wrote Anna. + + The baby’s crying in the next room and here in the corner sleeps a + little lad just about Freddie’s age. He’s curled in a tight knot and + his hair is falling over his face. It’s not as round as I remember + Freddie’s, nor are his legs as plump. This house isn’t as big as our + little place in New Bedford and there are four children! But tonight + they’re all happy. The weavers carried on as if John and I had given + them the world! My hand shakes as I think of it. We brought a goose + and a few toys for the children. You should have seen their eyes! + Tomorrow we will feast! How I wish you could share this with me. + They’re letting me borrow their little ones. But my heart cannot but + be anxious for my own. Are you well and are the children well? I + enclose some money. Enough, I hope, for your most urgent needs. But my + real Christmas present to you is news that will make you very happy. + Friends here are raising money to purchase my freedom--seven hundred + and fifty dollars! The Misses Richardson, sweet sisters in Newcastle, + have written to Mr. Walter Forward of Philadelphia, who will seek + out Captain Auld and ask what he will accept for my person. He will + tell my former master that I am now in England and that there is no + possibility of my being taken. There can be little doubt that under + the circumstances the Captain will name his price--and be very glad to + get it! So, dear Anna, soon this separation will be at an end. I will + return to you and to my dear children, in fact and before the law, a + free man. + +The writer sat for a few moments regarding that last line. Anna’s eyes +would shine when she read it. For an instant her face was there. Then +the child stirred in his sleep. Frederick rose and straightened the +little limbs on the cot. His hands were very tender. + + * * * * * + +“Frederick! I believe you’ve grown,” Garrison beamed. He had just +arrived in London from America. + +John Bright nodded. “He is a big man,” he said. + +Garrison whisked Frederick away to Sir John Bowring’s castle where they +had been asked for over New Year’s. + +Sir John had represented England as Minister to China. He was a +brilliant talker and drew about himself a circle of literary friends. +On New Year’s Eve, Douglass stood at a table covered with fine linen +and old silver. He held in his hand a crystal glass and drank another +toast: “The Queen! God bless her!” + +They were all back in London for the opening of Parliament. Robert Peel +on the side of the people! A great day for England! + +As if to honor the auspicious occasion the fog blew away during the +night, and January 22, 1846, dawned clear and bright like a spring +day. People poured into the streets and lined Pall Mall. The Queen +was coming! They crowded into Cannon Row and Parliament Street and +surrounded Westminster Hall and Parliament. The Queen was coming! + +Cobden had secured seats for them in the gallery, but Garrison and +Douglass lingered in the crowd, craning their necks. The bobbies were +forcing them back to keep the way clear when a modest, closed carriage +drew up and a tall figure in a high silk hat stepped out. + +“It’s Peel! It’s Robert Peel!” shouted Garrison and that started the +crowd cheering. They had not recognized the Prime Minister. But the +tall, pale man looked neither to the right or left. He walked straight +ahead, unsmiling, and disappeared. The people were disappointed. They +wanted to know him. They wanted to be friends. + +The cheers had not gone unheeded. In the great, open carriage with +prancing horses that now turned into the square, Disraeli tightened his +lips. The carriage stopped with a clatter, the footman sprang down and +threw open the door. Disraeli stepped out, his head high, his silken +cape enveloping him with majesty. The crowd pressed forward. + +“Who is it?” + +“Who is that man?” + +“Disraeli!” someone answered. + +“The Jew!” another voice added. + +They drew back then, and let him pass in silence. Frederick Douglass +followed him with his eyes. There was something painful in the defiant +swagger. As he disappeared Frederick caught his breath sharply. He felt +a hurt in his chest. + +“I’m sorry for that man,” he said, in a heavy tone. + +“Why?” asked Garrison coolly. “He would spit upon you!” + +Frederick shook his head. “Let’s go in.” Suddenly, he was very tired. + +Inside he forgot his singular depression when, from the throne of +England, Queen Victoria declared the session of Parliament open. She +was only thirty-one years old at that time, not beautiful perhaps, but +a radiantly happy woman. Prince Albert was at her side. She was adored +by her people. None of their hardships were laid at her door. Now she +felt that a crisis had been successfully averted. Her voice rang with +confidence and pride as she addressed her trusted Prime Minister. + +And all the Lords and Ministers of the realm bowed low. The royal +couple took their leave, and the business of running an empire was +resumed. Every eye turned toward Robert Peel. + +The Prime Minister rose, very pale, and began to state his case. He +had the facts. Step by step, he unfolded his plan for combating the +economic stalemate: cheap raw materials for the manufacturer, no +protection against fair foreign competition, cheaper seed for the +farmer, the open door for foreign meat and corn; for all, cheaper +living. + +No longer was his face cold and remote. The fires of deep conviction +glowed in his eyes, and there was passion in his final declaration of +independence. + +“I will not, sirs,” he concluded, “undertake to direct the course of +the vessel by observations which have been taken in 1842.” His words +rang. “I do not wish to be Minister of England, but while I have the +high honor of holding that office, I am determined to hold it by no +servile tenure. I will only hold that office upon the condition of +being unshackled by any other obligation than those of consulting the +public interests, and of providing for the public safety.” + +He bowed and took his seat. Douglass wet his dry lips. What did the +heavy silence mean? He wanted to blister his hands with applause. +Garrison laid his hand on the younger man’s arm. + +There was a slight stir of movement, and Sir John Russell was on his +feet. He commended the Prime Minister’s speech and quietly backed it up +with the authentic statement of Whig disasters. Some of the tenseness +relaxed. There was polite applause when Sir John ended and a bit of +parliamentary phrasing by the clerk. Men moved restlessly, wondering +what to do next. + +Then, like an actor carefully choosing his entrance Disraeli rose. +Slowly his eyes swept the chamber. There was a sneering smile on his +lips. It was as if he scorned their cowardly silence. Disraeli knew his +time had come. + +He stepped forth as defender of everything sacred! He talked of +all the fine traditions of Great Britain. Englishmen, he said, must +be protected without and within, from those who would undermine her +power. The Prime Minister had given a “glorious example of egotistical +rhetoric,” and his policy was a “gross betrayal of the principles which +had put him in power and of the party which kept him there.” + +The brilliance of his style held them spellbound. His defense +of England thrilled them and his attack on Peel justified their +selfishness. Disraeli took his seat to thunderous applause. + +Douglass was shaking as though ill. + +“What does it mean?” he asked, when they had got away. + +“It means,” said Richard Cobden, grimly, “that we’ll have to fight +every inch of the way all over again. We have won nothing. Except that +now Disraeli will stop at nothing to ruin Peel.” + +“But how can Disraeli oppose the cause of poor people? I thought he +knew of oppression and suffering from his own experience.” Douglass’ +distress was very real. John Bright tried to explain. + +“Suffering and oppression often only embitter men, Frederick, embitter +and harden them. They close in upon themselves. They are so determined +to be safe that they are ruthless and cruel. Undoubtedly Disraeli has +suffered, but he has suffered selfishly--he has refused to see the +sufferings of other people. He will sacrifice anything for power.” + +Frederick Douglass was learning what it takes to make men free. In +the spring he went up into Wales. He traveled, as he said in a letter +which was published in the _Liberator_, “from the Hill of Howth to the +Giant’s Causeway, and from the Giant’s Causeway to Cape Clear.” On May +12 he made a speech at Finsbury Chapel, Moorfields, which was published +throughout England. William Gladstone addressed a note to him, inviting +him to call. + +Douglass heard that Daniel O’Connell was in London, that the Irish and +Catholics were joined in the coalition against Peel. Yet the Prime +Minister carried his Corn Bill through the House of Commons with +comparative ease. It began to look as if, in spite of Lord Bentinck and +Disraeli, it would get through the House of Lords. Then they attacked +Peel’s character. + +Returning to London in May, Douglass immediately sought out O’Connell. +The old man greeted him warmly, but he was haggard and shaken. Also, +he was on the defensive. They could not avoid the subject which was +uppermost in both their minds. + +“He’s a lifelong enemy of Ireland, lad.” O’Connell studied Frederick’s +troubled face anxiously. + +“But Richard Cobden proves that Peel will listen to reason. Cobden has +won him so far along the way. His enemies are using the Irish question +now to destroy him.” + +“He would tie Ireland to England forever!” The old man rose defiantly, +shaking his white hair. + +On June 25 the Corn Bill passed in the House of Lords, but the same +day the Commons repudiated the Minister’s Life Preservation bill for +Ireland by a majority of seventy-three. Once more his enemies could say +that Peel had betrayed his principles and fooled his followers. Three +days later Peel tendered his resignation to the Queen. + +That evening Douglass, accompanied by O’Connell, made his way to the +Parliament. + +“He will speak tonight--for the last time,” John Bright had told them. + +The members sat in their seats, strangely subdued. The contest between +Peel and Disraeli was over. True, the Corn Laws were repealed--the +gates were down. But Disraeli had forced Robert Peel out. He was +finished. + +Yet the grimness which had marked his pale face in the past months was +gone, and in his final words there was a sense of peace that seemed to +reach beyond that time and place. + +“When Ministers appear to change their course, and lay themselves open +to the charge of inconsistency, it were better perhaps for this country +and for the general character of public men that they be punished by +expulsion from office.” He did not blame them, then. There was no word +of bitterness. Moreover, the credit for his reforms, he said, should +not go to him. “The name which ought to be chiefly associated with the +success of these measures is the name of Richard Cobden,” one who has +achieved his disinterested purpose by “appeals to our reason.” + +There was a slight rustle throughout the chamber. It was as if the very +shadows were listening. + +“In relinquishing power, I shall leave a name censured by many who +deeply regret the severance of party ties, by others, who, from no +selfish interest adhere to the principles of Protection, considering +its maintenance essential to the welfare and interests of the country; +I shall leave a name execrated by every monopolist, who clamors for +Protection because it conduces to his own individual benefit. But it +may be that I shall leave a name sometimes remembered with expressions +of goodwill in the abodes of those whose lot it is to labor, and to +earn their bread by the sweat of their brow. Perhaps they too will call +my name when they shall recruit their exhausted strength with abundant +and untaxed food, the sweeter because it is not leavened by a sense of +injustice.” + +It was all over in a few minutes. Frederick turned at a sound beside +him. O’Connell had covered his face with his two hands. Frederick +slipped his arm through his, pressing against him. The grand old man of +Ireland was weeping. + + * * * * * + +It was the Reverend Samuel Hanson Cox who now decided that London had +had just about enough of Frederick Douglass! + +Sixty or seventy American divines had arrived in London that summer for +the double purpose of attending the World Evangelical Alliance and the +World Temperance Convention. It was the avowed purpose of a group of +these ministers, under the leadership of the Reverend Cox, to procure +a blanket endorsement for the Christian character of slaveholders. The +matter was becoming a little ticklish in certain quarters, and these +churchmen were determined to establish the Biblical and divine status +of the “sons of Ham” whom--they agreed--God had designated “hewers of +wood and drawers of water.” + +What was their dismay, therefore, to find one of the slaves running +around at large in England, speaking from platforms, and being invited +to the homes of respectable, but utterly misguided, Englishmen _and_ +Englishwomen--_God save us!_ + +The divines set about enlightening the English people. Before they +realized it, the question of slavery became a burning issue in the +Evangelical Alliance. And things did not go well. By far the larger +crowds were attracted to the Temperance Convention, which was being +held in huge Covent Garden. The Abolitionists planned carefully. One +afternoon when the Garden was packed, Frederick Douglass was called +from the audience to “address a few words” to the Convention. The +slavers’ advocates were thunderstruck! They could not believe that such +treachery existed within their own ranks. As, amid clamorous applause, +Douglass made his way to the platform, Reverend Cox leaped to his feet +and shouted his protests. But he was yelled down. + +“Let him speak!” + +“Hear him!” + +“Douglass! Frederick Douglass!” + +They shouted until the livid little divine sank helpless into his seat. + +Frederick Douglass, “the young lion,” had come into his full strength. +He stood facing the audience which filled every corner of Covent +Garden, and felt power coursing all along his veins. He resolved that +no man or woman within the sound of his voice that afternoon should +ever be able to say “I did not know!” + +According to the account written by the Reverend Cox that appeared +in his denominational paper, the _New York Evangelist_, Douglass’ +speech was “a perversion, an abuse, and an iniquity against the law +of reciprocal righteousness--inspired, I believe, from beneath, and +not from above. This Douglass,” said Reverend Cox, “denounced American +temperance societies and churches as a community of enemies of his +people. He talked to the American delegates as if he had been our +schoolmaster and we his docile and devoted pupils.” + +And Covent Garden rocked as it seldom had in all its history. + +“We all wanted to reply,” the account concluded, “but it was too late. +The whole theater seemed taken with the spirit of the Ephesian uproar; +they were boisterous in the extreme, and poor Mr. Kirk could hardly +obtain a moment to say a few well-chosen words.” + +The applause was like thunder. When Douglass bowed and tried to leave +the platform, people rushed forward to seize his hand. They blocked his +path. Men and women wept. They shouted until they were hoarse. Nobody +heard or heeded “poor Mr. Kirk.” Douglass left the theater at the head +of a procession of Londoners, who continued to cheer him as they came +out on the street. Curious passersby swelled the ranks. They followed +him down Bow Street to Russell and past the Drury Lane Theater. But +just beyond the theater Frederick stopped. He faced the crowd and at a +motion from him they closed in around him. + +“My friends,” he told them, “never in my life have people been so good +to me. But I have spoken not to arouse you to cheers, but to move you +to action. I have told you of slavery, of oppression, of wrongdoing +which is going on in this world. I tell you now that this is true not +only of black slaves in America, but of white slaves here in Europe. My +friends, these are not times for cheering. Go to your homes, to your +shops and to your offices! Pass my words along and find the job that +you can do to bring about the freedom of all peoples. Go now, quickly!” + +He stood facing them until they had dispersed, looking back over their +shoulders, talking excitedly. + +Then, with a sigh of deep satisfaction, Frederick Douglass went walking +on down Russell Street. He turned into Drury Lane and half an hour +later was rolling along Fulham Road. + +Tavistock Square no longer claimed him as a lodger. When James Buffum +returned to America and Douglass set out on his northern tour the attic +rooms were given up. Upon his return to London he had been invited +to make his home with friends in Chelsea where, in the rare periods +between strenuous rounds, he could enjoy a haven from the noise and +dirt of the city. He remembered that summer with pleasure--no fog, a +mild sun, long walks over the Heath, across Albert Bridge and down by +the river. Hours of undisturbed reading in a little arbor behind the +cottage continually opened new vistas and broadened his understanding. +More than the scars on his back, he deplored his lack of education. Now +he seized every opportunity to learn. + +Back in America the Mexican War was arousing people. The possibility +of more slave states being added to the Union speeded up the +Abolitionists. Word was rushed to the Anti-Slavery Society in England +to enlist the people of Great Britain, to let the workers of Britain +know how slavery in America threatened all their hard-bought gains, and +perhaps get them to boycott slave-grown cotton. + +Frederick Douglass rose to the need. Thousands packed into the Free +Trade Hall in London to hear him; workers in Manchester and Birmingham +learned how cotton was produced; merchants and dock hands rubbed +shoulders at Concert Hall in Liverpool. + +Frederick Douglass spoke to men and women in every walk of life. +William Gladstone listened and learned from the black American. +In Edinburgh he was entertained by George Combe, and the eminent +philosopher listened as well as talked. Together they discussed the +Corn Laws, reduction of hours of labor, and what black slavery was +doing to the world. During this time Douglass was urged to remain in +Europe. He was offered important posts in Ireland and in Scotland. + +“Send for your family, Douglass!” they said. “There is work here for +you to do.” + +But he shook his head. In spite of all his activities, he was growing +restless that winter. True, he was presenting the case of the slave +to Britain. In a few months he had become famous; but within himself +he felt that all this had only been a period of preparation. He was +like an athlete who, trained to the pink of condition, was only going +through preliminary skirmishes. For Frederick Douglass knew his real +work lay ahead--in America. + +They were still waiting for the final settlement with Captain Auld. +He had asked one hundred and fifty pounds sterling for his slave. The +money had been promptly sent. + +Then, one morning, a letter reached Douglass in Darlington. It was from +George Thompson. + +“Your papers have arrived. Come down with us for two or three days +before you go to Wales. There is so much to talk about and I know this +means an early farewell.” + +This was the beginning of his last days in Britain. He was invited to +dinners, receptions, teas, scheduled for “farewell” speeches. + +“What will you do?” they asked. + +“I should like to establish a paper, a paper in which I can speak +directly to my people, a paper that will prove whether or not a Negro +has mind, the tongue of reason, and can present facts and arguments +clearly.” + +They placed twenty-five hundred dollars in his hands--as a start toward +this enterprise. + +“You will come back!” They made it both a question and an affirmation. + +“When we have won our fight!” He nodded. + +A crowd accompanied him to the boat at Liverpool and stood waving him +goodbye. John Bright’s eyes were wet. + +“We’ll miss you, Douglass!” said the little spinner from Lancaster. + +The shores and wharves and people blurred as he stood on the deck. They +had been so good. He reached in his pocket and once more took out the +precious papers that declared him free. + +The transaction had to be in two parts. Thomas Auld first sold him to +his brother Hugh, and then the Philadelphia lawyer had secured the +final manumission paper through the Baltimore authorities. It was this +second and final sheet that Frederick unfolded--the paper for which the +people of England had paid seven hundred and fifty dollars. + + _To all whom it may concern_: Be it known, that I, Hugh Auld, of the + city of Baltimore, in Baltimore county, in the state of Maryland, + for divers good causes and considerations, me thereunto moving, have + released from slavery, liberated, manumitted, and set free, and by + these presents do hereby release from slavery, liberate, manumit, + and set free, My Negro Man, named Frederick Bailey, otherwise called + Douglass, being of the age of twenty-eight years, or thereabouts, + and able to work and gain a sufficient livelihood and maintenance; + and him the said negro man, named Frederick Bailey, otherwise called + Frederick Douglass, I do declare to be henceforth free, manumitted, + and discharged from all manner of servitude to me, my executors, and + administrators forever. + + In witness whereof, I, the said Hugh Auld, have hereunto set my hand + and seal, the fifth of December, in the year one thousand eight + hundred and forty-six. + + _Signed_ HUGH AULD. + + _Sealed and delivered in presence of_ T. HANSON BELT.[8] + +He looked out across the waters. He had been away nearly two years. It +was spring, and he was going home. + + + + + CHAPTER TEN + + _A light is set on the road_ + + +Massachusetts hung out her fairest garlands that spring. The fruit +trees were in bloom. Dandelions a foot tall framed the winding roads in +gold; across the meadows lay Queen Anne’s lace and white daisies; the +lake shallows were covered with dark, green rushes; and alders, growing +at the water’s edge, stood between white and yellow water-lilies. There +was sweetness in the air. + +Behind the little house between two cedar trees the line of white +clothes waved merrily in the breeze. Mrs. Walker from the other side of +the fence, stood in the doorway and admired the scrubbed and polished +kitchen. + +“Land sakes, Mis’ Douglass, you _are_ smart this morning!” + +The dark woman, her sleeves tucked up, was kneading a batch of dough. +She did not stop. There was still so much to do, and her breasts were +heavy with milk. She must set these loaves before she nursed the baby. +But she smiled at her neighbor, her eyes shining. + +“My husband’s coming home!” + +Mrs. Walker laughed sympathetically. + +“I know, but not today. Body’d think he was walkin’ in this minute.” + +In the next room little Rosetta filled an earthen jar with buttercups +and violets she had picked down by the river. It spilled over and she +began to cry. + +“Never mind,” comforted Lewis. He spoke with masculine superiority, +reinforced by his eight years. “Pa’s got no time for flowers anyhow.” + +But Miss Abigail always kept flowers on the table. She had taught +Rosetta how to arrange them, and now the little girl wiped her eyes +and returned to her task. She had only that week been brought back +to the cottage in Lynn for her father’s homecoming. Shortly before +the baby was born the Misses Abigail and Lydia Mott had taken the +child to live with them in Albany. To this extent the Quaker ladies +had lightened Anna’s responsibilities. They had cared for and taught +Frederick Douglass’ little daughter carefully. Now she was home for a +visit, they said: they wanted her back. + +“Don’t touch!” Rosetta climbed down from the chair and eyed her +centerpiece with satisfaction. She spoke to three-year-old Charlie, +whose round face was also turned toward the flowers. Freddie, all of +his six years intent on mending a hole in the fence, had sent his “baby +brother” into the house with a terse “Get outta my way!” + +Charlie’s plump legs carried him hither and yon obeying orders. Now he +was wondering what he could do on his own. Pa was coming--and he wanted +to do something special. All at once he yelled, “I’ll show him the +baby!” + +Two days later he clung, ecstatic with joy, to the big man’s coat when +for the first time the father held his new daughter in his arms. It was +love at first sight. Perhaps because she was called Annie, or perhaps +it was the very special way she wrapped her fist about his thumb. + +Over the heads of their children, Anna and Frederick smiled at each +other. The months had put lines on her face; he knew the days and +nights had not been easy. He had yet to rub the rough callouses on +her hands and find out about the shoes! Anna saw that her husband had +grown, that he had gone far. He had walked in high places. But now he +was home again. They were together. + +They feasted that evening. The children tumbled over themselves being +useful. They emptied their plates and then sat listening, wide-eyed. He +talked and then he too asked questions. + +“Say nothing about the shoes. We’ll surprise him,” she had cautioned. + +_A joke on Pa!_ They hugged their secret gleefully, as children will. + +At last the house was still and she lay down beside him. + +“Everything’s gone fine, hasn’t it, dear?” He spoke with deep +contentment. “The children are well. The house looks better than it did +when I went away. How did you do it?” + +Her body touched his in the old bed. + +“I managed,” she murmured. The shoes had made her hands rough and hard. +His skin was warm and smooth. + +“Have you missed me?” he asked. + +Her sigh of response came from a heart at peace. + + * * * * * + +Washington read of Frederick Douglass’ return in the _National Era_. +Gamaliel Bailey had been printing short accounts of his activities +in Great Britain. Many of the Abolitionists had protested against +Douglass’ purchase by English friends. They declared it a violation +of antislavery principles and a wasteful expenditure of money. The +_National Era_ took up the issue. + +“Our English friends are wise,” Bailey’s editorial commented. +“Maryland’s slave laws still stand. Frederick Douglass is now free +anywhere in the United States, only because he carries manumission +papers on his person. The Eastern Shore can no longer claim him.” + +The slaveholding power, it seemed, was stronger than ever. Texas with +its millions of acres had been admitted to the Union, and President +Polk was negotiating a treaty that favored the slave oligarchy. +Abolitionists had split over political matters and had weakened +themselves. But the sparks had fallen and were lighting fires in +unexpected places. Charles Sumner, emerging from the State Legislature +in Massachusetts, was moving toward the United States Senate. From +Pennsylvania came David Wilmot with his amendment of the proposed +treaty saying “neither slavery nor involuntary servitude shall ever +exist in any part” of the territory acquired as a result of the +Mexican War. Longfellow, most popular author in America, was writing +thunderously on slavery; _The Biglow Papers_ were circulating, and +petitions, signed by tens of thousands, were gathered and delivered +in Washington by Henry Wilson and John Greenleaf Whittier. Inside +Congress, the aged John Quincy Adams laid the petitions before the +House. The House tabled them--but the sparks continued to fly. + +On an evening late in May a group of people responded to invitations +sent out by the Reverend Theodore Parker and gathered at his house in +Boston. He had called them together to discuss further strategy. Among +those present were Bronson Alcott, Ralph Waldo Emerson, William Ellery +Channing,[9] Walter Channing,[9] Wendell Phillips, James Russell Lowell, +James and Lucretia Mott, Charles Sumner, Joshua Blanchard, William +Lloyd Garrison and Frederick Douglass. + +These men and women had not agreed on every issue in the past, but +now they united their efforts toward one single end: Slavery must be +stopped. If it could not now be abolished, at least it must not spread. +The _Wilmot Proviso_ must be carried to the country. + +And who was better equipped to carry out such a mandate than William +Lloyd Garrison and their newly returned co-worker, who had been hailed +throughout Great Britain? The man who bore his “diploma” on his back, +Frederick Douglass. So it was decided. + +Douglass’ reputation no longer rested on the warm word of his personal +friends. Not only had accounts of him been printed in the _Liberator_, +but the _Standard_ and the _Pennsylvania Freeman_ had told of his +speeches and reception abroad. Every antislavery paper in the country +had picked up the stories. Horace Greeley had told New York about him. +Nor was the opposition unaware of him. The advocates and supporters of +slavery pointed to him as “a horrible example” of what “could happen.” + +“Douglass!” The name was whispered in cabins and in tobacco and rice +fields. It traveled up and down the Eastern Shore. A tall black girl, +dragging logs through the marsh, heard it and resolved to run away. +She became “Sojourner Truth” of the Underground Railroad--the fearless +agent who time after time returned to the Deep South to organize bands +of slaves and lead them out. + +In Boston and Albany and New York they clamored to see and hear +Douglass. And in clubs and offices and behind store-fronts they +muttered angry words. + +During the first week in August the Anti-Slavery Society held a +three-day convention in Morristown, Pennsylvania, with hundreds of +people coming by train from Philadelphia. Lucretia Mott, the foremost +woman Abolitionist of her day, fired the crowd with enthusiasm. +Douglass did not arrive until the second day. His name was on +everyone’s lips, the trainmen craned their necks to see him, and he was +pointed out wherever he went. + +The evening of the closing day of the convention, Garrison and Douglass +were to speak together at a church. It was packed when they arrived. +Garrison spoke first. All went well until Douglass rose, when there +came a sound of breaking glass and large stones flew through the +windows. The men in the audience rushed out. There was the sound of +shouting and running outside. The rowdies fled, and in a short while +the meeting continued. + +In Philadelphia there were a large number of educated and extremely +active Negro Abolitionists. Douglass was particularly happy to spend +some time with them, and they were eager to heed and honor him. William +Grant Still, secretary of the Philadelphia Vigilance Committee, saw to +it that they met Douglass. + +On Saturday morning Garrison and Douglass said goodbye to their friends +and hurried to the station. At the last moment Garrison recalled an +errand. + +“Go ahead and get the tickets, Douglass,” he said. “I’ll be along in +time.” + +Douglass complied with his request, but Garrison had not arrived when +the train pulled in. Douglass boarded one of the last cars and, sitting +down close to a window, watched rather anxiously for his traveling +companion. + +He did not notice the man who came up to the seat until he heard: “You +there! Get out of that seat!” + +It came like the old-remembered sting of a whip. He had not heard that +tone for so long. He looked up. The speaker was a big man. He had +evidently been drinking. His face was flushed. + +“Get along up front where you belong!” + +“I have a first-class ticket which entitles me to this seat,” Douglass +said quietly. The muscles along his back were tightening. + +“Why, you impudent darky!” + +“Oh, John, please!” + +Then Douglass saw that behind the man and, until that moment hidden +by him, was a little woman, the thin, gray strands of her hair partly +concealed by a poke bonnet, her blue eyes now wide with alarm. + +“Oh,” said Douglass, rising, “excuse me, madam. Would you like my seat?” + +The bully’s mouth dropped open. For a moment the unexpected words +struck him dumb. + +“Why--why--I--” the woman stammered. + +“Shut up!” The man had recovered his breath. “Don’t talk to that +nigger. I’ll knock his teeth down his black throat if he says another +word.” + +Frederick smiled at the woman. + +“As I said, I have my ticket. But there are plenty of seats. I’ll +gladly vacate this one for a lady.” + +He moved quickly, catching his assailant’s blow with a swing of his +arm, and brushed past before the man could recover himself. Douglass +went on down the aisle. Behind him the man cursed. + +“Oh, please, John!” the little lady protested. + +Out on the platform, Douglass walked into Garrison. They hurried into +another car and the train moved off. + +“We’ll report the man when we reach the station,” said Garrison. + +Douglass shrugged his shoulders. “He was drunk!” was his only comment. + +The train pulled into Harrisburg about three o’clock in the afternoon. +At the depot they found Dr. Rutherford, long-time subscriber to the +_Liberator_, his sister-in-law, Agnes Crane, and several colored +people awaiting them. One of the latter, a Mr. Wolf, proudly bore off +Frederick Douglass to his home, while Dr. Rutherford took Mr. Garrison +in tow. + +Harrisburg, capital of Pennsylvania, was very much under the influence +of slavery. The little group of Abolitionists had struggled valiantly +against odds. They had obtained the Court House for the Saturday +and Sunday evening presentations of their two speakers. Heretofore, +antislavery lecturers had drawn only a few anxious listeners. This +Saturday evening the Court House was filled to overflowing, and crowds +had gathered in the street in front of the building. + +Mischief was brewing. Outside, mounted horsemen mingled with the crowd, +and inside the hall seethed with tense expectancy. + +The chairman for the evening rose and introduced Mr. Garrison first. He +spoke briefly, merely to open the meeting. Everybody knew that whatever +happened would be aimed at Douglass. The dark speaker came forward, and +someone in the back yelled, “Sit down, nigger!” + +It was the signal. Through the windows came hurtling stones, bricks and +pieces of Harrisburg pottery. From the back of the hall people threw +stones and rotten eggs, ripe tomatoes and other missiles. Several men +armed with clubs leaped for the platform. + +The hall had become a bedlam: shrieks, shattering glass, and shouts of +“Out with the damned nigger!” “Kill him!” “Break his head!” Douglass, +recalling the mob in Indiana, seized a chair and laid about him with +a will. A flying stone struck him just above the eye, and a brickbat +grazed his head; but no one could get near him. It turned into a +free-for-all. Garrison from his place on the platform thundered +denunciations and rallied the people to their own defense. Gradually, +they routed the disturbers and peace was restored. + +One might suppose that the exhausted audience would have called it +quits. But not so with this crowd which had come out to hear Frederick +Douglass. Scratches and wounds and broken heads were hurriedly tended; +cold cloths were applied. And finally, holding a damp handkerchief to +his head to stay the flow of blood, Douglass told his story. Far down +the street the would-be “nigger killers” heard the cheers. + +Sunday morning and afternoon they spoke at Negro churches. White people +attended both times, and the meetings were unmolested. The Sunday +evening crowd at the Court House was doubled. There was no trouble. + +“Always heared tell them nigger-loving Abolitionists was +chicken-hearted!” a man in a tavern complained morosely. “It’s a damn +lie!” He rubbed his aching head thoughtfully. + +Monday morning they left for Pittsburgh, going by train as far as +Chambersburg, where they had to change to the stage. Here they were +told that there had been some mistake about the tickets. The one +Douglass held enabled him to go directly through on the two o’clock +stage, but Garrison would have to wait until eight in the evening. +Garrison told Douglas they would be expected and he might as well go +ahead. + +The route over the Alleghenies was beautiful, but slow and difficult. +The stage was crowded, and it was a melting-hot day. When they drew up +at the taverns for meals, Douglass was not allowed to eat in the dining +room. He was told he might eat, if he stood outside. He preferred to go +hungry--for the better part of two days. + +On arriving at Pittsburgh the stage was met by a committee of twenty +white and colored friends, with a brass band of colored men playing for +all they were worth! The stage was late. It pulled in at three o’clock +in the morning, but both committee and band had waited. + +Douglass could not help relishing the consternation of his +fellow-travelers when, to the accompaniment of deafening blasts from +tuba and trumpet, he was literally lifted from the stage. How could +they have known that the quiet, dark man whom they had seen humiliated +and pushed aside, was a celebrity? + +There was much about the dingy, smoke-covered city of Pittsburgh which +reminded Douglass and Garrison of manufacturing towns in England. These +people were down to bare necessities. They knew life and death could be +hard and violent. They wanted no part of slavery. + +“No more slave states!” they shouted. + +Their enthusiasm was in the English style. They expressed approval +without stint. At the close of the final meeting, they gave three +tremendous cheers--one for Garrison, one for Douglass, and one for the +local worker who had brought the speakers, A. K. Foster. + +On Friday Garrison and Douglass took a steamer down the Ohio River. +They stopped off at New Brighton, a village of about eight hundred +people. They spoke in a barn, where, from barrels of flour piled on the +beams over their heads, specks sifted down, whitening their clothes. +They left aboard a canal boat, in the company of a young Negro named +Peck, a future graduate of Rush Medical College at Chicago. + +The next stop was Youngstown, where they were the guests of a jovial +tavern keeper. He always took in Abolitionist lecturers free of charge. +There they spoke three times in a huge grove. By evening Douglass +was without voice. His throat was throbbing and he could not speak +above a whisper. Garrison carried on. New Lyme, Painesville, Munson, +Twinsburg--every town and hamlet on the way--in churches, halls, barns, +tents, in groves and on hillsides. Oberlin, which come next, was a +milestone for them both. + +“You know that from the commencement of the Institution in Oberlin,” +Garrison wrote his wife, “I took a lively interest in its welfare, +particularly on account of its springing up in a wilderness, only +thirteen years since, through the indomitable and sublime spirit +of freedom by which the seceding students of Lane Seminary were +actuated.... + +“Oberlin has done much for the relief of the flying fugitives from the +Southern prison-house, multitudes of whom have found it a refuge from +their pursuers, and been fed, clad, sheltered, comforted, and kindly +assisted on their way out of this horrible land to Canada. It has also +promoted the cause of emancipation in various ways, and its church +refuses to be connected with any slaveholding or pro-slavery church by +religious fellowship.... + +“I think our visit was an important one.... Douglass and I have +been hospitably entertained by Hamilton Hill, the Treasurer of the +Institution, an English gentleman, who formerly resided in London, +and is well acquainted with George Thompson and other antislavery +friends.... Among others who called was Miss Lucy Stone, who has +just graduated, and who yesterday left for her home in Brookfield, +Massachusetts.... She is a very superior young woman, and has a soul as +free as air, and is preparing to go forth as a lecturer, particularly +in vindication of the rights of woman.... But I must throw down my pen, +as the carriage is at the door to take us to Richfield, where we are to +have a large meeting today under the Oberlin tent, which is capable of +holding four thousand persons.”[10] + +It was Garrison who finally broke down. + +Their first meeting in Cleveland was held in Advent Chapel. Hundreds +were turned away, and in the afternoon they moved out into a grove in +order to accommodate the crowd. It sprinkled occasionally during the +meeting, but no one seemed to mind. The next morning, however, Garrison +opened his eyes in pain. He closed them again and tried to move. He sat +up, dizzy and swaying. Douglass, seeing his face, rushed to his side. + +The doctor ordered him to stay in bed for a few days. They were +scheduled to leave for Buffalo within the hour, and once more Garrison +urged Douglass to go on ahead. + +“I’ll be along,” he said weakly. + +Garrison did not join him at Buffalo. Douglass held the meetings +alone and it was the same at Waterloo and West Winfield. By the time +he reached Syracuse on September 24, Douglass had begun to worry. +There, however, he found word. Garrison had been very ill. He was now +recovering and would soon be in Buffalo. Somewhat relieved, Douglass +went on to Rochester, where he held large and enthusiastic meetings. + +For a few days he visited with Gerrit Smith on his estate at Peterboro. +Only then did he realize how tired he was. The high-ceilinged, paneled +rooms of the fine old manor offered the perfect refuge from the rush +and noise and turmoil of the past weeks. Douglass stretched out in an +easy chair before an open fire and rested. + +Something was bothering Douglass. Now that the cheering crowds were far +away he frowned. Gerrit Smith fingered a long-stemmed glass of sherry +and waited. + +“They listened eagerly,” Douglass said at last, “they filled the halls +and afterward they cheered.” He stopped and Gerrit Smith nodded his +head. + +“And what then?” Smith’s voice had asked the question in Douglass’ mind. + +Douglass was silent a long moment. He spoke slowly. + +“They did not need convincing. The people know that slavery is wrong.” +Again Smith nodded his head. Douglass frowned. “Is it that convictions +are not enough?” + +Then Gerrit Smith leaned forward. + +“Convictions are the final end we seek,” he said. “But even you +dare not pit your convictions against the slaveholder’s property. +Slaveholders are not concerned or bothered about cheering crowds north +of the Ohio river. They can laugh at them! But they will not laugh long +if the cheering crowds go marching to the ballot box. Convictions need +votes to back them up!” + +The shadows in the room deepened. For a long time there was only +silence. + +“There’s a man in Springfield you ought to know,” Gerrit Smith spoke +quietly. “His name is John Brown.” + +And so Douglass first heard of John Brown, in whose plans he would be +involved for many years to come. + +Upon the establishment of Oberlin College in 1839, Gerrit Smith had +given the school a large tract of land in Virginia. The small group in +Ohio hardly knew what to do with his gift until, in 1840, young John +Brown, son of one of the Oberlin trustees, wrote proposing to survey +the lands for a nominal price if he could buy some of it himself and +establish his family there. + +“He said,” continued Smith, “that he planned to set up there a school +for both the Negroes and poor whites of the region.” + +Titles to the Virginia lands were not clear because squatters were in +possession, and the Oberlin trustees welcomed Brown’s plan. Thus John +Brown first saw Virginia and looked over the rich and heavy lands which +roll westward to the misty Blue Ridge. The Oberlin lands lay about two +hundred miles west of Harper’s Ferry in the foothills and along the +valley of the Ohio. + +“He wrote that he liked the country as well as he had expected and its +inhabitants even better,” Smith chuckled. + +By the summer of 1840 the job was done, and Brown had picked out his +ground. It was good hill land on the right branch of a valuable spring, +with a growth of good timber and a sugar orchard. In August the Oberlin +trustees voted “that the Prudential Committee be authorized to perfect +negotiations and convey by deed to Brother John Brown of Hudson, one +thousand acres of our Virginia land on the conditions suggested in +the correspondence which has already transpired between him and the +Committee.”[11] + +“But then”--Gerrit Smith’s voice took on new urgency--“all negotiations +stopped. The panic overthrew everybody’s calculations. Brown’s wool +business collapsed, and two years later he was bankrupt. He had +endorsed notes for a friend, and they sent him to jail. Then he entered +into partnership with a man named Perkins, with a view to carrying on +the sheep business extensively. Perkins was to furnish all the feed and +shelter for wintering, and Brown was to take care of the flock.” Smith +was silent for a few minutes, puffing on his pipe. “I think he loved +being a shepherd. Anyway, during those long, solitary days and nights +he developed a plan for furnishing cheap wool direct to consumers. + +“He has a large store now in Springfield, Massachusetts. They say his +bales are firm, round, hard and true, almost as if they had been turned +out in a lathe. But the New England manufacturers are boycotting him. +He’s not playing according to the rules and he’s being squeezed out. +The truth of the matter is that John Brown has his own set of rules. He +says he has a mission to perform.” There was another long silence. Then +Gerrit Smith spoke and his voice was sad. “I wish I had it in my power +to give him that tract of land protected by the Blue Ridge Mountains. I +think that land lies at the core of all his planning.” + +Gerrit Smith was right. John Brown had a plan. One thing alone +reconciled him to his Springfield sojourn and that was the Negroes whom +he met there. He had met black men singly here and there before. He was +consumed with an intense hatred of slavery, and in Springfield he found +a group of Negroes working manfully for full freedom. It was a small +body without conspicuous leadership. On that account it more nearly +approximated the great mass of their enslaved race. Brown sought them +in home, in church and on the street; he hired them in his business. +While Garrison and Douglass were touring Ohio, John Brown was saying to +his black porter and friend, “Come early in the morning so that we’ll +have time to talk.” + +And so before the store was swept or the windows wiped, they carefully +reviewed their plans for the “Subterranean Pass Way.” + + * * * * * + +Amelia and Mrs. Royall did not make the trip north. Amelia’s +disappointment was tempered because she knew Frederick Douglass was +somewhere out West. Jack Haley laughed and said that was the reason +the old lady did not go. But Anne Royall said no newspaper woman could +leave Washington when news was fairly bristling in the air. + +That last was true. Had not the South fought and paid for the gold +fields of California? Now the scratch of President Polk’s pen as +he signed the treaty with Mexico reverberated through the halls of +Congress. Tempers were short. + +“And manners have been tossed out the window,” said Anne Royall. + +Then Jefferson Davis was sent up from Mississippi. Mrs. Royall was +immediately intrigued by the tall, handsome war hero. + +“Careful, Mrs. Royall!” warned Jack Haley, shaking his finger. + +“Attend your own affairs, young man,” snapped the old lady. “Jefferson +Davis brings charm into this nest of cawing crows!” + +Foreign consulates were rocking, too. Ambassadors dared not talk. For +this was a year of change--kings being overthrown; Garibaldi, Mazzini, +Kossuth emerging as heroes. Freedom had become an explosive word--to +be handled with care. They smashed the windows of the _National Era_ +office and talked of running Gamaliel Bailey out of town. But it was +difficult to call out a mob within sight of the Capitol building. And +Gamaliel Bailey--facing his critics with that dazzling, supercilious, +knowing smile of his--sent them away gnashing their teeth but helpless. + +The time had come for action. Oratory was not enough. Convictions, +however sound and pure, were not enough. Time was running out. + +Frederick Douglass wrote a letter to John Brown in Springfield, +Massachusetts. Douglass told the wool merchant of his recent visit with +Gerrit Smith. + +“I’d like to talk with you,” he wrote. And John Brown answered, “Come.” + +Of that first visit with John Brown, Douglass says: + +“At the time to which I now refer this man was a respectable merchant +in a populous and thriving city, and our first meeting was at his +store. This was a substantial brick building on a prominent, busy +street. A glance at the interior, as well as at the massive walls +without, gave me the impression that the owner must be a man of +considerable wealth. My welcome was all that I could have asked. Every +member of the family, young and old, seemed glad to see me, and I was +made much at home in a very little while. I was, however, surprised +with the appearance of the house and its location. After seeing the +fine store I was prepared to see a fine residence in an eligible +locality.... In fact, the house was neither commodious nor elegant, +nor its situation desirable. It was a small wooden building on a +back street, in a neighborhood chiefly occupied by laboring men and +mechanics. Respectable enough, to be sure, but not quite the place +where one would look for the residence of a flourishing and successful +merchant. Plain as was the outside of this man’s house, the inside was +plainer. Its furniture would have satisfied a Spartan. It would take +longer to tell what was not in this house than what was in it. There +was an air of plainness about it which almost suggested destitution. + +“My first meal passed under the misnomer of tea.... It consisted of +beef-soup, cabbage, and potatoes--a meal such as a man might relish +after following the plow all day or performing a forced march of a +dozen miles over a rough road in frosty weather. Innocent of paint, +veneering, varnish, or table-cloth, the table announced itself +unmistakably of pine and of the plainest workmanship. There was no +hired help visible. The mother, daughters, and sons did the serving, +and did it well. They were evidently used to it, and had no thought of +any impropriety or degradation in being their own servants. It is said +that a house in some measure reflects the character of its occupants; +this one certainly did. In it there were no disguises, no illusions, no +make-believes. Everything implied stern truth, solid purpose, and rigid +economy. I was not long in company with the master of this house before +I discovered that he was indeed the master of it, and was likely to +become mine too if I stayed long enough with him.... + +“In person he was lean, strong and sinewy, of the best New England +mold, built for times of trouble and fitted to grapple with the +flintiest hardships. Clad in plain American woolen, shod in boots of +cowhide leather, and wearing a cravat of the same substantial material, +under six feet high, less than one hundred and fifty pounds in weight, +aged about fifty, he presented a figure straight and symmetrical as +a mountain pine. His bearing was singularly impressive. His head was +not large, but compact and high. His hair was coarse, strong, slightly +gray and closely trimmed, and grew low on his forehead. His face +was smoothly shaved, and revealed a strong, square mouth, supported +by a broad and prominent chin. His eyes were bluish-gray, and in +conversation they were full of light and fire. When on the street, he +moved with a long, springing, race-horse step, absorbed by his own +reflections, neither seeking nor shunning observation. + +“After the strong meal already described, Captain Brown cautiously +approached the subject which he wished to bring to my attention; for he +seemed to apprehend opposition to his views. He denounced slavery in +look and language fierce and bitter, thought that slaveholders had +forfeited their right to live, that the slaves had the right to gain +their liberty in any way they could, did not believe that moral suasion +would ever liberate the slave, or that political action would abolish +the system. + +“He said that he had long had a plan which could accomplish this end, +and he had invited me to his house to lay that plan before me. He had +observed my course at home and abroad and he wanted my co-operation. +His plan as it then lay in his mind had much to commend it. It did not, +as some suppose, contemplate a general rising among the slaves, and a +general slaughter of the slave-masters. An insurrection, he thought, +would only defeat the object; but his plan did contemplate the creating +of an armed force which should act in the very heart of the South. He +was not averse to the shedding of blood, and thought the practice of +carrying arms would be a good one for the colored people to adopt, as +it would give them a sense of manhood. No people, he said, could have +self-respect, or be respected, who would not fight for their freedom. +He called my attention to a map of the United States, and pointed out +to me the far-reaching Alleghenies, which stretch away from the borders +of New York into the Southern states. ‘These mountains,’ he said, +‘are the basis of my plan. God has given the strength of the hills to +freedom; they were placed there for the emancipation of the Negro race; +they are full of natural forts, where one man for defense will be equal +to a hundred for attack; they are full also of good hiding-places, +where large numbers of brave men could be concealed, and baffle and +elude pursuit for a long time. I know these mountains well, and could +take a body of men into them and keep them there despite of all the +efforts of Virginia to dislodge them. The true object to be sought is +first of all to destroy the money value of slave property; and that can +only be done by rendering such property insecure. My plan, then, is to +take at first about twenty-five picked men, and begin on a small scale; +supply them with arms and ammunition and post them in squads of five on +a line of twenty-five miles. The most persuasive and judicious of these +shall go down to the fields from time to time, as opportunity offers, +and induce the slaves to join them, seeking and selecting the most +restless and daring.’ + +“When I asked him how he would support these men, he said emphatically +that he would subsist them upon the enemy. Slavery was a state of war, +and the slave had a right to anything necessary to his freedom.... ‘But +you might be surrounded and cut off from your provisions or means of +subsistence.’ He thought this could not be done so they could not cut +their way out; but even if the worst came he could but be killed, and +he had no better use for his life than to lay it down in the cause of +the slave. When I suggested that we might convert the slaveholders, he +became much excited, and said that could never be. He knew their proud +hearts, and they would never be induced to give up their slaves, until +they felt a big stick about their heads. + +“He observed that I might have noticed the simple manner in which he +lived, adding that he had adopted this method in order to save money to +carry out his purpose. This was said in no boastful tone, for he felt +that he had delayed already too long, and had no room to boast either +his zeal or his self-denial. Had some men made such display of rigid +virtue, I should have rejected it as affected, false and hypocritical; +but in John Brown, I felt it to be real as iron or granite. From this +night spent with John Brown in Springfield in 1847, while I continued +to write and speak against slavery, I became all the same less hopeful +of its peaceful abolition.”[12] + +Soon after this visit with John Brown, Frederick Douglass decided on a +definite step. He would move to Rochester, New York, and there he would +set up his contemplated newspaper. + +He had been dissuaded from starting a newspaper by two things. First, +as soon as he returned from England he had been called upon to exercise +to the fullest extent all his abilities as a speaker. Friends told him +that in this field he could render the best and most needed service. +They had discouraged the idea of his becoming an editor. Such an +undertaking took training and experience. Douglass, always quick to +acknowledge his own deficiencies, began to think his project far too +ambitious. + +Second, William Lloyd Garrison needed whatever newspaper gifts Douglass +had for the _Liberator_. Garrison felt that a second antislavery paper +in the same region was not needed. He pointed out that the way of the +_Liberator_ was hard enough as it was. He did not think of Douglass as +a rival. But, quite frankly, he wanted the younger man to remain under +his wing. There was nothing more selfish here than what a father might +feel for his own son. + +But Douglass was no longer a fledgling. The time had come for him to +strike out for himself. + +Rochester was a young, new city. It was ideally located in the Genesee +valley, where the Genesee River flowed into Lake Ontario; it was a +terminus of the Erie Canal. Here was an ideal set-up for getting slaves +safely across into Canada! Day and night action--more action--was +what Douglass wanted now. There was already an intelligent and highly +respected group of Abolitionists in Rochester. It was composed of both +Negroes and whites. They would, he knew, gather round him. He would +not be working alone. In western New York his paper would in no way +interfere with the circulation of the _Liberator_. + +And so on December 3, 1847, appeared in Rochester, New York, a new +paper--the _North Star_. Its editor was Frederick Douglass, its +assistant editor Martin R. Delaney, and its object “to attack slavery +in all its forms and aspects; advance Universal Emancipation; exact +the standard of public morality, promote the moral and intellectual +improvement of the colored people; and to hasten the day of freedom to +our three million enslaved fellow-countrymen.” + + * * * * * + +“Politics is an evil thing--it is not for us. We address ourselves to +men’s conscience!” Garrison had often said. But Frederick Douglass went +into politics. + +The Free Soil party, formed in 1848, did not become a positive +political force under that name. But, assembling in August as the +election of 1852 drew near, it borrowed the name of “Free Democracy” +from the Cleveland Convention of May 2, 1849, and drew to itself +both Free Soilers and the remnants of the independent Liberty party. +Frederick Douglass, on motion of Lewis Tappan, was made one of the +secretaries. The platform declared for “no more slave states, no slave +territory, no nationalized slavery, and no national legislation for the +extradition of slaves.” + +The most aggressive speech of the convention was made by Frederick +Douglass, who was for exterminating slavery everywhere. The lion had +held himself in rein for some time. The duties of editor and printer of +his paper had chained him to his desk. He had built onto his house to +make room for the fugitive slaves who now came in a steady stream to +Rochester, directed to “Douglass,” agent of the Underground Railroad, +who handled the difficult and dangerous job of getting the runaway +slaves into Canada. + +Douglass was still a young man, yet that night as he stood with the +long, heavy bush of crinkly hair flowing back from his head like a +mane--thick, full beard and flashing eyes--there was about him a +timeless quality, embracing a long sweep of years, decades of suffering +and much accumulated wisdom. + +“Americans! Your republican politics, not less than your republican +religion, are flagrantly inconsistent. You boast of your love of +liberty, your superior civilization, and your pure Christianity, while +the whole political power of the nation (as embodied in the two great +political parties) is solemnly pledged to support and perpetuate +the enslavement of three million of your countrymen. You hurl your +anathemas at the crowned headed tyrants of Russia and Austria and +pride yourselves on your democratic institutions, while you yourselves +consent to be the mere tools and bodyguards of the tyrants of Virginia +and Carolina. You invite to your shores fugitives of oppression +from abroad ... and pour out your money to them like water; but the +fugitives from your own land you advertise, hunt, arrest, shoot and +kill.... You shed tears over fallen Hungary, and make the sad story +of her wrongs the theme of your poets, statesmen and orators.... Your +gallant sons are ready to fly to arms to vindicate her cause against +the oppressor; but, in regard to the ten thousand wrongs of the +American slave, you would enforce the strictest silence.... You are all +on fire at the mention of liberty for France or for Ireland; but are +as cold as an iceberg at the thought of liberty for the enslaved of +America!” + +The people went out along the streets of Pittsburgh repeating his +words. The convention delegates scattered to their states. + +And out in Illinois a homely state legislator named Abraham Lincoln was +saying that it is “the sacred right of the people ... to rise up and +shake off the existing government, and form a new one that suits them +better.... It is the quality of revolutions not to go by old lines or +old laws, but to break up both and make new ones.” + + + + + Part III + + _THE STORM_ + + + When the measure of their tears shall be full--when their groans shall + have involved heaven itself in darkness--doubtless a God of justice + will awaken to their distress, and by his exterminating thunder + manifest his attention to the things of this world, and that they are + not left to the guidance of a blind fatality. + --THOMAS JEFFERSON + + + + + CHAPTER ELEVEN + + _The storm came up in the West and birds flew North_ + + +There never had been such a time for cotton. All over the South the +cotton foamed in great white flakes under the sun. Black workers +staggered beneath its weight. Up and down the roads straining mules +pulled wagons loaded with bubbling masses of whiteness. The gins spat +flames and smoke; the presses creaked and groaned, as closer and closer +they packed the quivering mass until, dead and still, it lay in hard, +square bundles on river wharves, beside steel rails and on rotting +piers. Shiploads were on their way to the hungry looms of England and +the crawling harbors of China. Prosperity lay like a fragrant mist upon +the Southland in 1854. + +William Freeland rode over his acres with satisfaction. True, they +had diminished in number; but if cotton prices continued to rise, the +master of Freelands could see years of ease stretching ahead. Since +his mother’s death Freeland had left the running of the plantation +pretty much to hired overseers. He had not interfered. He spent a lot +of time in Baltimore, Washington and Richmond. With his dark brooding +face and wavy, gray-streaked hair, the master of Freelands enjoyed much +popularity with the ladies. He remained a bachelor. + +It was Sunday morning, and the slight chill in the air was stimulating. +Dead leaves rustled beneath his horse’s hoofs as he pulled up just +inside the wrought-iron gates, where the graveled drive was guarded +by the old sycamore. Time was beginning to tell on the big house far +up the drive, but it still stood firm and substantial, though the Old +Missus no longer tapped her cane through its halls. William Freeland +sighed. He wished his mother had lived to see the last two good years +at Freelands. For things falling to piece had made her unhappy. “A +strong hand was lacking,” she said. The Mistress had grieved when old +Caleb died and Aunt Lou, crippled with rheumatism and wheezing with +asthma had to be sent away to a cabin at the edge of the fields. Henry +had taken Caleb’s place, of course. But in this, she had acknowledged, +her son had been right: Henry was stupid and incompetent. It was +evident he would never master the job of being a good butler. On the +other hand she used to remind William of the “bad-blood rascal” he had +brought in to plant wicked seeds of rebellion at Freelands. Grumbling +and sullen faces multiplied. In the old days, she had said, Freeland +slaves never tried to run away. + +The overseers came, had tightened up on things. The last runaway had +been a young filly with her baby. The dogs had caught her down by +the river and torn her to pieces. Freeland had gone away for a while +afterward. + +He went on up the drive slowly, chuckling when he spied the queer +figure bent double under the hedge, scooping at the dirt with his +bare hands. The inevitable butterfly net and mesh bag lay close by +on the ground, though everybody knew that fall was no time to chase +butterflies. William Freeland shook his head. What some men did to get +famous! For that funny little figure under his hedge was Dr. Alexander +Ross, entomologist, ornithologist, and ichthyologist, whose discoveries +of rare specimen of bugs were spread out on beautifully colored plates +in expensive books! He had met the scientist at the home of Colonel +Drake in Richmond. The daughter of the house, who had been sent +North to school, had simply babbled about him. She had displayed an +autographed copy of one of those books, as if it were worth its weight +in gold. When the funny little man had murmured he might be able to +find a _Croton Alabameses_ on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, the master +of Freelands had invited him to his plantation where, he had said +with a laugh, there were sure to be some very rare bugs indeed. Later +Freeland learned that a _Croton Alabameses_ was not a bug, but a plant. +It was the first evening when they were sitting on the veranda, and +Dr. Ross had remarked on the charm of the old garden with its sweeping +mosses, overgrown walks and thick hedges. + +“It is lovely!” The little man had screwed up his eyes behind his thick +glasses and blinked with delight. + +After that he had been up before dawn and out all day, net and bag in +hand. He tramped great distances through woods and river mud. He talked +with the slaves, who, his host was certain, thought the little man was +crazy. Freeland thought it well to warn him about lonely, unused lanes +and river lowlands. + +“Time was,” he added, “when I’d never think of cautioning a visitor +at Freelands. Crime used to be unknown in these parts. But now there +are many bad blacks about. It’s dangerous!” The little man was not +listening. He was measuring the wing spread of a moth. Freeland became +more insistent. + +“Just a few weeks ago,” he said, “a poor farmer named Covey was found +in his own back yard with his head crushed in. Most of the slaves were +caught before they got away, but the authorities are still looking for +his housekeeper, whom they really suspect of the crime. It’s horrible!” + +The scientist was frowning, a puzzled expression on his round face. + +“But why--Why should they think his housekeeper did this awful thing?” + +William Freeland shrugged his shoulders. “It seems a dealer in the +village told how this woman carried on like mad when Covey sold some +girl off the place. I don’t know the details. But the man says he heard +the woman say she’d kill her master.” + +“Tck! Tck!” The little man shook his head. + +“So you see, Doctor,” continued his host, judiciously, “that woman is +at large and _you’d_ never be able to cope with her.” + +“Why, is she in the neighborhood?” Now Dr. Ross seemed interested. + +“It would be very hard for her to get through the cordon they’ve laid +around that neck of land. In your long tramps you might easily wander +into the section without knowing it. So I wouldn’t get too far off the +place if I were you.” + +The little man nodded his head. Next evening, however, he did not +return to the house until long after dark. He was bespattered with mud. +He said he had stumbled and lost his specimens for the day. The mesh +bag hung limp at his side. + +But no harm had befallen him. There he was, looking like one of his own +bugs, under the hedge. William Freeland swung off his horse and went +into the house. + +“Tell the Doctor breakfast is ready,” he said to Henry, who came +forward. + +“Dat dirty old man!” grumbled Henry, as he shuffled away on his errand. +The master had to laugh. + +No yellow canary sang in the alcove, but breakfast hour in the +high-ceiled, paneled room passed very pleasantly. In the rare +intervals when Dr. Ross was not squinting through his microscope or +chasing through the woods, he was an interesting talker. This morning +he compared the plant and insect life of this section of the Eastern +Shore to a little strip of land in southern France on the Mediterranean. + +“Nature has scattered her bounties lavishly here in the South,” he +said. And because it was a happy subject William Freeland began to tell +the scientist about cotton. + +“The new state of Texas added thousands of acres. They’re starting to +raise cotton in California, and now,” his voice showed excitement, +“they find cotton can be raised in the Nebraska Territory.” + +“A marvelous plant!” Dr. Ross was really interested. + +A shadow crossed Freeland’s face. + +“There is just one drawback. There aren’t enough slaves to raise cotton +on all this land. The Yankees fear our cotton. They know that, if they +let us alone, cotton will become the deciding factor throughout the +country. Because they have no cotton lands, they try to throttle us. +They tie our hands by trying to limit slavery. They know that cotton +and slavery expand together.” + +“But if slavery becomes illegal--as it did in Great Britain--in +the West Indies?” The little man leaned forward. William smiled +indulgently. He took a long draw on his pipe before answering. + +“The United States is only a federation of states--nothing more. Where +slavery was not needed it was abolished. But we need slaves here in +the South, now more than ever. So”--and he waved his pipe--“we’ll keep +them!” + +“I’m reversing my schedule today,” Dr. Ross said as they rose from +the table. “This afternoon I shall take a nap, because tonight I’m +going out after _Lepidoptera_. I saw signs of him down by the creek +yesterday, but they only fly after dark. I may be out all night.” + +His host frowned. + +“I’d better send one of the boys with you.” The little man shook his +head. + +“No need at all, sir. I doubt if I go off your grounds. I’ll trap one +down in the bottoms below the meadow.” + +William Freeland thought about the doctor that night when he went to +bed--out chasing moths in the dark. Freeland took another sip of brandy +before he put out his light. + +Nine young men met Alexander Ross that night in the woods. To all of +them, through devious channels, had come the word that “riders” on the +Underground Railroad could be accommodated. + +Dr. Ross sorted them into three groups and gave each one a set of +directions. At such and such a place in the woods, the first trio +would find a man waiting. Half a mile up the river bank, the second +contingent were to look for an empty skiff tied to a willow: it wasn’t +empty. The others had a wagon waiting for them on a nearby back road. + +They had come supplied with as much food as they could conveniently +carry. Ross handed each slave a few dollars, a pocket compass, a knife +and pistol. + +Then they scattered. Ross went a few miles with the group heading +inland through the woods and then doubled back toward Freelands. He +even caught a rare moth, which he carefully placed in his mesh bag. + +A few days later the quiet little scientist shook hands with his host +and took his departure. + +Such was Alexander Ross before he was knighted by several kings for +his scientific discoveries and honored by the French Academy. Wherever +he went in Virginia, Maryland, South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama or +Mississippi, he talked of birds and plants. Equipped with shotgun and +preservatives, he roamed nonchalantly into field and wood. The slave +disappearances were never related to him. + +Along the Underground Railroad they called him “the Birdman.” Through +him, Jeb, the boy Frederick had left behind in Baltimore, got away +to freedom. And there were others along the Eastern Shore to whom +Frederick had said, “I’ll not be forgetting!” Douglass sent Alexander +Ross back along the way he had come and made good his promises. + + * * * * * + +Cotton and slavery--by 1854 the two words became synonymous. The Cotton +Empire was straining its borders. More land was needed for the “silver +fleece,” and slaves must break the land and plant the seed and pick the +delicate soft pods. There was no other way. + +Then a shrewd bidder for the presidency made an offer to the +South--western territory for their votes--and they sprang at the bribe. +Passage of the Nebraska Bill stacked the ammunition for civil war +dangerously high. + +This scrapping of the Missouri Compromise struck antislavery men all +in a heap. The line against slavery had been so clear--no slaves above +the line. It should have run to the Pacific, stretching west with the +course of empire. But now, by means of the clever wording of the +Nebraska (Territory) Bill--“to leave the people ... free to form and +regulate their domestic institutions in their own way”--a vast tract +embracing upward of four hundred thousand square miles was being thrown +open to slavery. Stephen Douglas drove the Bill through Congress. It +was his moment of triumph. + +The North reacted. Harriet Beecher Stowe led eleven hundred women +marching through the streets in protest. Great mass meetings assembled. +They hanged Stephen Douglas in effigy. State legislatures met in +special sessions and sent manifests to Congress. William Lloyd +Garrison, Frederick Douglass, Wendell Phillips, Henry Highland Garnet, +and Henry Ward Beecher raised their voices like mighty trumpets; they +filled the air with oratory. + + * * * * * + +The five sons of John Brown set out for Kansas. + +They were among the less important people who saw that if “the domestic +institutions” were to be left to those who lived there to decide, it +was going to be necessary for antislavery men to settle on the land. +The brothers’ combined property consisted of eleven head of cattle and +three horses. Ten of this number were fine breeds. Thinking of their +value in a new country, Owen, Frederick and Salmon took them by way of +the Lakes to Chicago and thence to Meridosia where they were wintered. +When spring came, they drove them into Kansas to a place about eight +miles west of the town of Osawatomie, which the brothers had selected +as a likely spot to settle. + +Seven hundred and fifty men set out that summer under the auspices of +the Massachusetts Emigrant Aid Society. Some traveled by wagon over +lonely trails. Others sailed down the Ohio River, their farm implements +lashed to the decks of the boats. + +They found a lovely land--wide open spaces, rolling prairies and wooded +streams under a great blue dome. They set up their tents and went about +breaking soil. They dreamed of cattle herds, waving fields of corn and +wheat, orchards and vineyards. There was so much of the good, rich +earth in Kansas. + +Election Day--when members for the first territorial legislature were +chosen--came on March 30, 1855. Horace Greeley himself went out to +Kansas to cover the election for his paper, the _New York Tribune_. + +Slaveholders poured into the territory from Missouri by the thousands +and took over the polls. + +“On the evening before and the day of the election,” Greeley wrote, +“nearly a thousand Missourians arrived in Lawrence in wagons and on +horseback, well armed with rifles, pistols and bowie-knives.” According +to his account, they made no pretense of legality, one contingent +bringing up two pieces of cannon loaded with musket balls. It was the +same everywhere in the territory: the invaders elected all the members +of the legislature, with a single exception in either house. These +were two Free Soilers from a remote district which the Missourians +overlooked. “Although only 831 legal electors in the territory voted, +there were no less than 6,320 votes polled.” + +The people of Kansas repudiated this election and refused to obey the +laws passed. Ruffians were called in “to aid in enforcing laws.” Then +it was that the sons of John Brown wrote their father asking him to +procure and send them arms and ammunition to defend themselves and +their neighbors. + +John Brown had given up his store in Springfield, Massachusetts, and +moved to a small farm in the hills of North Elba, New York. Just before +the trek West, he had written his son John: “If you or any of my family +are disposed to go to Kansas or Nebraska with a view to help defeat +Satan and his legions in that direction, I have not a word to say; but +I feel committed to operate in another part of the field.”[13] + +He had not heard from Kansas for many months, when he got the request +for arms. + +John Brown held his sons’ letter in his hands. He went outside and +stood looking up at the Adirondacks, his hacked-out frame and wrinkled, +yellow face hard against the sky. Then he strode to the barn and +saddled his horse. + +“I’m going to Rochester,” he told his wife. “I want to talk this over +with Douglass.” + +She stood in the narrow door and watched him riding down the trail. He +did not look back. John Brown never looked back. + + * * * * * + +In Rochester people had already begun pointing out Frederick Douglass’ +house to strangers. Until Douglass came and moved his family into the +unpretentious two-story frame dwelling, Alexander Street had been +one of many shady side-streets in a quiet section of the city. The +dark-skinned new arrivals caused a lot of talk, but no open antagonism. + +Famous folk from Boston and New York and Philadelphia began appearing +on Alexander Street. Somebody said he’d recognized Horace Greeley, +editor of a newspaper in New York; and somebody else was sure he saw +the great preacher, Wendell Phillips. The neighbors grew accustomed +to seeing Mr. Daniel Anthony’s huge carryall drive up of a Sunday +afternoon and stop in front of the house, while all the Douglass family +piled in. Mr. Anthony’s big place with its rows of fruit trees was +several miles out in the country. Evidently that was where they went. +Then they talked about Mr. Anthony’s daughter, Susan B. Anthony. She +was pretty famous herself--what with going around the country and +getting her name in all the papers. Some of the men shook their heads +over this. But the women bit off the threads of their sewing cotton +with a snap and eyed each other significantly. They reminded their men +folks that the Woman’s State Temperance Convention had been a pretty +important affair. + +“Temperance conventions is one thing,” said the men, “but this talk +about women voting is something else!” + +Then one lady spoke up and said she’d heard their neighbor Frederick +Douglass make a speech about women voting. “And it was wonderful!” she +added. + +“Seems like he’d have enough on his hands trying to free slaves!” +grumbled one man, snapping his suspenders. + +Douglass did have a lot on his hands. The _North Star_ was a large +sheet, published weekly, and it cost eighty dollars a week to issue. +Everybody rejoiced when the circulation hit three thousand. There +were many times when Douglass was hard pressed for money, and the +mechanical work of getting out the paper was arduous. The entire family +was drafted. Lewis and Frederick learned typesetting, and both boys +delivered papers. The two little fellows soon became a familiar sight +on Rochester streets, papers under their arms and school books strapped +to their backs. + +But the paper was only part of Douglass’ work. One whole winter he +lectured evenings at Corinthian Hall. Other seasons he would take an +evening train to Victor, Farmington, Canandaigua, Geneva, Waterloo, +Buffalo, Syracuse or elsewhere. He would speak in some hall or church, +returning home the same night. In the morning Martin Delaney would find +him at his desk, writing or mailing papers. + +Sleep in his house was an irregular business. At any hour of the day +or night Underground “passengers” arrived. They came sometimes in +carriages, with Quaker capes thrown about their shoulders; or they came +under loads of wheat or lumber or sacks of flour. Some of them rode in +boldly on the train, and more than once a packing-box arrived, marked +_Open with Care_. + +Every agent of the Underground Railroad risked fine and imprisonment. +They realized they were bailing out the ocean with a teaspoon, yet the +joy of freeing one more slave was recompense enough. One time Douglass +had eleven fugitives under his roof. And there they had to remain until +Douglass could collect enough money to send them on to Canada. His wife +cooked numerous pots of food which quickly vanished. “Passengers” slept +in the attic and barn loft. + +Many people in Rochester became involved. One evening after dark a +well-dressed, middle-aged man knocked at Douglass’ door and introduced +himself as the law partner of the United States commissioner of that +city. He would not sit down. + +“I have come to tell you,” he said, “that an hour ago the owner of +three slaves who have escaped from Maryland was in our office. He says +he has traced them to Rochester. He has papers for their arrest, and he +is coming to your house!” + +Douglass stared at the man in amazement. He had recognized his name as +that of a distinguished Democrat, perhaps the last person in Rochester +from whom he would have expected assistance. He tried to say something, +but the gentleman waved him aside. + +“I bid you good evening, Mr. Douglass. There is not a moment to lose!” +And he disappeared down Alexander Street. + +One of the fugitives was at that moment in the hayloft, the other +two were on the farm of Asa Anthony, just outside the city limits. +That night two black horses rode swiftly through the night. Then Asa +Anthony’s farm wagon rumbled down to the docks, and in the morning +the three young men were on the free waves of Lake Ontario, bound for +Canada. + +Douglass and the _North Star_ formed the pivot about which revolved +much of the work of other Negro Abolitionists, whom Douglass now met +for the first time. Henry Highland Garnet, well-educated grandson of +an African chief, had never been closely associated with William Lloyd +Garrison. From the first he had gravitated toward political action. +There were Dr. James McCune Smith, who had studied medicine at Glasgow; +James W. Pennington, with his degree from Heidelberg; Henry Bibb, +Charles L. Redmond, and Samuel Ringgold Ward, Garnet’s cousin, who +attracted Douglass in a very special manner. Ward was very black and +of magnificent physique. They were all older than Douglass. But they +strengthened his hand; and he, in his turn, was proud of them. + +Then in 1850 the Fugitive Slave Law was passed, and no Negro, +regardless of his education, ability, or means, was safe anywhere in +the United States. Douglass had his manumission papers. His freedom had +been bought. But Henry Highland Garnet and Samuel Ringgold Ward knew it +was best that they leave the country. + +Until Ward died the two men traveled in Europe, where Henry Highland +Garnet came to be called the “Negro Tom Paine.” Douglass felt most +deeply the loss of Ringgold Ward, whom he considered vastly superior to +any of them, both as an orator and a thinker. + +“In depth of thought,” he wrote, “fluency of speech, readiness of wit, +logical exactness, and general intelligence, Samuel Ringgold Ward has +left no successor among colored men amongst us.” + +Meanwhile Douglass squared his shoulders and took on more +responsibility. He saw former slaves who had lived for years safely +and securely in western New York and elsewhere--who had worked hard, +saved money and acquired homes--now forced to flee to Canada. Many died +during the first harsh winter. Bishop Daniel A. Payne of the African +Methodist Episcopal Church consulted Douglass as to the advisability of +both of them fleeing. + +“We are whipped, we are whipped,” moaned Payne, “and we might as well +retreat in order.” + +Douglass shook his head. “We must stand!” + + * * * * * + +It was the spring of 1855, and never had the huge mills and factories +and tanneries of Rochester been busier. Great logs of Allegheny pine +rode down the Genesee River and lay in clean, shining tiers of lumber +in the yards. Up and down the Erie Canal went the flatboats, mules +straining at the heavy loads; and on the docks of Rochester Port the +goods lay piled waiting for lake steamers to go westward. Rochester +boasted that it was the most important station on the newly completed +New York Central Railroad. + +The vigorous young city waxed fat. Sleek, trim “city fathers” began +considering the “cultural aspects” of their town. Rochester’s Gallery +of Fine Arts was established; plans were drawn up for an Academy of +Music. “Causes” became less popular than they had been. There were +those who gave an embarrassed laugh when Susan B. Anthony’s name came +up, and some wondered if so much antislavery agitation was good for +their city. + +Slaveholders, vacationing in Saratoga Springs, dropped in on Rochester. +They admired its wide, clean streets and fine buildings, but they +shuddered at the sight of well-dressed Negroes in the streets. The +Southerners spent money freely and talked about new cotton mills; and +more than one wondered aloud why Frederick Douglass was allowed to +remain in such a fine city. + +But the hardy, true strain of the people ran deep. When Frederick +Douglass was prevented from speaking in nearby Homer by a barrage of +missiles, Oren Carvath resigned as deacon of the Congregational Church, +sold his farm and moved to Oberlin. His son, Erastus, made Negro +education the work of his life and became the first president of Fisk +University. + + * * * * * + +There was scarcely any moon the night Douglass rode his horse homeward +along Ridge Road. He had spoken in Genesee on the Nebraska Bill and +politics for Abolitionists. + +He enjoyed these solitary rides. They cleared his brain. But tonight +he kept thinking about an angry letter he had received that day--a +letter in which the writer had accused Douglass of having deserted his +friend Garrison “in the time of his greatest need.” Douglass loved +William Lloyd Garrison and the complete unselfish sincerity of the New +Englander’s every utterance. + +“If there is a _good_ man walking on this earth today, that man is +Garrison!” Douglass spoke the words aloud and then he sighed. + +For he knew that the _North Star_ was diverging more and more from +Garrison’s _Liberator_. Douglass took a different stand on the +Constitution of the United States. + +Garrison had come to consider the Constitution as a slaveholding +instrument. Now as the clashes were becoming more bitter in Boston and +New York, he was raising the slogan “No Union with Slaveholders.” + +Douglass, with the Abolitionists in western New York, accepted the fact +that the Constitution of the United States was inaugurated to “form a +more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, +provide for common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the +blessings of liberty.” They therefore repudiated the idea that it could +at the same time support human slavery. Douglass held the Constitution +as the surest warrant for the abolition of slavery in every state in +the Union. He urged the people to implement the Constitution through +political action. + +And so the former teacher and pupil were being pushed farther and +farther apart. Douglass knew that Garrison’s health was poor. He +thought, _I must go to Boston, I must see him_. And then his mind +reverted to the low state of his funds. He rode along sunk in dejection. + +He did not heed the horses’ hoofs beating the road until they came +close behind him. He looked back--three riders were just topping the +hill. They slowed up there and seemed to draw together. And suddenly +Douglass felt that familiar stiffening of his spine. At the moment +he was in the shadow of a grove; but just ahead the road lifted and +he would be completely exposed. He walked his horse. Perhaps he was +mistaken. They were coming forward at a slower pace and would most +certainly see him any moment now. As he left the shadow of the trees he +touched his horse and shot forward. He heard a shout and bent over as a +bullet whizzed by! + +It was to be a chase, but they were armed and he could not outrun their +bullets. The road was a winding ribbon now, and he was gaining. He saw +a clump of trees ahead. Yes, there was a little lane. As he turned off +sharply, he felt a sear of pain across his head. He leaned forward and +let his horse find its own way through the trees. Once a low hanging +branch nearly swept him off, and several times the animal stumbled. +Then they came out into a field, and ahead on a slight knoll was a big +house. He could hear them behind him, and that open field meant more +exposure; but the house was his only hope. He thought of the unfinished +editorial lying on his desk. + +“I’ve got to finish it!” he thought desperately, and gritted his teeth +to keep from fainting. + +Horse and rider were panting when they pulled up at the steps of the +wide porch. No lights showed anywhere. Naturally, Douglass thought, +everybody was sound asleep. His head felt very queer. He wanted to +giggle--_What on earth am I doing pounding at this heavy door in the +middle of the night?_ + +Gideon Pitts heard the pounding. He got up and started down in his bare +feet. + +“You’ll catch your death of cold, Gideon!” his wife called after him. +But she herself was fumbling for her wrapper. She lit the lamp and +holding it in her hand followed her husband to the head of the stairs. +Down below in the dark he was fumbling with the heavy bolt. It shot +back at last and the great door swung in. A big man filled the doorway. +He was gasping for breath. He took one step inside and said, “I’m--I’m +Frederick Douglass.” Then he collapsed on the floor at Gideon Pitts’s +bare feet. + +Gideon stood staring out. Through the open door he was sure he saw a +couple of horsemen down at the edge of the field. He slammed the door. + +Mrs. Pitts was hurrying down, the lamp casting grotesque shadows on the +wall. + +“What is it, Gideon? What is it? Did he say--?” + +“Hush! It’s Frederick Douglass. He’s been hurt. Somebody’s after him!” +Her husband’s words were hurried and low. He was bending over the man +on the floor. + +“I’ll call--” Mrs. Pitts began. Her husband caught her robe. + +“Don’t call anyone. Pray God the servants heard nothing. He’s coming +to!” + +Mrs. Pitts was suddenly the efficient housewife. + +“Some warm water,” she said, setting the lamp down, “and then we’ll get +him upstairs.” She disappeared in the shadows of the hall. + +There was a patter of feet on the stairway. + +“What’s the matter, papa?” a child’s voice asked. “Oh!” + +“Go back to bed, Helen! Mr. Douglass, are you all right?” Gideon Pitts +bent over his unexpected visitor anxiously. Douglass sat up and put his +hand to his head. It came away sticky. He looked around him and knew he +was safe. + +“I’m fine, thank you!” he smiled. + +“Lie quiet, Mr. Douglass. Your head is hurt. My wife’s gone for warm +water.” + +“You are very kind, sir.” Douglass’ head was clearing now. “I’ve been +shot.” + +He heard a gasp and both men looked up. The little girl in her trailing +white nightgown was leaning over the banister just above them, her blue +eyes wide with excitement. + +“Helen,” her father spoke sharply. “I told you to go back to bed!” + +“Oh, father, can’t I help? The poor man is hurt!” + +“Don’t worry, honey,” Douglass smiled up at her. + +Now Mrs. Pitts was back with bowl and towels. She wiped away the blood, +and Gideon Pitts declared that Douglass’ head had only been grazed. +Douglass told what had happened, while they bandaged and fussed over +him. Then Mrs. Pitts hurried away to get the guest-room ready. + +“We’ll be honored if you’d stay the night!” Pitts said. There was +nothing else to do. “I’ll drive you in town first thing in the +morning,” his host assured him, helping him upstairs and into a great +four-poster bed. + +Everybody got up to see him off. Mrs. Pitts insisted that he have a +“bite of breakfast.” The hired man had rubbed down and fed his horse. + +Holding the bridle reins in his hand Douglass climbed into the buggy +with Mr. Pitts. + +“Better that I go in with you,” said his host. “Those ruffians might be +lingering somewhere along the road.” + +It was a fresh, sweet morning in May. The Pitts’ orchard was in bloom. +Everywhere was peace and growing things. Douglass smiled at the little +girl standing on the wide porch, and Helen Pitts waved her hand. + +“Goodbye, Mr. Douglass. Do come back again!” + +She felt important, waving at the great Frederick Douglass. + + * * * * * + +So it happened that the next day John Brown found Douglass with a +bandage fastened about his head. + +“It’s Captain John Brown!” called Charles, ushering the visitor in. +Anna Douglass came in from the kitchen and greeted him warmly. + +“We’re just sitting down to breakfast, Captain Brown. You are just in +time.” + +Little Annie set another plate, smiling shyly at the old man. His hand +smoothed her soft hair. + +“We’ll take a ride,” he promised and Annie’s eyes shone. + +“They’ve attacked you!” John Brown exclaimed when Douglass came in with +the bandage on his head. + +“It was nothing, a mere scratch.” Douglass shrugged away the incident. +“And how are you, my good friend? Something important brings you here.” + +“Let him eat his breakfast first,” begged the wife. + +Afterward Douglass read the letter from Kansas. + +“Perhaps God directs me to Kansas,” said Brown earnestly. “Perhaps my +path to Virginia lies through Kansas. What do you think?” Douglass +shook his head. + +“I do not know.” He was silent a moment, then his eyes lighted. “I’m +leaving tomorrow for our convention in Syracuse. Come with me. Lay this +letter from Kansas before all the Abolitionists. You’ll need money. +Kansas is our concern.” + +A few days later John Brown wrote his wife: + + DEAR WIFE AND CHILDREN: + + I reached here on the first day of the + convention, and I have reason to bless God that I came; for I have met + with a most warm reception from all, so far as I know, and--except by + a few sincere, honest, peace Friends--a most hearty approval of my + intention of arming my sons and other friends in Kansas. I received + today donations amounting to a little over sixty dollars--twenty + from Gerrit Smith, five from an old British officer; others giving + smaller sums with such earnest and affectionate expression of their + good wishes as did me more good than money even. John’s two letters + were introduced, and read with such effect by Gerrit Smith as to draw + tears from numerous eyes in the great collection of people present. + The convention has been one of the most interesting meetings I ever + attended in my life; and I made a great addition to the number of + warm-hearted and honest friends. + +The die was cast: John Brown left for Kansas. Instead of sending the +money and arms, says his son John, “he came on with them himself, +accompanied by his brother-in-law, Henry Thompson, and my brother +Oliver. In Iowa he bought a horse and covered wagon; concealing the +arms in this and conspicuously displaying his surveying implements, he +crossed into Missouri near Waverly, and at that place disinterred the +body of his grandson, and brought all safely through to our settlement, +arriving there about the 6th of October, 1855.[14]” + + + + + CHAPTER TWELVE + + _An Avenging Angel brings the fury of the storm_ + + +“Did you go out under the auspices of the Emigrant Aid Society?” they +asked John Brown at the trial four years after. + +“No, sir,” he answered grimly, “I went out under the auspices of John +Brown, directed by God.” + + * * * * * + +The settlement was a romantic place. Red men gliding by in their swift +canoes had seen stately birds in the reedy lowlands of eastern Kansas +and called the marsh the “swamp of the swan.” Here, on the good lands +that rose up from the dark sluggish rivers, John Brown and his youngest +son, Oliver, drove into the Brown colony. + +“We found our folks in a most uncomfortable situation, with no houses +to shelter one of them, no hay or corn fodder of any account secured, +shivering over their little fires, all exposed to the dreadful cutting +winds, morning, evening and stormy days.” + +On November 23, 1855, Brown wrote to his wife: + +“We have got both families so sheltered that they need not suffer +hereafter; have got part of the hay secured, made some progress in +preparation to build a house for John and Owen; and Salmon has caught a +prairie wolf in a steel trap. We continue to have a good deal of stormy +weather--rains with severe winds, and forming into ice as they fall, +together with cold nights that freeze the ground considerably. Still +God has not forsaken us.”[15] He did not tell her he had been down with +fever. + +Thus it was that John Brown came to Kansas and stood ready to fight for +freedom. But no sooner had he arrived than it was plain to him that +the cause for which he was fighting was far different from that for +which most of the settlers were willing to risk life and property. John +Brown publicly protested the resolution already drawn up, excluding all +Negroes--slave or free! His words were coldly received. + +From Frederick Douglass came more money and a letter. + +“We are directing the eyes of the country toward Kansas,” Douglass +wrote. “Charles Sumner in the Senate is speaking as no man ever spoke +there before; Henry Ward Beecher has turned his pulpit into an auction +block from which he sells slaves to freedom; Gerrit Smith and George L. +Sterns have pledged their money; Lewis Tappan and Garrison have laid +aside all former differences. Garrison is no longer bitter about my +politics. He can see that we are accomplishing something. Free Soilers, +Whigs, Liberals and antislavery Democrats are uniting. The state-wide +party which we initiated some time ago has grown into a national +movement.... We have adopted the name Republican, which was, you may +recall, the original name of Thomas Jefferson’s party. Our candidate +is John C. Frémont. His enemies say he is a dreamer who knows nothing +of politics. If the people gather round in full strength we will show +them.” + +John Brown folded the letter. There was an unusual flush on his seared +face. + +“What is it, father?” Owen asked. + +“From Douglass,” Brown replied. “God moves in mysterious ways!” That +was all he said, but the sound of prairie winds was in his voice. + +It was in December when rumor that the governor and his pro-slavery +followers planned to surround Lawrence came to the Browns. On getting +this news, they at once agreed to break camp and go to Lawrence. The +band, approaching the town at sunset, loomed strangely on the horizon: +an old horse, a homely wagon, and seven stalwart men armed with pikes, +swords, pistols and guns. John Brown was immediately put in command of +a company. Negotiations had commenced between Governor Shannon and the +principal leaders of the free-state men. They had a force of some five +hundred men to defend Lawrence. Night and day they were busy fortifying +the town with embankments and circular earthworks. On Sunday Governor +Shannon entered the town, and after some parley a treaty was announced. +The terms of the treaty were kept secret, but Brown wrote jubilantly to +New York that the Kansas invasion was over. The Missourians had been +sent home without fighting any battles, burning any infant towns, or +smashing a single Abolitionist press. “Free-state men,” he said, “have +only hereafter to retain the footing they have gained, and Kansas is +free.” + +Developments in Kansas did not please the powerful slavocracy. Furious +representatives hurried to Washington. And President Pierce, who +had once sent a battleship to Boston to bring back one trembling, +manacled slave, denounced the free-state men of Kansas as lawless +revolutionists, deprived them of all support from the Federal +government, and threatened them with the penalty for “treasonable +insurrection.” Regular troops were put into the hands of the Kansas +slave power, and armed bands from the South appeared, one from Georgia +encamping on the “swamp of the swan” near the Brown settlement. + +Surveying instruments in hand and followed by his “helpers”--chain +carriers, axman and marker--John Brown sauntered into their camp one +May morning. He was taken for a government surveyor and consequently +“sound.” The Georgians talked freely. + +“We’ve come to stay,” they said. “We won’t make no war on them as minds +their own business. But all the Abolitionists, such as them damned +Browns over there, we’re going to whip, drive out, or kill--any way to +get shut of them, by God!”[16] + +They mentioned their intended victims by name, and John Brown calmly +wrote down every word they said in his surveyor’s book. + +On May 21 the pro-slavery forces swooped down on Lawrence, burned +and sacked it. Its citizens stood by trembling and raised no hand in +defense. + +The gutted, burning town sent a wave of anger across the country. It +struck the Senate with full force. Only an aisle separated men whose +eyes blazed with hate. Charles Sumner lifted his huge frame and in a +voice that resounded like thunder denounced “a crime without example in +the history of the past.” He did not hesitate to name names--calling +Stephen Douglas, Senator from Illinois, and Matthew Butler from South +Carolina murderers of the men of Lawrence. The next day, while Sumner +sat writing at his seat, young Preston Brooks, representative from +South Carolina, came up behind the Massachusetts legislator and beat +him over the head with a heavy walking stick. Charles Sumner, lying +bleeding and unconscious in the aisle, reduced the whole vast struggle +to simple terms. + +Out West, John Brown hurried to Lawrence. He sat down by the smoldering +ashes in tight-lipped anger. He was indignant that there had been no +resistance. + +“What were they doing?” he raged. + +Someone mentioned the word “caution.” + +“Caution, caution, sir!” he sneered. “I am eternally tired of hearing +the word caution. It is nothing but the word of cowardice.” + +Yet there seemed to be nothing to do now; and he was about to leave, +when a boy came riding up. The gang at Dutch Henry’s, he said, had told +the women in Brown settlement that all free-state folks must get out +by Saturday or Sunday, else they would be driven out. Two houses and a +store in the nearby German settlement had been burned. + +Then John Brown arose. + +“I will attend to those fellows.” He spoke quietly. Here was something +to do. He called four of his sons--Watson, Frederick, Owen and +Oliver--and a neighbor with a wagon and horses offered to carry the +band. They began carefully sharpening cutlasses. An uneasy feeling +crept over the onlookers. They all knew that John Brown was going to +strike a blow for freedom in Kansas, but they did not understand just +what that blow would be. As the wagon moved off, a cheer arose from the +company left behind. + +He loosed a civil war. Everything that came after was only powder for +the hungry cannon. Freedom is a hard-bought thing! John Brown knew. He +already knew on that terrible night when he rode down with his sons +into “the shadows of the Swamp of the Swan--that long, low-winding +and somber stream fringed everywhere with woods and dark with bloody +memory. Forty-eight hours they lingered there, and then of a pale May +morning rode up to the world again. Behind them lay five twisted, red +and mangled corpses. Behind them rose the stifled wailing of widows and +little children. Behind them the fearful driver gazed and shuddered. +But before them rode a man, tall, dark, grim-faced and awful. His hands +were red and his name was John Brown. Such was the cost of freedom.”[17] + +John Brown became a hunted outlaw. + +They burned his house, destroyed everything he and his sons had +garnered. But he had only begun his war upon the slavers. Out of the +night he came, time after time, and always he left death behind. + +“He’s mad! Mad!” they said, but pro-slavery men began to leave Kansas. + +“Da freedom’s comin’!” Black men lifted their hands in silent ecstasy. +They slipped across the borders and looked for John Brown. Tabor, a +tiny prairie Iowa town of thirty homesteads, became the most important +Underground Railroad station on the western frontier. For here John +Brown set up camp, and began to organize for his “march.” Strength had +come up in the old man, charging his whole being with power. + +“We should not have given him money!” the folks back East were saying. + +Douglass, moving back and forth from Rochester to Boston--to New York, +Syracuse and Cleveland--grew thin and haggard. He had stood like a +bulwark of strength, even when the Supreme Court had handed down its +Dred Scott decision. People found clarion words in the _North Star_. + +“The Supreme Court of the United States is not the only power in this +world,” Douglass wrote. “We, the Abolitionists and colored people, +should meet this decision, unlooked for and monstrous as it appears, +in a cheerful spirit. This very attempt to blot out forever the hopes +of an enslaved people may be one necessary link in the chain of events +preparatory to the complete overthrow of the whole slave system.” + +Months passed, and all he heard from Kansas were the awful reports of +John Brown’s riding abroad. He could not argue the right or wrong of +this thing. Condemnation of John Brown left him cold. But was John +Brown destroying all they had built up? This was war! Was John Brown’s +way the only way? They had lost the election. The new party’s fine +words fell back upon them like chilling drops of rain. Then out in +Kansas the Governor declared the state free! There was peace in Kansas. + + * * * * * + +One night in January, 1858, Douglass was working late in the shop. +The house was still, locked in the hard fastness of a winter night. +Outside, great slow white flakes were falling, erasing the contours of +the street beneath a blanket that rounded every eave, leveled fences +and walks, and muffled every sound. But he heard the light tapping on +the window pane and instantly put out the light. There must be no light +to throw shadows when he opened the door upon one of his fugitives. But +even without a light he recognized the muffled figure. + +“John Brown!” Douglass’ low voice sang a welcome. + +He drew him in and brushed the snowflakes off. He lit the lamp with +hands that trembled. Then he turned and looked at this man who had +proved that he hated slavery more than he loved his life, his good +name, or his sons. Even the little flesh he used to have was burned +away. Yet one could see that all his bones were granite, and bright +within the chalice of his mortal frame his spirit shone, unquenchable. + +“You’re safe, John Brown!” It was a ridiculous thing to say, and John +Brown rewarded him with one of his rare smiles--the smile few people +knew he had, with which he always won a child. + +“Yes, Douglass, now I am free to carry out my mission.” + +Douglass’ heart missed a beat. John Brown had not sought him out as a +fugitive, he had not come to his house to hide away--not John Brown! + +“Frederick is dead.” + +The words came with blunt finality, but a spasm of pain distorted the +old man’s face. + +“Oh, John! John!” + +Douglass gently pushed him into the armchair, knelt at his feet, pulled +off the heavy boots, then hurried away to bring him food. He ate as one +does whose body is starving, gulping down unchewed mouthfuls with the +warm milk. + +“I come direct from the National Kansas Committee in Chicago. They +will perhaps equip a company. I have letters from Governor Chase and +Governor Robinson. They endorse my plan.” + +Douglass expressed his pleased surprise. Brown wiped his shaggy beard. +Something like a grin flickered on his face. + +“Kansas is free and the good people are glad to be rid of me,” he said +dryly. + +Douglass understood: they dared not jail the man. + +Brown’s plan was now complete. He spread out maps and papers and, as he +talked, traced the lines of his march with a blunt pencil. + +“God has established the Allegheny Mountains from the foundation of +the world that they might one day be a refuge for the slaves. We march +into these mountains, set up our stations about five miles apart, send +out our call; and, as the slaves flock to us, we sustain them in this +natural fortress.” + +Douglass followed the line of his pencil. + +“Each group will be well armed,” the old man continued, “but will avoid +violence except in self-defense. In that case, they will make it as +costly as possible to the assailing parties--whether they be citizens +or soldiers. We will break the backbone of slavery by rendering slave +property insecure. Men will not invest their money in a species of +property likely to take legs and walk off with itself!” His eyes were +shining. + +“I do not grudge the money or energy I have spent in Kansas,” he went +on, “but now my funds are gone. We must have arms, ammunition, food and +clothing. Later we will subsist upon the country roundabout. I now have +the nucleus of my band.” Shadows crossed his face. “Already they have +gone to hell and back with me.” + +He talked on--three military schools to be set up, one in Iowa, one in +northern Ohio and one in Canada. It would be a permanent community in +Canada. “Finally the escaped slaves will pass on to Canada, each doing +his share to strengthen the route,” he explained. + +“But won’t it take years to free the slaves this way?” his friend asked. + +“Indeed not! Each month our line of fortresses will extend farther +south.” His pencil moved across Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, to +Mississippi. “To the delta itself! The slaves will free themselves.” + +Pale dawn showed in the sky before they went upstairs. + +“You must sleep now, John Brown.” + +But before lying down, the old man looked hard into the broad, dark +face. Douglass nodded his head. + +“I’m with you, John Brown. Rest a little. Then we’ll talk,” Douglass +said and tiptoed from the room. + + * * * * * + +When John Brown left the house in Alexander Street several days later, +he was expected in many quarters. He went first to Boston, George L. +Sterns, the Massachusetts antislavery leader, paying his expenses. +Sterns, who had never met “Osawatomie Brown,” had written to Rochester +offering to introduce him to friends of freedom in Boston. They met on +the street outside the committee rooms in Nilis’ Block, with a Kansas +man doing the honors; and Brown went along to Sterns’ home. + +Coming into the parlor to greet the man who had become a household +word during the summer of 1856, Mrs. Sterns heard her guest saying, +“Gentlemen, I consider the Golden Rule and the Declaration of +Independence one and inseparable.” + +“I felt,” she said later, writing about the profound impression of +moral magnetism Brown made on everybody who saw him in those days, +“that some old Cromwellian hero had dropped down among us.” + +Emerson, she remembered, called him “the most ideal of men, for he +wanted to put all his ideas into action.” Yet Mrs. Sterns was struck +by his modest estimate of the work he had in hand. After several +efforts to bring together their friends to meet Captain Brown in his +home, Sterns found that Sunday was the only day that would serve +everybody’s convenience. Being a little uncertain how this might +strike their guest’s ideas of religious propriety, Sterns prefaced his +invitation with something like an apology. + +“Mr. Sterns,” came the prompt reply, “I have a little ewe-lamb that I +want to pull out of the ditch, and the Sabbath will be as good a day as +any to do it.” + +Over in Concord he went to see Henry David Thoreau. They sat at a +table covered with lichens, ferns, birds’ nests and arrowheads. They +dipped their fingers into a large trencher of nuts, cracked the shells +between their teeth, and talked as kindred souls. Thoreau, lean +and narrow-chested, thrust his big ugly nose forward and, with his +searching gray eyes, probed the twisted steel of John Brown. The hermit +believed then what he said afterward, when he served his term in jail: + +“When one-sixth of a people who are come to the land of liberty are +enslaved, it is time for free men to rebel.” + +The secretary of the Massachusetts State Kansas Committee received +Captain Brown with cautious respect. Half an hour later he was saying, +“By God, I’ll _make_ them give him money!” But the Committee warned, +“We must know how he will use the money.” + +Kind-hearted, genial Gerrit Smith was glad to have his old friend with +him for a few days. + +“Be sure of your men,” he advised. + +“My men need not be questioned, sir.” John Brown spoke a little stiffly. + +Gerrit Smith stifled a sigh. _His faith in God and man is sublime!_ he +thought a little sadly. + +Swarthy, bearded Thomas W. Higginson, young Unitarian minister, set out +immediately to raise funds on his own. He was hissed at Harvard, his +Alma Mater, but he was not swayed from his course. + +At a meeting at the Astor House in New York the National Kansas +Committee voted “in aid of Captain Brown ... 12 boxes of clothing, +sufficient for 60 persons, 25 Colt revolvers, five thousand dollars to +be used in any defense measures that may become necessary.” But only +five hundred dollars was paid out. + +John Brown was disappointed. He had hoped to obtain the means of arming +and thoroughly equipping a regular outfit of minutemen. He had left +his men suffering hunger, cold, nakedness, and some of them sickness +and wounds. He had engaged the services of one Hugh Forbes, who claimed +to have been a lieutenant of Garibaldi. Forbes was to take over the +military tactics. He had demanded six hundred dollars for his expenses. +John Brown had given it to him. + +“I am going back,” Brown said to Douglass, when he stopped overnight +in Rochester. “You must keep up the work here--solicit funds, keep the +issue before them. I have no baggage wagons, tents, camp equipage, +tools ... or a sufficient supply of ammunition. I have left my family +poorly supplied with common necessaries.” + +“I do not like what you tell me about this Hugh Forbes,” said Douglass. + +Brown was a little impatient. + +“He is a trained man in military affairs. I know nothing about +maneuvers. We need him!” + + * * * * * + +It was John Brown’s intention to leave the actual training of his men +to Forbes, so that he might be free for larger matters. Nor did he want +to spend time raising funds. He wanted to organize Negroes for the job +ahead. + +Perhaps better than any other white man of his time John Brown knew +what Negroes in every part of North America were doing. He knew their +newspapers, their churches and their schools. To most Americans of the +time all black men were slaves or fugitives. But from the beginning +John Brown sought to know Negroes personally and individually. He went +into their homes, sought them out in business, talked to them, listened +to the stories of their trials, harkened to their dreams, advised, and +took advice from them. He set out to enlist the boldest and most daring +spirits for his plan. + +In March, Brown and his eldest son met with Henry Highland Garnet +and William Still, Negro Secretary of the Philadelphia Anti-Slavery +Society, in the home of Stephen Smith, a Philadelphia Negro lumber +merchant. Brown remained in Philadelphia a week or ten days, holding +long conferences in Negro churches. + +Meanwhile, his black lieutenant, Kagi, ragged, stooped, +insignificant-looking, shrewd and cunning, was traveling over the +Allegheny Mountains, surveying the land, marking sites and making +useful contacts. Kagi had some schooling and, when he desired, could +speak clearly and to the point. He knew in detail the vast extent of +Brown’s plan. He lived and breathed it. He had been wounded with John +Brown in Kansas, and unswerving he walked to his death with him. For +Kagi believed that John Brown was making a mistake to attack Harper’s +Ferry when he did, but the little black man held the bridge until his +riddled body plunged into the icy waters below. + +In the spring of 1858 Brown went to Canada to set up personal contacts +with the nearly fifty thousand Negroes there. Chatham, chief town of +Kent County, had a large Negro population with several churches, a +newspaper and a private school. Here on May 10 the Captain addressed +a convention called together on the pretext of organizing a Masonic +lodge. And at this convention they drew up and adopted the constitution +of forty-eight articles that stunned the authorities when they found it +in the hide-away farmhouse near Harper’s Ferry. + +Up to this time Frederick Douglass was fully cognizant of all John +Brown’s plans. The Douglass home in Rochester was his headquarters. (He +had insisted that he pay board, and Douglass charged him three dollars +a week.) + +“While here, he spent most of his time in correspondence,” Douglass +wrote later. “When he was not writing letters, he was writing and +revising a constitution which he meant to put in operation by means of +the men who should go with him into the mountains. He said that, to +avoid anarchy and confusion, there should be a regularly-constituted +government, which each man who came with him should be sworn to honor +and support. I have a copy of this constitution in Captain Brown’s own +handwriting, as prepared by himself at my house. + +“He called his friends from Chatham to come together, that he might lay +his constitution before them for their approval and adoption. His whole +time and thought were given to this subject. It was the first thing in +the morning and the last thing at night. Once in a while he would say +he could, with a few resolute men, capture Harper’s Ferry, and supply +himself with arms belonging to the government at that place; but he +never announced his intention to do so. It was, however ... in his mind +as a thing he might do. I paid little attention to such remarks, though +I never doubted that he thought just what he said. Soon after his +coming to me, he asked me to get for him two smoothly planed boards, +upon which he could illustrate, with a pair of dividers, by a drawing, +the plan of fortification which he meant to adopt in the mountains. + +“These forts were to be so arranged as to connect one with the other, +by secret passages, so that if one was carried another could easily +be fallen back upon, and be the means of dealing death to the enemy +at the very moment when he might think himself victorious. I was less +interested in these drawings than my children were, but they showed +that the old man had an eye to the means as to the end, and was giving +his best thought to the work he was about to take in hand.”[18] + + * * * * * + +The month of May, 1859, John Brown spent in Boston collecting +funds, and in New York consulting his Negro friends, with a trip +to Connecticut to hurry the making of his thousand pikes. Sickness +intervened, but at last on June 20, the advance guard of five--Brown +and two of his sons, Jerry Anderson and Kagi--started southward. + +Many times during these months Frederick Douglass wondered whether or +not John Brown did not have the only possible plan for freeing the +black man. The antislavery fight had worn very thin. The North knew +of the moral and physical horror of slavery. The South knew also, +but cotton prices continued to rise. Logic would not separate cotton +growers from their slaves. Many of the old, staunch Abolitionists were +gone. Theodore Parker had burned himself out in the cause. Down with +tuberculosis, he was on a ship bound for southern Italy where, in spite +of the warm sunshine, he was to die. + +Daily the South grew more defiant. When the doctrine of popular +sovereignty failed to make Kansas a slave state, Southern statesmen +abandoned it for firmer ground. They had lost faith in the rights, +powers and wisdom of the people and took refuge in the Constitution. +Henceforth the favorite doctrine of the South was that the people of a +territory had no voice in the matter of slavery. The Constitution of +the United States, they claimed, of its own force and effect, carried +slavery safely into any territory of the United States and protected +the system there until it should cease to be a territory and became +a state. In practical operation, this doctrine would make all future +new states slaveholding states; for slavery, once planted and nursed +for years, could easily strengthen itself against the evil day of +eradication. + +In a rage, Garrison publicly burned a copy of the Constitution +denouncing it as a “covenant with Satan.” Douglass went away heartsick. + +In the heart of the Alleghenies, halfway between Maine and Florida, +opens a mighty gateway. From the south comes the Shenandoah, a restless +silver thread gleaming in the sun; from the west the Potomac moves +placidly between wide banks. But at their junction they are cramped. +The two rivers rush together against the mountains, rend it asunder and +tear a passage to the sea. And here is Harper’s Ferry. + +Why did John Brown choose this particular point for his attack upon +American slavery? Was it the act of a madman? A visionary fool? What +was his crime? + +John Brown did not tell them at the trial. His lieutenant, Kagi, was +dead. Green, Coppoc, Stevens, Copeland, Cook and Hazlett followed their +captain to the gallows without a word. Perhaps only one man went on +living who knew the full answers. His name was Frederick Douglass. + +Douglass has been attacked because he did not go with John Brown to +Harper’s Ferry, because he did not testify in Brown’s defense, because +he put himself outside the reach of pursuers who would drag him to the +trial. He could not have saved John Brown and his brave followers. +Every word of the truth would have drawn the noose tighter about their +necks. It would have hanged Douglass! + + * * * * * + +It was on a pleasant day in September when the letter came from John +Brown. It was very short. + +“I am forced to move sooner than I had planned. Before going forward I +want to see you.” + +Brown, under the guise of a farmer interested only in developing a +recently purchased piece of land, was living under an assumed name with +his two “daughters”--actually a daughter and young Oliver’s wife. His +men were keeping under cover. They made every effort to keep the farm +normal-looking. Brown asked Douglass to come to Chambersburg. There he +would find a Negro barber named Watson, who would conduct him to the +place of meeting. A last line was added: “Bring along the Emperor. Tell +him the time has come.” + +Douglass knew that he referred to Shields Green, a fugitive slave, whom +the old man had met in his house. Green, a powerful black, had escaped +from South Carolina. He was nicknamed “the Emperor” because of his size +and majestic carriage. Brown had seized upon him immediately, confiding +to him his plan, and Green had promised to go with him when Brown was +ready to move. + +They set out together, stopping over in New York City with a Reverend +James Glocester. Upon hearing where they were going, Mrs. Glocester +pressed ten dollars into Douglass’ hand. + +“Give it to Captain Brown, with my best wishes,” she said. + +They sped southward past the waving, green fields and big, white +farms of prosperous Dutch farmers. Douglass sat by the window with +his massive head sunk forward, not looking out. Then the train curved +into the Blue Ridge Mountains where the pine-covered hills begin, and +stopped at Chambersburg, Pennsylvania. The first man at the depot whom +they asked directed them to Watson, the barber. + +He stood looking after the two Negroes as they strode down the platform. + +“Damned if they don’t walk like they own the earth!” he grunted. + +Watson called to his boy when they stepped into his shop. He took them +to his house, where his wife greeted the great Frederick Douglass and +his friend with much fluttering. + +“Make yourselves at home,” said the barber. “As soon as it is dark I +will drive you out to the old stone quarry. That’s the place, but we +must wait until dark.” + +They left the wagon and its driver on the road and climbed up to the +quarry. All about them the rocks loomed like great stone faces in the +moonlight. And when John Brown stepped out of the shadows, it was as +if a rock had moved toward them. His old clothes, covered with dust; +his white hair and hard-cut face, like granite in the moonlight; his +strained, worn face with the two burning coals that were his eyes. +Douglass’ heart missed a beat. Something was very wrong. + +“What is it, John Brown? What has happened?” + +The old man looked at him without speaking. He studied the brown face +almost as if he had not seen it before. Then he spoke briefly. + +“Come!” + +He led them between the rocks and stooped to enter a cave. Inside +was Kagi and in a niche in the wall was a lighted torch. There were +boulders about, and at a sign from the old man they sat down--John +Brown, Kagi, Shields Green and Frederick Douglass. They waited for +Brown to speak. He did so, leaning forward and putting a thin, gnarled +hand on Douglass’ knee. + +“Douglass, we can wait no longer. Our move now must be a decisive one.” + +Douglass was bitterly chiding himself. He should have come sooner. +These last months had drained the old man’s strength. He needed help +here. The dark man spoke gently. + +“But you said the time to begin calling in the slaves would come after +the crops are gathered, as the Christmas approaches. Then many can get +away without being missed right away. Is your ammunition distributed? +Are your stations ready to receive and defend the fugitives?” + +John Brown shook his head. + +“No. We are not ready with all that.” He drew a long breath, and it was +obvious it caused him pain. “You were right about Hugh Forbes,” he said +then. “He has deserted us and,” Brown hesitated, hating to say it, “I +fear he has talked.” + +Douglass’ face expressed his shock. Why had he not strangled the +tinseled fool with his own hands? + +“We are being watched: my men are certain of it. At any moment we may +be arrested. Don’t forget, I’m still an outlaw in Kansas.” He added the +last dryly, almost indifferently. Then suddenly the flame flared. John +Brown was on his feet, his head lifted. He shook back his white hair. + +“But God is with us! He has delivered the gates into our hands! We hold +the key to the Allegheny Mountains. They stand here, our sure and safe +defense!” + +Douglass stared at him. Was it the torchlight that so transfigured his +old friend? He stood like an avenging angel, illumined by the force +that rose up in him. It charged his whole being with power--his eyes, +his frame, the leashed, metallic voice. + +“I am ready!” + +Douglass looked at Kagi. Kagi’s eyes fixed on the lifted face. He +turned and looked at Green, and on that black giant’s countenance he +saw the same imprint. He wet his trembling lips. An icy hand had closed +about his heart. He was afraid. + +“The map, Kagi!” John Brown spoke sharply. + +Kagi was ready. Brown knelt on the ground, and Kagi spread a wide sheet +in front of him. He brought the torch near and knelt holding it, while +Brown traced the lines with his finger. + +“Here is the long line of our mountain fortress,” he said tersely. +“Right here east of the Shenandoah, the mountains rise to a height +of two thousand feet or more. This natural defense is right at the +entrance to the mountain passage. See! An hour’s climb from this point +and a hundred men could be inside an inaccessible fastness. Here +attacks could be repelled with little difficulty. Here are Loudon +Heights--then beyond the passage plunges straight into the heart of the +thickest slave districts. The slaves can get to us without difficulty, +after we have made our way through here.” + +His finger had stopped. Douglass leaned forward. He was holding his +breath. He could feel Brown’s eyes upon him. + +“But that--that is Harper’s Ferry!” Douglass said, and his voice +faltered. + +He could feel the surge of strength in the other man. + +“Yes,” he said, “Harper’s Ferry is the safest natural entrance to our +mountain passage. We shall go through Harper’s Ferry, and there we’ll +take whatever arms we need.” + +So little children speak, and fools, and gods! + +For a moment there was silence in the cave. Then Douglass got up, +striking his head against the low wall. He did not heed the blow, but +took John Brown by the arm. + +“Come outside, Captain Brown,” he said. “Let’s talk outside. I--I can’t +breathe in here!” + +And so they faced each other in the open. Night in the mountains, stars +over their heads, and stark, jagged rocks white in the shadows. + +“You can’t do it, John Brown!” Douglass’ voice was strained. “You would +be attacking an arsenal of the United States--This is war against the +federal government. The whole country would be arrayed against us!” + +“You do not understand, Douglass. We’re not going to kill anybody. +There are only a handful of soldiers guarding that ferry. We’ll merely +make them prisoners, hold them until we take the arms and get up +into the mountains. Of course, there’ll be a great outcry. But all +the better. The slaves will hear of it. They’ll know we’re in the +mountains, and they’ll flock to us.” + +“Do you really believe this, John Brown? Do you really believe you can +take a fort so easily?” + +A hard note had come again into the old man’s voice. + +“Am I concerned with ease, Frederick Douglass? What is this you are +saying? Our mission is to free the slaves! This is the plan!” + +“There was no such plan,” Douglass interposed hotly. “You said that +fighting would only be in self-defense. This is an attack!” + +John Brown’s passion matched his. + +“And when I rode down into the marshes of Kansas it was an attack! You +did not condemn then! Here we merely force our way through a passage!” + +“This is treason! This is insurrection! This is war! I am not with you!” + +The old man’s voice cut like a whip. + +“So! You have escaped so far from slavery that you do not care! You +have carried the scars upon your back into high places, so you have +forgotten. You prate of treason! You are afraid to face a gun!” + +Douglass cried out in anguish. “John! John! For God’s sake, stop!” + +He stumbled away, sank down on a rock and buried his face in his hands. +Some time later he felt a hand upon his shoulder, and Brown’s voice, +softened and subdued, came to him. + +“Forgive an old man, son.” + +Douglass took the hand in his and pressed it against his face. The old +man’s hand was rough and knotty, but it was very firm. + +“This is no time for soft words or for oratory,” he said. “We have +a job to do. Years ago I swore it--that I would do my part. God has +called me to lift his crushed and suffering dark children. Twenty-five +years have gone by making plans. Now unless I move quickly all of these +years will have been spent in vain. I will take this fort. I will hold +this pass. I will free the slaves!” + +The stars faded and went out one by one, the gray sky blended through +purple and rose to blue, and still they talked. Kagi brought them food. + +At last Douglass lay down inside the cave. His eyes were closed, but +his mind feverishly leaped from one possibility to another. + +Then Brown was laying other maps before him. He had gone over it +all so carefully. Now he showed each step of the way--where the men +would stand, how they would hold the bridge, where they would cut the +telegraph wires, how the engine-house in the arsenal would be occupied. + +“Without a shot being fired, Douglass. I tell you we can take it +without a shot!” + +Douglass brought all the pressure of his persuasive power against him. +He threw reason, logic, common sense at the old man. + +“You’ll destroy all we’ve done!” + +John Brown looked at him and his voice and face were cold. + +“_What_ have you done?” The question bit like steel. + +Another day passed. That night a storm came up. They sat huddled in +the cave, while outside the rain beat down upon the rocks and tore up +twisted roots. The mountains groaned and rumbled and the winds howled. +During the storm the old man slept serenely. + +When the rain stopped Douglass went out into the dripping morning. +Puddles of water splashed beneath his feet, shreds of clouds lingered +in the pine tops and broke against the side of the hills; the sky was +clearing and soon the sun would come through. The fresh-washed earth +gave off a clean, new smell. The morning mocked him with its promise of +a bright, new day. + +He heard John Brown behind him and stopped. He knew that strong, +elastic step. He heard the voice--full, clear and renewed with rest. + +“Douglass,” Brown asked, “have you reached your decision?” + +Without turning, Douglass answered. And his voice was weary and beaten. + +“I am going back.” + +The old man made no sound. Douglass turned and saw him standing +straight and slender in the morning light, a gentle breeze lifting his +soft white hair, his wrinkled face carved against the sky. With a cry +of utter woe Douglass threw himself upon the ground, encircling the +slight frame in his arms. + +“Oh, John--John Brown--don’t go! You’ll be killed! It’s a trap! You’ll +never get out alive--I beg you, don’t go! Don’t go!” + +Terrible sobs shook him; he could not stop. + +“Douglass! Douglass!” + +Brown took him by the shoulders, pressed his face against him, spoke as +to a child. + +“For shame, Douglass! Everything will be all right.” Then, when he saw +the big man was still, he added, “Come and go with me. You shall see +that everything will be all right.” + +Douglass shook his head. He clung to the rough, gnarled hands. + +“This is the hardest part of all. I cannot throw my life away with +you! Years ago in Maryland I knew I had to live. That’s _my_ task, +John--that I live.” + +“You shall have a trusted bodyguard!” The old man looked down at him +with a twisted smile. Douglass made a gesture of resignation. He raised +his eyes once more. + +“Will nothing change you from this course?” he asked. + +“Nothing,” answered John Brown. He gently pulled himself away and +walked to the edge of the cliff, looking out into the morning. Douglass +sagged upon the ground. + +“You may be right, Frederick Douglass.” His words came slowly now. +“Perhaps I’ll not succeed at Harper’s Ferry. Maybe--I’ll never leave +there alive. Yet I must go! Until this moment I had never faced that +possibility, and I could not give you up. Now that I do, I see that +only through your living can my dying be made clear. So, let us have an +end of all this talk. Perhaps this is God’s way.” + +Douglass pulled himself up. He was very tired. + +“I must tell Green,” he said. + +John Brown turned. His face was untroubled, his voice alert. + +“Yes. I had forgotten. Get him.” + +They came upon Shields Green and Kagi leaving the cave. Over their +shoulders were fishing poles. Douglass spoke. + +“Shields, I am leaving. Are you going back with me?” + +John Brown spoke, the words coming easily, a simple explanation. + +“Both of you know that Douglass disagrees with my plan. He says we’ll +fail at Harper’s Ferry--that none of us will come out alive.” He paused +a moment and then said, “Maybe he is right.” + +Douglass waited, but still Shields Green only looked at him. At last he +asked, “Well, Shields?” + +“The Emperor” shifted the fishing rod in his hand. Then his eyes turned +toward John Brown. Douglass knew even before he spoke. Shields looked +him full in the face and said, “Ah t’ink Ah goes wid tha old man!” + +And he and Kagi turned away and went off down to the stream. + +Brown held his hand a moment before speaking. + +“Go quickly now, and go without regrets. You have your job to do and I +have mine.” + +Douglass did not look back as he stumbled over the wet, slippery rocks. +Never in his life had he felt so desolate, never had a day seemed so +bleak and empty, as alone he went down the mountain _to live_ for +freedom. He had left John Brown and Shields Green to die for freedom. +Whose was the better part? + + + + + CHAPTER THIRTEEN + + “_Give them arms, Mr. Lincoln!_” + + +The news of Harper’s Ferry stunned Washington. “_A United States +arsenal attacked--Slaves stampeding!_” “_The madman from Kansas run +amuck!_” “_The slaves are armed!_” Panic seized the South, and Capitol +Hill rocked and reeled with the shock. + +Jack brought home copies of the _New York Herald_, and Amelia read how +the old man lay bleeding on a pallet with his two sons cold and still +at his side. Governor Wise, leaning over to condemn, had drawn back +before a courage, fortitude and simple faith which silenced him. + +“There is an eternity behind and an eternity before,” John Brown +had said, and his voice did not falter. “This little speck in the +center, however long, is comparatively but a minute. The difference +between your tenure and mine is trifling, and I therefore tell you +to be prepared. I am prepared. You have a heavy responsibility, and +it behooves you to meet it. You may dispose of me easily, but this +question is still to be settled ... the end is not yet.” + +“Why did he let the train through?” people asked. “_Is_ he crazy?” + +“I came here to liberate slaves.” All his explanations were so simple. +“I have acted from a sense of duty, and am content to await my fate; +but I think the crowd have treated me badly.... Yesterday I could have +killed whom I chose; but I had no desire to kill any person, and would +not have killed a man had they not tried to kill me and my men. I +could have sacked and burned the town, but did not; I have treated the +persons whom I took as hostages kindly. If I had succeeded in running +off slaves this time, I could have raised twenty times as many men as I +have now, for a similar expedition. But I have failed.” + +An old man had been stopped--a crazy old man, whose equally crazy +followers were killed or captured. It was over and very little harm +done. An unpleasant incident to be soon forgotten. + +But no one would have done with it. Papers throughout the country sowed +John Brown’s words into every town and hamlet; preachers repeated them +in their pulpits; people gathered in small knots on the roadside and +shouted them defiantly or whispered them cautiously; black men and +women everywhere bowed their heads and wept hot, scalding tears. And +William Lloyd Garrison, the man of peace, the “non-resister,” said, +“How marvelous has been the change in public opinion during thirty +years of moral agitation. Ten years ago there were thousands who could +not endure the slightest word of rebuke of the South; now they can +swallow John Brown whole and his rifle in the bargain.” + +The old man never lost his calm. Frenzy shook every slave state in the +Union. Rumors spread and multiplied. Black and white men were seized, +beaten, and killed. Slaves disappeared. A hue and cry arose. + +“The Abolitionists! Get the Abolitionists! They are behind John Brown!” + +Amelia read of letters and papers found in the farmhouse near Harper’s +Ferry. “_Many people are implicated! Indictments being drawn up!_” She +looked at Jack, her face white. + +“Do you suppose--could it be--would _he_ be among them?” She bit her +trembling lips. + +Jack Haley frowned. He had heard talk at the office. He knew they were +looking for Frederick Douglass. He knew they would hang this Negro whom +they hated and feared more than a dozen white men--_if_ they got him. +He patted Amelia on the shoulder. + +“I wouldn’t worry,” he comforted her. “Your Frederick is a smart man.” + +“He might be needed to testify--he may have something to say.” Amelia +was certain Frederick Douglass would not turn aside from his duty. + +“He is not a fool,” Jack said, shaking his head. “The Dred Scott +decision renders his word useless. No word of his can help John Brown.” + +Amelia heard the bitterness in Jack’s voice and she sighed. Time had +dealt kindly with Amelia. At sixty her step was more elastic, her skin +smoother and her shoulders straighter than the day, fifteen years +before, when she had walked away from Covey’s place. Mrs. Royall, +intrepid journalist, was dead. Amelia had stayed on in the house, +assumed the mortgage, and took in as roomers a score of clerks and +secretaries who labored in the government buildings a few blocks away. +“Miss Amelia’s” house was popular, and her rooms were in demand. + +Jack had married and talked of going away, of starting his own paper, +of becoming a power in one of the new publishing houses--Then suddenly, +during a sleeting winter, an epidemic had struck Washington. Afterward, +there had been quite a stir about “cleaning up the city.” Certain +sections had got new sewers and rubbish was collected. But Jack’s wife +was dead. So a grim-faced, older Jack had moved in with Amelia. He had +stayed on with the paper, contemptuous of much he saw and heard. For +Jack Haley, as for many people in the United States the fall of 1859, +John Brown cleared the air. _Somebody’s doing something, thank God!_ + +Amelia continued to scan the papers, dreading to see Frederick +Douglass’ name. And one day she did, but as she read farther a smile +lit up her face. The story was an angry denunciation of “this Frederick +Douglass” by Governor Wise of Virginia. Douglass, he announced, had +slipped through their fingers. He was known to have boarded a British +steamer bound for England. “Could I overtake that vessel,” the Governor +was quoted as saying, “I would take him from her deck at any cost.” + + * * * * * + +Off the coast of Labrador, in weather four degrees below zero, the +_Scotia_ strained and groaned. There was something fiercely satisfying +to one passenger in the struggle with the elements. Frederick Douglass, +pacing the icy deck or tossing in his cabin, felt that the sky _should_ +be black. The waters _should_ foam and dash, the winds _should_ howl; +for John Brown lay in prison and his brave sons were dead! + +Back in Concord, the gentle Thoreau was ringing the town bell and +crying in the streets, “Old John Brown is dead--John Brown the immortal +lives!” + +By the time Douglass docked at Liverpool, England was as much alive to +what had happened at Harper’s Ferry as the United States. Once more +Douglass was called to Scotland and Ireland--this time to give an +account of the men who had thus flung away their lives in a desperate +effort to free the slaves. + +Having accepted an invitation to speak in Paris, he wrote for a +passport. A suspicion current at the time, that a conspiracy against +the life of Napoleon III was afoot in England, had stiffened the French +passport system. Douglass, wishing to avoid any delay, wrote directly +to the Honorable George Dallas, United States Minister in London. That +gentleman refused to grant the passport at all on the ground that +Frederick Douglass was not a citizen of the United States. Douglass’ +English friends gaped at the Ministry letter. The “man without a +country,” however, merely shrugged his shoulders. + +“I forget too easily,” he said. “Now I’ll write to the French minister.” + +Within a few days he had his answer--a “special permit” for Frederick +Douglass to visit “indefinitely” in any part of France. He was packed +to go when a cable from home arrived. + +Little Annie was dead. The sudden loss of his baby daughter seemed to +climax all the pain and heartbreak of these months. + +Heedless now of peril to himself, he took the first outgoing steamer +for Portland, Maine. + +During the seventeen dragging days of his voyage, Douglass resolved +to make one stop even before going home. He had two graves now to +visit--Annie’s and John Brown’s. Annie too had loved the old man. +She would not mind if her father went directly to the house in the +Adirondacks. + +No one was expecting the haggard dark man who descended from the train +at North Elba. He could not find a driver to take him up to John +Brown’s house. But from the livery stable he secured a horse. And so +he rode up through the Indian Pass gorge, between two overhanging +black walls, and came out under tall, white clouds above wine-colored +mountains rising in a blue mist. And there beside a still, green pool, +reflecting a white summit in its depths, he saw the house, with its +abandoned sawmill. + +Mrs. Brown exhibited no surprise when he stood before her. Her +husband’s strength sustained her now. John Brown and the sons that she +had borne were no longer hers. They belonged to all the peoples of the +world. She greeted Frederick Douglass with a smile. + +“I’ve been expecting you. Come in, my friend.” She talked quietly, +transmitting to him John Brown’s final words and admonitions. Then she +rose. “He left something for you.” + +“Oh--John!” Until that moment he had listened without interrupting, his +eyes on the woman’s expressive face. The words broke from him unbidden. + +At her gesture, he followed her up the bare stairs and into the +bedroom that had been hers and John Brown’s. The roof sloped down; he +had to stoop a little, standing beside her before the faded, furled +flag and rusty musket in the corner. She nodded her head, but could not +speak. + +“For me?” Douglass’ words came in a whisper. + +“He wanted you to have them.” She had turned to the chest of drawers +and handed him an envelope. + +“He sent this in one of my letters. I was to give it to you when you +came.” + +His hands were trembling as he drew forth the single white sheet on +which were written two lines. + +“I know I have not failed because you live. Go forward, and some +day unfurl my flag in the land of the free. Farewell.” And then was +sprawled, “John Brown.” + +He left the farmhouse with the musket in his hands. They had wrapped +the flag carefully, and he laid it across his shoulders. So many times +she had stood in the narrow doorway and watched John Brown ride away. +He had never looked back. But on this evening the rider paused when he +came to the top of the hill. He paused and looked back down into the +valley. His eyes found the spot where John Brown lay beside his sons. +She could not see his lips move, nor could she hear his words--words +the winds of the Adirondacks carried away: + +“I promise you, John Brown. As I live, I promise you.” + +Then he waved his hand to John Brown’s widow and was gone. + + * * * * * + +Douglass’ homecoming was weighted with sorrow. But in the mountains of +North Elba he had drawn strength. He was able to comfort the grieving +mother and the older children. For the first time in years he sat +quietly with his three fine sons. He told Rosetta how pretty she +was--like her mother in the days of the plum-colored wedding dress. The +family closed its ranks, coming very close together. Douglass managed +to remain in his house nearly a month before knowledge got around that +he was back in the country. Then a letter from William Lloyd Garrison +summoned him: + + The investigating committee appointed by Congress is being called off. + The net thrown out over the country yielded very little. As you know, + Captain Brown implicated nobody. To the end he insisted that he and he + alone was responsible for all that happened, that he had many friends, + but no instigators. In their efforts this committee has signally + failed. Now they have asked to be discharged. It is my opinion that + the men engaged in this investigation expect soon to be in rebellion + themselves, and not a rebellion for liberty, like that of John Brown, + but a rebellion for slavery. It is possible that they see that by + using their Senatorial power in search of rebels they may be whetting + a knife for their own throats. At any rate the country will soon be + relieved of the Congressional drag-net, so your liberty is no longer + threatened. We are planning a memorial to the grand old man here at + Tremont Temple and want you to speak. I know you’ll come. + +Douglass hastened to Boston. The great mass meeting was more than +a memorial. It was a political and social conclave. Arguments and +differences of opinions were laid aside. They had a line of action. +Douglass saw that he had returned to the United States in time for +vital service. + +“It enabled me to participate in the most important and memorable +presidential canvass ever witnesses in the United States,” he wrote, +looking back on it later, “and to labor for the election of a man who +in the order of events was destined to do a greater service to his +country and to mankind than any man who had gone before him in the +presidential office. It was a great thing to me to be permitted to bear +some humble part in this. It was a great thing to achieve American +independence when we numbered three millions, but it was a greater +thing to save this country from dismemberment and ruin when it numbered +thirty millions. He alone of all our presidents was to have the +opportunity to destroy slavery, and to lift into manhood millions of +his countrymen hitherto held as chattels and numbered with the beasts +of the field.”[19] + +Not for nearly a hundred years was the country to see such a +presidential campaign as the one waged in 1860. + +Garrison was drawn into the fray early. He mocked the Democrats when +they tore themselves apart at their convention in Charleston and +cheered “an independent Southern republic.” With the Democrats divided, +the Republicans would win; and into the Republican party now came the +Abolitionists--including William Lloyd Garrison. Douglass was very +happy. + +A few weeks before the Republicans met in convention at Chicago, +Frederick Douglass at his home in Rochester had a caller. The man +identified himself as a tradesman from Springfield, Illinois. + +“I’m here, lookin’ over the shippin’ of some goods, and I took the +liberty to come see you, Mr. Douglass,” he said, resting his hands on +his knotty knees. + +“I’m very glad you did, sir.” Douglass waited for the man to reveal his +errand. He leaned forward. + +“I ain’t a talkin’ man, Mr. Douglass. I’m much more for doin’.” +Douglass smiled his approval. The man lowered his tone. “More than once +I took on goods for Reverend Rankin.” + +Douglass knew instantly what he meant. John Rankin was one of Ohio’s +most daring Underground Railroad agents. Douglass’ face lit up, and for +the second time he grasped his visitor’s rough hand. + +“Any Rankin man is a hundredfold welcome in my house! What can I do for +you?” + +“Jus’ listen and think on what I’m sayin’. We got a man out our way +we’re namin’ for president!” + +The unexpected announcement caught Douglass up short. + +“But I thought--” The man waved him to silence. + +“Yep! I know. You Easterners got your man all picked out. I ain’t +sayin’ nothin’ ’bout Mr. Seward. I donno him. But the boys out West +_do_ know Abe Lincoln--and we’re gonna back him!” + +“Abe Lincoln?” Douglass was puzzled. “I never heard of him.” + +“Nope? Well, it don’t matter. You will!” + + * * * * * + +He was gone then, leaving Frederick Douglass very thoughtful. The +Westerner was right. Senator William Seward, a tried and true +antislavery man, had been picked. The only question had been whether or +not the entire party would accept such a known radical. + +Douglass reached Chicago the evening before the nominations were taken +up. He found the city decked out with fence rails which they said +“Honest Abe” had split. Evidently the people in the streets knew him, +the cab drivers and farmers in from the surrounding country. They stood +on street corners, buttonholed workmen hurrying home from work, and +they talked about “our man.” + +Something was in the air. The convention was a bedlam. Even while the +thunder of applause that had greeted the nomination of William Seward +still hung in the far corners of the hall, Norman B. Judd, standing on +a high chair, nominated the man who habitually referred to himself as +a “jackleg lawyer.” The roar that greeted Lincoln’s name spread to the +packed street outside and kept up until the Seward men were silenced. +The cheering died away in the hall, as they began taking the third +ballot; but the steady roar in the street found an echo in the chamber, +when it was found that Lincoln had received two hundred thirty-one and +a half votes, lacking just one and a half votes for nomination. Then +Ohio gave its four votes to the “rail-splitter,” and Abraham Lincoln +became the Republican candidate for President of the United States. + +Three candidates were in the field. Stephen A. Douglas, absolute leader +of the Democratic party in the West, had been nominated at Baltimore +after a bitter and barren fight at Charleston. The “seceding” Southern +wing of the party had nominated John C. Breckinridge. Three candidates +and one issue, _slavery_. + +Stephen Douglas’ position was: Slavery or no slavery in any territory +is entirely the affair of the white inhabitants of such territory. If +they choose to have it, it is their right; if they choose not to have +it, they have a right to exclude or prohibit it. Neither Congress nor +the people of the Union, outside of said territory, have any right to +meddle with or trouble themselves about the matter. + +The Democrats of Illinois laughed at the others for hailing forth the +Kentuckian. But Breckinridge represented the powerful slavocracy which +said: The citizen of any state has a right to migrate to any territory, +taking with him anything which is property by the law of his own +sure, and hold, enjoy, and be protected in the use of, such property +in said territory. And Congress is bound to furnish him protection +wherever necessary, with or without the co-operation of the territorial +legislature. + +Abraham Lincoln’s voice had never been heard by the nation. Easterners +waited with misgivings to hear what the gangling backwoods lawyer +would say. He did not mince words: Slavery can exist only by virtue of +municipal law; and there is no law for it in the territories and no +power to enact one. Congress can establish or legalize slavery nowhere +but is bound to prohibit it in, or exclude it from, any and every +Federal territory, whenever and wherever there shall be necessity for +such exclusion or prohibition. + +Frederick Douglass was convinced not only by his words but by the +fact that Abraham Lincoln was so clearly the choice of the people who +knew him. He threw his pen and voice into the contest. Many of the +Abolitionists hung back; many an “old guard” politician sulked. Wendell +Phillips dug up evidence that Lincoln had supported enforcement of the +hated Fugitive Slave Law in Illinois. + +But Douglass shook his leonine mane and campaigned throughout New York +State and in Boston, Philadelphia, Cleveland, Chicago--wherever Negroes +could vote. + +“Here is a man who knows your weariness,” he told them. “This is your +opportunity to make your voice heard. Send Lincoln to the White House! +Strengthen his hand that he may fight for you!” + +Fear gripped the South. They called Lincoln the “Black Republican.” +No longer was the North divided. Young Republicans organized marching +clubs and tramped through the city streets; torchlight processions +turned night into day: _John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in the +grave_.... A new singing could be heard in the remotest pine woods of +the South: + + “Oh, freedom + Oh, freedom! + + Oh, freedom ovah me-- + An’ befo’ I’d be a slave + I’d be buried in mah grave + An’ go home to my Lawd + An’ be free.” + +On November 6, Wendell Phillips congratulated Frederick Douglass: “For +the first time in our history, the slave has chosen a President of the +United States.” + + * * * * * + +Garrison and Douglass decided to attend the inauguration together. + +“I want to show you the White House, Douglass. You must see the Capitol +to which you have sent Lincoln.” + +Douglass smiled. He had never been in Washington, and he was glad they +were together again. + +Garrison was far from well. The winter months had tried his failing +strength. After electing Lincoln, the North drew back, in large part +disclaiming all participation in the “insult” to their “sister states” +in the South. The press took on a conciliatory tone toward slavery +and a corresponding bitterness toward antislavery men and measures. +From Massachusetts to Missouri, antislavery meetings were ruthlessly +stoned. The second John Brown Memorial at Tremont Temple was broken +up by a mob, some of the wealthiest citizens of Boston taking part in +the assault on Douglass and the other speakers. Howling gangs followed +Wendell Phillips for three days wherever he appeared on the pavements +of his native city, and hoodlums broke the windowpanes in Douglass’ +Rochester printing shop. + +These things weighed heavily on Garrison’s spirits. For a while he had +been uplifted by the belief that moral persuasion was winning over +large sections of the country. Now he saw them fearfully grasping their +possessions--repudiating everything except their “God-given” right to +pile up dollars. + +But across the country stalked one more grim man. His face was turned +to the east--to the rising sun; his lanky, bony body rose endless on a +prop of worn, out-size shoes. + +And deep in the hollows of the South, behind the lonesome pine trees +draped with moss, down in the corners of the cotton fields, in the +middle of the night--the slaves were whispering. And their words +rumbled like drums along the ground: “_Mistah Linkum is a-comin’! +Praise da Lawd!_” + +Washington was an armed city. “The new President of the United States +will be inaugurated--” General Scott was as good as his word. But the +crowds did not cheer when Abraham Lincoln appeared. There was a hush, +as if all the world knew it was a solemn moment. + +Douglass looked on the gaunt, strange beauty of that thin face--the +resemblance to John Brown was startling--and as he bared his head, +Douglass whispered, “He’s our man, John Brown. He’s our man!” + +Amelia saw Frederick Douglass in the crowd. She tugged frantically at +Jack Haley’s arm. + +“Look! Look!” she said. “It’s him!” + +Jack, turning his head, recognized the man he had heard speak years ago +in Providence, Rhode Island. Older, yes, broader and grown in stature, +but undoubtedly it was the same head, the same wild, sweeping mane. + +As the crowd began to disperse and Douglass turned, he felt a light +pull on his sleeve and looked down on a slight, white-haired woman +whose piquant upturned face and bright blue eyes were vaguely familiar. + +“Mr. Douglass?” Her voice fluttered in her throat. + +“At your service, ma’am.” Douglass managed to make a little bow, though +the crowd pressed upon them. Her eyes widened. + +“Still the same lovely manners!” she said. At this the tall man at her +elbow spoke. + +“Mr. Douglass, you will pardon us. I am Jack Haley, and this is Mrs. +Amelia Kemp.” + +“Don’t you remember me--Frederick?” She smiled wistfully as she said +his name, and the years dissolved. He remembered the dahlias. + +“Miss Amelia!” He took her hand, and his somber face lit up with +delight. + +“Could you come with us? Have you a little time?” Her words were +bubbling over. + +Douglass turned to Garrison, who was regarding the scene with some +misgiving. They two were far from safe in Washington. + +“I think we’d better leave at once,” he said with a frown. + +Douglass’ face showed his disappointment. He said, and it was clear he +meant it, “I’m terribly sorry, Miss Amelia.” + +Jack Haley turned to Garrison. His voice was low. + +“I understand the situation, sir. But if I drove you directly to our +house, I assure you we shall encounter no difficulties. We would be +honored.” + +Once more Douglass looked hopefully at Garrison. The older man shrugged +his shoulders. + +The fringed-top carryall stood at the curb. Garrison helped Amelia into +the back seat and sat down beside her. Douglass climbed into the front +seat with Jack. As Jack picked up the reins, Douglass grinned and said, +“I could drive, you know.” + +Jack gave a short laugh. “I realize, Mr. Douglass, that we’re +uncivilized down here. But stranger things than this are seen on +Pennsylvania Avenue. Relax, we’ll get home all right.” + +So they drove down the avenue past soldiers and visitors and +legislators, all intent upon their own affairs. Louisiana Avenue with +its wide greensward and early violets was loveliest of all. + +For two days in the short period before the guns opened fire at Fort +Sumter, Frederick Douglass and William Lloyd Garrison rested from their +labors on a shaded side-street off Louisiana Avenue. + +Up North the countryside was still locked in the hard rigors of winter, +but here spring was in the air. He walked out in the yard, and told +Miss Amelia about his big sons who kept the paper going during his many +absences. + +Succulent odors rose like incense from Amelia’s kitchen--Maryland +fried chicken, served with snowy mounds of rice, popovers and cherry +pie--their fragrance hung in the air and brought her lodgers tumbling +down from their rooms to inquire, “What’s going on here?” + +Amelia told them about her guests, swearing them to secrecy. They +tiptoed out into the hall and peeped into the living room. On the +second evening Miss Amelia gave in to their urgent requests. + +“A few of my young friends to meet you, Frederick. You won’t mind?” +After supper they gathered round. Far into the night they asked +questions and talked together, the ex-slave and young Americans who +sorted mail, ran errands and wrote the letters of the legislators on +Capitol Hill. + +They were the boys who would have to drag their broken bodies across +stubble fields, who would lie like filthy, grotesque rag dolls in the +mud. They were the girls who would be childless or widowed or old +before their lives had bloomed. + +“It’s been wonderful here, Miss Amelia.” Douglas held her hand in +parting. + +“I’ve been proud to have you, Frederick.” Her blue eyes looked up into +his, and Douglass saw her tears. + +He stooped and kissed her on the soft, withered cheek. + + * * * * * + +They said the war was inevitable. Madmen cannot hear words of reason. +On only one thing was Lincoln unswerving--to preserve the Union. As +concession after concession was made, it became more and more evident +that this was what the slaveholders did not want. They were sick to +death of the Union! In Georgia, Tennessee, North Carolina and Virginia +white men struggled against the octopus of slavery. They did all they +could to prevent the break. But the slavers had control--they had the +power, they had the money, and they had the slaves. + +So there was war, and slaves were set to digging ditches and building +barricades. + +From the beginning Frederick Douglass saw in the war the end of +slavery. Much happened the first two years to shake his faith. +Secretary of State William Seward instructed United States ministers +to say to the governments where they were stationed that “terminate +however it might, the status of no class of the people of the United +States would be changed by the rebellion; slaves will be slaves still, +and masters will be masters still.” General McClellan and General +Butler warned the slaves in advance that “if any attempt was made by +them to gain their freedom it would be suppressed with an iron hand.” +Douglass grew sick with despair when President Lincoln quickly withdrew +the emancipation proclamation made by General John C. Frémont in +Missouri. Union soldiers were even stationed about the farmhouses of +Virginia to guard the masters and help them hold their slaves. + +The war was not going well. In the _North Star_ and from the platform, +Douglass reminded the North that it was fighting with one hand only, +when it might strike effectually with two. The Northern states fought +with their soft white hand, while they kept their black iron hand +chained and helpless behind them. They fought the effect while they +protected the cause. The Union would never prosper in the war until the +Negro was enlisted, Douglass said. + +On every side they howled him down. + +“Give the blacks arms, and loyal men of the North will throw down their +guns and go home!” + +“This is the white man’s country and the white man’s war!” + +“It would inflict an intolerable wound upon the pride and spirit of +white soldiers to see niggers in the United States uniform.” + +“Anyhow, niggers won’t fight--the crack of his old master’s whip will +send him scampering in terror from the field.” + +They made jokes about it. + +White men died at Bull Run, Ball’s Bluff, Big Bethel, and +Fredericksburg. The Union Army needed more soldiers. They began +drafting men--white men. In blind rage the whites turned on the +helpless blacks. + +“Why should we fight for you?” they screamed. On the streets of New +York, black men and women were beaten, their workshops and stores +destroyed, their homes burned. They burned the Colored Orphan Asylum +in New York. Not all the children could be dragged from the blazing +building. + +Douglass wrote letters to Congress and got up petitions. “Let us +fight!” he pleaded. “Give us arms!” + +He pointed out that the South was sustaining itself and its army with +Negro labor. At last General Butler at Fort Monroe announced the policy +of treating the slaves as “contrabands” to be made useful to the Union +cause. General Phelps, in command at Carrollton, Louisiana, advocated +the same plan. The story of how the slaves flocked into these camps, +how they worked, how they were glad to sustain their half-starved +bodies on scraps left over by the soldiers, how they endured any and +all hardships for this opportunity to do something to “hep Massa Linkum +win da war” cannot be told here. But it convinced the administration +that the Negro could be useful. + +The second step was to give Negroes a peculiar costume which should +distinguish them from soldiers and yet mark them as part of the loyal +force. Finally so many Negroes presented themselves that it was +proposed to give the laborers something better than spades and shovels +with which to defend themselves in case of emergency. + +“Still later it was proposed to make them soldiers,” Douglass wrote, +“but soldiers without blue uniform, soldiers with a mark upon them to +show that they were inferior to other soldiers; soldiers with a badge +of degradation upon them. However, once in the army as a laborer, once +there with a red shirt on his back and a pistol in his belt, the Negro +was not long in appearing on the field as a soldier. But still, he was +not to be a soldier in the sense, and on an equal footing, with white +soldiers. It was given out that he was not to be employed in the open +field with white troops ... doing battle and winning victories for the +Union cause ... in the teeth of his old masters; but that he should +be made to garrison forts in yellow-fever and otherwise unhealthy +localities of the South, to save the health of the white soldiers; +and, in order to keep up the distinction further, the black soldiers +were to have only half the wages of the white soldiers, and were to be +commanded entirely by white commissioned officers.” + +Negroes all over the North looked at each other with drawn faces. + +Almost the cup was too bitter. But up from the South came stories of +how black fugitives were offering themselves as slaves to the Union +armies--of the terrible retaliation meted out to them if caught--of how +the Northern armies were falling back. + +Then President Lincoln gave Governor Andrew of Massachusetts permission +to raise two colored regiments. The day the news broke, Douglass came +home waving his paper in the air. Anna’s face blanched. Up from the +table rose her two sons, Lewis and Charles. + +“We’ll be the first!” They dashed off to sign up. Young Frederic was in +Buffalo that morning. When he got back, he heard where they had gone, +and turned to follow them. + +“Wait! Wait!” The mother’s cry was heartbroken. + +His father too said, “Wait.” Then Douglass explained. + +“This is only the first, my son. We’ll have other regiments. There will +be many regiments before the war is won. We must recruit black men from +every state in our country--South as well as North.” He looked at his +tall son and sighed. “Unfortunately, I am known. I would be stopped +before I could reach them in the South. Here is a job for some brave +man.” + +They faced each other calmly, father and son, and neither was afraid. + +“I understand, sir. I will go!” + +A few evenings later, before an overflow audience at Corinthian Hall +in Rochester, Frederick Douglass delivered an address which may be +placed beside Patrick Henry’s in Virginia. It appeared later in leading +journals throughout the North and West under the caption “Men of Color, +to Arms!” + +“Action! Action, not criticism, is the plain duty of this hour. Words +are now useful only as they stimulate to blows. The office of speech +now is only to point out when, where, and how to strike to the best +advantage.” This was Douglass the spellbinder, Douglass, who had lifted +thousands cheering to their feet in England, Ireland, and Scotland. +“From East to West, from North to South, the sky is written all over +‘Now or Never.’ Liberty won by white men alone would lose half its +luster.... Who would be free themselves must strike the blow.” + +The applause swept across the country. White men read these words and +were shamed in their prejudices; poor men read them and thanked God +for Frederick Douglass; black men read them and hurried to recruiting +offices. + +They were in the crowd on Boston Common the morning the Fifty-fourth +Massachusetts marched away--a father and a mother come to see their two +sons off to war. Douglass was not thinking of the credit due him for +the formation of the first Negro regiment. He was remembering how Lewis +had always wanted a pony and the way Charlie always left his shoes in +the middle of the floor, to be stumbled over. He tried to stay the +trembling in Anna’s arm by pressing it close to his side. He wished he +had somehow managed to get that pony. + +The soldiers were standing at ease in the street when Charlie saw her. +He waved his hand, and though he did not yell, she saw his lips form +the words, “Hi, Mom!” She saw him nudge his brother and then-- + +They were marching, holding their colors high, the sun glinting on +polished bayonets and reflected in their eyes. They marched away behind +their gallant Captain Shaw, and as they went they sang a song: + + “John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in the grave + But his soul goes marching on.” + + + + + CHAPTER FOURTEEN + + _Came January 1, 1863_ + + +The tall man’s footsteps made no sound upon the thick rug. Muffled and +hushed, his weary pacing left no mark upon the warp and woof underneath +his feet. No sign at all of all the hours he had been walking back and +forth, no sound. + +To save the Union--this was the aim and purpose of everything he did. +He had offered concession after concession--he had sent men out to die +to hold the Union together and he had seen the horror of their dying. +And yet no end in sight. Could it be that God had turned his face away? +Was He revolted by the stench of slavery? Was this the measure He +required? + +The President had sought to reason with them. In his last annual +message to Congress he had proposed a constitutional amendment by which +any state abolishing slavery by or before the year 1900 should be +entitled to full compensation from the Federal government. So far he +had postponed the day when a slave owner must take a loss. Nothing had +come of the proposal--nothing. + +To save the Union! Would emancipation drive the border states into +revolt? Would it let loose a terror in the night that would destroy and +rape and pillage all the land? He had been amply warned. Or were the +Abolitionists right? George Thompson, the Englishman, had been very +convincing; the President had talked with William Lloyd Garrison, who +all these years had never wavered from his stand; and in this very room +he had received the Negro, Frederick Douglass. + +Douglass had stated his case so well, so completely, so wrapped in +logic that the President had found himself defending his position to +the ex-slave. He had sat quietly, listened patiently, and then spoken. + +“It is the only way, Mr. Lincoln, the only way to save the Union,” +Douglass said. + + * * * * * + +Outside, the day was dark and lowering. The sun hid behind banks of +muddy clouds; dirty snow lay heaped against the Capitol. The tall +man dropped to his knees and buried his haggard face in his hands. +“Thy will be done, oh God, Thy will!” He, Abraham Lincoln, fourteenth +president of the United States, would stake his honor, his good name, +all that he had to give, to preserve the Union. And down through the +ages men would judge him by one day’s deed. He rose from his knees, +turned and pulled the cord that summoned his secretary. + +In Boston they were waiting. This was the day when the government +was to set its face against slavery. Though the conditions on which +the President had promised to withhold the proclamation had not been +complied with, there was room for doubt and fear. Mr. Lincoln was a +man of tender heart and boundless patience; no man could tell to what +lengths he might go for peace and reconciliation. An emancipation +proclamation would end all compromises with slavery, change the entire +conduct of the war, give it a new aim. + +They held watch-meetings in all the colored churches on New Year’s Eve +and went on to a great mass meeting in Tremont Temple, which extended +through the day and evening. A grand jubilee concert in Music Hall was +scheduled for the afternoon. They expected the President’s proclamation +to reach the city by noon. But the day wore on, and fears arose that it +might not, after all, be forthcoming. + +The orchestra played Beethoven’s _Fifth Symphony_, the chorus sang +Handel’s _Hallelujah Chorus_, Ralph Waldo Emerson read his “_Boston +Hymn_,” written for the occasion--but still no word. A line of +messengers was set up between the telegraph office and the platform of +Tremont Temple. William Wells Brown, the Reverend Mr. Grimes, Miss Anna +Dickinson, Frederick Douglass--all had said their lines. But speaking +or listening to speeches was not the thing for which people had come +together today. They were waiting. + +Eight, nine, ten o’clock came and went, and still no word. Frederick +Douglass walked to the edge of the platform. He stood there without +saying a word, and before the awful stillness of his helplessness the +stirrings of the crowd quieted. His voice was hoarse. + +“Ladies and gentlemen--I know the time for argument has passed. Our +ears are not attuned to logic or the sound of many words. It is the +trumpet of jubilee which we await.” + +“Amen, God of our fathers, hear!” The fervent prayer had come from a +black man who had dropped to his knees on the platform behind Douglass. +There was a responding murmur from the crowd. Douglass stood a moment +with his head bowed. Then he continued: + +“We are watching for the dawn of a new day. We are waiting for the +answer to the agonizing prayers of centuries. We--” His eyes were +caught by a movement in the crowd packed around the doors. He held his +breath. A man ran down the aisle. + +“It’s coming--It’s coming over the wires! Now!” he shouted. + +The shout that went up from the crowd carried the glad tidings to +the streets. Men and women screamed--they tossed their hats into the +air--strangers embraced one another, weeping. Garrison, standing in +the gallery, was cheered madly; Harriet Beecher Stowe, her bonnet +awry, tears streaming down her cheeks, was lifted to a bench. After a +while they quieted down to hear the reading of the text ... “are, and +henceforward shall be, free.” Then the Reverend Charles Rue, the black +man behind Douglass, lifted his magnificent voice and led them as they +sang, + + “Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea, + Jehovah hath triumphed, his people are free.” + +Cables carried the news across the Atlantic. Crowds thronged the +streets of London and Liverpool. Three thousand workmen of Manchester, +many of them present sufferers from the cotton famine, adopted by +acclamation an address to President Lincoln congratulating him on the +Proclamation. George Thompson led a similar meeting in Lancashire, and +in Exeter Hall a great demonstration meeting was addressed by John +Stuart Mill. + +But it was from the deep, deep South that the sweetest music came. +It was an old song--old as the first man, lifting himself from the +mire and slime of some dark river bed and feeling the warm sun upon +his face, old as the song they sang crossing the Red Sea, old as the +throbbing of drums deep in the jungles, old as the song of all men +everywhere who would be free. It was a new song, the loveliest thing +born this side of the seas, fresh and verdant and young, full as the +promise of this new America--the Delta’s rich, black earth; the tall, +thick trees upon a thousand hills; the fairy, jeweled beauty of the +bayous; the rolling plains of the Mississippi. Black folks made a song +that day. + +They crouched in their cabins, hushed and still. Old men and women +who had prayed so long--broken, close to the end, they waited for +this glorious thing. Young men and women, leashed in their strength, +twisted in bondage--they waited. Mothers grasped their babies in their +arms--waiting. + +Some of them listened for a clap of thunder that would rend the world +apart. Some strained their eyes toward the sky, waiting for God upon +a cloud to bring them freedom. Anything was possible, they whispered, +waiting. + +They recognized His shining angels when they came: a tired and dirty +soldier, in a torn and tattered uniform; a grizzled old man hobbling +out from town; a breathless woman, finding her way through the swamp to +tell them; a gaunt, white “cracker” risking his life to let them know; +a fleet-footed black boy, running, running down the road. These were +the messengers who brought them word. + +And the song of joy went up. Free! Free! Free! Black men and women +lifted their quivering hands and shouted across the fields. The rocks +and trees, the rivers and the mountains echoed their voices--the +universe was glad the morning freedom’s song rang in the South. + + + + + Part IV + + _TOWARD MORNING_ + + The seeds of the Declaration of Independence are slowly ripening. + --JOHN QUINCY ADAMS + + + + + CHAPTER FIFTEEN + + _When lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed_ + + +“When the Hebrews were emancipated they were told to take spoil from +the Egyptians. When the serfs of Russia were emancipated, they were +given three acres of ground upon which they could live and make a +living. But not so when our slaves were emancipated. They were sent +away empty-handed, without money, without friends, and without a foot +of land to stand upon. Old and young, sick and well were turned loose +to the open sky, naked to their enemies.” + +Fifteen years later Douglass was to say this to a tense audience, their +large eyes, so bright that “freedom morning,” veiled again with pain. +If only Lincoln had been spared! How many times in the months and years +had they harked back to that towering figure and asked, “_Why?_” + + * * * * * + +It is true that Lincoln’s freeing of the slaves was a war measure, but +with the enactment of that measure the President steered the Ship of +State into uncharted waters. To whom could he turn for counsel? Not to +a Cabinet dolefully prophesying disaster; not to a Secretary of War who +had considered the occupation of Sumter by United States soldiers a +deadly insult to the Southern states; not to a General who vacillated, +delayed, quarreled and called his own men “a confused mob, entirely +demoralized.” + +Lincoln sent for Frederick Douglass. It was proof of how far and how +fast he was traveling. He had no precedent. Everything the President +read or heard in his day treated all colored peoples as less than +human. He was born and nurtured in the church which said fervent +prayers of thanks that slavers “tore the savage from the wilds of +Africa and brought him to Christianity.” The unquestioned inferiority +of a black man was in the very air that Lincoln breathed. And yet he +turned to Douglass. + +He did not receive the dark man in the office of the Executive Mansion, +but out on the back porch. There were times when the tinted walls, +drapes and heavy rugs of the imposing house stifled this “common man” +from the West. At such times he chose the porch, with its vista of +green. + +“Sit down, Mr. Douglass,” he said, motioning to a wide, easy chair. “I +want to talk to you.” + +Mainly he wished to confer that afternoon about the best means, outside +the Army, to induce slaves in the rebel states to come within Federal +lines. + +“I fear that a peace might be forced upon me which would leave the +former slaves in a kind of bondage worse even than that they have +known.” Then he added, his voice heavy with disappointment, “They are +not coming to us as rapidly and in as large numbers as I had hoped.” + +Douglass replied that probably many obstacles were being placed in +their path. + +The President nodded his head. He was troubled in heart and mind. He +said he was being accused of protracting the war beyond its legitimate +object and of failing to make peace when he might have done so to +advantage. He saw the dangers of premature peace, but mainly he wanted +to prepare for what lay ahead when peace did come, early or late. + +“Four millions suddenly added to the country’s population!” Lincoln +said earnestly. “What can we do, Douglass?” Before Douglass could +reply, the President leaned forward, his eyes intent. “I understand you +oppose every suggestion for colonization.” + +“That is true, Mr. Lincoln. Colonization is not the answer.” + +“Why?” + +“These people are not Africans. They know nothing about +Africa--whatever roots they had have been destroyed. We were born here, +in America.” + +The President sighed. + +“I realize our responsibility, Douglass. We cannot set back the clock. +We brought your people here, we made them work for us. We owe them for +all these years of labor. But the fact remains that they are alien and +apart. Can they ever fit into the life of this country?” + +Douglass spoke very gently. + +“This is the only land we know, Mr. Lincoln. We have tilled its fields, +we have cleared its forests, we have built roads and bridges. This +is our home. We are alien and apart only because we have been forced +apart.” Then he began to tell the President of Negroes who had been +living and working in free states. He told of artisans and skilled +craftsmen, of bakers, shoemakers and clockmakers; he told about +schoolteachers, doctors, Negroes who, after being educated in Europe, +had chosen to return. + +Mr. Lincoln listened with growing amazement. Perhaps he thought to +himself, _If only all of them were like this man Douglass!_ But being +the simple, honest soul he was, it is certain another thought came +after, _Few men are like this Douglass!_ + +They sat together through the long summer afternoon, and worked out a +plan. Other callers were turned away. “The President can see no one,” +they were told. + +They decided that Douglass would organize a band of colored scouts who +would go into the South, beyond the Union Army lines, and bring the +slaves together as free workers. + +“They will be paid something. I can’t say what.” + +“They will come, sir!” + +From time to time Douglass scribbled a note of instruction for the +President’s aides. Neither noticed the time. They were only concerned +in mapping out a clear course of action. At last the President leaned +back and the visitor gathered up his papers. + +“From here,” Lincoln said, “we’ll move as we must. You will have to--” + +His secretary came out on the porch. “Sir!” Lincoln nodded his head. +“A courier has just arrived. He brings a communication from General +Stephenson.” + +Lincoln jerked himself erect. + +“Show him out here!” + +There was despair in the way the President pressed his hand against his +forehead. + +“It is bad news,” he explained. “Otherwise they would have wired.” + +“I’ll go, sir!” Douglass rose to his feet. Lincoln’s tall form lifted +itself. He looked out across the lawn without seeing it. + +“Navy guns have been bombarding Fort Wagner for several days. We were +planning an attack. Surely--” He stopped as the two men came out on the +porch. + +The courier was only a boy. His eyes were bloodshot, and his uniform +was streaked and spattered. He swayed a little as he bowed and extended +a letter. + +“General Stephenson sends his greetings, sir.” + +Lincoln’s eyes were on the boy as his shaking fingers tore at the +envelope. + +“Why do you not come from General Strong?” + +“General Stephenson is now in command of the two brigades.” He stopped, +but the President’s eyes still questioned him and he added, “General +Strong and Colonel Putnam have been killed.” + +Then Lincoln looked down at the single sprawled sheet. His lips began +to move, and some of his words were distinct enough for Douglass to +hear. + +“On the night of July 18 we moved on Fort Wagner ... the Sixth +Connecticut, Forty-eighth Infantry New York, Third New Hampshire, +Seventy-sixth Pennsylvania, Ninth Maine....” He read on, then cried +out, “Douglass! Listen to this!” + +“The honor of leading the charge was given to the Fifty-fourth +Massachusetts. I must report, sir, that these black soldiers advanced +without flinching and held their ground in the face of blasting fire +which mowed them down cruelly. Only a remnant of the thousand men can +be accounted for. Their commander, Colonel Robert Shaw, is missing. We +had counted on aid from the guns of the fleet--troops in the rear could +not--” The President stopped. + +Douglass’ breath had escaped from his tense body in a groan. Now he +gasped. + +“I must go--Forgive me. I must go to my wife!” + +The President took a step toward him, understanding and concern in his +face. “You mean--?” + +“Our sons--Lewis and Charles--in the Fifty-fourth.” + +Lincoln laid his hand on Douglass’ arm, then spoke quickly to his +secretary. + +“See that the courier has food and rest. Wire General Stephenson for +the list.” + +Then he was walking to the door with Douglass, his arm through his. + +“Extend to your wife my deepest sympathy. I commend you both to God, +who alone can give you strength. Keep me informed. You will hear from +me.” + +The news of the defeat ran on ahead of him. Anna was standing in the +hall, waiting. He took her in his arms, and for a few moments neither +spoke. Then she said, “There is no word--yet.” + +Days passed, and they told themselves that no news was good news. +Gradually names were made public. Horace Greeley hailed the +Fifty-fourth Massachusetts as the “black phalanx.” Newspapers +throughout the North said that the Negro soldier had “proven himself.” +Southern papers used different words to tell the story, but they +verified the fact that it was black bodies which filled the hastily dug +trenches all around Fort Wagner. They had come upon a white body which +was identified as the commander. It was said the order had been given +to “dump him among his niggers!” + +Anna Douglass wrote a letter to Robert Shaw’s mother, who lived in +Boston. + +“The struggle is now over for your brave son. Take comfort in the +thought that he died as he lived, that he lies with those who loved him +so devotedly.” + +And still no word of Charles and Lewis. + +Douglass did not tell Anna about a letter he had written to Abraham +Lincoln. But when the reply came, he showed her the enclosed note, +which read: + + TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: + + The bearer of this, Frederick Douglass, is known to us as a loyal, + free man, and is hence entitled to travel unmolested. + + We trust he will be recognized everywhere as a free man and a + gentleman. + Respectfully, + A. LINCOLN, PRESIDENT + _I. K. Usha, Secretary_ + + August 10, 1863 + +Anna lifted her eyes in a question. + +“I’m going to South Carolina.” + +She pressed her hand against her shaking lips. + +“They’ll kill you--too!” she said. He shook his head. + +“Our troops are encamped on the islands in and about Charleston harbor. +The regiments are mixed up. There are so many wounded that I can be a +real help by straightening out the record. Many homes do not know.” And +he kissed her. + +She watched him shave off his beard. She gave him a large box of food. + +“I’ll find the boys!” His assurance cheered her. + +He did find them--each on a different island--among the wounded. +Charles thought him simply another figment of his feverish dreams. +Lewis had been trying to get word out. + +The news ran along the cots and out into the swamps: + +“Frederick Douglass is here!” + +Their cause was not lost. + + * * * * * + +There were times that fall when strong hearts quailed. Criticism +against Abraham Lincoln mounted. Finally it became clear that Lincoln +would not be re-elected by the politicians, the bankers, big business, +or the press. The campaign of 1864 was, therefore, waged in country +stores, at crossroads, from the backs of carts driving along city +streets, in public squares and on church steps. + +The young Republican party now had to face a completely united +Democratic party which came forward with the story that the war was a +failure. They chose the dismissed General George B. McClellan as their +candidate and wrapped him in the ambiguous mist of an abused hero. But +they reckoned without the inspired tactics of his successor, Ulysses S. +Grant. The tide turned. “Lincoln’s man” was doing the job. Now Sherman +was “marching to the sea,” and the backbone of the Confederacy was +broken. + +The people returned Abraham Lincoln to the White House. + +With Lincoln safe, Douglass took the stump for the strengthening of the +Emancipation Proclamation. The next step was to pass the Thirteenth +Amendment, abolishing slavery by law. + +In October, Douglass and John Langston called a National Convention of +Colored Men for a four-day session in Syracuse. People still could not +believe that the war would end in complete emancipation of all slaves. +Douglass called upon this convention of free artisans, craftsmen and +laborers in the free Northern states to take their place inside the +governmental framework. + +“Events more mighty than men--eternal Providence, all-wide and +all-controlling,” he told them, “have placed us in new relations to +the government and the government to us. What that government is to +us today, and what it will be tomorrow, is made evident by a very few +facts. Look at them, colored men. Slavery in the District of Columbia +is abolished forever; slavery in all the territories of the United +States is abolished forever; the foreign slave trade, with its ten +thousand revolting abominations, is rendered impossible; slavery in +ten states of the Union is abolished forever; slavery in the five +remaining states is as certain to follow the same fate as the night +is to follow the day. The independence of Haiti is recognized; her +minister sits beside our “Prime Minister,” Mr. Seward, and dines at +his table in Washington, while colored men are excluded from the cars +in Philadelphia ... a black man’s complexion in Washington, in the +presence of the Federal government, is less offensive than in the +City of Brotherly Love. Citizenship is no longer denied us under this +government.” + +The minutes of the convention were sent to President Lincoln. In +December Lincoln laid the Thirteenth Amendment before Congress, and +in January, 1865, slavery was forever abolished from any part of the +United States “or any place subject to their jurisdiction.” + +Tirelessly, ceaselessly, Lincoln weighed every move he made. No +harsh words, no condemnation--he recognized human weakness. “_Our_ +responsibility,” he said. Not the South’s alone, not merely the +slaveholder’s. He did not cant of “sins” and “virtues.” + +He read the appeal addressed to Governor Shepley by the “free men of +color” in New Orleans, asking to be allowed to “register and vote.” +They reminded him of their defense of New Orleans against the British +under General Jackson, and declared their present loyalty to the Union. +In March he wrote the following letter to the newly elected Governor +Hahn: + + EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON + March 13, 1864 + + _Honorable Michael Hahn_ + + MY DEAR SIR: In congratulating you on having fixed your name in + history as the first Free State Governor of Louisiana, now you are + about to have a convention which, among other things, will probably + define the elective franchise, I barely suggest, for your private + consideration, whether some of the colored people may not be let on, + as for instance, the very intelligent, and especially those who have + fought gallantly in our ranks. They would probably help in some trying + time in the future to keep the jewel of Liberty in the family of + freedom. But this is only suggestion, not to the public, but to you + alone. + + Truly yours, + + A. LINCOLN[20] + +Long afterward Douglass wondered if it was some awful presentiment +that made his heart so heavy on the second Inauguration Day. Abraham +Lincoln’s voice lacked the resonance and liquid sweetness with which +men stirred vast audiences. He spoke slowly, carefully, as if each word +were a gift of himself to them--his last words to his people. + +“With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the +right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive to finish the +work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who +shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and his orphans, to +do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among +ourselves and with all nations.” + +A blackness engulfed Douglass for a time. He was unconscious of having +pushed forward. The ceremonies over, there was jostling and movement +all around him. Then over the heads of all the crowd, he saw President +Lincoln looking at him--he saw his face light up with a smile of +welcome. Douglass started toward him when he was stopped by something +else. Andrew Johnson, the Vice-President, stood beside Lincoln. + +“Mr. Lincoln touched Mr. Johnson and pointed me out to him,” Douglass +wrote, describing the incident. “The first expression which came to his +face, and which I think was the true index of his heart, was one of +bitter contempt and aversion. Seeing that I observed him, he tried to +assume a more friendly appearance, but it was too late; it is useless +to close the door when all within has been seen. His first glance was +the frown of the man; the second was the bland and sickly smile of the +demagogue.”[21] + +He turned aside, again engulfed in gloom. “Whatever Andrew Johnson may +be,” he thought, “he certainly is no friend of my race.” + +The same evening in the spacious East Room, at such an affair as he had +never in his own country been privileged to attend before, he tried to +put aside his misgivings. He simply ignored the startled glances turned +in his direction. His card of admission was beyond question. + +Even in this most brilliant of gatherings, Frederick Douglass was an +impressive figure. He was faultlessly groomed. His magnificent head +towered over any crowd, and he moved with poise and dignity. It is no +wonder that the President saw him standing in line among the others. + +“Ah! Here comes my friend Douglass,” Lincoln said playfully. + +Taking Douglass by the hand he said, “I saw you in the crowd today, +listening to my speech. Did you like it?” + +Douglass smiled, a little embarrassed. He had no desire to hold up the +line. + +“Mr. Lincoln, I mustn’t detain you with my opinions,” he almost +whispered. “There are a thousand people waiting to shake hands with +you.” + +Lincoln was in an almost jovial mood that evening. He laughed softly. + +“Nonsense,” he said, “stop a little, Douglass. There’s no man in the +country whose opinion I value more than yours. I really want to know +what you thought of it.” + +Douglass tried to tell him. In the years to come he wished he had found +better words. + +“Mr. Lincoln, your words today were sacred,” he said. “They will never +die.” + +Lincoln seemed satisfied. His face lit up. + +“I’m glad you liked it.” + +Douglass rejoiced that Lincoln had his hour--an hour when he was bathed +in joyful tears of gratitude. It happened on a soft, spring day in +Richmond. General Weitzel had taken the city a few days before, with +the Twenty-ninth Connecticut Colored Regiment at his back. Now on this +April morning, the battered city was very still. White people who could +leave had fled. The others shut themselves inside, behind closed doors +and drawn shades. But lilacs were blooming in their yards. + +It was a Negro soldier who saw the little rowboat pull up at the dock +and a tall gaunt man, leading a little boy, step out. He waved back the +sailors, who moved to follow him. + +“We’ll go alone,” he said. Taking the little boy by the hand, he +started up the embankment to the street. + +“Which way to our headquarters?” he asked the soldier. The soldier had +never seen Abraham Lincoln, but he recognized him. He saluted smartly. + +“I’ll direct you, sir,” he offered. He was trembling. The President +smiled and shook his head. + +“Just tell me.” + +It was straight ahead up the street--Jefferson Davis’ mansion. He +couldn’t miss it. The soldier watched him go. He wanted to shout. He +wanted to run--to spread the news--but he could not leave his post. + +No conquering hero he--just a tired man, walking down the street, his +deeply lined, sad face lifted to the few trees showing their spring +leaves. All around him lay the ravages of war. Suddenly a black boy +turned into the way and stared. + +“Glory! Hit’s Mistah Lincoln!” he yelled. + +And then they came from all the by-streets and the lanes. They came +shouting his name, flinging their hats into the air, waving their +hands. The empty streets thronged with black folks. They stretched +their hands and called out: + +“Gawd bless yo’, Mistah Lincolm!” + +“T’ank yo’ kin’ly, Mistah Lincolm!” + +“T’ank yo’! Praise de Lawd!” + +An old man dropped upon his knees and kissed his hand. + +They saw the tears streaming down Lincoln’s face, and a hush fell over +those nearest him as he laid his hand upon the bowed white head, then +stooped and helped the old man to his feet. + +“God bless you--God keep you all!” Lincoln could say no more at the +moment. They allowed him to move along his way, but by the time he had +reached his destination as far as he could see the streets were black. + +They waited while he went inside--waiting, cheering, and singing at +intervals. When he came out he stood on the high steps and lifted +his hands for silence. Many of them dropped on their knees and all +listened, their faces turned to him as to the sun. He spoke simply, +sharing their joy. He accepted their devotion, but he said, “God has +made you free.” They knew he had come from God. + +“Although you have been deprived of your God-given rights by your +so-called masters, you are now as free as I am; and if those that claim +to be your superiors do not know that you are free, take the sword and +bayonet and teach them that you are--for God created all men free, +giving to each the same rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of +happiness.” + +He went away with their voices in his ears. A few days later came +Appomattox; and Lincoln, his face flushed, his eyes bright, his +strength renewed by secret wells of energy, covered his desk with plans +for reconstruction. Not a day to lose, not a moment. The wounds must be +healed, a better, stronger nation rise. + +The President called his Cabinet together for April 14, then sent a +wire off to William Lloyd Garrison asking him to go to Fort Sumter for +the raising of the Stars and Stripes there. Garrison joyfully obeyed. +With him were Henry Ward Beecher and George Thompson, antislavery men +who could now rejoice. + +The flag was raised, and singing filled the air; the waters were +covered with flowers, and the guns fired their triumphant salute. They +were on the steamer headed farther south when, at Beaufort, they were +handed a telegram. + +Abraham Lincoln was dead! + +“_I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring._” + + + + + CHAPTER SIXTEEN + + _Moving forward_ + + +The American Anti-Slavery Society disbanded and its agents were +withdrawn from the fields. The last number of the _Liberator_ came out. + +“The object for which the _liberator_ was commenced thirty-five years +ago having been gloriously consummated--” wrote the white-haired +editor. He could now close his office. The slaves were free--his job +was finished. Garrison sailed for England and the Continent. + +Frederick Douglass, dragging himself through the weeks, hardly heeded +what was being done. He caught some words of Wendell Phillips’ +passionate plea: the Thirteenth Amendment had not yet become law; +even after ratification it had to be carried out. But he had taken no +part in the discussions. His occupation was gone and his salary--the +Anti-Slavery Society had paid him about five hundred dollars a +year--cut off. Lewis came home. Frederic was working with the +Freedman’s Bureau in Mississippi. Douglass made sporadic attempts to +think of how he would earn a living. The newspaper hung heavy on his +hands. An idea occurred to him. With the few thousand dollars Anna had +saved from the sales of his book, _My Bondage and My Freedom_, he had +best buy a farm, settle down and earn an honest living by tilling the +soil. + +But nothing seemed of any real importance. + +“John Brown and Abraham Lincoln!” He lay awake at night linking the two +names. Time seemed endless. + +Yet it was only the latter part of June when President Johnson made +Benjamin F. Perry, former member of the Confederate legislature, the +Provisional Governor of South Carolina. Perry promptly put things back +the way they had been “before Lincoln.” He conferred suffrage upon all +citizens who had been legal voters prior to Secession. He called for an +election by these people of delegates to a Constitutional Convention to +be held in September. In his opening address as Provisional Governor, +the Honorable Mr. Perry stated his platform very clearly. “This is a +white man’s government, and intended for white men only.” + +Horace Greeley reported the facts in the _Tribune_ together with a grim +editorial. + +Douglass shook with rage. His anger was directed not at the Southern +Provisional Governor but at the man who now sat in Abraham Lincoln’s +place. For a moment his hate for Andrew Johnson consumed every rational +thought. Then his mind began to clear--to race, to leap forward. The +moment broke his lethargy. + +“John Brown and Lincoln--yes!” He spoke aloud. “But I’m living. _I_ am +still here!” He struck the desk with his fist. “And by God we’ll fight!” + +Then, seizing his pen, he swept aside the papers that had been +gathering dust, and on a clean white page he began to write. + +“The liberties of the American people are dependent upon the +ballot-box, the jury box and the cartridge box.... Freedmen must have +the ballot if they would retain their freedom!” + +His words sounded across the country. In many instances they filled +people, already worn out and war-weary, with dismay. The ballot was +such a vast advance beyond the former objects proclaimed by the friends +of the colored race that it struck men as preposterous and wholly +inadmissible. Antislavery men were far from united as to the wisdom of +Douglass’ stand. At first William Lloyd Garrison was not ready to join +in the idea, but he was soon found on the right side. As Douglass said +of him, “A man’s head will not long remain wrong, when his heart is +right.” + +But if at first Garrison thought it was too much to ask, Wendell +Phillips saw not only the justice, but the wisdom and necessity, of the +measure. + +“I shall never leave the Negro until, so far as God gives me the power, +I achieve [absolute equality before the law--absolute civil equality],” +he thundered from his pulpit. + +Enfranchisement of the freedmen was resisted on two main grounds: +first, the tendency of the measure to bring the freedmen into conflict +with the old master-class and the white people of the South generally; +second, their unfitness, by reason of their ignorance, servility and +degradation, to exercise over the destinies of the nation so great a +power as the ballot. + +“We’ve set them free! By Heaven, that’s enough! Let them go to work and +prove themselves!” So spake the North, anxious to get back to “business +as usual.” + +But deep down in the land there was a mighty stirring. Words had been +said that could not be recalled--_henceforth, and forever free_. + +There were no stories of killings, massacre or rape by the freed +blacks. Whitelaw Reid, touring the South, reported: “The Negroes +everywhere are quiet, respectful and peaceful; they are the only group +at work.” And the Alexandria _Gazette_ said “the Negroes generally +behave themselves respectfully toward the whites.” + +At first there was much roaming about. Husbands set out to find +wives; and wives, idle, sat on the flat ground, believing they would +come. Mothers who had never set foot off the plantation, struck +out across the country to find their children; and children--like +dirty, scared, brown animals--swarmed aimlessly. There was sickness +and death. Freedman’s Aid Societies floundered around in a vacuum, +well-intentioned, doling out relief here and there; but what the black +man needed was a place where he could stand--a tiny, little part of the +great earth and a tool in his right hand. + +William Freeland, master of Freelands, sat on his high-pillared +porch staring at the unkempt, tangled yard. Weeds and briers choking +everything--shrubbery, close-fisted, intricately branched, suffocating +the rambler. In the fields beyond, nothing was growing save long grass, +thistles and fierce suckers; and over the pond a scum had gathered, +frothing and buoyed with its own gases. + +Though past sixty when the war began, William Freeland, ashamed that +Maryland was undecided, had gone to Richmond and volunteered. He had +cut a fine figure riding away on his horse--his well-tailored gray +uniform setting off the iron gray of his hair. The ladies of Richmond +had leaned from their windows, fluttering lace handkerchiefs. They +would not have recognized him when he came back to Freelands. His hair +was thinned and white, his uniform a tattered, filthy rag; the bony nag +he rode could scarcely make it to the old sycamore. + +But the house still stood. It had not been pillaged or burned. His land +had not been plowed with cannon; it was not soaked with blood. Suddenly +the spring evening was cold, and he shuddered. Involuntarily his hand +reached toward the bell. Then it fell back. No one would answer. Old +Sue was in the kitchen, but she was too deaf to hear. + +He would have to get some help on the place. The thought of paying +wages to the ungrateful blacks filled him with rage. The cause of all +the suffering and woe, they had turned on their masters, running after +Yankees. Some of them had even shot white men! Gall bit into his soul +as he remembered the strutting colored soldiers in Richmond. + +The sound of a cart coming up the drive broke into his gloomy +meditation. The master frowned. A side road led around to the back. +Peddlers’ carts had no place on the drive. Then he remembered. This was +probably the man he was expecting--impudent upstart! His hand shook, +but he braced himself. He had promised to listen to him. + +“He’s likely a damn Yankee, though he claims he’s from Georgia,” +Freeland’s friend, the Colonel, had said. “But he’s got a scheme for +getting the niggers back in their place. He says they’re dying like +flies on the roads, they’ll be glad to get back to work. Just bide your +time, old man, we’ll have all our niggers back. Where can they go?” + +The master did not rise to greet his guest. He hated the sniveling oaf. +But before the cart went rumbling back along the drive the owner of +Freelands had parted with precious dollars. + +Similar transactions were being carried on all over the South that +spring. + +“Were the planters willing to bestow the same amount of money upon +the laborers as additional wages, as they pay to runners and waste in +dishonest means of compulsion, they would have drawn as many voluntary +and faithful laborers as they now obtain reluctant ones. But there +are harpies, who, most of them, were in the slave trade, and who +persuade planters to use them as brokers to supply the plantations +with hands, at the same time using all means to deceive the simple and +unsophisticated laborer.”[22] + +But things were stirring in the land. Frederick Douglass in Rochester +sending out his paper--sending it South! The handsome, popular Francis +L. Cardoza, charming young Negro Presbyterian minister in New Haven, +Connecticut, resigning his Church and saying, “I’m going South!” + +“What!” his parishioners exclaimed. + +“Going to Charleston, _South_ Carolina.” And he grinned almost impishly +while they stared at him, wondering if they had heard right. Francis +Cardoza had been in school in Europe while the Anti-Slavery Societies +were lighting their fires. Having finished his work at the University +of Glasgow, he had accepted a call from New Haven. But now he heard +another call--more urgent. He packed up his books. He would need them +in South Carolina--land of his fathers. + +Three colored refugees from Santo Domingo pooled their assets and +started a paper in New Orleans. They called it the _New Orleans +Tribune_, and published it as a daily during 1865. After that year +it continued as a weekly until sometime in 1869. It was published in +French and English, and copies were sent to members of Congress. Its +editor, Paul Trevigne, whose father had fought in the War of 1812, +wanted to bring Louisiana “under a truly democratic system of labor.” +He cited a new plan of credit for the people being tried in Europe. +“We, too, need credit for the laborers,” he wrote. “We cannot expect +complete and perfect freedom for the workingmen, as long as they remain +the tools of capital and are deprived of the legitimate product of the +sweat of their brow.”[23] + +It was in September that a friend in South Carolina sent Douglass +a clipping from the _Columbia Daily Phoenix_, certainly _not_ an +Abolitionist sheet. It was dated September 23, 1865, and as Douglass +read his face lighted up with joy. Here was the right and proper +challenge to Provisional Governor Perry--a challenge from within his +own state! “A large meeting of freedmen, held on St. Helena Island on +the 4th instant” had adopted a set of resolutions--five clearly stated, +well-written paragraphs. Douglass reprinted the entire account in his +own paper, crediting its source. People read and could scarcely believe +what they read--coming as it did from the “ignorant, servile blacks” in +the lowlands. + + 1. _Resolved_, That we, the colored residents of St. Helena Island, + do most respectfully petition the Convention about to be assembled + at Columbia, on the 13th instant, to so alter and amend the present + Constitution of this state as to give the right of suffrage to every + man of twenty-one years, without other qualifications than that + required for the white citizens of the states. + + 2. _Resolved_, That, by the Declaration of Independence, we believe + these are rights which cannot justly be denied us, and we hope the + Convention will do us full justice by recognizing them. + + 3. _Resolved_, That we will never cease our efforts to obtain, by all + just and legal means, a full recognition of our rights as citizens of + the United States and this Commonwealth. + + 4. _Resolved_, That, having heretofore shown our devotion to the + Government, as well as our willingness to defend its Constitution and + laws, therefore we trust that the members of the Convention will see + the justice of allowing us a voice in the election of our rulers. + + 5. _Resolved_, That we believe the future peace and welfare of this + state depends very materially upon the protection of the interests + of the colored men and can only be secured by the adoption of the + sentiments embodied in the foregoing resolutions. + +The week of the thirteenth came and went. Douglass scanned the papers +in vain for any mention of the petition or of anything concerning the +“new citizens” of South Carolina. In October came a letter from Francis +Cardoza, whom Douglass had met but did not know very well. He said, “I +wish to thank you for giving publicity to the petition sent in by our +people on St. Helena. Your co-operation strengthened their hearts. As +you know, as yet nothing has come of it, nor of the longer document +drawn up and presented by 103 Negroes assembled in Charleston. I have a +copy of the Charleston petition. Should you be in Washington any time +soon I’ll gladly meet you there with it. These men are neither to be +pitied nor scorned. They know that they are only at the beginning. With +the ballot they will become useful, responsible, functioning citizens +of the state. Without the ballot--sooner or later, there will be war.” + +Douglass immediately got in touch with certain influential men. “I +propose,” he said, “that a committee go to Washington and lay the +matter of the freedmen’s enfranchisement squarely before President +Johnson.” His face darkened for a moment. “Perhaps I misjudge the man,” +he added. “He is faced with a gigantic task. It is our duty to give him +every assistance.” + +They rallied round, and a delegation of colored people from Illinois, +Wisconsin, Alabama, Mississippi, Florida, South Carolina, North +Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, the New England +states and the District of Columbia was called together. George +Downing, of Rhode Island, and Frederick Douglass were named spokesmen. +A letter was dispatched to the White House requesting an interview with +the President. + +After several weeks, the answer came. The President would receive the +delegation February 7. Douglass sent off a note to Cardoza saying when +he would be in Washington and suggesting the home of “my dear friend, +Mrs. Amelia Kemp” as the place of meeting. + +An account of Johnson’s interview with the “Negro delegation” has gone +into the historical archives of Washington. It received nationwide +publicity both because of what was said and because of Frederick +Douglass’ gift for rebuttal. + +“Until that interview,” Douglass wrote in his _Life and Times_, “the +country was not fully aware of the intentions and policy of President +Johnson on the subject of reconstruction, especially in respect of the +newly emancipated class of the South. After having heard the brief +addresses made to him by Mr. Downing and myself, he occupied at least +three-quarters of an hour in what seemed a set speech, and refused to +listen to any reply on our part, although solicited to grant a few +moments for that purpose. Seeing the advantage that Mr. Johnson would +have over us in getting his speech paraded before the country in the +morning papers, the members of the delegation met on the evening of +that day, and instructed me to prepare a brief reply, which should +go out to the country simultaneously with the President’s speech to +us. Since this reply indicates the points of difference between the +President and ourselves, I produce it here as a part of the history of +the times, it being concurred in by all the members of the delegation.” + + 1. The first point to which we feel especially bound to take + exception, is your attempt to found a policy opposed to our + enfranchisement, upon the alleged ground of an existing hostility on + the part of the former slaves toward the poor white people of the + South. We admit the existence of this hostility, and hold that it is + entirely reciprocal. But you obviously commit an error by drawing an + argument from an incident of slavery, and making it a basis for a + policy adapted to a state of freedom. The hostility between the whites + and blacks of the South is easily explained. It has its root and sap + in the relation of slavery, and was incited on both sides by the + cunning of the slave masters. Those masters secured their ascendancy + over both the poor whites and blacks by putting enmity between them. + + They divided both to conquer each. There was no earthly reason why the + blacks should not hate and dread the poor whites when in a state of + slavery, for it was from this class that their masters received their + slave-catchers, slave-drivers, and overseers. They were the men called + in upon all occasions by the masters whenever any fiendish outrage + was to be committed upon the slave. Now, sir, you cannot but perceive + that, the cause of this hatred removed, the effect must be removed + also. Slavery is abolished.... You must see that it is altogether + illogical to legislate from slaveholding premises for a people whom + you have repeatedly declared it your purpose to maintain in freedom. + + 2. Besides, even if it were true, as you allege, that the hostility of + the blacks toward the poor whites must necessarily project itself into + a state of freedom, and that this enmity between the two races is even + more intense in a state of freedom than in a state of slavery, in the + name of heaven, we ask how can you, in view of your professed desire + to promote the welfare of the black man, deprive him of all means of + defense, and clothe him whom you regard as his enemy in the panoply + of political power? Can it be that you recommend a policy which would + arm the strong and cast down the defenseless?... Peace between races + is not to be secured by degrading one race and exalting another; by + giving power to one race and withholding it from another; but by + maintaining a state of equal justice between all classes. + + 3. On the colonization theory you were pleased to broach, very much + could be said. It is impossible to suppose, in view of the usefulness + of the black man in time of peace as a laborer in the South, and in + time of war as a soldier in the North ... that there can ever come a + time when he can be removed from this country without a terrible shock + to its prosperity and peace. Besides, the worst enemy of the nation + could not cast upon its fair name a greater infamy than to admit that + Negroes could be tolerated among them in a state of the most degrading + slavery and oppression, and must be cast away, driven into exile, for + no other cause than having been freed from their chains.[24] + +The open letter written, one of the delegation hurried away with it to +the press. They had repaired to the home of John F. Cook, Washington +member of the delegation. He invited Douglass to remain for the night, +but Douglass explained that he had yet another appointment and that he +was expected at the home of an old friend. Douglass now stood up and, +shaking his shoulders, made ready to leave. + +The weather outside was nasty. A wet, driving snow had turned the +streets into muddy slush; the wooden sidewalks were slippery and the +crossings were ditches of black water. Douglass fastened his boots +securely and turned up the collar of his coat. + +“Can you find your way, Douglass?” asked Dr. Cook. “The streets are so +poorly lighted, and on a night like this a stranger could easily get +lost. If you’ll wait a little I’ll be glad to--” + +Douglass interrupted. “No, indeed, Doctor. I know the way very well. +It’s not far.” + +Meanwhile, “Miss Amelia” was finding Francis Cardoza good company. He +was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen. The little lady’s eyes +twinkled, and her cheeks were flushed. + +Tom’s widow was not as spry as she once was. Days and nights of nursing +in the Soldiers’ Home had brought weights heavier than years upon her +valiant frame. Now she was old. But she could take things easy. Jack +Haley was head of the house. The boarders could not be prevailed upon +to move, and the dark woman in the kitchen would have served just as +faithfully without wages. Frederick’s supper was being kept warm on +the back of the stove and his room was ready. She lifted the shade and +peered anxiously out into the dark night. + +“I do hope he gets a cab. This is a bad night for him to be out on +these streets alone.” Her guest smiled. + +“Frederick Douglass can take care of himself, madam,” he said. “You +should not worry about him.” + +“Oh, but I _do_!” And Amelia’s blue eyes opened wide. Francis Cardoza, +his eyes on the white hands and pulsing, crinkled throat, marveled anew +at the children of God. + +When Douglass came he was deeply apologetic, but they waved aside his +concern. + +“It is nothing,” they said. “We knew you were busy.” + +Amelia would not let them talk until he had eaten, and when he shook +his head, saying he could not keep Mr. Cardoza waiting any longer, +Cardoza laughed. + +“Might as well give in, Mr. Douglass.” + +So they all went to the dining room, and Amelia insisted that the young +man join her Frederick in his late supper. + +Here in the friendly room, beside the roaring fire, the happenings of +the day no longer seemed so crushing. He told them everything, and they +listened, feeling his disappointment. Then Amelia spoke their thought +aloud. + +“If only Mr. Lincoln had lived!” + +She left them then after explaining to Douglass, “I invited Mr. Cardoza +to spend the night, but he has relatives here in Washington.” + +They were both on their feet, bowing as she left. Amelia smiled and +thought, “Always such lovely manners.” + +The two men settled down before the fire for serious talk. Francis +Cardoza was well informed. He might easily be taken for a white man, +and so had heard much not intended for his ears. + +“I talked today with Thaddeus Stevens,” he told Douglass. “I told him +what I had seen of the black codes, and he told me of Senator Sumner’s +magnificent speech in the Senate two days ago. He swears they’ll get +the Civil Rights Bill through in spite of Johnson.” + +“And I believe they will!” Douglass agreed. He leaned forward eagerly. +“You have brought the petition?” + +“Yes, sir.” Cardoza was unfolding a manuscript. “Here is an exact +copy of the document presented by us to the Convention assembled at +Columbia. These words of the freedmen of South Carolina are our best +argument. Read!” He handed the sheets to Douglass. + +It was a long document and Douglass read slowly. This then came from +“those savage blacks”! + + ... Our interests and affections are inseparably interwoven with the + welfare and prosperity of the state.... We assure your honorable body + that such recognition of our manhood as this petition asks for, is all + that is needed to convince the colored people of this state that the + white men of the state are prepared to do them justice. + + Let us also assure your honorable body that nothing short of this, + our respectful demand, will satisfy our people. If our prayer is not + granted, there will doubtless be the same quiet and seemingly patient + submission to wrong that there has been in the past. The day for which + we watched and prayed came as we expected it; the day of our complete + enfranchisement will also come; and in that faith we will work and + wait.[25] + +Douglass sat staring at the last sheet a long time. The simple majesty +of the words rendered him speechless. His voice was husky. + +“I wish I could have read this to President Johnson today. No words of +mine can equal it.” + +“President Johnson was already incensed by Senator Sumner’s words,” +Cardoza reminded him. + +Douglass was silent for a moment. Then he spoke slowly. + +“I want to be fair to President Johnson. In criticizing our friend +Charles Sumner he said, ‘I do not like to be arraigned by someone who +can get up handsomely-rounded periods and deal in rhetoric and talk +about abstract ideas of liberty, who never periled life, liberty, or +property.’” Douglass tapped the closely written sheets. “Well, here are +men who even now are imperiling life, liberty and property. Perhaps he +would have listened.” + +“When he spoke to the Negroes of Nashville before his election, Johnson +expressed his eagerness to be another Moses who would lead the black +peoples from bondage to freedom.” Cardoza had been in Nashville a short +time before. + +“Notice that even then he said he would do the leading.” There was +bitterness in Douglass’ voice. “Apparently he’s not willing for the +black man to stand up and walk to freedom on his two feet.” + +Washington was emerging from the enveloping darkness when Francis +Cardoza took his leave. + +As he walked through the silent, gray street past the Representatives +Office Building he saw a light faintly showing through one of the +windows. He murmured his thought aloud. + +“We’re beating a nation out upon the anvil of time. The fires must be +kept hot!” + + * * * * * + +Inside the building a tired, thin man with deeply furrowed face pushed +back his chair and for a moment covered his eyes with his hand. Then +he glanced toward the window, and his mouth crooked into a smile. He’d +have to explain at home. Again he had stayed out all night. His desk +was covered with papers. He would go home now, drink some coffee. That +morning he proposed to demand the floor. He had something to say. He +paused a moment and re-read one scribbled paragraph: + +“This is not a white man’s Government, in the exclusive sense in +which it is said. To say so is political blasphemy, for it violates +the fundamental principles of our gospel of liberty. This is Man’s +Government, the Government of all men alike; not that all men will have +equal power and sway within it. Accidental circumstances, natural and +acquired endowment and ability, will vary their fortunes. But equal +rights to all the privileges of the Government is innate in every +immortal being, no matter what the shape or color of the tabernacle +which it inhabits. Our fathers repudiated the whole doctrine of the +legal superiority of families or races, and proclaimed the equality of +men before the law. Upon that they created a revolution and built the +Republic.”[26] + +Thaddeus Stevens arranged the papers in a neat pile, straightened his +wig and stood up. Then he took down his overcoat from the rack and put +it on. His feet echoed in the dim, empty corridor. A Negro attendant +in the lobby saw him coming. The dark face lit up with a smile and his +greeting sang like a tiny hymn. + +“Good mawnin’, Mistah Stevens--_Good_ mawnin’ to you, sah!” + +And Thaddeus Stevens did not feel the chill in the air as he walked +down the steps and out into the wet, gray dawn. + + * * * * * + +“The war is not over!” Douglass said grimly to his son Lewis. “The +battle is far from won. Not yet can I unfurl John Brown’s flag in a +land of the free!” + +On the other hand, he knew the battle was not lost. But the +Abolitionists’ fundamental tenet of “moral persuasion” would have to +have a firm structure of legislation--or the house would come tumbling +down. + +Stout girders for this structure were being lifted all over the land, +in the least expected places. + +On January 1, 1867, the African Baptist Church of Richmond, Virginia, +was packed for an Emancipation Celebration. In the midst of the singing +and praying and shouting a young white man rose in the audience and, +going forward, asked if he might say a word. + +“My name’s James Hunnicut and I’m from South Carolina,” he said. A +mother hushed her child with a sharp hiss. The dark faces were suddenly +cautious. The young man went on. + +“This is a happy birthday for you--a day to be remembered with great +joy.” He waited until the fervent “Amens” and “Hallelujahs” had died +away. He took a step forward and his voice grew taut. + +“But now each time you come together I urge you to look into the +future.” + +Then in simple words that all could understand he talked to them +of what it meant to be a citizen. He explained the machinery of +government. He told them they must register and vote in the fall +elections. Some of the men grew tense. They had discussed plans. To +others it was new, and all leaned forward eagerly. + +“When you are organized,” he said, “help to elect a loyal governor and +loyal congressmen. Do not vote for men who opposed your liberty--no +matter what they say now. Keep your eyes and ears open and your mouths +shut. Educate yourselves--and go to the ballot boxes with your votes +tight in your hands!” + +The young folks cheered him with a kind of madness. But some of the +older ones shook their heads. + +A week after this happened, Frederick Douglass, on his way to +Chicago, found that he could stop off at Galesburg, Illinois, in time +for a local emancipation mass meeting. Galesburg was known as an +Abolitionists’ town. In the town’s old Dunn Hall they had hauled up the +biggest guns of the 1860 campaign. The county had gone almost solid +for Abraham Lincoln, though the Hall had given its greatest ovation to +one of the stoutest advocates of Stephen A. Douglas. The speaker had +been Robert Ingersoll, a young man from Peoria. Now seven years later, +when they planned to celebrate emancipation, the Negroes asked Robert +Ingersoll to deliver the main address. Douglass had been wanting to +hear Ingersoll for a year. + +“On one of the frostiest and coldest nights I ever experienced,” +Douglass wrote, “I delivered a lecture in the town of Elmwood, +Illinois, twenty miles from Peoria. It was one of those bleak and +flinty nights, when prairie winds pierce like needles, and a step +on the snow sounds like a file on the steel teeth of a saw. My next +appointment after Elmwood was on Monday night, and in order to reach it +in time, it was necessary to go to Peoria the night previous, so as to +take an early morning train. I could only accomplish this by leaving +Elmwood after my lecture at midnight, for there was no Sunday train. +So a little before the hour at which my train was expected at Elmwood, +I started for the station with my friend Mr. Brown. On the way I said +to him, ‘I’m going to Peoria with something like a real dread of the +place. I expect to be compelled to walk the streets of that city all +night to keep from freezing.’ I told him that the last time I was there +I could obtain no shelter at any hotel and I knew no one in the city. +Mr. Brown was visibly affected by the statement and for some time was +silent. At last, as if suddenly discovering a way out of a painful +situation, he said, ‘I know a man in Peoria, should the hotels be +closed against you there, who would gladly open his doors to you--a man +who will receive you at any hour of the night, and in any weather, and +that man is Robert G. Ingersoll.’ ‘Why,’ said I, ‘it would not do to +disturb a family at such a time as I shall arrive there, on a night so +cold as this.’ ‘No matter about the hour,’ he said; ‘neither he nor his +family would be happy if they thought you were shelterless on such a +night. I know Mr. Ingersoll, and that he will be glad to welcome you at +midnight or at cockcrow.’ I became much interested by this description +of Mr. Ingersoll. Fortunately I had no occasion for disturbing him or +his family that night. I did find quarters for the night at the best +hotel in the city.”[27] + +He had left Peoria the next morning. But his desire to meet the Peoria +lawyer had increased with the passing months--not the least because he +usually heard him referred to as “the infidel.” + +The train was late pulling into Galesburg. Douglass took a cab at the +station and was driven directly to Dunn’s Hall. The place was jammed +with people, and the meeting well under way. Douglass saw that the +crowd was largely colored. That meant a lot of them had come a long +distance. Among so many strangers he hoped to get in without attracting +attention. + +He succeeded, but it was because the attention of the throng was +riveted on the speaker who faced them on the platform far up front. +Only those persons whom he pushed against even saw the big man with the +upturned coat collar. + +Douglass later described Robert G. Ingersoll as a man “with real living +human sunshine in his face.” It was this quality of dynamic light +about the man up front which made him stare on that January night. He +had come prepared to be impressed, but he was amazed at the almost +childlike freshness of the fair, smooth face with its wide-set eyes. +Ingersoll was of fine height and breadth, his mouth as gentle as a +woman’s, but, as Douglass began taking in what the man was saying, his +wonder grew. + +“Slavery has destroyed every nation that has gone down to death. It +caused the last vestige of Grecian civilization to disappear forever, +and it caused Rome to fall with a crash that shook the world. After +the disappearance of slavery in its grossest forms in Europe, Gonzales +pointed out to his countrymen, the Portuguese, the immense profits that +they could make by stealing Africans, and thus commenced the modern +slave trade--that aggregation of all horror--infinite of all cruelty, +prosecuted only by demons, and defended only by fiends. + +“And yet the slave trade has been defended and sustained by every +civilized nation, and by each and all has been baptized ‘legitimate +commerce’ in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.” + +Douglass felt a chill descend his spine. + +He told them that every great movement must be led by heroic, +self-sacrificing pioneers. Then his voice took on another quality. + +“In Santo Domingo the pioneers were Oge and Chevannes; they headed +a revolt, they were unsuccessful, but they roused the slaves to +resistance. They were captured, tried, condemned and executed. They +were made to ask forgiveness of God and of the King, for having +attempted to give freedom to their own flesh and blood. They were +broken alive on the wheel and left to die of hunger and pain. The blood +of those martyrs became the seed of liberty; and afterward in the +midnight assault, in the massacre and pillage, the infuriated slaves +shouted their names as their battle cry, until Toussaint, the greatest +of the blacks, gave freedom to them all.” + +He quoted Thomas Paine: _No man can be happy surrounded by those whose +happiness he has destroyed_. And Thomas Jefferson: _When the measure of +their tears shall be full--when their groans shall have involved heaven +itself in darkness--doubtless a God of justice will awaken to their +distress and, by diffusing light and liberality among the oppressors or +at length by his exterminating thunder, manifest his attention to the +things of this world and that they are not left to the guidance of a +blind fatality_. + +He named Garrison, who was “for liberty as a principle and not from +mere necessity.” + +A cheer went up from the crowd. Douglass’ heart was glad as he heard +it. Ingersoll then talked of Wendell Phillips, and of Charles Sumner, +who at that moment was battling for the freedmen in Congress. His voice +deepened, his great eyes became soft pools of light. + +“But the real pioneer in America was old John Brown,” he said. There +was no cheer this time. They bowed their head and the golden voice was +like a prayer. + +“He struck the sublimest blow of the age for freedom. It was said of +him that he stepped from the gallows to the throne of God. It was said +that he had made the scaffold to Liberty what Christ had made the cross +to Christianity.” + +They wept softly. Douglass, his hands clenched, lost himself in +memories. When he heard the voice again it was ringing. + +“In reconstructing the Southern states ... we prefer loyal blacks to +disloyal whites.... Today I am in favor of giving the Negro every right +that I claim for myself. + +“We must be for freedom everywhere. Freedom is progress--slavery is +desolation and want; freedom invents, slavery forgets. Freedom believes +in education; the salvation of slavery is ignorance. + +“The South has always dreaded the alphabet. They looked upon each +letter as an Abolitionist, and well they might.” There was laughter. + +“If, in the future, the wheel of fortune should take a turn, and you +should in any country have white men in your power, I pray you not +to execute the villainy we have taught you.” The old Hall was still. +Ingersoll was drawing to a close. “... Stand for each other and above +all stand for liberty the world over--for all men.”[28] + +Douglass slipped out. He heard the thunder of applause. It filled the +winter night as he hurried away. He walked for a long time down the +unfamiliar streets, the snow crunching under his feet, but he did not +feel the cold. His blood raced through his veins, his brain was on +fire, his heart sang. + +He had seen a shining angel brandishing his sword. + +He had also found a friend. He would clasp Ingersoll’s hand in his +maturity, as the young Douglass had clasped the hands of William Lloyd +Garrison and John Brown. + + + + + CHAPTER SEVENTEEN + + _Fourscore years ago in Washington_ + + +“The future of the freedmen is linked with the destiny of Labor in +America. Negroes, thank God, are workers.” + +New words being added to the song of freedom. In 1867, in the District +of Columbia, colored workers came together in a mass meeting. They +asked Congress to secure equal apportionment of employment to white and +colored labor. Their petition was printed, and a committee of fifteen +was appointed to circulate it. Similar meetings were held in Kentucky, +Indiana and in Pennsylvania. + +A year and a half later, in January, 1869, they called a national +convention in Washington. Among the one hundred and thirty delegates +from all parts of the country came Henry M. Turner, black political +leader of Georgia. Resolutions were passed in favor of universal +suffrage, the opening of public lands in the South for Negroes, +the Freedman’s Bureau, a national tax for Negro schools, and the +reconstruction policy of Congress. They opposed any plan for +colonization. + +Frederick Douglass was elected permanent president. Resolutions +were passed advocating industrious habits, the learning of trades +and professions, distribution of government lands, suffrage for +all--including women--and “free school systems, with no distinction on +account of race, color, sex or creed.” + +The January convention, though not primarily a labor group, backed +industrial emancipation. Eleven months later a distinctly labor +convention met and stayed in session a full week at Union League Hall +in Washington. + +In February, 1870, the Bureau of Labor ran an article on the need of +organized Negro labor. Shortly afterward, the Colored National Labor +Union came into being, with the _New Era_, a weekly paper, its national +organ. Frederick Douglass was asked to become editor-in-chief. + +People wanted Douglass to go into politics. Rochester, with a +population of over sixty thousand white citizens and only about two +hundred colored, had sent him as delegate to a national political +convention in the fall of 1866. The National Loyalists’ Convention held +in Philadelphia was composed of delegates from the South, North and +West. Its object was to lay down the principles to be observed in the +reconstruction of society in the Southern states. + +Though he had been sent by a “white vote,” all was not clear sailing +for Douglass. His troubles started on the delegates’ special train +headed for Philadelphia. At Harrisburg it was coupled to another +special from the southwest--and the train began to rock! After a +hurried consultation it was decided that the “Jonah” in their midst +had better be tossed overboard. The spokesman chosen to convey this +decision to the victim was a gentleman from New Orleans, of low voice +and charming manners. “I credit him with a high degree of politeness +and the gift of eloquence,” said Douglass. + +He began by exhibiting his knowledge of Douglass’ history and of his +works, and said that he entertained toward him a very high respect. +He assured the delegate from Rochester that the gentlemen who sent +him, as well as those who accompanied him, regarded the Honorable Mr. +Douglass with admiration and that there was not among them the remotest +objection to sitting in convention with so distinguished a gentleman. +Then he paused, daintily wiping his hands on a spotless handkerchief. +Having tucked the linen back into his pocket, he spread his hands +expressively and leaned forward. Was it, he asked, not necessary to +set aside personal wishes for the common cause? Before Douglass could +answer, he shrugged his shoulders and went on. After all, it was purely +a question of party expediency. He must know that there was strong +and bitter prejudice against his race in the North as well as in the +South. They would raise the cry of social as well as political equality +against the Republicans, if the famous Douglass attended this loyal +national convention. + +There were tears in the gentleman’s voice as he deplored the sacrifices +which one must make for the good of the Republican cause. But, he +pointed out, there were a couple of districts in the state of Indiana +so evenly balanced that a little thing was likely to turn the scale +against them, defeat their candidates, and thus leave Congress without +the necessary two-thirds vote for carrying through the so-badly needed +legislation. + +“It is,” he ended, lifting his eyes piously, “only the good God who +gives us strength for such sacrifice.” + +Douglass had listened attentively to this address, uttering no word +during its delivery. The spokesman leaned back in his seat. The three +delegates who had accompanied him and who had remained standing in the +aisle, turned to leave. They stopped in their tracks, however, at the +sound of Douglass’ voice. It was a resonant voice, with rich overtones, +and his words were heard distinctly by everyone in the car. + +“Gentlemen,” he said, “with all due respect, you might as well ask me +to put a loaded pistol to my head and blow my brains out as to ask me +to keep out of this convention, to which I have been duly elected!” + +The Louisianian’s face froze. One of the men in the aisle swore--none +too swiftly. Douglass reasoned with them. + +“What, gentlemen, would you gain by this exclusion? Would not the +charge of cowardice, certain to be brought against you, prove more +damaging than that of amalgamation? Would you not be branded all over +the land as dastardly hypocrites, professing principles which you +have no wish or intention of carrying out? As a matter of policy or +expediency, you will be wise to let me in. Everybody knows that I have +been fairly elected by the city of Rochester as a delegate. The fact +has been broadly announced and commented upon all over the country. +If I am not admitted, the public will ask, ‘Where is Douglass? Why is +he not seen in the convention?’ And you would find that enquiry more +difficult to answer than any charge brought against you for favoring +political or social equality.” He paused. No one moved. Their faces +remained hard and unconvinced. Douglass sighed. Then his face also +hardened. He stood up. + +“Well, ignoring the question of policy altogether, I am bound to go +into that convention. Not to do so would contradict the principle and +practice of my life.” + +They left then. The charming gentleman from New Orleans did not bother +to bow. + +No more was said about the matter. Frederick Douglass was not excluded, +but throughout the first morning session it was evident that he was to +be ignored. + +That afternoon a procession had been planned to start from Independence +Hall. Flags and banners lined the way and crowds filled the streets. +Douglass reached the starting point in good time. “Almost everybody +on the ground whom I met seemed to be ashamed or afraid of me. I had +been warned that I should not be allowed to walk through the city in +the procession; fears had been expressed that my presence in it would +so shock the prejudices of the people of Philadelphia as to cause the +procession to be mobbed.” + +The delegates were to walk two abreast. Douglass stood waiting, grimly +determined to march alone. But shortly before the signal to start +Theodore Tilton, young poet-editor of the _New York Independent_ +and the _Brooklyn Worker_, came hurrying in his direction. His +straw-colored hair was rumpled and his face flushed. + +“This way, Mr. Douglass! I’ve been looking for you.” + +He grinned as he seized Douglass’ arm and with him pushed well up +toward the head of the procession. There they took a place in the line. +Tilton gayly ignored the sour faces around them. + +“All set, captain, we’re ready to march!” he called. + +Douglass tried to murmur something to express his appreciation, but the +writer winked at him. + +“Watch and see what happens!” he chuckled. + +The band struck up and the line began to move. Someone on the sidewalk +pointed to the sweeping mane of Douglass’ head and shouted, “Douglass! +There’s Frederick Douglass!” + +They began to cheer. The cheering was heard by those farther down the +street, and heads craned forward. People leaned out of windows overhead +to see. They waved their flags and shouted, hailing the delegates of +the convention. + +And Douglass was the most conspicuous figure in the line. The shout +most often heard all along the way was: + +“Douglass! Douglass! There is Frederick Douglass!” + +After that there was no further question of ignoring Douglass at the +convention. But any ambitions which he might have had for a political +career cooled. He realized that a thorough-going “politician” might +well have acceded to the delegates’ politely expressed wish “for the +good of the party,” but he knew that he would never place the good of +the party above the good of the people as a whole. After the adoption +of the Fourteenth and Fifteen Amendments, both white and colored people +urged him to move to one of the many districts of the South where +there was a large colored vote and get himself a seat in Congress. No +man in the country had a larger following. But the thought of going +to live among people simply to gain their votes was repugnant to his +self-respect. The idea did not square with his better judgment or sense +of propriety. + +When he was called to Washington to edit the _New Era_ he began to turn +the thought over in his mind. The problem of what to do with himself +after the Anti-Slavery Society disbanded had been taken care of. He +was in demand as a lecturer in colleges, on lyceum circuits and before +literary societies. Where before he had considered himself well-off +with his four-hundred-fifty- to five-hundred-dollar-a-year salary, he +now received one hundred, one hundred fifty, or two hundred dollars +for a single lecture. His children were grown. Lewis was a successful +printer, Rosetta was married, and the youngest son was teaching school +on the Eastern Shore of Maryland not far from St. Michaels. + +Douglass had campaigned for Ulysses S. Grant because he was fond of, +and believed in, Grant. There had been scarcely any contest. The people +were sick to death of the constant wrangling which had been going on +in Congress. President Johnson’s impeachment had fizzled like a bad +firecracker. The kindest thing they said about Johnson was that he was +weak. Everybody agreed that what was needed now was a strong hand. So +by an overwhelming majority they chose a war hero. + +Undoubtedly, Washington would be interesting, reasoned Douglass. It was +the center of the hub, the Capital of all the States. He would also +be nearer the great masses of his own people. But Anna Douglass--for +the first time in thirty years neither overworked nor burdened with +cares--was reluctant to leave Rochester. + +Douglass provided for his family, but making money had never been his +chief concern. Anna had always stretched dollars. The babies were all +little together, so Anna could not go out and work. But while they were +little, she often brought work home, sometimes without her husband’s +knowledge. During the years when runaway slaves hid in their attic, +Anna was always there at any hour of the day or night with food, clean +clothing, warm blankets; and it was Anna who kept her husband’s shirts +carefully laundered, his bag neatly packed. No one knew better than +Douglass how Anna carried the countless, minute burdens of the days and +nights. He loved her and depended upon her. But, like Anna Brown, she +was the wife of a man who belonged to history. So now, though she would +have preferred to relax under the big shade tree he had planted years +before, enjoy the cool spaciousness of the home which they had made +very comfortable, gossip a bit with her neighbors and relish the many +friendly contacts she had made in Rochester, she nodded her head. + +“If Washington is the place for you, of course we’ll go.” And she +smiled at her husband, who was growing more handsome and more famous +every day. + +Douglass was in his prime. He cut an imposing figure. He knew it and +was glad. For he regarded himself as ambassador of all the freedmen +in America. He was always on guard--his speech, his manners, his +appearance. Now that he could, he dressed meticulously, stopped off at +New York on his way to Washington and ordered several suits, saw to it +that he was well supplied with stiff white shirts. He intended that +when he walked down Pennsylvania Avenue, across Lafayette Square, or +through the Capital grounds, men would ask, “Who is he? What embassy +is he from?” Sooner or later they would learn that he was “Frederick +Douglass, ex-slave!” + +Yes, he was proud. And this same naïve pride almost tripped him. + +Since the paper needed him at once, it was decided Douglass would go on +ahead, find a house, and later they would move their things and Anna +would follow him. + +He plunged into his work and almost immediately into difficulties. +The _New Era_ was not his own paper. It was the national organ of the +Colored National Labor Union, and Douglass soon found he was not in +step with the union leaders. The only one he knew personally was George +Downing of Rhode Island. Even Downing seemed to have developed strange, +new ideas. + +James H. Morris was an astute and courageous reconstruction leader of +North Carolina who saw politics and labor in clear alliance. + +“What the South needs is a thorough reconstruction of its classes,” he +argued, “and that’s a long way from being a sharp division of white +and black.” + +“With the ballot the Negro has full citizenship. He can make his way.” +Douglass did not grasp the significance of organized labor. + +“The unions have been shutting out the black man’s labor all these +years.” + +“White workers had to learn.” + +It must be remembered that by adoption Douglass was New England and +Upper New York. Puritan individualism with all its good and bad +qualities had sunk deep. He had himself fought for Irish cottiers and +British labor, but could not at this time envision black and white +workers uniting against a common enemy in the United States. + +After a series of what he called “bewildering circumstances,” he +purchased the paper and turned it over to Lewis and Frederic, his two +printer sons. After a few years they discontinued its publication. The +“misadventure” cost him from nine to ten thousand dollars. + +Meanwhile, in another world--a world of international intrigue and +power politics that took little account of Frederick Douglass--events +were shaping themselves “according to plan.” United States +expansionists waited until President Grant took office and renewed +their efforts to strengthen our hand in the Caribbeans. + +The islands of the Caribbean Sea were heavy with potential wealth. +Fortunes lay in the rich, black soil; cheap labor was there in the +poor, black peoples who had been brought from Africa to work the +islands. The key was Santo Domingo--the old Saint Domingue at which +Spain, France and Great Britain had clutched desperately. + +Since Columbus first landed there December 6, 1492, the history of the +island had been written in blood. On one side had been born the second +republic in the Western Hemisphere, called Haiti. When U. S. Grant +became President of the United States, Haiti had stood for sixty-six +years--in spite of the fact that it was looked upon as an anomaly +among nations. On the other side of the island was the weaker Santo +Domingo. After declaring its independence in 1845, it had been annexed +by Spain while the Civil War was keeping the United States busy. When +this happened, the “Black Republic” of Haiti sought with more zeal +than power to take the place of the United States as defender against +aggression by a European power. Santo Domingo did manage to wrench +herself from Spain in 1865, but she was far from secure. The need for +military bases and coaling stations in the Caribbean was obvious to a +President skilled in military tactics. Admirals and generals of many +nations had looked with longing eyes on Haiti’s Môle St. Nicolas, +finest harbor in the Western world. But the Haitians were in a position +to hold their harbor, and meanwhile Santo Domingo’s Samoná Bay was not +bad. So President Grant offered the “protection” of the powerful United +States to a “weak and defenseless people, torn and rent by internal +feuds and unable to maintain order at home or command respect abroad.” + +But the ever-watchful Charles Sumner rose in the Senate, and for six +hours his voice resounded through the chamber like the wrath of God. +He set off a series of repercussions against this annexation which +reverberated across the country. + +Douglass, in the midst of his own perplexities, heard the echoes and +defended President Grant. Men working with him, particularly labor men, +stared at him in amazement. + +“How can you, Douglass!” they exclaimed. “Don’t you see what this +means? And how can you side against Sumner? He’s the most courageous +friend the black man has in Congress!” + +“I’m not against Charles Sumner. Our Senator sees this proposed +annexation as a measure to extinguish a colored nation and therefore +bitterly opposes it. But even a great and good man can be wrong.” + +George Downing, his eyes on Douglass’ earnest, troubled face, thought +to himself, _How right you are!_ + +Charles Sumner, lying on a couch in the library of his big house facing +Lafayette Square, listened with closed eyes while Douglass gently +remonstrated. His strength was ebbing. Every one of these supreme +efforts drained him of life. Sumner was one of the few men of his day +who saw that the Union could yet lose the war. He had been very close +to Lincoln in the last days. He was trying to carry out the wishes of +his beloved Commander in Chief. He listened to Douglass, who he knew +also loved Lincoln, with a frown. He sat up impatiently, tossing aside +the light shawl with a snort. + +“You’re caught up in a rosy cloud, Douglass. The lovely song of +emancipation still rings in your ears drowning all other sounds. You’re +due for a rude awakening.” His large eyes darkened. “And I’m afraid it +won’t be long in coming!” + +It was several days later when Douglass, responding to an invitation +from the White House, felt a chill of apprehension. The President +greeted him with a blunt question. + +“Now, what do you think of your friend, Sumner?” he asked bitterly. + +“I think, Mr. President,” said Douglass, choosing his words carefully, +“that Senator Sumner is an honest and a valiant statesman. In opposing +the annexation of Santo Domingo he believes he is defending the cause +of the colored race as he has always done.” Douglass saw the slow flush +creeping above the President’s beard. He continued evenly. “But I also +think that in this he is mistaken.” + +“You do?” There was surprise in the voice. + +“Yes, sir, I do. I see no more dishonor to Santo Domingo in making her +a state of the American Union than in making Kansas, Nebraska, or any +other territory such a state. It is giving to a part the strength of +the whole.” + +The President relaxed in his chair, a slight smile on his lips. +Douglass leaned forward. + +“What do you, Mr. President, think of Senator Sumner?” + +President Grant’s answer was concise. + +“I think he’s mad!” + + * * * * * + +The Commission which President Grant sent to the Caribbean was one +of many. Secretary Seward himself had gone to Haiti in the winter of +1865. And in 1867 Seward had sent his son, then Assistant Secretary of +State. But the appointment of Frederick Douglass on Grant’s Commission +was a pretty gesture. A naval vessel manned by one hundred marines +and five hundred sailors, with the Stars and Stripes floating in the +breeze, steaming into Samoná Bay bringing Frederick Douglass and a +“confidential reconnaissance commission” of investigation! A reporter +from the _New York World_ went along, and much was made of Douglass’ +“cordial relations” with the other members and of the fact that he was +given the seat of honor at the captain’s table. It was a delightful +cruise. + +After thirty-six hours in port, they were ready to leave with the +report that the people were “unanimously” in favor of annexation by the +United States. Douglass heard nothing of the insurrection going on in +the hills, nor of the rival factions bidding for American support, nor +of the dollars from New York. + +In spite of the commission, however, Horace Greeley and Charles Sumner +defeated the bill--a bitter disappointment to certain interests, but +far from a knockout blow. + + * * * * * + +The “old settlers” of Rochester tendered a farewell reception to +Frederick Douglass and his family when he took formal leave of the +city which had been his home for thirty years. All the old-time +Abolitionists who had weathered the long and bitter storm were invited. +Gerrit Smith, shrunken and feeble, was there. Joy and sadness sat down +together at that board. But everyone was proud of the dark man whom +Rochester now acclaimed as her “most distinguished son.” + +Gideon Pitts’s father, old Captain Peter Pitts, had been the first +settler in the township of Richmond, so Gideon Pitts and his wife were +among the sponsors of the affair. + +“Those were trying days even in our quiet valley,” Pitts’s eyes +twinkled. Douglass was trying to recall the grizzled face. “But we +licked ’em!” + +It was the chuckle that brought it all back--the house offering +shelter from pursuers, his pounding on the door and the old man in his +nightshirt and bare feet! + +“Mr. Pitts!” He seized his hand. “Of course, it’s Mr. Pitts!” He turned +to his wife, “My dear, these are the folks who took me in that night on +Ridge Road. You remember?” + +“Of course, I remember.” Anna smiled. “I’ve always intended to ride out +some afternoon and thank you, but--” She made a little rueful gesture, +and she and Mrs. Pitts began to chat. They spoke of their children, and +Douglass remembered something else. + +“You had a little girl--How is she?” + +The father laughed proudly. “My little girl’s quite a young lady now. +She’s one that knows her own mind, too--belongs to Miss Anthony’s +voting society. She says that’s the next thing--votes for women!” + +Douglass nodded his head. “She’s right. We’re hoping the _next_ +amendment will make women citizens. Remember me to her, won’t you?” + +“We sure will, Mr. Douglass!” + +Then they were gone and Douglass said, “Good sound Americans, +Anna--people of the land.” + +And Anna said a little wistfully, “We’ll miss them.” Deep in her heart, +Anna was afraid of Washington. + +The house Douglass had taken at 316 A Street, N.E., was not ready, but +he wanted Anna close by to supervise repairs and redecorations. They +took Lewis with them, leaving Rosetta and her husband in the Rochester +home until everything was moved. + +Douglass planned to send his twelve bound volumes of the _North Star_ +and _Frederick Douglass’ Paper_, covering the period from 1848 to 1860, +to Harvard University Library. The curator had requested them for +Harvard’s historical files. But first he had to dash off to New Orleans +to preside over the Southern States Convention. + +P. B. S. Pinchback, Lieutenant-Governor of Louisiana, had invited +Douglass to be his guest at the Governor’s Mansion. Indistinguishable +from a white man, Pinchback had been educated in the North and had +served as a captain in the Union Army. In appearance and actions he was +an educated, well-to-do, genial Louisianian--intelligent and capable, +but he was a practical politician and he played the politician’s game. +He might have left New Orleans, gone to France as so many of them did, +or even to some other section of the country. He might easily have +shrugged off the harness of the _cordon bleu_, but New Orleans was in +his blood. He lived always on the sharp edge, dangerously, while around +him swirled a colorful and kaleidoscopic drama. He was by no means a +charlatan. + +It was April when Douglass came to New Orleans. He was greeted most +cordially. “I shall show you my New Orleans and you will not want to +leave,” Pinchback promised. + +And Douglass was captivated by New Orleans--captivated and blinded. +Camellias were in bloom, their loveliness reflected in stagnant waters. +Soft, trailing beauty of mosses on damp walls in which stood high, +heavy gates. The streets were filled with multicolored throngs--whites +and blacks and all the colors in between, old women with piercing +bright eyes under flaming _tignons_, hawkers crying out their wares, +extending great trays piled high with figs, brown cakes and steaming +jars--the liquid French accents--the smells! + +They stepped over the carcass of a dog, which had evidently been +floating in the street gutter for some time. “This is the old section,” +Pinchback explained. “When we cross Canal Street, you’ll think you’re +in New York.” + +But there was nothing in New York like any part of New Orleans. The +celebrated visitor found himself in gardens where fountains played and +tiny, golden birds sipped honeysuckle, where flowering oleanders grew +in huge jars and lovely ladies with sparkling eyes trailed black lace. + +Into the Governor’s courtyard, with its glistening flagstones, came men +for a talk with the great Douglass: Antoine Dubuclet, State Treasurer, +a quiet, dark man, who had lived many years in Paris; tall and cultured +P. G. Deslone, Secretary of State; Paul Trevigne, who published the +_New Orleans Tribune_. + +Trevigne was not on the best of terms with the Lieutenant-Governor. He +bowed stiffly from the waist and hoped that the host would leave him +and Douglass alone together. But Pinchback ordered coffee served beside +the fountain, and over the thin, painted cup his eyes laughed. + +“M. Trevigne does not approve of me,” he explained, turning to +Douglass. “He thinks I should take life more vigorously--by the throat. +I use other methods.” + +Douglass, observing them, realized that here were two men of very +different caliber. He marveled anew that Pinchback had been able to +gain the confidence of the black people of New Orleans. + +“Undoubtedly, sir,” Trevigne was saying frankly, “I understand better +the more direct methods of our first Lieutenant-Governor.” He turned +to Douglass. “His name was Oscar Dunn, and he was the only one of the +seven colored men in the Senate two years ago who had been a slave. He +was by far the most able.” + +Pinchback had been in the Senate then. He studied the tray beside him +and finally chose a heart-shaped pastry. He did not look up, but he +said, “Oscar J. Dunn died--_very suddenly_.” His smile flashed. “I +prefer to live.” + +Trevigne frowned. He continued almost as if the Governor had not spoken. + +“Oscar Dunn was responsible for opening public schools to blacks and +poor whites alike.” + +Douglass roused himself with a start. He looked at his watch. + +“I’m sorry--but I’m going to be late. We must go. Let’s continue our +visit on the way.” Trevigne welcomed the interruption. + +“I’ll send you over in the carriage. And do not worry,” Pinchback +lifted himself from the easy chair with languid grace. “The session +will not begin on time.” + +But the session of the convention had begun when Douglass reached the +hall. The efficient secretary was calling the roll. + +The convention was not going very well. Division in the Republican +ranks grew deeper and broader every day. Douglass blamed Charles Sumner +and Horace Greeley who “on account of their long and earnest advocacy +of justice and liberty to the blacks, had powerful attractions for the +newly-enfranchised class.” He ignored the persistent influence of the +National Labor Union and its economic struggle. Douglass pointed to +what the Republican party had done in Louisiana--to the legislators he +had met. Six years later he was to hear all of them labeled “apes,” +“buffoons,” and “clowns.” He was to see the schools Dunn had labored so +hard to erect burned to the ground; the painstaking, neat accounts of +Dubuclet blotted and falsified; the studied, skilful tacts of Pinchback +labeled “mongrel trickery.” + +There were those in New Orleans who saw it coming. + +“Warmoth,” they warned him, “is the real master of Louisiana. And +he represents capital, whose business it is to manipulate the labor +vote--white and black.” + +“The Republican party is the true workingmen’s party of the country!” +thundered Douglass. And what he did was to steer the convention away +from unionism to politics--not seeing their interrelation. + +And so, as white labor in the North moved toward stronger and stronger +union organization, it lost interest in, and vital touch with, the +millions of laborers in the South. When the black night came, there was +no help. + +But all this was later. Douglass returned to Washington singing the +praises of Louisiana--its rich beauties and the amazing progress the +people were making. He congratulated himself that he had succeeded “in +holding back the convention from a fatal political blunder.” His story +was carried by the _New York Herald_--and pointedly omitted from the +columns of the _Tribune_. + +He found a letter awaiting him from Harvard: when was he sending on his +newspaper files? There was some question of getting them catalogued +before summer. Yes, he must attend to that--soon. And he laid the +letter to one side. + +On June 2, 1872, his house in Rochester burned to the ground. His +papers were gone, and Douglass cursed the folly of his procrastination. +Rosetta and her husband had managed to get out with a few personal +possessions. Household furniture could be replaced, but Anna wept for a +hundred precious mementos of the days gone by--little Annie’s cape, the +children’s school books, the plum-colored wedding dress and Frederick’s +first silk hat. + +But Douglass thought only of his newspaper files and how he ought to +have sent them to Harvard. + +The gods were not yet finished with Frederick Douglass. It was as if +they conspired to strip him of the last small vestige of his pride, as +if to make sure that henceforth and forevermore he should “walk humble.” + +“It is not without a feeling of humiliation that I must narrate my +connection with the Freedmen’s Saving and Trust Company,” he wrote, +when, later on, he felt he had to put down the whole unfortunate story. + +The pathetically naïve account which follows is amazing on many counts. +How could this little group of “church members” have expected to find +their way within the intricate maze of national banking in the United +States? From the start they were doomed to failure. Yet here stands an +eternal monument to the fact that the newly emancipated men and women +“put their money in banks,” were thrifty and frugal beyond our most +rigid demands. For these banks were in the South among the masses of +people who had just come out of slavery. The one Northern branch was in +Philadelphia. Frederick Douglass did not see the reasons for the bank’s +failure. He blamed himself and the handful of black men who tried to +scale the barricades of big business, only to have themselves broken +and left with a corpse on their hands. + + This was an institution designed to furnish a place of security and + profit for the hard earnings of the colored people, especially in the + South. There was something missionary in its composition, and it dealt + largely in exhortations as well as promises. The men connected with + its management were generally church members, and reputed eminent for + their piety. Their aim was to instil into the minds of the untutored + Africans lessons of sobriety, wisdom, and economy, and to show them + how to rise in the world. Like snowflakes in winter, circulars, tracts + and other papers were, by this benevolent institution, scattered among + the millions, and they were told to “look” to the Freedmen’s Bank and + “live.” Branches were established in all the Southern States, and as a + result, money to the amount of millions flowed into its vaults. + + With the usual effect of sudden wealth, the managers felt like making + a little display of their prosperity. They accordingly erected, on one + of the most desirable and expensive sites in the national capital, one + of the most costly and splendid buildings of the time, finished on the + inside with black walnut and furnished with marble counters and all + the modern improvements.... In passing it on the street I often peeped + into its spacious windows, and looked down the row of its gentlemanly + colored clerks, with their pens behind their ears, and felt my very + eyes enriched. It was a sight I had never expected to see.... + + After settling myself down in Washington, I could and did occasionally + attend the meetings of the Board of Trustees, and had the pleasure of + listening to the rapid reports of the condition of the institution, + which were generally of a most encouraging character.... At one time I + had entrusted to its vaults about twelve thousand dollars. It seemed + fitting to me to cast in my lot with my brother freedmen and to help + build up an institution which represented their thrift and economy + to so striking advantage; for the more millions accumulated there, + I thought, the more consideration and respect would be shown to the + colored people of the whole country. + + About four months before this splendid institution was compelled to + close its doors in the starved and deluded faces of its depositors, + and while I was assured by its President and its actuary of its sound + condition, I was solicited by some of the trustees to allow them to + use my name in the board as a candidate for its presidency. + + So I waked up one morning to find myself seated in a comfortable + armchair, with gold spectacles on my nose, and to hear myself + addressed as president of the Freedmen’s Bank. I could not help + reflecting on the contrast between Frederick the slave boy, + running about with only a tow linen shirt to cover him, and + Frederick--President of a bank counting its assets by millions. I had + heard of golden dreams, but such dreams had no comparison with this + reality. + + My term of service on this golden height covered only the brief space + of three months, and was divided into two parts. At first I was + quietly employed in an effort to find out the real condition of the + bank and its numerous branches. This was no easy task. On paper, and + from the representations of its management, its assets amounted to + three millions of dollars, and its liabilities were about equal to + its assets. With such a showing I was encouraged in the belief that + by curtailing the expenses, and doing away with non-paying branches, + we could be carried safely through the financial distress then upon + the country. So confident was I of this, that, in order to meet what + was said to be a temporary emergency, I loaned the bank ten thousand + dollars of my own money, to be held by it until it could realize on a + part of its abundant securities.[29] + +One wonders how the trustees ever managed to pay back that loan before +the final crash. But they did pay it. + + Gradually I discovered that the bank had, through dishonest agents, + sustained heavy losses in the South.... I was, six weeks after my + election as president, convinced that the bank was no longer a safe + custodian of the hard earnings of my confiding people. + +Douglass’ next move probably made bad matters worse. He reported to the +Chairman of the Senate Committee on Finance that the federal assets of +the bank were gone. A commission was appointed to take over the bank, +and its doors were closed. Not wishing to take any advantage of the +other depositors, Douglass left his money to be divided with the assets +among the creditors of the bank. + +In time--a long time--the larger part of the depositors received +most of their money. But it was upon the head of the great Frederick +Douglass that the wrath and the condemnation descended. + + + + + CHAPTER EIGHTEEN + + “_If slavery could not kill us, liberty won’t_” + + +Seneca Falls’ Union Woman’s Suffrage Society hated to lose one of its +most faithful and ardent members, but the manner of her leaving was +cause for much rejoicing. _A Civil Service position in Washington! My +goodness, what a break!_ + +“It’s not a break.” Miss Dean, secretary of the society, spoke +indignantly. “Helen Pitts has passed the examination, and she is taking +her well-earned place in the ranks of government workers.” + +“Sure,” Matilda Hooker teased, “but isn’t Susan B. Anthony wearing +herself out all over the place just so women can have such rights? This +is a significant step, and I say we women in Seneca can be proud of +Helen Pitts.” + +“Hear! Hear!” they said. Then Helen Pitts came in, her face flushed, +and after a little excited chatter the meeting was called to order. + +It was true that Helen had taken the fall Civil Service examination by +way of a “declaration of independence.” When she presented herself at +the post-office they had eyed her with disapproval. + +“What’s the schoolmarm here for?” they asked. And Sid Green remarked +sourly that he’d heard tell she was one of those “advanced women.” His +wife rebuked him sharply. + +“Miss Pitts is one of the nicest and most ladylike teachers we’ve ever +had. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Sid Green!” + +But Sid hadn’t taken it back. The School Board hadn’t liked their +teacher’s marching in the suffrage parade last fall--and Sid knew it, +no matter what his wife said. Anyhow, _he_ wore the pants in _his_ +house. He hitched them up now with a jerk and went outside. + +There was no question about the teacher’s popularity with her pupils. +The morning she mailed her resignation (to take effect at the end +of the month) she decided not to tell the children until after the +Christmas party. That wasn’t going to be easy. + +The teacher’s mind was jerked back to the present by hearing her name. + +“I move that Helen Pitts be our delegate,” Lucy Payne said. + +Helen blinked her eyes. + +“I second the motion.” Mrs. Huggins was nodding her head emphatically. + +Helen nudged the girl next to her and whispered, “I didn’t hear--What’s +going on?” + +“Delegates to the National Convention,” came the low answer. + +“But--” + +“Sh-sh! You’re on your way to fame and fortune.” The girl grinned as +the chairman rapped for order. She was ready to put the motion. + +“It has been moved and seconded that Miss Helen Pitts be our delegate +in Washington next month. All those in favor say ‘Aye’.” + +The “Ayes” had it, and everybody beamed at Helen. + +“Get up! You’re supposed to thank them!” Her friend nudged her. + +It was silly to be nervous--they were all her friends. But the hazel +eyes were dangerously bright and the neat, folded kerchief at her +throat fluttered. + +“Ladies, you do me great honor,” she said. “I--I’ll try to be a good +representative.” She swallowed and then spoke resolutely. “We know why +we want votes for women--not for any of the silly reasons some men say. +We must be very sure and as courageous as our leaders. They are taking +the fight right to the Capital, and I promise you we’ll fling it into +the very teeth of Congress, disturbing their peaceful complacency until +they will be forced to action.” + +They did not have enough funds in the treasury to send a delegate from +Seneca Falls. Helen would go down to Washington a week before her job +started. + +Helen Pitts spent most of her Christmas holiday at home packing and +harking to parental admonitions. Gideon Pitts regarded his daughter +both with pride and apprehension. Schoolteaching had been a nice, quiet +occupation, but he knew something about the “wiles” and “pitfalls” of +big cities. He thought he ought to go down with her and see that she +found a respectable place to live in. His wife held him back. + +“That’s silly, Pa. Helen’s got plenty mother wit, for all she’s so +small and frail-looking.” Her mother sighed. “I was hoping she’d be +settling near home--that she might accept Brad.” + +Aunt Julia was a little more direct. + +“I’d get this nonsense out of Helen’s head if I was her mother.” She +spoke firmly. “Old maids soon fade, and all these new-fangled ideas +ain’t a-gonna keep her warm winter nights.” + +“Helen’s no old maid yet,” defended her mother. + +“’Pears like to me she’ll be thirty come this spring. And if that ain’t +an old maid my mind’s failing me,” was the acid comment. + +In due time Helen Pitts took her seat in the Fourth National Suffrage +Convention, meeting in Washington the first week in January, 1874. + +The air crackled with excitement. Now that the Fourteenth Amendment +had gone to some length to define “citizenship” within the United +States, “manhood suffrage” was being substituted by the politicians +for the recent vanguard cry “universal suffrage.” Susan B. Anthony was +calling upon the women of America to have their say. The leaders of +the movement were ridiculed, mocked and libeled, but they had come to +Washington in full armor. + +Her face aglow, eyes sparkling with indignation, Miss Anthony told +the opening session that a petition against woman’s suffrage had been +presented in the Senate by a Mr. Edmunds. Mrs. General Sherman, Mrs. +Admiral Dahlgren and other Washington wives had signed it. + +“These are the women,” she said, “who never knew a want, whose children +are well fed and warmly clad. Yet they would deny these same comforts +to other women even though they are earned by the toil of their hands. +Such women are traitors not only to their best instincts, but to all +mothers of men!” + +Helen tried to applaud louder than anybody else. She would have liked +to stand and tell them that her home was in Rochester, that she had +been one of the youngest members of Susan B. Anthony’s own club. But +the women did not spend their time exchanging compliments. Helen voted +for or against resolution after resolution; she was placed on one +committee. + +Lincoln Hall was packed for the big open session on Saturday afternoon. +Many came just to hear the big speakers, but the women were happy +because they were creating a real stir in Washington. They devoutly +hoped it would be felt throughout the country. + +A shiver of anticipation went through the crowd at the appearance of +Robert Ingersoll. + +“He’s like a Greek god,” a woman seated beside Helen moaned. “Any man +as handsome as that is bound to be wicked!” + +An outstanding editor had written at great length on how laws in the +United States favored women. Word by word and line by line Ingersoll, +the lawyer, cut the ground from underneath the editor’s feet. Skilfully +he analyzed the many laws upon the statute books which bound women and +their children to the petty whims and humors of men. + +“But these laws will not change until _you_ change them,” he told +them. “Justice and freedom do not rain like manna from heaven upon +outstretched hands. We men will not _give_ you the ballot. You must +_take_ it!” + +The secretaries rustled papers nervously. The chairman glanced at her +watch. There was a hitch in the program, but the audience did not mind +a little breathing spell. The side door up front opened, and Frederick +Douglass entered as quietly as possible. He looked like a huge bear. He +was covered with snow which clung even to his beard and hair. With some +assistance he hurriedly removed this overcoat and rubbers. After wiping +his face and hair with his big handkerchief, he mounted the steps to +the platform. + +Instantly the crowd burst into applause which continued while Susan +B. Anthony took his hand and Mr. Ingersoll, leaning forward in his +seat, greeted him warmly. When Douglass sat down facing the audience +his broad shoulders sagged a little, and Helen fancied he closed his +eyes for a moment as he rested his hands on his knees. She had not +heard him since the close of the war. The touch of gray in his hair +heightened his air of distinction, but she had not before noticed how +his cheekbones showed above the beard. Perhaps his face was thinner. + +To this convention Douglass was the very symbol of their strivings. He +was one of the first to see that woman’s suffrage and Negro citizenship +were the same fight. He had appeared with Susan B. Anthony in her early +meetings at Syracuse and Rochester. Now slavery was abolished and here +he was still standing at her side. + +Few in the big hall heard the effort in Frederick Douglass’ voice that +afternoon. They heard his words. But behind him Robert Ingersoll’s +mouth tightened and a little frown came on his face. _What can I do to +help?_ he wondered. + +Afterward, Helen Pitts tried to speak to Mr. Douglass. He would not +remember her, but it would be something to write to the folks at home. +But the press of the crowd was too great, and her committee was called +for a short caucus. + +In front of the hall some time later she was surprised to see him just +leaving the building. With him was Mr. Ingersoll. Helen was struck +again by the somber shadows in Douglass’ face, but Ingersoll was +smiling, his face animated. + +“Nonsense, Douglass!” she heard Ingersoll say. “What you’ve needed for +a long time is a good lawyer.” He laughed buoyantly. “Well, here he is!” + +Douglass’ voice was heavy. + +“But, Mr. Ingersoll, I can’t--” + +Ingersoll had stepped to the curb and, lifting his cane, was hailing a +passing cab. + +“But you can. Come along, Douglass! First, we eat. Then I shall tell +you something about banking. What a spot for _you_ to be in!” + +They climbed into the cab, and it rolled away through the gathering +dusk. Helen walked to her room, wondering what on earth they had been +talking about. + +The next time Helen Pitts heard Douglass speak was on the occasion +of the unveiling of the Freedmen’s Monument in Lincoln Park. Negroes +throughout the United States had raised the money for this monument to +Lincoln; and on a spring day, when once more the lilacs were in bloom, +they called together the great ones of the country to pause and think. +Helen had never before witnessed such an array of dignitaries--the +President of the United States, his Cabinet, judges of the Supreme +Court, members of the Senate and House of Representatives. + +“Few facts could better illustrate the vast and wonderful change which +has taken place in our condition as a people,” Douglass, the ex-slave, +told the hushed crowd, “than our assembling here today.... It is the +first time that, in this form and manner, we have sought to do honor +to an American great man, however deserving and illustrious. I commend +the fact to notice. Let it be told in every part of the Republic. Let +men of all parties and opinions hear it. Let those who despise us, +not less than those who respect us, know it and that now and here, in +the spirit of liberty, loyalty and gratitude, we unite in this act of +reverent homage. Let it be known everywhere, and by everybody who takes +an interest in human progress and in the amelioration of the condition +of mankind, that ... we, the colored people, newly emancipated and +rejoicing in our blood-bought freedom, near the close of the first +century in the life of this Republic, have now and here unveiled, set +apart, and dedicated a monument of enduring granite and bronze, in +every line, feature, and figure of which men may read ... something of +the exalted character and great works of Abraham Lincoln, the first +martyr-President of the United States.” + +Douglass spoke as one who loved and mourned a friend. And when the last +word was said, men turned and walked away in silence. + +“He is the noblest of them all!” Helen Pitts said to herself. + + * * * * * + +Douglass sat that night at home in his study, his head bowed in his +hands. Lincoln had been struck down, his face turned toward the future; +he had been struck down as he walked in the road. And they had not +carried on. The nation had failed Lincoln and new chaos was upon them. +“_You are caught up in a rosy cloud, Douglass._” + +He had been with the Senator from Massachusetts when he died. With his +last breath Charles Sumner had pleaded for the Civil Rights Bill--his +bill. He had died fighting for it. + +Douglass had pinned his faith on the ballot. He shuddered. Armed men +were now riding through the night, marking their course by whipping, +shooting, maiming and mutilating men, women and children. They were +entering houses by force, shooting the inmates as they fled, destroying +lives and property. All because the blacks were trying to use their +ballot. + +The summer saw a hesitating, weak old man pleading with Congress for +assistance. Congress refused, and so the soldier had no other recourse +but to call out troops to enforce the Reconstruction laws. Three times +the soldiers restored to power candidates who had been ousted from +office by force and fraudulent elections. In retaliation, the planters +in Louisiana killed Negroes and whites in cold blood. Pitched battles +raged in the streets of New Orleans. + +The lowest ebb of degradation was reached with the election of 1876. +School histories touch that month lightly and move quickly on. The deal +was made, and Rutherford B. Hayes became President of the United States. + +The calm was ominous. From several sections of the dead-still South +groups of grim-faced men journeyed to Washington and gathered at +Frederick Douglass’ house. + +“They say he will remove the soldiers. That means the end of everything +for us. Only the Federal troops have held them back!” + +“Is there nothing? Nothing you can cling to?” Douglass sought for one +hope. + +“There might have been had we cemented ties with Northern labor. They +are just as intent on crushing the white worker.” The black man’s eyes +on Douglass’ face accused him. He had been a delegate to the Louisiana +convention. And that was where the Negro labor union died! + +“How bitter knowledge is that comes too late!” Douglass acknowledged +his mistake with these words. The man from South Carolina spoke. + +“They’ll say we lost the ballot because we did not know how to use it.” + +“It is a lie--we could not do the things we knew to do!” + +“The measures you have passed? Reforms?” Douglass searched the drawn +faces. + +“They’ll all be swept away--” + +“Like so much trash!” + +“Go to the new President,” they urged. “You cannot be accused of +seeking favors. Go and tell him the truth. Plead with him to leave us +this protection a little longer.” + +“A little longer, they ask a little more time, Mr. Hayes.” Douglass was +in the White House, begging understanding for his people’s need. He +leaned forward, trying to read the face of the man who held so much of +their destiny in his hands. + +President Hayes spoke calmly. + +“You are excited, Douglass. You have fought a good fight--and your case +is won. There is no cause for further alarm. Your people are free. Now +we must work for the prosperity of all the South. How can the Negro be +deprived of his political or civil rights? The Fourteenth and Fifteenth +Amendments are part of the Constitution. Douglass, do you lose faith in +your government?” + +Douglass rose slowly to his feet. There was logic and reason in the +President’s words. + +“I covet the best for my country--the true grandeur of justice for +all,” he said. “Humbly I do pray that this United States will not lose +so great a prize.” + +He bowed and took his leave. + +All restrictions were lifted from the South. Little by little, on one +pretext or another, blacks and poor whites were disfranchised; and the +North covered the ugliness with gossamer robes of nostalgic romance. +The Black Codes were invoked; homeless men and women were picked up for +vagrancy, chain gangs formed, and the long, long night set in. + +Not all at once, of course. And that afternoon as Douglass walked away +through the White House grounds, he could not be sure. The air was +clean and sweet after a cleansing shower, and he decided to walk. + +He swung along, hardly heeding his direction. Then he saw that he was +on I Street, N.W., and, as he approached a certain building, his steps +slowed. The Haitians had opened their Legation with such pomp and +pride! At last the valiant little Republic had been recognized, and +President Lincoln had invited them to send their ambassador. He had +come, a quiet, cultured gentleman who spoke English and French with +equal charm and grace. But almost immediately the Haitian Legation on +I Street had closed, and Ernest Roumain moved to New York City. He had +said very little, but everybody knew that Washington would not tolerate +the Legation of Haiti. + +Douglass sighed. He hesitated a moment. Then his face brightened. He +would go and see Miss Amelia. Yes, it would do him good to talk to Miss +Amelia a little while. + + * * * * * + +Over on Pennsylvania Avenue at Fifteenth Street government clerks and +secretaries were leaving the Treasury Building. They glanced up at the +clearing skies and set off in their several directions. Helen Pitts +paused a moment at the top of the steps. She and Elsie Baker usually +walked home together; but Elsie did not come, so Helen started walking +rather slowly down the street. + +It was nice to stroll along like this after the busy day. Her work had +settled into a regular routine. Life in the civil service was by no +means dull. There was always the possibility of being let in on some +“important secret.” Anything could and often did happen in Washington. + +And now there was not even the slightest chance of her getting +homesick. Her first lodging place had been respectable enough, but +she used to look forward to times when she could go home. Now she was +thinking about having her mother come down and spend a week with her. +She’d love it. + +Her good luck had come on a particularly cold night when Elsie, whom +she knew then only as the Senior Clerk, had spoken to her. + +“You have an awfully long ways to go, don’t you, Miss Pitts?” + +“Yes, it is far. But it’s only in weather like this that I really mind +it.” + +Mrs. Baker--she was a war widow--regarded her for a few minutes and +then murmured, “I wonder!” + +“You wonder what?” asked Helen pleasantly. + +“I was just wondering if _maybe_ Miss Amelia wouldn’t let you have +Jessie Payne’s room.” + +“And why should I have Jessie Payne’s room? I don’t know the lady.” + +The Senior Clerk laughed. + +“You probably won’t because she went home Christmas to be married. And +her room _is_ empty.” + +“Is it a nice room?” + +“Miss Amelia’s house is special.” Elsie smiled. “All of us have been +there for ages. John and I both lived there when we--Naturally, +afterward, when I came back I went straight to Miss Amelia. But she +doesn’t take new people. She isn’t able to get about much any more. Mr. +Haley’s really the boss, and she doesn’t have to do anything. So you +see, it isn’t a lodging house at all. You’d love it.” + +“It sounds wonderful!” + +“Why not come home with me tonight for supper? We could sound Miss +Amelia out.” + +They sat around the big table in the dining room--eight of them when +a chair was placed for Helen--with the nicest little blue-eyed lady +smiling at them from behind a tall teapot. Helen knew that the call, +stoop-shouldered Mr. Haley was city editor of one of the daily papers. +He didn’t talk much, but he was a pleasant host. + +“Where are you from, Miss Pitts?” + +Her reply brought Miss Amelia’s full attention. + +“Rochester!” Miss Amelia exclaimed. “We have a very distinguished +friend who lives--or rather used to live--in Rochester. He’s in +Washington now. You’ve heard of Frederick Douglass?” She leaned +forward, her eyes bright. + +“Oh, yes, ma’am.” Helen’s enthusiasm was quite genuine. “Everybody in +Rochester knows Frederick Douglass.” + +The little lady sat back, a smile on her face. + +“I knew him when he was a boy.” + +Jack Haley chuckled. He turned to Helen, and his tired eyes smiled. + +“Hold on to your hat, Miss Pitts. You’re going to hear a story.” + +Everybody laughed. They all knew Miss Amelia’s favorite story. + +“You’ll get the room!” whispered Elsie. + +She was right, of course. The next day Helen Pitts moved into Jessie +Payne’s room. + + * * * * * + +They met just outside the gate. He saw that the lady was about to turn +in and so, lifting his hat, he stepped back. She smiled and said, “How +do you do, Mr. Douglass?” + +“Good evening, ma’am.” She walked up the path, and he cursed his +inability to remember names. He was sure her face was familiar. It was +dusk. When he saw her inside surely he would remember. At the door she +turned. + +“Stop cudgeling your brains,” she said. “I’ve never been introduced to +you.” + +“Then it’s not really my fault if I don’t know your name.” He gave a +sigh of relief. + +They both laughed then, and Miss Amelia was calling, “Come in! Come in, +both of you! Well, so at last you two have met again.” + +“Why no, Miss Amelia, the lady doesn’t--” + +“We haven’t been introduced,” Helen interrupted. + +“Tck! Tck! You told me that--” + +“But that was years ago, Miss Amelia.” + +Douglass was holding both Miss Amelia’s hands in his. + +“Please, ladies! This isn’t fair. Now, please, won’t you present me?” + +Amelia was severe. + +“After the length of time you’ve stayed away, Fred, I shouldn’t.” + +Douglass bowed gravely when at last she complied with his request, +his eyes still somewhat puzzled. Then Helen said, “I’m Gideon Pitts’s +daughter, from Rochester.” + + * * * * * + +A few weeks later--to the horror of Washington--President Hayes +appointed Frederick Douglass United States Marshal of the District of +Columbia. It might almost seem that, having recalled the troops from +the South, the President went out of his way to administer a rebuke +where it would hurt most. + +Fear was expressed that Douglass would pack the courts and jury-boxes +with Negroes. Of even more concern was the time-honored custom that +the Marshal presented all guests to the President at state functions! +Immediately efforts were made by members of the bar to defeat Douglass’ +confirmation for office. But a one-time slaveholder, Columbus +Alexander, of an old and wealthy Washington family, joined with George +Hill, influential Republican, in presenting the necessary bond; and +when the confirmation came up before the Senate the gentleman from +New York, Senator Roscoe Conkling, won them over with a masterly and +eloquent address on “Manhood.” + +So Frederick Douglass in “white kid gloves, sparrow-tailed coat, +patent-leather boots and alabaster cravat” was at the President’s side +at the next White House reception. Nothing could be done now but wait +for some overt act on his part to justify his removal. The opposition +thought they had him a couple of months after he took office. + +The Marshal had been invited to Baltimore to deliver a lecture in +Douglass Hall--named in his honor and used for community educational +purposes. He spoke on “Our National Capital.” Everybody seemed to enjoy +a pleasant evening. But the next morning Douglass awoke to find that he +was being quoted and attacked by the press. Within a few days some of +the newspapers had worked themselves into a frenzy, and committees were +appointed to procure names to a petition demanding his removal from +office. + +It is said that the President laughed about the matter, and it is +certain that after a statement made by Douglass was printed in the +_Washington Evening Star_ the hostility kindled against him vanished as +quickly as it had come. + +Douglass could be very witty, and he had made some humorous reflections +on the great city. “But,” he wrote the editor, “it is the easiest thing +in the world, as you know, sir, to pervert the meaning and give a +one-sided impression of a whole speech.... I am not such a fool as to +decry a city in which I have invested my money and made my permanent +residence.” + +As a matter of fact, Douglass had spoken in the most glowing terms of +“our national center.... Elsewhere we may belong to individual States, +but here we belong to the whole United States....” + +Douglass did love Washington. With his children and their families +he occupied the double house at 316 and 318 A Street, N.E. But he +wanted to buy some place on the outskirts of the city where Anna could +have peace and rest. His house was only a few minutes’ walk from the +Capitol, and visitors were always knocking on their door. Besides, +Anna missed her trees and flowers. She shrank from what she termed the +“frivolities” of Washington and would seldom go anywhere with him. When +he spoke of moving “out into the country” he saw her face brighten. He +began looking for a place. + +Marshal Douglass was on hand to welcome President James A. Garfield to +the White House. According to long-established usage, the United States +Marshal had the honor of escorting both the outgoing and the incoming +presidents from the imposing ceremonies in the Senate Chamber to the +east front of the Capitol where, on a platform erected for the purpose, +the presidential oath was administered to the President-elect. + +Hopes throughout the country ran high at the time of Garfield’s +inauguration. As Senator from Ohio, Garfield had been a reform advocate +for several years. + +There was no question about the serious state of affairs. “Under the +guise of meekly accepting the results and decisions of war,” Douglass +noted, “Southern states were coming back to Congress with the pride of +conquerors rather than with any trace of repentant humility. It was not +the South, but loyal Union men, who had been at fault.... The object +which through violence and bloodshed they had accomplished in the +several states, they were already aiming to accomplish in the United +States by address and political strategy.” + +In Douglass’ mind was lodged a vivid and unpleasant memory which he +thought of as “Senator Garfield’s retreat.” + +In a speech on the floor the Ohio Senator had used the phrase “perjured +traitors,” describing men who had been trained by the government, were +sworn to support and defend its Constitution, and then had taken to +the battlefield and fought to destroy it. One Randolph Tucker rose +to resent the phrase. “The only defense Mr. Garfield made to this +brazen insolence,” Douglass remembered, “was that he did not make the +dictionary. This was perhaps the soft answer that turneth away wrath, +but it is not the answer Charles Sumner, Benjamin Wade or Owen Lovejoy +would have given. None of these men would have in such a case sheltered +himself behind a dictionary.” + +Yet no one in the country felt the shock of President Garfield’s +assassination more deeply than Douglass. Not only had a good man been +cruelly slain in the morning of his highest usefulness, but his sudden +death came as a killing blow to Douglass’ newly awakened hopes for +further recognition of his people. + +Only a few weeks before, Garfield had asked Douglass to the White House +for a talk.[30] The President said he had wondered why his Republican +predecessors had never sent a colored man as minister or ambassador +to a white nation: He planned to depart from this usage. Did Douglass +think one of his race would be acceptable in the capitals of Europe? + +Douglass told President Garfield to take the step. Other nations did +not share the American prejudice. Best of all, it would give the +colored citizen new spirit. It would be a sign that the government was +in earnest when it clothed him with American citizenship. + +Again the country was in gloom. People in their sorrow came together; +legislators and earnest men and women shook their heads and marveled at +the struggles which seemed necessary for welding a nation of free men. +The people as a whole were finding that freedom is a hard-bought thing. + +Douglass rose before a huge audience in New York City. He was older. He +had suffered because of failure to see, he had stumbled a little on the +way--but he had never left the road. The lines in his face were lines +of strength, the fire in his eyes was the light of knowledge, the sweet +song of emancipation no longer filled his ears to the exclusion of +everything else. He saw the scarred and blackened stumps that blocked +his path, he saw the rocks and muddy pitfalls on the way, he knew that +there were hidden snipers further up the road, but he went on--walking +with dignity. The crowd listening to him was very still. + +“How stands the case with the recently emancipated millions of colored +people in our country?” he began. “By law, by the Constitution of the +United States, slavery has no existence in our country. The legal form +has been abolished. By law and the Constitution the Negro is a man and +a citizen, and has all the rights and liberties guaranteed to any other +variety of the human family residing in the United States.” + +Men who had recently come to these shores from other lands heard him. +New York--melting pot of the world! They had come from Italy and +Germany, from Poland and Ireland and Russia to the country of freedom. + +“It is a great thing to have the supreme law of the land on the side +of right and liberty,” he said. “Only,” he went on, “they gave the +freedmen the machinery of liberty, but denied them the steam with +which to put it in motion. They gave them the uniforms of soldiers but +no arms; they called them citizens and left them subjects; they called +them free and almost left them slaves. They did not deprive the old +master-class of the power of life and death. Today the masters cannot +sell them, but they retain the power to starve them to death! + +“Greatness,” the black orator reminded the citizens of New York, “does +not come to any people on flowery beds of ease. We must fight to win +the prize. No people to whom liberty is given can hold it as firmly or +wear it as grandly as those who wrench their liberty from the iron hand +of the tyrant.” + +He could take the cheers of the crowd with a quiet smile. He knew that +some of them would remember and in their own way would act. + +Anna joined her husband on the New York trip. And for a short while +they relived the time more than forty years before, when, after the +anxious days and nights, they were first free together. This trip, +their youngest son Charles was marrying Laura Haley, whose home was in +New York. + +They had banks of flowers, organ music, smart ushers and lovely +bridesmaids. The marriage of Charles, son of Frederick Douglass, was +a very different affair from that wedding so long ago when Frederick, +fugitive from slavery, took Anna Murray, freewoman, to be his wife. As +the bride all in white came floating down the aisle, Douglass turned +and smiled into Anna’s clear, good eyes. + + * * * * * + +With his appointment as Recorder of Deeds for the District of Columbia, +Douglass knew that he could safely buy the house he coveted. It was for +sale, but until now he had only gazed with longing. It was on Anacostia +Heights overlooking Washington across the Potomac--a fine old house +with spacious grounds, servants’ quarters and stables. As soon as he +took office, and without saying anything to Anna, he set about buying +the property. + +For many reasons Douglass’ present appointment was far more desirable +than the post of Marshal. The Recorder’s job was a local office; though +held at the pleasure of the President, it was in no sense a federal or +political post. + +Douglass felt freer and more on his own. At that time the salary was +not fixed. The office was supported solely by fees paid for work done +by its employees. Since every transfer of property, every deed of +trust and every mortgage had to be recorded, the income was at times +larger than that of any office of the national government except that +of the President. Also, Douglass had that winter brought out the third +of his autobiographies, _The Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_. + +June promised to be a hot month, and everybody was talking about +getting away from the city. Anna thought her husband seemed +increasingly busy and preoccupied. + +“Come along, dear,” he said one Sunday. “We’re going for a drive.” + +“Me too, Grandma!” Their grandchild, Rosetta’s little girl, came +running up. + +“Not this time, honey,” Douglass said. “Grandpa’ll take you riding, but +not right now.” And he added for Anna’s ears alone, “Today I only want +your grandmother.” + +He was in a talkative mood that afternoon. + +“Remember the morning the boat pulled into New Bedford?” he asked as +they crossed the bridge over the Potomac River. “Remember the big house +sitting up on the hill?” + +He turned in the buggy seat and looked at her. And in that moment he +was no longer the great Frederick Douglass--he was the slender, eager +boy, just escaped from slavery, leaning on the rail of the boat, +devouring with his young eyes every detail of their wonderful free +home. The big white house far up on the hill had caught their eyes. +“_Look! Some day we’ll have a house like that! Look, Anna!_” + +So now, when he asked, “Do you remember?” she only nodded her head. The +smart little buggy was rolling along on land once more. + +“Now we’re in Anacostia,” he said. “Close your eyes and keep them +closed till I say!” She heard him chuckle like a boy, and then he said, +“Now--Look!” He pointed with his whip. + +It was the big white house high on a hill! + +“There’s our house, Anna, the house I promised you!” + +She could only stare. Then the meaning of his words made her gasp. + +“Frederick! You don’t really mean--You haven’t--?” + +He laughed as she had not heard him laugh in a long time. They were +winding up the hill now--toward the house. + +That afternoon they planned and dreamed. The owners had let the house +run down, but it would be perfect. + +“We’ll try to have it ready in time to escape the August heat. This is +why I’ve been deaf to your talk about a vacation.” + +The afternoon almost exhausted Anna. + +“Mamma’s all fagged out,” Rosetta told her father the next day. + +June was very hot, and Douglass began to worry about his wife. + +“Perhaps you’d better go away for a few days.” She shook her head. + +“The house will be ready soon. When we get on our hill--” Her eyes were +happy with anticipation. + +When the doctor ordered her to bed, she was planning the moving. + +“I’ll just take it easy for a few days--then we’ll start packing,” she +said. + +Anna Murray Douglass died on August 4th, 1882. + + + + + CHAPTER NINETEEN + + _Indian summer and a fair harvest_ + + +They moved him out to the house in November. + +“It must be settled before winter,” Rosetta said, and his sons agreed. + +“Pipes will freeze up unless someone is in the house.” + +So they packed the furniture--the piano--his books. It was a +twelve-room house. They looked at each other in dismay. What were his +plans? What to put in all those rooms? + +“Buy what is needed.” His voice was tired. He went into his room, +closing the door softly behind him. + +Meanwhile, Robert Ingersoll had moved to Washington. In spite of the +many demands of his meteoric career he sought out Douglass, invited him +to his home, sent him books. + +“She was so happy, Douglass.” Ingersoll laid his hand on the older +man’s arm. “Think of that. I wish--” He stopped and for a moment a +shadow crossed his face. He was thinking of his brother. Then he said +softly, “Blessed is the man who knows that through his own living he +has brought some happiness into life.” + +Gradually Douglass’ work reclaimed him. Nothing had been neglected at +the office. Helen Pitts was now a Senior Clerk there. Everyone had +cooperated in seeing that the work went on. His unfailing courtesy had +endeared him to the whole staff. + +He stopped in several times during winter for tea with Miss Amelia. The +little old lady, grown very frail, kept a special biscuit “put by” for +him. Jack Haley came in once and joined them. He kept Douglass talking +quite late, for even after all these years Jack recalled the first long +nights of his own loneliness. + +Then the Supreme Court declared the Civil Rights Act of 1875 +unconstitutional, and Frederick Douglass leaped into the fray. + +He called a protest mass meeting at Lincoln Hall. + +“If it is a bill for social equality,” Douglass said, opening the +meeting, “so is the Declaration of Independence, which declares that +all men have equal rights; so is the Sermon on the Mount; so is the +golden rule that commands us to do to others as we would that others +should do to us; so is the teaching of the Apostle that of one blood +God has made all nations to dwell on the face of the earth; so is the +Constitution of the United States, and so are the laws and the customs +of every civilized country in the world; for nowhere, outside of the +United States, is any man denied civil rights on account of his color.” + +He stood silent until the applause had died away, and introduced “the +defender of the rights of men.” The speech Robert Ingersoll made comes +down to us as one of the great legal defenses of all time. + +The voice was the voice of Robert Ingersoll, but as Douglass listened +he heard the clear call of Daniel O’Connell, the fervent passion of +Theodore Parker, the dauntless courage of William Lloyd Garrison. +Sparks “flashing from each to each!” + +So Frederick Douglass spoke the following winter when Wendell Phillips +died. All Boston tried to crowd into Faneuil Hall for the memorial to +this great “friend of man.” Douglass was chosen to deliver the address. + +“He is not dead as long as one man lives who loves his fellow-men, who +strives for justice, and whose heart beats to the tread of marching +feet.” + + * * * * * + +In the spring the women, gathered in their Sixteenth National Suffrage +Convention, paid tribute to Wendell Phillips, and Douglass heard Miss +Helen Pitts speak briefly. When he rose he made his “co-worker and +former townswoman” a pretty compliment. The women on the platform +smiled their approval at Helen. + +In the summer Douglass went out on a speaking tour. The 1884 election +was approaching, and throughout the country voices were questioning +the party in power. Bloody crimes and outrages in the South, betrayal +of all the principles and ideals of Abraham Lincoln, had not won over +the Southern white vote. Negroes in the North--in some doubtful states +their votes were important--began to leave “Lincoln’s Party.” + +Douglass was steadfastly opposed to this trend. No possible good, he +said, could come out of the Negro’s lining up with the “Party of the +South.” It had been faithful to the slaveholding class during slavery, +all through the war, and was today faithful to the same ideals. + +“I hope and believe,” he told friends, “that Abraham Lincoln’s party +will prove itself equally faithful to its friends ... friends with +black faces who during the war were eyes to your blind, shelter to your +shelterless, when flying from the lines of the enemy.... Leave these +men no longer compelled to wade to the ballot-box through blood.... A +government that can give liberty in its constitution ought to have the +power in its administration to protect and defend that liberty.” + +By midsummer it was clear that the campaign would be a hard one. James +G. Blaine, the Republican candidate, was a popular figure. Grover +Cleveland, Democratic candidate, was hardly known outside his own +state. But the issues were not fought around two personalities. + +When Douglass returned to Washington in August he heard about Miss +Amelia. + +“She wasn’t sick at all,” Helen told him. + +“Why didn’t you let me know? I would have come.” Douglass was deeply +distressed. + +“There was no time. She wouldn’t have wanted us to call you from your +work when there was nothing you could do.” She spoke gently as to an +unhappy child, but her eyes were filled with tears. + +And Douglass, beholding the understanding and compassion that lay in +her blue eyes, could not look away. A minute or an hour--time did not +matter, for the meaning of many years was compressed in that instant. +No word was said, their hands did not touch, but in that moment the +course of their lives changed. + +Helen spoke first, a little breathlessly. + +“Mr. Haley is breaking up the house. I’d--I’d like to take my vacation, +now that you’re back. I’ll--I’ll go home for a little while.” + +He had turned away, his hand shifting the papers on his desk. He did +not look at her. + +“Miss Pitts, may I--May I call to see you this evening?” he asked. + +“Yes, Mr. Douglass,” Helen Pitts answered simply. “I’ll be at home.” + +The next morning Douglass called on a minister who was also his close +friend. He told him that he was going to be married. + +“I’d like for you to perform the ceremony.” + +The minister was all smiling congratulation. The announcement took +him wholly by surprise. He had heard no whisper of romance involving +the great Frederick Douglass who, for all his sixty odd years, was a +handsome figure of a man. The minister beamed. + +“You’re very wise. A man needs a good wife! And who is the fortunate +lady?” + +He repeated the name, trying to place it. Douglass’ next words brought +him to his feet. + +“Douglass!” Real alarm sounded in his voice. “You can’t! It’s suicide!” + +Douglass smiled quietly. A warm peace filled his heart. He knew that +all the years of his living had not been barren. All the time he had +been growing into understanding. + +“I should be false to all the purposes and principles of my life,” he +said, “if I did not marry this noble lady who has done me the honor to +consent to be my wife. I am a free man.” He stood up, balancing his +cane in his hands. He regarded his distraught friend with something +like pity. “I am free even of making appearances just to impress. Would +it not be ridiculous if, after having denounced from the housetops all +those who discriminate because of the accident of skin color, I myself +should practice the same folly?” + +They said nothing about their plans to anyone, not even to Douglass’ +children, but were married three days later in the minister’s home. +Then Douglass drove his bride across the Potomac River and out to +Anacostia. Within the next few days every paper in the country carried +accounts of this marriage. Most of what they said was untrue. They were +almost unanimous in condemnation. + +When Grover Cleveland was elected President, white and black alike sat +back complacently, jubilantly waiting for the Democratic President +to “kick out” the Recorder of Deeds. Douglass himself did not expect +anything else. His adherence to the Republican party was well known. He +was a “staunch Republican” who had made no secret of his abhorrence of +a Democratic administration. With his wife he paid his formal respects +at the inauguration reception, but they did not linger in the parlors. +He was surprised when, upon returning home a few evenings later, he was +handed a large engraved card inviting Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Douglass +to the Executive Mansion. + +“He was a robust, manly man,” Douglass said of Cleveland, “one who +had the courage to act upon his convictions.... He never failed, +while I held office under him, to invite myself and wife to his +grand receptions, and we never failed to attend them. Surrounded by +distinguished men and women from all parts of the country and by +diplomatic representatives from all parts of the world, and under +the gaze of late slaveholders, there was nothing in the bearing of +Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland toward Mrs. Douglass and myself less cordial +and courteous than that extended to the other ladies and gentlemen +present.”[31] + +Within the course of the next two years Washington and the country +recovered some equanimity so far as Douglass was concerned. But it is +doubtful if anybody forgot. + +Now Douglass decided on the fulfillment of a long-cherished desire. +They sailed for Europe. + +“Don’t come back until you’ve really seen the world,” Ingersoll urged +them. “Take plenty of time. You’ll be richly repaid.” + +They stayed away nearly two years. Douglass revisited England and +Ireland and Scotland. He missed the people with whom he had worked in +the old days, but their children received him royally. The two sisters, +Anna and Ellen Richardson, who forty-five years before had written to +Thomas Auld offering to buy his “runaway slave,” were still living. +Helen kissed their withered cheeks and breathed her thanks. They set +up housekeeping in Paris, watched the ships sail from Marseilles, and +climbed the old amphitheater in Arles. In Genoa Douglass was drawn, +more than to anything else, to Paganini’s violin exhibited in the +museum. This was Douglass’ favorite instrument. He had even learned to +play it a little. + +“We’ll buy a violin while we’re here,” Helen promised. “It won’t be +Paganini’s, but we’ll get an instrument.” + +“Well, it won’t sound like Paganini’s, either!” Under the Italian +sunshine that was enough to make them laugh. Pisa and then Rome, Naples +and Pompeii, Sicily. + +Then eagerly they turned toward the rising sun--Egypt, the Suez Canal, +Libyan deserts, the Nile flowing through Africa. + +Douglass’ heart beat fast. Sandy’s face came before him--Sandy and +the bit of African dust he had held in his hand so long ago. Perhaps +strength had flowed into him from that dust. + +They made the voyage from Naples to Port Said in four days. The weather +was perfect, and at dawn they found themselves face to face with old +Stromboli, whose cone-shaped summit rises almost perpendicularly from +the sea. + +“Nothing in my American experience,” Douglass claimed, “ever gave me +such a deep sense of unearthly silence, such a sense of fast, profound, +unbroken sameness and solitude, as did this passage through the Suez +Canal, moving smoothly and noiselessly between two spade-built +banks of yellow sand, watched over by the jealous care of England +and France. We find here, too, the motive and mainspring of English +Egyptian occupation and of English policy. On either side stretches +a sandy desert, to which the eye, even with the aid of the strongest +field-glass, can find no limit but the horizon; land where neither +tree, shrub nor vegetation of any kind, nor human habitation breaks +the view. All is flat, broad, silent and unending solitude. There +appears occasionally, away in the distance, a white line of life which +only makes the silence and solitude more pronounced. It is a line of +flamingoes, the only bird to be seen in the desert, making us wonder +what they find upon which to subsist. + +“But here, too, is another sign of life, wholly unlooked for, and for +which it is hard to account. It is the half-naked, hungry form of a +human being, a young Arab, who seems to have started up out of the +yellow sand under his feet, for no town, village, house or shelter is +seen from which he could have emerged. But here he is, running by the +ship’s side up and down the sandy banks for miles and for hours with +the speed of a horse and the endurance of a hound, plaintively shouting +as he runs: ‘Backsheesh! Backsheesh! Backsheesh!’ and only stopping in +the race to pick up the pieces of bread and meat thrown to him from the +ship. Far away in the distance, through the quivering air and sunlight, +a mirage appears. Now it is a splendid forest and now a refreshing +lake. The illusion is perfect.”[32] + +The memory of this half-naked, lean young Arab with the mirage behind +him made an indelible impression. + +After a week in Cairo, Douglass wrote, “Rome has its unwashed monks, +Cairo its howling and dancing dervishes. Both seem equally deaf to the +dictates of reason.” + +When they returned to Washington and to their home on Anacostia Heights +they knew that they had savored the full meaning of abundant living. +They had walked together in many lands and among many nationalities and +races; they had been received together by peoples of all shades, who +greeted them in many different languages; their hands had touched many +hands. They had so much they could afford to be tolerant. + +Arrows of ignorance, jealousy or petty prejudice could not reach them. + +In June, 1889, Frederick Douglass was appointed Minister to Haiti. + + + + + CHAPTER TWENTY + + _The Môle St. Nicolas_ + + +Secretary of State Blaine was disturbed. All morning bells had been +ringing and secretaries scurrying around like mad. With the arrival of +the New York shipowner, even the clerks in the outer offices knew that +something was “in the wind.” + +The “problem of the West Indies” was perhaps the most important +unfinished business left over from the former Secretary of State. +Blaine had seen himself succeeding where William Seward had failed. +Circumstances were propitious and favorably disposed; the Môle St. +Nicolas, most coveted prize in the Caribbean, was practically within +his grasp--or had been. + +Haiti, after seventy-five years of maintaining itself as firm and +invulnerable as its own Citadel, was now torn and weakened by civil +war. Six years before, a provisional government had been set up under +a General Légitime. Gradually Légitime assumed control, and two years +later France recognized his government as official. But for reasons of +their own, business interests in the United States preferred dealing +with General Hyppolite’s opposing forces, who termed the present +régime that of “the usurpers of Port-au-Prince.” President Cleveland +had listened to their advice and not recognized any government in +Haiti. That left everything wide open. The U.S.-West Indies Line and +the Charleston & Florida Steamship Line tackled shutting out the rival +British Atlas Steamship Company, and the dire need for coaling stations +was stressed in certain circles. At long last the United States had +high hopes of locking up the narrow Windward Passage, one of the +strategic routes on the world’s highway system of commerce. + +Meanwhile Stephen Preston, Haitian Minister, was in the United States +pleading for his country’s recognition. Blaine played a cat-and-mouse +game, putting the anxious Preston off from week to week, yet according +him every ceremonial privilege as a minister and assuring him that the +matter of official recognition only awaited its turn before the new +President--Benjamin Harrison. + +So matters stood in the latter part of May, 1889. Then Secretary Blaine +made two moves. He told Preston his terms for recognition: a naval +station in Haiti and representation of Haiti in European capitals by +the American ambassador to those countries! The Haitian’s olive face +paled. He murmured a few words, bowed and departed. The Secretary then +sent to President Harrison the names of an “investigating commission” +to go to Haiti. It was to be headed by Colonel Beverley Tucker of +Virginia. + +Out of a clear sky, with no word of warning, Blaine’s papers still +lying unsigned on his desk, President Harrison recognized the Légitime +government in Haiti. At the same time he appointed the most widely +known Negro in America “Minister Resident and Consul-General to the +Republic of Haiti and chargé d’affaires to Santo Domingo.” + +“A pretty kettle of fish!” stormed the shipowner. + +Secretary Blaine struggled to maintain his dignity. + +“A little premature, perhaps,” he temporized. “But our President has +gone on record as favoring the development of commerce with Latin +America, and we have no reason to believe that Frederick Douglass will +not co-operate in carrying forward the clearly expressed policies of +his government.” + +“You are a fool!” snapped the shipowner. + +The Secretary’s face flushed, and a vein throbbed at his temple. + +“You forget,” he said evenly after a moment, “or perhaps you do not +know, that Frederick Douglass was Secretary of President Grant’s Santo +Domingo Commission; and Douglass had no part in its failure.” + +“Whatever the reasons, what interests me is that the United States +didn’t get Samoná Bay.” The shipowner’s voice rasped. “I never trust +those--those _people_. It’s bad enough to have to do business with them +in the islands. Well”--he made a gesture of resignation--“I didn’t come +here to quarrel. You’ll simply have to handle this fellow.” + +The Secretary picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. He was +wondering how well he or anybody else could “handle” Frederick Douglass. + +“I’ve already dictated a letter to him in which I express the hope that +he will accept President Harrison’s appointment--” + +The shipowner interrupted with something like a sneer. + +“You’re certainly going out of your way to be cordial.” + +“_Ignorant calf!_” was the Secretary’s unspoken thought. Aloud +he continued as if he had not heard. “--because his influence as +minister,” he said steadily, “is the most potent force we can send to +the Caribbean for the peace, welfare and prosperity of those weary and +unhappy people.” + +“Um--um.” The idea was penetrating. “Not bad, not bad at all.” + +“It can be late fall before he arrives.” They regarded each other +across the flat-topped desk. “Meanwhile--” + +“Meanwhile,” the shipowner was getting to his feet, “much can happen.” + +“I was thinking that.” + +“Perhaps the usurper, Légitime, will not be on hand to greet our new +Ambassador.” + +“Perhaps!” + +The gentlemen bowed and separated. + +That evening Stephen Preston sent a joyful letter home. “A miracle has +taken place, truly a miracle!” + +And on Cedar Hill the Douglasses sat on their porch and re-read the +letter which a messenger had brought from Secretary of State Blaine. + +“You deserve it, my dear. You deserve every bit of it!” She smiled at +her husband, her eyes shining with happiness. Douglass’ voice was a +little husky. The letter trembled in his hand. + +“Secretary Blaine is right. This is important to every freedman in the +United States. It’s important to that valiant small nation which owes +its independence to a successful slave revolt. This recognition is +important to dark peoples everywhere. I am so grateful that I’m here to +do my part.” + +And Helen Douglass reached out and took his hand. She was proud, so +very proud of him. + +Telegrams and letters of congratulation came in, not only from all over +the United States, but from Mexico, South America, Africa. A clockmaker +in Zurich sent Douglass a great clock carved from a huge block of wood. + +Newspapers in the United States only mentioned an unexpected +“turn-over” in Haiti “because it might affect the recent appointment.” +But when on October 7, 1889, Légitime was thrown out of office and +Hyppolite became president, the Administration declared it a purely +domestic matter, and the United States representative was instructed +to proceed to his post. Unexplained “troubles” had delayed Douglass’ +departure, but now the reasons for keeping him in Washington rapidly +exhausted themselves. The first week in November, Douglass, accompanied +by his wife, sailed for Port-au-Prince. + +Nature is lavish with her gifts in the Caribbean. They thought they had +seen her finest habiliments along the Riviera, but even world travelers +hold their breath or speak in awed whispers as out of the violet +distance emerges the loveliest jewel of the Antilles. + +Across a bay of deepest blue, the purple of the mountains of La Gonaïve +loomed against the western sky as if tossed from the cerulean depths of +the gulf. Fanning up from the great bay rise the hills, wrinkled masses +of green and blue and gray and orange, their dim wave of color relieved +by crimson splotches of luxuriant gardens or by the pointed spires of +trees. + +The city of Port-au-Prince spilled over into the water with its crowded +harbor, large and small boats and white sails skimming over the +surface. In the center of the city rose the great Gothic cathedral, to +one side the white palace occupied by Haiti’s President. + +Two smart, attentive officials were on the dock to meet Frederick +Douglass. Behind sleek, glistening horses they drove the new Minister +and his wife to the spacious villa which was to be their home. The +house was already staffed with servants, who gathered, European +fashion, to greet the new tenants. The maids smiled shyly at Mrs. +Douglass, then whisked her away to her rooms. The officials took their +leave, saying that the President would be happy to receive Mr. Douglass +at his pleasure. + +That afternoon, accompanied by his secretary, who would also act as +interpreter, Douglass drove to the palace to present his credentials. +He was cordially received by a uniformed adjutant. In a short while +they were being ushered up a wide, sweeping staircase and into a +frescoed hall. They paused here. + +“There is the anchor of the _Santa Maria_,” the secretary whispered, +“the anchor Columbus lowered in the Môle St. Nicolas.” + +Douglass walked closer. He was so deeply absorbed that he did not see +the huge doors swing open. The secretary had to touch his arm. The +President of Haiti was coming to greet the representative from the +United States, his hand extended. They went in to his study. + +President Hyppolite was large and dark. He knew he was in a dangerous +game. He knew that he was only a pawn. Wary and watchful, he listened +more than he talked. For underneath everything else--far deeper than +personal ambitions--was his determination to keep Haiti out of the +scheming hands that clutched at her so greedily. + +He hated all Spaniards, Frenchmen, Englishmen and Americans with equal +intensity. He studied this brown American, this ex-slave, who carried +himself with such dignity and who spoke with such assurance. Hyppolite +wondered how much the other man knew. He attended his visitor’s words +carefully, listening to catch any additional meanings in his voice. He +understood English, but he remained silent, his large head slightly +cocked to one side until the interpreter translated Douglass’ words +into French. + +He answered in French. Choosing his words carefully, he expressed his +approval of “growing commercial intercommunications,” his hope for +closer and “mutually helpful” relations with the United States. Then he +touched upon Haiti’s long and independent existence and said that each +nation has the right to be proud of its autonomy. + +“For a long time Haiti was an outcast among the nations of the world. +But Haiti remembers that the victory of Toussaint L’Ouverture was as +important to the United States as it was to Britain. By exterminating +the armies of Leclerc, we at the same time destroyed Napoleon’s dream +of an empire in the Mississippi valley. He was glad to sell Louisiana +at any price.” + +The President was satisfied with the expression which lighted Douglass’ +face when the interpreter had translated these words. His rather grim +face broke into a smile. + +“I speak a little English,” he said in English. + +Douglass grinned and returned with: + +“_J’ai étudié le francais--un--une peu--mais ma femme--_” he stopped, +spreading his hands hopelessly. + +They laughed together then, and the rest of the visit Hyppolite spoke +English. + +“Here you will learn the French--but quick,” he said. “Altogether we +will help you.” + +Douglass expressed his own and his wife’s appreciation of the +preparations for their comfort, and President Hyppolite said that +without doubt Mrs. Douglass would be very busy receiving the ladies of +Port-au-Prince. + +After Douglass had bowed out, the President stood for a few minutes +drumming on his desk. Then he pulled a cord which summoned a certain +gentleman of state. + +“Your Excellency!” The man waited. President Hyppolite spoke rather +slowly, in concise French. + +“The Frederick Douglass is an honorable man. He intends to discharge +his duties in a manner which will bring credit and distinction to his +people and to his nation. It is to be remembered at all times that Mr. +Douglass is, first of all, Ambassador of the United States.” + +“Yes, Your Excellency!” + +The President dismissed him with a nod. Then he walked to the window +and stood looking at the Square. From this window he could not see +the middle of the Champs de Mars, but he was thinking of the statue +there--the statue of a black soldier thrusting his sword toward the +sky. This statue of Dessalines is Haiti’s symbol of her struggle for +freedom. Hyppolite sighed as he turned away from the window. + +He wondered if there might be a better way. + +Back in Washington activities had been bent upon getting John Durham +sent as special consul to Port-au-Prince because of his “special +fitness for the job.” Once more President Harrison’s action proved +disappointing. He sent John Durham to Santo Domingo City. It began to +be whispered about in Washington and New York that the Haitians had +snubbed Frederick Douglass and his wife. Stephen Preston heard the +rumors just before he sailed for home. He suspected their origin, but +he decided to hold his peace until he reached Port-au-Prince. + + * * * * * + +“Frederick,” Helen Douglass said, “this place will be my undoing! Such +ease is positively shameful. My only exercise is changing clothes for +another reception or dinner party. And the food!” Her voice became a +wail of despair. “I’m getting fat!” + +He laughed. + +“Well, madam, I might suggest horseback riding. I’m feeling fine!” + +She shook her head. + +“You? I can’t go galloping around these mountains the way you do.” + +It was true. Frederick Douglass estimated his age to be over seventy. +Yet he was spending hours every day in the saddle. + +“It’s the only way one can see Haiti!” + +They took the boat to Cap Haitien, and while Helen was entertained +in one of the big white houses set on the slopes and surrounded by a +tropical garden, Douglass, accompanied by other horsemen, rode up to +the summit of Bonne-à-l’Evêque. Gradually the earth fell away until +the rocky edges of the mountain showed like snarling teeth, and the +foothills below seemed like jungle forest. An earthquake in 1842 was +said to have shaken the Citadel to the danger point; but Douglass, +viewing this mightiest fortress in the Western world, doubted whether +any human army with all its modern equipment could take it. Christophe +had built his Citadel at a height of twenty-six hundred feet--an +amazing feat of engineering so harmoniously constructed through and +through that, though thousands and thousands of natives must have died +during the course of its construction, one could almost believe it the +work of one man. + +Douglass stood at the massive pile which is now the tomb of the most +dominant black man in history. + +“If a nation’s greatness can at all be measured by its great soldiers,” +he thought, “then little Haiti, with its Toussaint L’Ouverture, Jean +Jacques Dessalines and Henri Christophe, must surely be listed among +the first!” + +Another day they took him up a high cliff overlooking the Môle St. +Nicolas. + +“You have perhaps heard that Abbé Raynal called it the Gibraltar of the +West Indies,” the Haitian commented, watching Douglass’ face. + +“See,” the second companion pointed with his riding crop, “the harbor +is practically landlocked. The entrance is only four miles wide and +deep enough on both sides to permit the largest vessels to pass close +to shore. At two hundred yards from land bottom is not touched with an +eighty-fathom line.” + +Douglass gazed in wonder. The waters of the bay spread out, smooth and +unruffled as a great lake. The land on which they stood at the right of +the entrance rose sharply. Opposite, a wooded plain extended. At the +end of the bay clustered a group of buildings with the clear sheen of +water right in the middle of them. + +“Man could not have designed anything so perfect,” Douglass murmured. + +The first Haitian spoke again. + +“They say all the fleets in Europe could lie here secure from every +wind. And the largest vessels in fifty fathoms of water could have +cables on land.” + +“It is incredible!” + +The Haitian turned as if to mount his horse. He spoke carelessly. + +“A powerful nation holding this harbor might easily control not only +the Caribbeans but South America as well.” + +“But a friendly nation,” Douglass reasoned with great sincerity, “with +the means at hand might use this harbor to bring prosperity to all the +Caribbean.” + +“_Ce soit possible!_” + +Douglass did not know French well enough to catch the slight sarcasm in +the Haitian’s words. + +As they rode down the trail they spoke only of the scenery. + + * * * * * + +In November the United States warship _Yantic_ steamed into the Môle, +and Douglass reported that frequent references in the American press to +alleged desires on the part of his country to obtain bases there were +arousing fears among the Haitian people. Strangely enough, Douglass now +found himself the point of attack by the press. They said he was not +the man for the post. + +“The fault of my character,” Douglass wrote later, “was that upon it +there could be predicated no well-grounded hope that I would allow +myself to be used, or allow my office to be used, to further selfish +schemes of any sort for the benefit of individuals, either at the +expense of Haiti or at the expense of the character of the United +States.”[33] + +Events moved rapidly. Certain facts became apparent to Douglass, and +in March, 1890, he wrote to Secretary Blaine that certain American +business interests were bringing pressure upon Haiti. Douglass had +not at this time seen a report recorded by the Bureau of Navigation, +received January 22, 1890, which read: + + The strategical value of this Island from a naval point of view is + invaluable, and this increases in direct proportion to the millions + which American citizens are investing in the Nicaragua Canal. The + United States cannot afford to allow any doubt to rest in the minds of + any Haitian as to our fixed determination to allow no one to gain a + foothold on, or establish a protectorate over this Island. + +Home on leave for a few weeks in August, Douglass spoke on Haiti to a +large audience in Baltimore. He noted he had recently been under attack +by the press of the country. + +“I believe the press has become reconciled to my presence in the +office except those that have a candidate for it,” he said, “and they +give out that I am going to resign. At them I fling the old adage ‘Few +die, and none resign.’ I am going back to Haiti.” + +Let us take Douglass’ own account of what happened the following +winter. It appeared in the _North American Review_, September, 1891. + + On January 26, 1891, Rear Admiral Gherardi, having arrived at + Port-au-Prince, sent one of his under-officers on shore to the + United States Legation, to invite me on board his flagship, the + _Philadelphia_.... I went on board as requested, and there for + the first time I learned that I was to have some connection with + negotiations for a United States coaling-station at the Môle St. + Nicolas; and this information was imparted to me by Rear Admiral + Gherardi. He told me in his peculiarly emphatic manner that he had + been duly appointed a United Sates special commissioner; that his + mission was to obtain a naval station at the Môle St. Nicolas; and + that it was the wish of Mr. Blaine and Mr. Tracy, and also of the + President of the United States, that I should earnestly co-operate + with him in accomplishing this object. He further made me acquainted + with the dignity of his position, and I was not slow in recognizing it. + + In reality, some time before the arrival of Admiral Gherardi on + this diplomatic scene, I was made acquainted with the fact of his + appointment. There was at Port-au-Prince an individual, acting as + agent of a distinguished firm in New York, who appeared to be more + fully initiated into the secrets of the State Department at Washington + than I was, and who knew, or said he knew, all about the appointment + of Admiral Gherardi, whose arrival he diligently heralded in advance, + and carefully made public in all the political and business circles to + which he had access. He stated that I was discredited at Washington, + had, in fact, been suspended and recalled, and that Admiral Gherardi + had been duly commissioned to take my place. It is unnecessary to say + that it placed me in an unenviable position, both before the community + of Port-au-Prince and before the government of Haiti. + +Anyone may read a carefully documented account of the negotiations +which followed in Rayford Logan’s _Diplomatic Relations of the United +States with Haiti_. There can be no question that Douglass strove +to carry out the wishes of his government while at the same time +“maintaining the good character of the United States.” He clearly +regretted certain features of the negotiations. + + Not the least, perhaps, among the collateral causes of our non-success + was the minatory attitude assumed by us while conducting the + negotiation. What wisdom was there in confronting Haiti at such a + moment with a squadron of large ships of war with a hundred cannon and + two thousand men? This was done, and it was naturally construed into a + hint to Haiti that if we could not, by appeals to reason and friendly + feeling, obtain what we wanted, we could obtain it by a show of force. + We appeared before the Haitians, and before the world, with the pen + in one hand and the sword in the other. This was not a friendly and + considerate attitude for a great government like ours to assume when + asking a concession from a small and weak nation like Haiti. It was + ill-timed and out of all proportion to the demands of the occasion. It + was also done under a total misapprehension of the character of the + people with whom we had to deal. We should have known that, whatever + else the Haitian people may be, they are not cowards, and hence are + not easily scared. + +Frederick Douglass was blamed for the failure of the negotiations. He +did resign the summer of 1891. + +Logan says, “My own belief is that Douglass was sincerely desirous of +protecting the interests of a country of the same race as his, while at +the same time carrying out the wishes of his government and upholding +the integrity of that government. His failure was due rather to the +fact that there was no real public demand for the Môle, that Harrison +was not prepared to use force.... After all, the Panama Canal had not +been built; the United States had not even obtained her release from +the Clayton-Bulwer Treaty so that she could construct a canal under +her own control. The use of force against Haiti had to wait until the +canal had been constructed, until the United States had become a world +power, until a new period of recurrent revolutions had increased the +impatience in the State Department, and until the attention fixed +upon the World War permitted the military occupation of Haiti without +arousing too much protest in the United Sates.”[34] + +In 1893 the Haitian government appointed Douglass Haiti’s Commissioner +to the World Columbian Exposition at Chicago; and in 1899 Haiti +contributed the first thousand dollars toward the bronze statue +of Frederick Douglass now standing in one of the public parks of +Rochester. Speaking in 1932, Dantes Bellegarde, Haitian Minister to +the United States, expressed the belief that were Frederick Douglass +still living he “would be among those who most ardently approved the +doctrine of international morality.... A policy respectful of the +rights of small nations such as had been exemplified in the activities +of Douglass while United States Minister in Haiti, is the only policy +capable of assuring to a powerful nation like the United States the +real and profound sympathy of the states of Latin America.” + +Frederick Douglass was now nearly eighty years old. He had not retired +from public life. His snow-white bushy hair, topping the straight, +well-set figure was a familiar sight wherever people gathered to plan +a stronger, nobler nation, to build a more understanding world. His +faith in his country and in its ultimate destiny rendered him tolerant; +his ready wit was gentle. Little knots of people gathered round him +wherever he went and found themselves repeating his stories and +remembering best of all his rare good humor. The villagers in Anacostia +were proud of him. They told of the visitors who came from far and near +seeking his home. + +On the morning of February 15, 1895, Susan B. Anthony arrived in +Washington to open the second triennial meeting of the National Woman’s +Council. This was her seventy-fifth birthday, and that afternoon Mr. +and Mrs. Frederick Douglass called to express their good wishes and +congratulations. + +The big open meeting of the session was to be February 20. During the +morning Frederick Douglass appeared and, amid resounding applause, was +invited to the platform by the president, Mrs. Sewall. He accepted, but +declined to speak, acknowledging the applause only by a bow. + +It was one of those bitterly cold days, and Douglass reached home just +in time for supper. He was in high good spirits. Even while he shook +off the snow and removed his boots in the hall he was recounting the +happenings of the day. + +“Miss Anthony was at her best!” he said as he stood before the big open +fire, warming his hands. + +“I’m a little tired,” he said after supper. He had started up the +stairs and stopped, apparently to look at the picture of John Brown +which hung there on the wall. His wife, in the living room, turned +quickly. The phrase was unlike him. + +And then he fell. He was dead before they could get him to his room. + +All the great ones spoke at his funeral. Susan B. Anthony read +Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s memorial to the only man who had sustained her +demand for the enfranchisement of women at the first convention back in +1848. + +There have been many memorials to him--in marble and bronze, in song +and poetry. But stone and wood are dead, and only we can make words +come alive. Frederick Douglass’ words reach us across the years: + + Though I am more closely connected and identified with one class + of outraged, oppressed and enslaved people, I cannot allow myself + to be insensible to the wrongs and suffering of any part of the + great family of man. I am not only an American slave, but a man, + and as such, am bound to use my powers for the welfare of the whole + human brotherhood.... I believe that the sooner the wrongs of the + whole human family are made known, the sooner those wrongs will be + reached.[35] + + + + +_Epilogue_ + + +Any portion of the story of man’s struggle for freedom is marvelously +strange. This is a true story, and therefore some footnotes are +necessary. In many instances I have quoted directly from Frederick +Douglass’ autobiographies. His own words, with their simple, forthright +quality, form a clear picture of the man. + +This book attempts to bring together many factors. I am therefore +deeply indebted to all who have labored long and faithfully in +compiling this story. Special mention must be made of W. E. B. Du Bois’ +_Black Reconstruction_ and _John Brown_, W. P. and F. J. Garrison’s +_William Lloyd Garrison_, Ida Harper’s _Susan B. Anthony_, Rayford +Logan’s _Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti_, A. A. +W. Ramsay’s _Sir Robert Peel_, J. T. Wilson’s _The Black Phalanx_ and +_The Journal of Negro History_, edited by Carter G. Woodson. + + * * * * * + +It was on a Sunday afternoon in April that I first climbed Anacostia +Heights to Cedar Hill. + +“Here are the terrace stairs,” they told me. + +But I knew of the winding path that he had used, and I chose that. It +is tangled and overgrown in places now, but up I went until I reached +the sloping gardens and yes, there it was, just as I had expected, a +lilac bush blooming where the path met the graveled walk! + +A typical Virginia homestead, with veranda, carriage house and +servants’ quarters, the house and grounds are preserved by the Douglass +Memorial Association of Negro Women’s Clubs. I stood beside the sundial +and tried to read its shadow, looked down into the well, and sat for a +while on a stone seat beneath a flowering trellis. + +It was so easy to see them on the porch or in the sunny living rooms +with wide window-seats and fireplaces. Pictures looked down at me from +every side--Susan B. Anthony, William Lloyd Garrison, the young and +handsome Charles Sumner, Wendell Phillips and Abraham Lincoln. + +I sat dreaming at his desk a long time, fingering his notebooks and +the yellowing accounting sheets upon which he had tried to balance +that pitiful bank record. On three sides of the study books rose from +floor to ceiling--worn and penciled books. Books about people were +undoubtedly his favorites. + +In the rooms upstairs were pictures and intimate small objects of +family life, and in his room in a locked case I saw a rusty musket and +a flag. + + * * * * * + +They opened the case for me, and I laid my face against the folds of +John Brown’s flag. There it was in this year of 1946, still furled and +standing in the corner of Frederick Douglass’ room. + +I must have stayed in those rooms for some time, because suddenly I +realized it was growing dark and that I was alone. A glass door stood +ajar and I stepped through and out upon a little balcony, a tiny +balcony where one could sit alone and think. Surely many times on just +such spring evenings Douglass had stepped out on his balcony. Looking +far over the group of houses clustered at the foot of the hill, he +must have caught the gleam of the Potomac as I did, and beyond that +all Washington spread out like a bit of magic. Washington Monument +was not pointing to the sky in his day, but there was the beautiful +rounded dome of the Capitol. He could see that Capitol of which he +was so proud--he could contemplate all the intriguing pattern of the +city which he loved so much, capital of the nation which he served so +faithfully. + +Then, all at once, as I stood there on the balcony, I knew why it +was that in the evening of his life Frederick Douglass’ eyes were so +serene. Not because he was lost in illusions of grandeur, not because +he thought the goal attained, not because he thought all the people +were marching forward. But as he stood there on his little balcony +he could lift his eyes and, looking straight ahead, could see over +the dome of the Capitol, steadfastly shedding its rays of hope and +guidance, the north star. + + + + + _Bibliography_ + + + Austin, George Lowell, _The Life and Times of Wendell Phillips_. + Boston. Lee & Shepard, 1888. + + Buckmaster, Henrietta, _Let My People Go_. New York. Harper & + Brothers, 1941. + + Douglass, Frederick, _Narration of Frederick Douglass_. Boston. The + American Anti-Slavery Society, 1845. + + ----, _My Bondage and My Freedom_. New York. Miller, Orton & Mulligan, + 1855. + + ----, _Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_. Boston. De Wolfe, Fiske + & Co., 1893. + + Du Bois, W. E. Burghardt, _Black Reconstruction_. New York. Harcourt + Brace & Co., 1935. + + ----, _John Brown_. Philadelphia. George W. Jacobs, 1909. + + Garrison, W. P. and F. J., _William Lloyd Garrison_. Boston. Houghton, + Mifflin & Co., 1894. + + Greeley, Horace, _The American Conflict_. Hartford. A. D. Case & Co., + 1864. + + Harper, Ida, _Life and Work of Susan B. Anthony_. Indianapolis. The + Bowen-Merrill Co., 1899. + + Hart, Albert B., _Slavery and Abolition_. New York Harper & Brothers, + 1906. + + Ingersoll, Robert, _Political Speeches_. New York. C. P. Farrell + (editor), 1914. + + Logan, Rayford W., _Diplomatic Relations of United States with Haiti_. + University of North Carolina Press, 1941. + + May, Samuel J., _Recollections of the Anti-Slavery Conflict_. Boston. + Fields, Osgood & Co., 1869. + + Mansergh, Nicholas, _Ireland in the Age of Reform and Revolution_. + London. G. Allen & Unwin, Ltd., 1940. + + Ramsey, A. A. W., _Sir Robert Peel_. London. Constable & Co., Ltd., + 1928. + + Wilson, Joseph Thomas, _The Black Phalanx: History of the Negro + Soldiers of the United States_. Hartford. The American Publishing Co., + 1897. + + Woodson, Carter G. (editor), _Journal of Negro History_. Washington, + 1935-46. + + + + + _Footnotes_ + + [1] Douglass, _My Bondage and My Freedom_, chap. xxii, pp. 345-46. + + [2] Douglass, _My Bondage and My Freedom_, chap. xxii, pp. 351-53. + + [3] _Liberator_, Dec. 15, 1840. + + [4] Douglass, _Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_, chap. v, p. 288. + + [5] Douglass, _Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_, chap. vi, p. 249. + + [6] Douglass, _My Bondage and My Freedom_, chap. xxiv, p. 385. + + [7] _Ibid., loc. cit._ + + [8] Douglass, _My Bondage and My Freedom_, chap. xxiv, p. 373. + + [9] Nephews of Garrison’s old detractor. + + [10] Letter dated August 28, 1847. Garrison, _William Lloyd Garrison_, + Vol. III, chap. vii, p. 202. + + [11] Du Bois, _John Brown_, chap. iv, p. 55. (Origin: _Records of the + Board of Trustees_, Oberlin College, Aug. 28, 1840.) + + [12] Douglass, _Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_, chap. vii, pp. + 337-39. + + [13] Du Bois, _John Brown_, chap. vi, p. 126. + + [14] Du Bois, _John Brown_, chap. vi, p. 133. + + [15] Du Bois, _John Brown_, chap. vii, p. 147. + + [16] Du Bois, _John Brown_, chap. vii, p. 153. + + [17] Du Bois, _John Brown_, chap. iv, p. 144. + + [18] Douglass, _Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_, chap. x, p. 385. + + [19] Douglass, _Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_, chap. ix, + p. 397. + + [20] Du Bois, _Black Reconstruction_, chap. vi, p. 157. + + [21] Douglass, _Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_, chap. xii, p. + 442. + + [22] Du Bois, _Black Reconstruction_, chap. xi, p. 464. + + [23] _New Orleans Tribune_, Jan. 17, 1865. + + [24] Douglass, _Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_, chap. viii, pp. + 467-68. + + [25] The original of this petition was recently unearthed in the + Historical Archives of South Carolina. On the back of the document was + a notation: “This petition was not read in the Convention.” _Signed_; + John T. Sloa, Clerk of Convention. Printed in article by Herbert + Aptaker, _Journal of Negro History_, January, 1946. + + [26] Congressional Globe, “39th Congress,” I, p. 74. + + [27] Douglass, _Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_, chap. xvii, p. + 561. + + [28] C. P. Farrell (Editor), _The Political Speeches of Robert + Ingersoll_, Dresden edition. + + [29] Douglass, _Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_, chap. xiv, pp. + 486-88. + + [30] Douglass, _Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_ (appendix), chap. + ii, p. 631. + + [31] Douglass, _Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_, III, chap. v, p. + 647. + + [32] _Ibid._, III, chap. ix, p. 707. + + [33] Douglass, _Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_, III, chap. ix, + p. 723. + + [34] Logan, _Diplomatic Relations of United States with Haiti_, chap. + xv, p. 457. + + [35] _The Liberator_, March 27, 1846. + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + + Perceived typographical errors have been silently corrected. + + Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. + + Colloquial spelling in dialog has been retained as in the original. + + Footnote 9 has two anchors in the text. + + Footnotes have been moved to the end of the text. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75237 *** diff --git a/75237-h/75237-h.htm b/75237-h/75237-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f158acc --- /dev/null +++ b/75237-h/75237-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15080 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + There was once a slave... | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.lpad {padding-left: 6em;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} + +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} +.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: -1em;} + + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75237 ***</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</span></p> + + + + +<h1><i>There was once a slave</i>...</h1> + +<p class="center">SHIRLEY GRAHAM</p> + + +<p class="center"><i>The heroic story of</i><br> +FREDERICK DOUGLASS</p><br> + +<p class="center">JULIAN MESSNER, Inc., NEW YORK +</p><br> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</span></p> + + + + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><span class="smcap">There Was Once a Slave</span>, <i>The Heroic Story of Frederick +Douglass</i> by Shirley Graham, received the sixty-five hundred dollar +<span class="allsmcap">JULIAN MESSNER AWARD FOR THE BEST BOOK COMBATING INTOLERANCE +IN AMERICA</span>. The judges were: Carl Van Doren, Lewis Gannett, +and Clifton Fadiman. Miss Graham’s work was selected from over six +hundred manuscripts submitted in the contest. The original award was +augmented by a grant from the Lionel Judah Tachna Memorial Foundation, +established by Max Tachna in memory of his son who lost his life in +the Battle of the Coral Sea.</p> +</div> +</div> +<br> + + + + +<p class="center">PUBLISHED BY JULIAN MESSNER, INC.<br> +8 WEST 40TH STREET, NEW YORK 18</p> + +<p class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1947<br> +BY SHIRLEY GRAHAM</p> + +<p class="center">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br> +BY MONTAUK BOOK MANUFACTURING CO., INC. +</p><br> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + + +<p class="center">To Peoples on the March +</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent4"><i>You cannot hem the hope of being free</i></div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>With parallels of latitude, with mountain range or sea;</i></div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>Put heavy padlocks on Truth’s lips, be callous as you will,</i></div> + <div class="verse indent4"><i>From soul to soul, o’er all the world,</i></div> + <div class="verse indent4"><i>leaps the electric thrill.</i></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="right"> +—<span class="smcap">James Russell Lowell</span><br> +</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</span></p> +</div> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Contents"><i>Contents</i></h2> +</div> + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Prologue">Prologue</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">ix</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdr"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#Part_I">PART I · THE ROAD</a></td> +<td class="tdr"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdr"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">CHAPTER</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdr">PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">1</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_One">Frederick sets his feet upon the road</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">3</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">2</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Two">The road winds about Chesapeake Bay</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">16</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">3</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Three">An old man drives his mule</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">29</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">4</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Four">Frederick comes to a dead end</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">36</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">5</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Five">One more river to cross</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">63</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdr"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#Part_II">PART II · THE LIGHTNING</a></td> +<td class="tdr"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdr"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">6</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Six">Is this a thing, or can it be a man?</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">83</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">7</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Seven">Jobs in Washington and voting in Rhode Island</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">103</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">8</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Eight">On two sides of the Atlantic</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">119</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">9</td> +<td class="tdl">“<i><a href="#Chapter_Nine">To be henceforth free, manumitted and discharged ...</a></i>”</td> +<td class="tdr">137</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">10</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Ten">A light is set in the road</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">155</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdr"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#Part_III">PART III · THE STORM</a></td> +<td class="tdr"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdr"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">11</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Eleven">The storm comes up in the west and birds fly north</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">175</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">12</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Twelve">An Avenging Angel brings the fury of the storm</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">190</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">13</td> +<td class="tdl">“<i><a href="#Chapter_Thirteen">Give us arms, Mr. Lincoln!</a></i>”</td> +<td class="tdr">208</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">14</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Fourteen">Came January 1, 1863</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">223</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#Part_IV">PART IV · TOWARD MORNING</a></td> +<td class="tdr"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">15</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Fifteen">When lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">229</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">16</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Sixteen">Moving forward</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">240</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">17</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Seventeen">Fourscore years ago in Washington</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">256</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">18</td> +<td class="tdl">“<i><a href="#Chapter_Eighteen">If slavery could not kill us, liberty won’t</a></i>”</td> +<td class="tdr">272</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">19</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Nineteen">Indian summer and a fair harvest</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">288</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">20</td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Chapter_Twenty">The Môle St. Nicolas</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">294</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Epilogue">Epilogue</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">309</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Bibliography">Bibliography</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr">311</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"><i><a href="#Footnotes">Footnotes</a></i></td> +<td class="tdr"></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Prologue"><i>Prologue</i></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +I keep my eye on the bright north star and think of liberty.<br> +</p> + +<p class="right"> +—<span class="smcap">From an old slave song</span><br> +</p> + + +<p>They told him that he was a slave, that he must bend his back, walk +low, with eyes cast down, think not at all and sleep without a dream. +But every beat of hoe against a twisted root, each narrow furrow +reaching toward the hill, flight of a bird across the open field, creak +of the ox-cart in the road—all spoke to him of freedom.</p> + +<p>For Frederick Douglass had his eyes upon a star.</p> + +<p>This dark American never knew the exact date of his birth. Some time in +1817 or 1818 or 1819 he was born in Talbot County on the Eastern Shore +of the state of Maryland. Who were his people? “Genealogical trees,” he +wrote in his autobiography, “did not flourish among slaves. A person of +some consequence in civilized society, sometimes designated as father, +was literally unknown to slave law and to slave practices.”</p> + +<p>His first years were spent in a kind of breeding pen, where, with dogs +and pigs and other young of the plantation, black children were raised +for the fields and turpentine forests. The only bright memories of his +childhood clung round his grandmother’s log hut. He remembered touching +his mother once. After he was four or five years old he never saw or +heard of her again.</p> + +<p>This is the story of how from out that breeding pen there came a Man. +It begins in August of the year of our Lord, 1834. Andrew Jackson was +in the White House. Horace Greeley was getting a newspaper going in +New York. William Lloyd Garrison had been dragged through the streets +of Boston, a rope around his neck. Slavery had just been abolished +wherever the Union Jack flew. Daniel O’Connell was lifting his +voice, calling the people of Ireland together. Goethe’s song of the +brotherhood of man was echoing in the hills. Tolstoy was six years old, +and Abraham Lincoln was growing up in Illinois.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Part_I">Part I</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>THE ROAD</i><br> +<br> +The dirt receding before my prophetical screams<br> +</p> + + +<p class="right"> +—<span class="smcap">Walt Whitman</span><br> +</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p> + + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_One"><span class="smcap">Chapter One</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Frederick sets his feet upon the road</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>The long day was ending. Now that the sun had dropped behind scrawny +pine trees, little eddies of dust stirred along the road. A bit of +air from the bay lifted the flaccid leaves and lightly rustled the +dry twigs. A heap of rags and matted hair that had seemed part of +the swampy underbrush stirred. A dark head lifted cautiously. It +was bruised and cut, and the deep eyes were wide with terror. For a +moment the figure was motionless—ears strained, aching muscles drawn +together, ready to dive deeper into the scrub. Then the evening breeze +touched the bloated face, tongue licked out over cracked, parched lips. +As the head sagged forward, a single drop of blood fell heavily upon +the dry pine needles.</p> + +<p><i>Water!</i> The wide nostrils distended gratefully, tasting the +moisture in the air—cool like the damp bricks of the well. Cracked +fingers twitched as if they wrapped themselves around a rusty cup—the +rough red cup with its brimming goodness of cool water. It had stood +right at the side of his grandmother’s hut—the old well had—its +skyward-pointing beam so aptly placed between the limbs of what had +once been a tree, so nicely balanced that even a small boy could move +it up and down with one hand and get a drink without calling for help. +The bundle of rags in the bushes shivered violently. Benumbed limbs +were coming alive. He must be quiet, lie still a little longer, breathe +slowly.</p> + +<p>But the stupor which had locked his senses during the heat of the +August day was lifting. Pain which could not be borne made him writhe. +He gritted his teeth. His head seemed to float somewhere in space, +swelling and swelling. He pressed against the ground, crushing the pine +needles against his lips. Faces and voices were blurred in his memory. +Sun, hot sun on the road—bare feet stirring the dust. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span> road +winding up the hill—dust in the road. He had watched his grandmother +disappear in the dust of the road. His mother had gone too, waving +goodbye. The road had swallowed them up. The shadows of the trees were +blotting out the road. There were only trees here. He lay still.</p> + +<p>Darkness falls swiftly in the pine woods. He raised himself once more +and looked about. A squirrel scurried for cover. Then everything was +still—no harsh voices, no curses, no baying of hounds. That meant they +were not looking for him. With the dogs it would have been easy enough. +Covey had not bothered to take time out from work. Covey knew he could +not get away.</p> + +<p>Masters who sent their slaves to this narrow neck of stubborn land +between the bay and the river knew their property was safe. Edward +Covey enjoyed the reputation of being a first-rate hand at breaking +“bad niggers.” Slaveholders in the vicinity called him in when they +had trouble. Since Covey was a poor man his occupation was of immense +advantage to him. It enabled him to get his farm worked with very +little expense. Like some horse-breakers noted for their skill, who +rode the best horses in the country without expense, Covey could have +under him the most fiery bloods of the neighborhood. He guaranteed to +return any slave to his master well broken.</p> + +<p>Captain Auld had turned over to Covey this impudent young buck who had +been sent down to the Eastern Shore from Baltimore. Among the items +of his wife’s property, Captain Auld had found this slave listed as +“Frederick.”</p> + +<p>“Sly and dangerous!” The Captain’s voice was hard. “Got to be broken +now while he’s young.”</p> + +<p>“Frederick!” Covey had mouthed the syllables distastefully, his +small green eyes traveling over the stocky, well-formed limbs, broad +shoulders and long brown arms. “Too much name—too much head!” The +comment was a sort of low growl. But his tones were servile as he +addressed the master.</p> + +<p>“Know his kind well. Just leave him to me. I’ll take it out of him.”</p> + +<p>Then Frederick had lifted his head. His broad, smooth face turned to +his master. His eyes were eloquent. <i>Why?</i> But his lips did not +move. Captain Auld spoke sternly.</p> + +<p>“Watch yourself! Don’t be bringing him back to me crippled. He’ll fetch +a fair price in a couple of years. Comes of good stock.”</p> + +<p>Thomas Auld (why “Captain” no one knew) had not been born a +slaveholder. Slaves had come to him through marriage. The stench<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span> of +the whole thing sickened him, but he despised himself for his weakness. +He dreaded his wife’s scorn. She had grown up on the Lloyd plantation +where there were more slaves than anybody could count and there was +always plenty of everything. Colonel Lloyd never had trouble with his +slaves, she taunted her husband. Auld would tighten his colorless, +thin lips. God knows he tried hard enough—starved himself to feed a +parcel of no-good, lazy blacks. He thoroughly hated them all. This one +now—this sleek young buck—he’d been ruined in the city by Hugh Auld. +By his own brother and by that milk-faced wife of his. Teaching him to +read! Ruining a good, strong field hand! Well, he’d try Covey. See what +he could do.</p> + +<p>“Take him along!”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>That had been shortly after “the Christmas.” It was now hot summer. For +Frederick a long, long time had passed. He was indeed “broken.”</p> + +<p>A shuddering groan escaped the boy. Part of Covey’s irritation could +be understood. He <i>had</i> been clumsy and slow about the fields and +barn. But he dared not ask questions, and since nobody took the trouble +to tell him anything his furrows were shallow and crooked.</p> + +<p>He failed at running the treadmill. He had never even seen horned +cattle before. So it was not surprising that his worst experiences had +been with them. The strong, vicious beasts dragged him about at will, +and day after day Covey flogged him for allowing the oxen to get away. +Flogging was Covey’s one method of instruction.</p> + +<p>At first Frederick tortured himself with questions. They knew he’d +never learned field work. “Old Marse” had sent him to Baltimore when +he was just a pickaninny to look after the favorite grandchild, +rosy-cheeked Tommy. He remembered that exciting trip to Baltimore and +the moment when Mrs. Auld had taken his hand and, leading him to her +little son, had said, “Look, Tommy, here’s your Freddy.”</p> + +<p>The little slave had shyly regarded his equally small master. The white +child had smiled, and instantly two small boys became fast friends. +Fred had gone everywhere with Tommy. No watchdog was ever more devoted.</p> + +<p>“Freddy’s with Tommy,” the mother would say with assurance.</p> + +<p>It was perfectly natural that when Tommy began to read he eagerly +shared the new and fascinating game with his companion. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span> mother was +amused at how quickly the black child caught on. She encouraged both +children because she considered the exchange good for Tommy. But one +day she boasted of Freddy’s accomplishment to her husband. Mr. Auld was +horrified.</p> + +<p>“It’s against the law,” he stormed. “Learning will spoil the best +nigger in the world. If he learns to read he’ll never be any good as a +slave. The first thing you know he’ll be writing, and then look out. A +writing nigger is dangerous!”</p> + +<p>It was difficult for Mrs. Auld to see the curly-headed dark boy as a +menace. His devotion to Tommy was complete. But she was an obedient +wife. Furthermore she had heard dreadful stories of slaves who “went +bad.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, no harm’s done,” she consoled herself. “Freddy’s just a +child; he’ll soon forget all about this.” And she took pains to see +that no more books or papers fell into his hands.</p> + +<p>But Freddy did not forget. The seed was planted. Now he wanted to +know, and he developed a cunning far beyond his years. It was not too +difficult to salvage school books as they were thrown away. He invented +“games” for Tommy and his friends—games which involved reading and +spelling. The white boys slipped chalk from their schoolrooms and drew +letters and words on sidewalks and fences. By the time Tommy was twelve +years old, Freddy could read anything that came his way. And Tommy had +somehow guessed that it was best not to mention such things. Freddy +really was a great help.</p> + +<p>The time came when they were all learning speeches from <cite>The +Columbian Orator</cite>. Freddy quite willingly held the book while +they recited Sheridan’s impressive lines on the subject of Catholic +emancipation, Lord Chatham’s speech on the American War, speeches by +the great William Pitt and by Fox. Some things about those speeches +troubled the boys—especially those on the American Revolution.</p> + +<p>“Them folks—you mean they <i>fight</i> to be free?” Freddy asked.</p> + +<p>The four boys were comfortably sprawled out on the cellar door, well +out of earshot of grownups, but the question made them look over their +shoulders in alarm.</p> + +<p>“Hush your big mouth!”</p> + +<p>“Slaves fight?” Freddy persisted.</p> + +<p>“Wasn’t no slaves!”</p> + +<p>“Course not, them was Yankees!”</p> + +<p>“I hate Yankees.”</p> + +<p>“Everybody hates Yankees!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> + +<p>The crisis had passed. Freddy thoughtfully turned the page and they +started on the next speech.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly Tommy was growing up. It was decided to send him away +to school. And so, after seven years, his dark caretaker, no longer +a small, wide-eyed Pickaninny, was sent back to the Eastern Shore +plantation.</p> + +<p>“Old Marse” had died. In the division of property—live stock, farm +implements and slaves—Frederick had fallen to Colonel Lloyd’s ward, +Lucille, who had married Captain Thomas Auld. So the half-grown boy +went to a new master, whose place was near the oyster beds of St. +Michaels. The inhabitants of that hamlet, lean and colorless as their +mangy hounds, stared at him as he passed through. They stared at his +coat and eyed the shoes on his feet—good shoes they were, with soles. +They could not know that inside his bundle was an old copy of <cite>The +Columbian Orator</cite>.</p> + +<p>The book had brought him into Covey’s hands. At the memory came a +sudden stab of pain, blotting out everything in a wave of nausea. The +trees assumed diabolical forms—hands stretching out to seize him. +Words flaming in the shadows—leaping at him—burning him. What did he +have to do with books? He was a slave—a <i>slave for life</i>.</p> + +<p>His new master’s shock and horror had been genuine. Nothing had +prepared him for such a hideous disclosure. Fred, arriving at the +plantation, had been quiet and obedient. Captain Auld appraised this +piece of his wife’s inheritance with satisfaction. The boy appeared to +be strong and bright—a real value. But before he had a chance to show +what he could do, “the Christmas” was upon them and all regular work on +the plantation was suspended.</p> + +<p>Throughout the South it was customary for everybody to knock off +from work in the period between Christmas Day and New Year’s. On the +big plantations there were boxing, wrestling, foot-racing, a lot of +dancing and drinking of whiskey. Masters considered it a good thing +for the slaves to “let go” this one time of the year—an exhausting +“safety valve.” All kinds of wild carousing were condoned. Liquor was +brought in by the barrel and freely distributed. Not to be drunk during +the Christmas was disgraceful and was regarded by the masters with +something like suspicion.</p> + +<p>Captain Auld’s place was too poor for much feasting; but complete +license was given, and into half-starved bodies were poured jugs of rum +and corn whiskey. Men and women careened around and sang<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span> hoarsely, +couples rolled in the ditch, and little boys staggered as they danced, +while the overseers shouted with laughter. Everybody had a “good time.”</p> + +<p>All this was new to the boy, Frederick. He had never witnessed such +loose depravity. He was a stranger. Eagerly he inquired for those he +had known as a child. No one could tell him anything. “Old Marse’s” +slaves had been divided, exchanged, sold; and a slave leaves no +forwarding address. The youth had no feeling of kinship with the +plantation folks. He missed Tommy and wondered how he was getting along +without him. On the other hand, the field workers and oyster shuckers +looked upon the newcomer as a “house nigger.”</p> + +<p>For a while he watched the dancing and “jubilee beating,” tasted the +burning liquid and then, as the afternoon wore on, slipped away. The +day was balmy, with no suggestion of winter as known in the north. +Frederick had not expected this leisure. He had kept his book hidden, +knowing such things were forbidden. Now, tucking it inside his shirt, +he walked out across the freshly plowed fields.</p> + +<p>So it happened that Captain Auld came upon him stretched out under a +tree, his eyes fastened on the book which lay before him on the ground, +his lips moving. The boy was so absorbed that he did not hear his name +called. Only when the Captain’s riding whip came down on his shoulders +did he jump up. It was too late then.</p> + +<p>And so they had called in Covey, the slave-breaker. All that was seven +months ago.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The moon over Chesapeake Bay can be very lovely. This night it was +full, and the pine trees pointing to a cloudless sky were bathed in +silver. Far out on the water a boat moved with languid grace, her sails +almost limp, sending a shimmering ripple to the sandy shore.</p> + +<p>The dark form painfully crawling between the trees paused at the edge +of the cove. The wide beach out there under the bright moonlight was +fully exposed. Should he risk it?</p> + +<p>“Water.” It was a moan. Then he lifted his eyes and saw the ship +sailing away on the water. <i>A free ship going out to sea. Oh, +Jesus!</i></p> + +<p>He had heard no sound of footsteps, not the slightest breaking of a +twig, but a low voice close beside him said,</p> + +<p>“Rest easy, you! I get water.”</p> + +<p>The boy shrank back, staring. A thick tree trunk close by split in two, +and a very black man bent over him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p> + +<p>“I Sandy,” the deep voice went on. “Lay down now.”</p> + +<p>The chilled blood in Frederick’s broken body began to race. Once more +he lost consciousness. This time he did not fight against it. A friend +was standing by.</p> + +<p>The black man moved swiftly. Kneeling beside the still figure he +slipped his hand inside the rags. His face, inscrutable polished ebony, +did not change; but far down inside his eyes a dull light glowed as he +tore away the filthy cloth, sticky and stiff with drying blood. Was he +too late? Satisfied, he eased the twisted limbs on the pine needles and +then hurried down to the river’s edge where he filled the tin can that +hung from a cord over his shoulders.</p> + +<p>Frederick opened his eyes when the water touched his lips. He sighed +while Sandy gently wiped the clotted blood from his face and touched +the gaping wound in the thick, matted hair. His voice sounded strange +to his own ears when he asked,“How come you know?”</p> + +<p>“This day I work close by Mr. Kemp. Car’line come. Tell me.”</p> + +<p>At the name Frederick’s bones seemed to melt and flow in tears. +Something which neither curses, nor kicks, nor blows had touched gave +way. Caroline—Covey’s own slave woman, who bore upon her body the +marks of his sadistic pleasure, who seldom raised her eyes and always +spoke in whispers—Caroline had gone for help.</p> + +<p>Sandy did nothing to stay the paroxysm of weeping. He knew it was good, +that healing would come sooner. Sandy was very wise. Up and down the +Eastern Shore it was whispered that Sandy was “voodoo,” that he was +versed in black magic. Sandy was a full-blooded African. He remembered +coming across the “great waters.” He remembered the darkness, the +moans and the awful smells. But he had been fortunate. The chain which +fastened his small ankle to the hold of the ship also held his giant +mother, and she had talked to him. All through the darkness she had +talked to him. The straight, long-limbed woman of the Wambugwe had been +a prize catch. The Bantus of eastern Africa were hard to capture. They +brought the highest prices in the markets. Sandy remembered the rage +of the dealer when his mother was found dead. She had never set foot +on this new land, but all during the long journey she had talked—and +Sandy had not forgotten. He had not forgotten one word.</p> + +<p>This mother’s son now sat quietly by on his haunches, waiting. Long ago +he had learned patience. The waters of great rivers move slowly, almost +imperceptibly; big trees of the forest stand still, yet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span> each year +grow; seasons come in due time; nothing stays the same. Sandy knew.</p> + +<p>After a long shuddering sigh Frederick lay silent. Then Sandy sprang up.</p> + +<p>“We go by my woman’s house. Come,” he said.</p> + +<p>Frederick made an effort to rise. Sandy lifted the boy in his strong +arms and stood him on his feet. For a moment he leaned heavily; then, +with Sandy supporting him, he was conscious of being half-dragged +through the thicket. His body was empty of pain, of thought, of +emotion. Otherwise he might have hesitated. He knew that Sandy was +married to a free colored woman who lived in her own hut on the edge +of the woods. In her case the penalty for sheltering or aiding a +recalcitrant slave might be death. “Free niggers” had no property value +at all. Further, they were a menace in any slaveholding community. +Their lot was often far more precarious than that of plantation hands. +Strangely enough, however, the slaves looked upon such rare and +fortunate beings with almost awesome respect.</p> + +<p>On the other side of the woods, where good land overlooked the bay, the +woman, Noma, sat in the opening of her hut gazing at the fire. It was +burning low. The pieces of coke, glowing red in the midst of charred +wood, no longer turned the trees around the clearing to flickering +shadows. On this warm evening the woman had built her fire outdoors +and hung the iron pot over it. The savory odor coming from that pot +hung in the air. It was good, for into it had gone choice morsels put +by during the week of toil. Noma was part Indian. Here on the shore +of the Chesapeake she lived much as her mother’s people had lived for +generations back. She made and sold nets for shad and herring, and she +fished and hunted as well as any man. She was especially skillful at +seine-hauling. Sandy had built the hut, but she planted and tended her +garden. Six days and nights she lived here alone, but on the evening of +the seventh day Sandy always came. Except in isolated communities and +under particularly vicious conditions slaves did little work on Sunday. +Sandy’s master allowed him to spend that one day a week with his wife. +She sat now, her hands folded, waiting for Sandy. He was later than +usual, but he would come.</p> + +<p>The fire was almost out when she heard him coming through the brush. +This was so unusual that she started up in alarm. She did not cry out +when he appeared, supporting a bruised and battered form. She acted +instantly to get this helpless being out of sight. They carried<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> the +boy inside the hut and gently deposited him on the soft pile of reeds +in the corner. No time was lost with questions.</p> + +<p>Quickly she brought warm water and stripped off the filthy rags. She +bathed his wounds and wrapped a smooth green leaf about his head. She +poured oil on the back, which all along its broad flatness lay open and +raw, an oozing mass. A rib in his side seemed to be broken. They bound +his middle with strips which she tore from her skirts.</p> + +<p>Then she brought a steaming bowl. Frederick had had nothing to eat all +day. For the past six months his food had been “stock” and nothing +more. Now he was certain that never had he tasted anything so good +as this succulent mixture. Into the pot the woman had dropped bits +of pork, crabs and oysters, a handful of crisp seaweed and, from her +garden, okra and green peppers and soft, ripe tomatoes. In the hot +ashes she had baked corn pone. Frederick ate greedily, smacking his +lips. Sandy squatted beside him with his own bowl. A burning pine cone +lighted them while they ate, and Sandy smiled at the woman.</p> + +<p>But hardly had he finished his bowl when sleep weighted Frederick down. +The soothing oil, the sense of security and now this good hot food were +too much for him. He fell asleep with the half-eaten pone in his hand.</p> + +<p>Then the other two went outside. The woman poked the fire, adding a few +sticks. Sandy lay down beside it. He told his wife how that afternoon +he had spied Caroline hiding in the bushes near where he worked. She +acted like a terrified animal, he explained, so he had gone to her. Bit +by bit she told him how Covey had beaten Captain Auld’s boy, striking +his head and kicking him in the side, and left him in the yard. She had +seen the boy crawl away into the woods. Surely this time he would die.</p> + +<p>“I do not think he die now. Man die hard.” Sandy thought a moment. “I +help him.”</p> + +<p>“How?” Noma’s question took in the encircling woods, the bay. How could +this boy escape? Sandy shook his head.</p> + +<p>“He no go now. This one time, he go back.”</p> + +<p>The woman waited.</p> + +<p>“I hear ’bout this boy—how he read and write. He smart with white +man’s learning.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said the woman, beginning to understand.</p> + +<p>“Tonight I give him the knowing of black men. I call out the strength +in his bones—the bones his mother made for him.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span></p> + +<p>Sandy lay silent looking up through the tall trees at the stars. He +spoke softly.</p> + +<p>“I see in him great strength. Now he must know—and each day he will +add to it. When time ripe—he go. That time he not go alone.”</p> + +<p>And the woman nodded her head.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It was not the dawn flooding the Bay with splendor which woke +Frederick, though the sun did come up like a golden ball and the waters +turned to iridescent glory. Nor was it the crying of crows high up +in the pine trees, nor even the barking of a dog somewhere down on +the beach. Rather was it a gradual awareness of flaming words. Had +he found a book, a new book more wonderful even than his precious +<cite>Columbian Orator</cite>? He didn’t see the words; yet they seemed to +be all around him—living things that carried him down wide rivers and +over mountains and across spreading plains. Then it was people who were +with him—black men, very tall and big and strong. They turned up rich +earth as black as their broad backs; they hunted in forests; some of +them were in cities, whole cities of black folks. For they were free: +they went wherever they wished; they worked as they planned. They even +flew like birds, high in the sky. He was up there with them, looking +down on the earth which seemed so small. He stretched his wings. He was +strong. He could fly. He could fly in a flock of people. Who were they? +He listened closely. That’s it: he was not reading, he was listening. +Somebody was making a speech. But it wasn’t a speech—not like any he +had ever heard—not at all like the preacher in Baltimore.</p> + +<p>Frederick opened his eyes. The dream persisted—a shaft of brightness +surrounding a strange crouching figure swaying there beside him, the +flowing sound of words. The light hurt his eyes, but now Frederick +realized it was Sandy. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, head +erect, eyes two glowing balls of fire, making low musical sounds. If +they were words, they conveyed no meaning to Frederick. Bright sunshine +poured through an opening in the cabin where a door hung back. Outside +a rooster crowed, and memory jerked Frederick to full consciousness. +He raised his hand to his eyes. The flow of sound ceased abruptly, and +while the boy stared a mask seemed to fall over the man’s shining face, +snuffing out the glow and setting the features in stone. For a moment +the figure was rigid. Then Sandy was on his feet. He spoke tersely.</p> + +<p>“Good. You wake. Time you go.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span></p> + +<p>The words were hard and compelling, and Frederick sat up. His body felt +light. His sense of well-being was very real, as real as the smell +of pine which seemed to exude from every board of the bare cabin. He +looked around. The woman was nowhere in sight, but his eyes fell on +a pail of water near by; and then Sandy was back with food. The bowl +was warm in his hands, and Sandy stood silent waiting for him to eat. +Frederick drew a long breath.</p> + +<p>He was remembering: black men, men like Sandy, going places! He must +find out—He looked up at Sandy.</p> + +<p>“When—When I sleep—You talking.” Sandy remained silent. Frederick +rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead. Suddenly he felt a +little foolish. He’d had a silly dream. But—Something drove him to the +question.</p> + +<p>“You talk to me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.” The simple statement made him frown.</p> + +<p>“But, I do not understand. What you saying? I was asleep.”</p> + +<p>A flicker of expression crossed Sandy’s face. When he spoke his voice +was less guttural.</p> + +<p>“Body sleep, the hurt body. It sleep and heal. But you,” Sandy leaned +over and with his long forefinger touched Frederick lightly on the +chest, “you not sleep.”</p> + +<p>“But I—How could I—?” Before the steady gaze of those calm +eyes Frederick’s protest died. He did not understand, but he was +remembering. After a moment he asked simply, “Where am I going?”</p> + +<p>This was what it meant. Sandy had a plan for him to run away. Well, +he would try it. He was not afraid. Freedom sang in his blood. And so +Sandy’s reply caught him like a blow.</p> + +<p>“Back. Back to Covey’s.”</p> + +<p>“No! No!”</p> + +<p>All the horror of the past six months was in his cry; the bowl dropped +to the floor; shivering, he covered his face.</p> + +<p>The pressure of Sandy’s hand upon his shoulder recalled him. The +terror gradually receded and was replaced by something which seemed to +surround and buoy him up. He could not have told why. He only knew he +was not afraid. But he wanted to live. He must live. He looked up at +Sandy.</p> + +<p>“Covey will kill me—beat me to death.” There was no terror in his +voice now, merely an explanation. Sandy shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No.” He was picking up the thick bowl. It had not broken, but its +contents had spilled over the scrubbed floor. Sandy scraped up the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> +bits of food and refilled the bowl from an earthen erode on the hearth. +Frederick sat watching him. Sandy observed how he made no move—just +waited. And his heart was satisfied. <i>This boy will do</i>, he +thought. <i>He has patience—patience and endurance. Strength will +come.</i> Once more he handed the bowl to Frederick.</p> + +<p>“Eat now, boy,” he said.</p> + +<p>And Frederick ate, emptying the bowl. The food was good and the water +Sandy gave him from the pail was fresh and cool. Frederick wondered +where the woman had gone. He wanted to thank her. He wanted to thank +her before—he went back. He said, “I’m sorry I dropped the bowl.”</p> + +<p>Then Sandy reached inside the coarse shirt he was wearing and drew out +a small pouch—something tied up in an old piece of cloth.</p> + +<p>“Now, hear me well.”</p> + +<p>Frederick set the bowl down.</p> + +<p>“No way you can go now. Wise man face what he must. Big tree bend in +strong wind and not break. This time no good. Later day you go. You go +far.”</p> + +<p>Frederick bowed his head. He believed Sandy’s words, but at the thought +of Covey’s lash his flesh shivered in spite of the bright promise. +Sandy extended the little bag.</p> + +<p>“Covey beat you no more. Wear this close to body—all the time. No man +ever beat you.”</p> + +<p>Frederick’s heart sank. He made no move to take the bag. His voice +faltered.</p> + +<p>“But—but Sandy, that’s—that’s voodoo. I don’t believe in charms. +I’m—I’m a Christian.”</p> + +<p>Sandy was very still. He gazed hard into the boy’s gaunt face below the +bloodstained bandage wrapped about his head; he saw the shadow in the +wide, clear eyes; he thought of the lacerated back and broken rib, and +his own eyes grew very warm. He spoke softly.</p> + +<p>“You be very young.”</p> + +<p>He untied the little bag and carefully shook out its contents into the +palm of his hand—dust, fine as powder, a bit of shriveled herb and +several smooth, round pebbles. Then he held out the upturned hand to +Frederick.</p> + +<p>“Look now!” he said. “Soil of Africa—come cross the sea close by my +mother’s breast.”</p> + +<p>Holding his breath Frederick bent his head. It was as if a great hand +lay upon his heart.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span></p> + +<p>“And here”—Sandy’s long fingers touched the withered +fragment—“seaweed, flowered on great waters, waters of far-off lands, +waters of many lands.”</p> + +<p>Holding Frederick’s wrist, Sandy carefully emptied the bits upon the +boy’s palm, then gently closed his fingers.</p> + +<p>“A thousand years of dust in one hand! Dust of men long gone, men who +lived so you live. Your dust.”</p> + +<p>He handed Frederick the little bag. And Frederick took it reverently. +With the utmost care, lest one grain of dust be lost, he emptied his +palm into it. Then, drawing the cord tight, he placed the pouch inside +his rags, fastening the cord securely. He stood up, and his head was +clear. Again the black man thought, <i>He’ll do!</i></p> + +<p>The boy stood speechless. There were things he wanted to say, things +he wanted to promise. This day, this spot, this one bright morning was +important. This man had saved his life, and suddenly he knew that his +life was important. He laid his hand on the black man’s arm.</p> + +<p>“I won’t be forgettin’,” he said.</p> + +<p>They walked together out into the morning and stood a moment on the +knoll, looking down at the bay. Then Frederick turned his back and +walked toward the trees. At the edge of the woods he stopped and waved +his hand, then disappeared in the hidden lane.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Two"><span class="smcap">Chapter Two</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>The road winds about Chesapeake Bay</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>The roof of the colorless house needed mending. Its sagging made the +attic ceiling slope at a crazy angle. Rainy weather—it always started +in the middle of the night—it leaked, and Amelia had to pull her bed +out onto the middle of the floor. The bed was a narrow iron affair, not +too heavy to move. Amelia never complained. She was grateful for the +roof her sister’s husband had put over her head.</p> + +<p>Edward Covey was considered a hard man. Amelia’s neighbors could barely +hide their pity when she announced that she was going to live with her +sister.</p> + +<p>“You mean the one who married Ed Covey?”</p> + +<p>Then they sort of coughed and wished they hadn’t asked the question. +After all, where else could Tom Kemp’s poor widow go? Lem Drake chewed +a long time without a word after his wife told him the news. Then he +spat.</p> + +<p>“’Melia never did no harm to nobody,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Old devil!”</p> + +<p>Lem knew his wife was referring to Edward Covey. Otherwise he would +have reproved her. Wasn’t fitting talk for a woman.</p> + +<p>So Amelia Kemp came down to the Bay to live in Edward Covey’s house. +Amelia was still bewildered. At thirty, she felt her life was over. +Seemed like she hadn’t ought to take Tom’s death so hard. She’d known +her husband was going to die: everybody else did. But Tom had kept +on pecking at his land up there on the side of the hill. His pa had +died, his ma had died, his brother had died. Now he was dead—all of +them—pecking at the land.</p> + +<p>Edward Covey was different. He was “getting ahead.” Her sister<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> +Lucy had stressed that difference from the moment of her arrival. +Unnecessarily, Amelia was sure; because in spite of her heavy heart +she had been properly impressed. What almost shook the widow out of +her lethargy was her sister Lucy. She wouldn’t have known her at all. +True, they had not seen each other for years, and they were both older. +Amelia knew that hill women were apt to be pretty faded by the time +they were thirty-four. But Lucy, living in the low country, looked like +an old hag. Amelia was shocked at her own thoughts.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Covey’s a God-fearing man.”</p> + +<p>These were almost her sister’s first words, and Amelia had stared at +her rather stupidly. All of her thoughts kept running back to Tom, +it seemed. Amelia was sure her sister hadn’t meant to imply that Tom +hadn’t been a “God-fearing” man. Though, as a matter of fact, she was a +little vague in her own mind. She’d never heard Tom <i>say</i> anything +about fearing God. He’d never been very free with talk about God.</p> + +<p>That was before she met Mr. Covey. She had come up on the boat to St. +Michaels where, on the dock, one of Edward Covey’s “people” was waiting +for her. This in itself was an event. There weren’t any slaves in her +county, and she felt pretty elegant being driven along the road with an +obsequious black man holding the reins. After a time they had turned +off the highway onto a sandy lane which carried them between fields +jutting out into the bay. She could see the place from some distance, +and in the dusk the sprawling building with barn and outhouses loomed +like a great plantation manor. This impression hardly survived the +first dusk, but Covey’s passion to “get ahead” was plain to see.</p> + +<p>Very soon Amelia Kemp was glad that she had been given a bed in the +attic. The first few evenings, climbing up the narrow ladder from +the lower floor, she had wondered about several rooms opening out on +the second floor. They seemed to be empty. Soon she blessed her good +fortune, and it wasn’t long before she became convinced the idea had +been her sister’s—not Covey’s.</p> + +<p>Only when she lowered the attic trap door could she rid herself of +him. Then she couldn’t see the cruel, green eyes; she didn’t feel him +creeping up behind her or hear his voice. It was his voice particularly +that she wanted to shut out, his voice coming out of the corner of his +mouth, his voice that so perfectly matched the short, hairy hands. At +the thought of the terrible things she had seen him do with those hands +her flesh chilled.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p> + +<p>Lucy had married Covey down in town where she had gone to work. He had +not come to her home to meet her folks. So Amelia didn’t know about +the “slave-breaking.” When she saw the slaves about, she assumed that +her brother-in-law was more prosperous than she had imagined; and that +first evening she could not understand why her sister was so worn.</p> + +<p>Her education began the first morning, when they called her before +dawn. She was used to getting up early, only she’d thought folks with +slaves to do their work could lie abed till after sun-up. Though she +dressed hastily and hurried downstairs, it was quite evident she was +keeping them waiting in the big room. The stench of unwashed bodies +stopped her in the doorway.</p> + +<p>Her first impression was one of horror. Covey seated at the table, a +huge book spread open in front of him, thrust his round head in her +direction and glared wolfishly. The oil lamp’s glare threw him into +sharp relief. The light touched Lucy’s white face and the figure of +another man, larger than Covey, who gave her a flat, malignant stare. +But behind them the room was filled with shadows frozen into queer and +grotesque shapes.</p> + +<p>“You’re late, Sister Amelia.” Her brother-in-law’s tone was benign. +“This household starts the day with worship—all our big family.”</p> + +<p>He waved his arm, taking in all the room. A ripple of movement +undulated the darkness, quivered, and then was gone.</p> + +<p>“I’m so sorry,” Amelia managed to murmur as she groped her way to a +chair. Gasps came from behind her. She dared not turn around, and sat +biting her lips. Covey seemed to hear nothing. He was peering at the +book, his short, stubby finger tracing each word as he began to read +slowly and painfully:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“O give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good; for his mercy endureth for ever.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom he hath redeemed from the hand of the enemy;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And gathered them out of the lands, from the east, and from the west, from the north, and from the south.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way; they found no city to dwell in.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted in them.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble and he delivered them out of their distresses.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">And he led them forth by the right way, that they might go to a city of habitation.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“Praise the Lord!” added Covey and closed the Bible with a heavy thump. +“Now then, Fred, lead us in song.”</p> + +<p>Amelia heard the choked gasp behind her. She could feel the struggle +that cut off the panting breath. Waiting was unbearable.</p> + +<p>“You, Fred!” The command jerked a cry from the shadows. A memory +flashed across Amelia’s mind. <i>Sid Green lashing his half-crazed +horse, which had fallen in the ditch—Tom grabbing the whip and +knocking Sid down.</i></p> + +<p>Then a strained voice began to quiver. It missed several beats at +first but gathered strength until Amelia knew it was a boy behind her, +singing. In a moment, from Covey’s twisted mouth there came uneven, +off-key notes, then Lucy’s reed-like treble sounded. From the shadows +the music picked up, strange and wild and haunting. At first Amelia +thought this was an unfamiliar chant, then she recognized the rolling +words:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“O for a thousand tongues to sing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My great Redeem’s praise,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The glories of my God and King,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The triumphs of his grace.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>When the music died away Covey fell on his knees, his face lifted +beside the oil lamp. His words poured forth with a passion and fervor +which pounded like hammers in the stifling gloom. He groveled in +shameless nakedness, turning all the hideousness of his fear upon +their bowed heads. Then he rose, face shining and picking up a heavy, +many-pronged cowhide from the corner, drove the shuffling figures out +into the gray morning. Amelia remembered the cold: she had shivered in +the hallway.</p> + +<p>The only slave left to help her sister was a slow, silent creature who +now moved toward the kitchen.</p> + +<p>“We’ve et. The—the—” Lucy was speaking with a hesitation which Amelia +recalled later. “The—woman will show you. Then you can help me with +the renderin’.”</p> + +<p>It was warm in the big kitchen. A smoking lamp hanging from the ceiling +swayed fretfully as the door closed and Lucy threw a piece of wood on +the fire. Remains of a hasty meal were scattered upon the table.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p> + +<p>“Clean up this mess and give Miss Amelia some breakfast.”</p> + +<p>Amelia saw her sister shove the woman forward as she spoke. The tight +hardness in her voice fell strangely upon Amelia’s ears. Without +another word Lucy disappeared into the pantry.</p> + +<p>Amelia was afraid. She suddenly realized that it had been fear that +had first stopped her on the threshold, and nothing had taken place +to dissipate that fear—not the scripture reading, not the singing, +not the prayer. She was afraid now of this silent, dark woman, whose +face remained averted, whose step was noiseless. Surely some ominous +threat lay behind the color of such—such creatures. Irrelevantly she +remembered Tom’s black horse—the one on which he had come courting. +Amelia made a peremptory gesture.</p> + +<p>“I’ll eat here!” Fear hardened her voice. She would eat like a grand +lady being served by a nigger.</p> + +<p>And then the woman turned and looked at her. She was not old. Her brown +skin was firm and smooth, her quivering mouth was young, and her large +eyes, set far apart, were liquid shadows.</p> + +<p><i>A man could drown himself in those shadows.</i> The thought was +involuntary, unwilled, horrible—and instantly checked—but it added to +her fear.</p> + +<p>She picked up bits of information throughout the long morning, while +Lucy stirred grease sizzling in deep vats, dipped tallow candles and +sewed strips of stiff, coarse cloth. The work about the house seemed +endless, and Lucy drove herself from one task to another. Amelia +wondered why she didn’t leave more for the slave woman. Finally she +asked. The vehement passion in Lucy’s voice struck sharply.</p> + +<p>“The lazy cow!” Then, after a pause she added, “She’s a breeder.” Her +lips snapped shut.</p> + +<p>“A breeder? What’s that? Does she have some special work?”</p> + +<p>Lucy laughed shortly.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t they no niggers up home yet?” she asked.</p> + +<p>Amelia shook her head.</p> + +<p>Lucy sighed. It was a sound of utter weariness.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Covey says you can’t git ahead without niggers. You jus’ can’t.”</p> + +<p>“But you said—” began Amelia.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Covey bought her,” Lucy explained with a sort of dogged grimness, +“for—for more—stock. Mr. Covey’s plannin’ on buyin’ all this land. +Niggers come high. You wouldn’s believe what Mr. Covey<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span> paid for that +there Caroline.” Pride puckered her lips like green persimmon.</p> + +<p>Amelia swallowed. Her mouth felt very dry. She cleared her throat.</p> + +<p>“Well, he’s makin’ a good start.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, them!” Lucy bit her thread. “They ain’t all hissen. He takes +slaves over from the plantations hereabouts to—train.”</p> + +<p>“Then he—”</p> + +<p>A cry of stark terror coming from the yard brought Amelia up in alarm. +Lucy calmly listened a moment.</p> + +<p>“Sounds like Mr. Covey’s having to whop that Fred again,” she said. +“He’s a bad one!”</p> + +<p>What Amelia was hearing now bleached her face. Lucy’s composed +indifference rebuked her. She tried to control the trembling of her +lips.</p> + +<p>“You mean—the boy—who sang this morning?”</p> + +<p>“That’s him—stubborn as a mule. Reckon that singin’ will be a mite +weaker tomorrow.”</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Covey giggled.</p> + +<p>The day unwound like a scroll. By mid-afternoon fatigue settled all +along Amelia’s limbs. Outside the sun shone brightly—perfect February +weather for early plowing. The kitchen door stood open to the sunshine, +and Amelia paused a moment looking out toward the bay.</p> + +<p>A small child two or three years old crawled out from under a bush and +started trotting across the littered back yard. Amelia stood watching +her. Beneath the tangled mass of brown curls the little face was +streaked with dirt. It was still too cool for this tot to run about +barefoot, Amelia thought, looking around for the mother. She held out +her hand and the child stopped, staring at her with wide eyes.</p> + +<p>“Well, little one, where do you come from?” There was no answering +smile on the child’s face. In that moment Amelia heard a swift step +behind her.</p> + +<p>“Don’t touch that nigger!” Lucy’s voice cracked like a whip. Her face +was distorted with fury. Amelia saw the dark woman, bending over a tub +in the corner, lift her head. Lucy leaped at her and struck her full in +the face.</p> + +<p>“Get that brat out of here,” she screamed. “Get her back where she +belongs. Get her out!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p> + +<p>With one movement the woman was across the floor and outside the door. +She swept up the child in her arm and, holding her close, ran behind +the barn.</p> + +<p>“How dare she! How dare she!”</p> + +<p>Lucy was shaking as with an ague—she seemed about to fall. Still +Amelia did not understand.</p> + +<p>“But, Lucy—what are you saying? That child’s white.”</p> + +<p>“Shut up, you fool!” Her sister turned on her. “You fool! It’s her’s. +It’s her’s, I tell you. And what is she? She’s a nigger—a filthy, +stinking nigger!”</p> + +<p>She began to cry, and Amelia held her close, remembering the large +green eyes, set in the little girl’s pinched face.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Nothing much was happening in Maryland that spring of 1834. In Virginia +they hanged Nat Turner. John Brown, on a wave of prosperity, was making +money in his Ohio tannery. William Lloyd Garrison was publishing the +<cite>Liberator</cite> in Boston, and a man named Lovejoy was trying to +start an Abolitionist paper out West, trying both Kansas and Ohio. But +Maryland had everything under control.</p> + +<p>The Coveys had no neighbors. The farm, surrounded on three sides with +water, lay beyond a wide tract of straggling pine trees. The trees +on Covey’s land had been cut down, and the unpainted buildings were +shaken and stained by heavy northwest winds. From her attic window +Amelia could see Poplar Island, covered with a thick black forest, +and Keat Point, stretching its sandy, desert-like shores out into the +foam-crested bay. It was a desolate scene.</p> + +<p>The rains were heavy that spring, and Covey stayed in the fields until +long after dark, urging the slaves on with words or blows. He left +nothing to Hughes, his cousin and overseer.</p> + +<p>“Niggers drop off to sleep minute you turn your back,” he groaned. +“Have to keep right behind ’em.”</p> + +<p>Amelia battled with mud tracked from one end of the house to the other.</p> + +<p>Then came summer with its oppressive heat and flashing thunder storms +that whipped the waters to roaring fury.</p> + +<p>“Family” prayers were dispensed with only on Sunday mornings. +Regardless of the weather, Mr. Covey and his wife went to church. +It was regrettable that the slaves had no regular services. Big +plantations could always boast of at least one slave preacher. Mr. +Covey hadn’t reached that status yet. He was on his way. He observed +the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span> Sabbath as a day of rest. Nobody had to go to the fields, and +nothing much had to be done—except the cooking, of course.</p> + +<p>So Amelia could lie in bed this Sunday morning in August. All night +the attic had been like a bake-oven. Just before dawn it had cooled a +little, and Amelia lay limp. By raising herself on her elbow she could +see through a slit in the sloping roof. White sails skimmed across the +shining surface of the bay. Amelia sighed. This morning the white ships +depressed her. They were going somewhere.</p> + +<p>The heat, she thought, closing her eyes, had made things worse than +usual. Mr. Covey would certainly kill that Fred—that is, if he wasn’t +already dead. Well, why didn’t he do his work? She had thought at +first the boy had intelligence, but here of late he’d lost every spark +of sense—just slunk around, looking glum and mean, not paying any +attention to what was told him. Then yesterday—pretending to be sick!</p> + +<p>“Reckon I ’bout broke every bone in his body,” Mr. Covey had grunted +with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“Captain Auld won’t like it,” Lucy warned.</p> + +<p>That made Mr. Covey mad as hops. Lucy kept out of his way the rest of +the evening. Amelia saw him twist Caroline’s arm till she bent double. +That wench! <i>She</i> wasn’t so perk these days either—sort of +dragged one leg behind her.</p> + +<p><i>Well</i>, Amelia thought, swinging her own bony shanks over the side of +the bed, <i>I’m glad they didn’t send the hounds after him</i>. He was +sulking somewhere in the woods. But Mr. Covey said the dogs would tear +him to pieces. <i>A bad way to die—even for a nigger.</i></p> + +<p>“He’ll come back,” Covey had barked. “A nigger always comes crawlin’ +back to his eatin’ trough.”</p> + +<p>Amelia left the cotton dress open at the neck. Maybe it wouldn’t be so +hot today. Lucy was already down, her eyes red in a drawn face. Her +sister guessed that she had spent a sleepless night, tossing in the big +bed, alone. Caroline was nowhere in sight.</p> + +<p>When he appeared, dressed in his Sunday best, Mr. Covey was smiling +genially. This one day he could play his favorite rôle—master of a +rolling plantation, leisurely, gracious, served by devoted blacks. He +enjoyed Sunday.</p> + +<p>“Not going to church, Amelia?” he asked pleasantly as he rose from the +table.</p> + +<p>Amelia was apologetic. “No, Mr. Covey, I—I don’t feel up to it this +mornin’. Got a mite of headache.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span></p> + +<p>“Now that’s too bad, Sister. It’s this awful heat. Better lie down a +while.” He turned to his wife. “Come, my dear, we don’t want to be +late. You dress and I’ll see if Bill has hitched up.” Picking his +teeth, he strolled out to the yard.</p> + +<p>Amelia started scraping up the dishes.</p> + +<p>“Leave ’em be.” Lucy spoke crossly. “Reckon Caroline can do something.”</p> + +<p>So Amelia was out front and saw Fred marching up the road! Funny, but +that’s exactly the way it seemed. He wasn’t just walking. She was +digging around her dahlias, hoping against hope they would show a +little life. She had brought the bulbs from home and set them out in +front of the house. Of course they weren’t growing, but Amelia kept at +them. Sometimes dahlias surprised you.</p> + +<p>She straightened up and stared. It was Fred, all right, raising a dust +out there in the road.</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Covey were coming down the porch steps just as Fred swung +in the gate. He kept right on coming. Poor Lucy’s mouth sagged open, +but Mr. Covey smiled like a saint.</p> + +<p>“Well, now, you’re back, and no worse for wear.” He paused, taking in +the discolored bandage and the spattered tatters. He spoke impatiently. +“Get yourself cleaned up. This is Sunday.” The boy stepped aside. Mr. +Covey and his wife moved toward their buggy. As Fred turned to go +around back, Mr. Covey called to him. “Oh, yes, round up those pigs +that got into the lower lot last night. That’s a good boy.”</p> + +<p>Then the master leaned over, waved his hand at Amelia and drove away, +sitting beside his good wife. It made a pretty picture! Amelia could +see Fred, standing at the side of the house, facing the road. There was +a funny look on his face.</p> + +<p>Amelia’s thoughts kept going back to the way he’d come marching up the +road. Her mind kept weaving all sorts of queer fancies. Did slaves +really think like people? Covey had beaten him half to death. How could +he walk so? Just showed what a thick skin they had. And that great head +of his! She hadn’t noticed how big it was till this morning.</p> + +<p>Covey’s manner didn’t fool her a mite. He never flogged slaves on +Sunday, but he’d sure take it out of that boy in the morning.</p> + +<p>She woke up Monday morning thinking about the look on Fred’s face and +hurried downstairs. Seemed like Mr. Covey cut the prayers short. Maybe +he had something on his mind, too. As they started out,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span> Amelia heard +him tell Fred to clean out the barn. That meant he wouldn’t be going to +the fields with the others. Covey lingered a few minutes in the house, +tightening the handle on his lash.</p> + +<p>Amelia had always tried to get away from the awful floggings. Lucy said +she was chicken-hearted. But this morning she was filled with an odd +excitement. She wanted to see. She decided against going out in the +yard. With a quick look at Lucy’s bent back, she slipped out of the +kitchen and almost ran up the stairs. Her attic window overlooked the +yard.</p> + +<p>It was fully light now. Covey and the overseer were standing a few +feet from the back door. Hughes held a looped cord in his hand and +was showing something to Covey, who listened closely. Amelia could +see them plain enough, but they were talking too low for her to hear. +Then Fred swung the barn doors back and fastened them. Both men turned +and watched him. He certainly was going about his job with a will. He +wasn’t wasting any time standing around. Evidently he was getting ready +to lead out the oxen.</p> + +<p>She saw Hughes start away, stop and say something. Then she heard +Covey’s, “Go ahead. I’ll manage.”</p> + +<p>Her attention was attracted by the way Fred was handling the oxen. They +were ornery beasts, but he didn’t seem afraid of them at all. Covey +too was watching. Amelia couldn’t see what he had done with his lash. +He held in his hand the cord Hughes had handed him. Fred seemed to be +having some trouble with one of the oxen. He couldn’t fasten something. +He backed away, turned and in a moment started climbing up the ladder +to the hayloft.</p> + +<p>The moment the boy’s back was turned, Covey streaked across the yard. +The movement was so unexpected and so stealthy that Amelia cried out +under her breath. She saw what he was going to do even before he +grabbed Fred by the leg and brought him down upon the hard ground with +a terrible jar. He was pulling the loop over the boy’s legs when, with +a sudden spring, the lithe body had leaped at the man, a hand at his +throat! Amelia gripped the ledge with her hands and leaned out. They +were both on the ground now, the dark figure on top. The boy loosened +his fingers. Amelia could see Covey’s upturned face. He was puffing, +but it was bewilderment, not pain, that made his face so white and +queer. The boy sprang up and stood on his guard while Covey scrambled +to his feet.</p> + +<p>“You ain’t resistin’, you scoundrel?” Covey shouted in a hoarse voice.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span></p> + +<p>And Frederick—body crouched, fist raised—said politely, “Yessir.” He +was breathing hard.</p> + +<p>Covey made a move to grab him, and Fred sidestepped. Covey let out a +bellow that brought Lucy running to the door.</p> + +<p>“Hughes! Help! Hughes!”</p> + +<p>Amelia saw Hughes, halfway across the field, start running back. +Meanwhile the boy held his ground, not striking out but ready to defend +himself against anything Covey could do.</p> + +<p><i>The slave boy has gone mad!</i> She’d heard of slaves “going bad.” +She ought to go down and help. They’d all be murdered in their beds. +But she couldn’t leave her window. She couldn’t take her eyes off the +amazing sight—a dumb slave standing firmly on his feet, his head up. +Standing so, he was almost as tall as Covey.</p> + +<p>Now Hughes came bolting into the yard and rushed Fred. He met a kick in +the stomach that sent him staggering away in pain. Covey stared after +his overseer stupidly. The nigger had kicked a white man! Covey dodged +back—needlessly, for Fred had not moved toward him. He stood quietly +waiting, ready to ward off any attack. Covey eyed him.</p> + +<p>“You goin’ to keep on resistin’?”</p> + +<p>There was something plaintive about Covey’s question. Amelia had a +crazy impulse to laugh. She leaned far out the window. She must hear. +The boy’s voice reached her quite distinctly—firm, positive tones.</p> + +<p>“Yessir. You can’t beat me no mo’—never no mo’.”</p> + +<p>Now Covey was frightened. He looked around: his cowhide—a +club—anything. Hughes, at one side, straightened up.</p> + +<p>“I’ll get the gun,” he snarled.</p> + +<p>Covey gave a start, but he spoke out of the corner of his mouth.</p> + +<p>“It’s in the front hall.”</p> + +<p>Amelia saw Hughes coming toward the house; his face was livid. Then she +heard Lucy’s shrill voice and Hughes’s curses. She guessed what Lucy +was saying—that they dare not kill Captain Auld’s slave.</p> + +<p>The boy had not moved. He was watching Covey, whose eyes had fallen on +a knotty piece of wood lying just outside the stable door. He began +easing his way toward it. Amelia’s breath was coming in panting gulps. +Her knees were shaking.</p> + +<p>Her fingers felt numb on the splintery wood of the ladder. She nearly +slipped. Her legs almost doubled up under her when she leaned over the +banister, peering down into the hall below. She couldn’t see the gun, +but she could still hear Hughes’s angry voice out back.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span></p> + +<p>Shadows seemed to clutch at her skirts, the stairs cracked and creaked +as she crept down, while the thick, heavy smell that lurked in the hall +nearly sickened her. Her cold, shaking fingers clutched the barrel +of the gun standing upright in the corner, and she somehow managed +to get up the stairs before the door at the back of the hall opened. +She crouched against the wall, listening, not daring now to climb her +ladder. She heard Hughes clumping about below, his heavy boots kicking +objects aside. She heard him curse, at first softly, then with a roar. +A few feet away a door stood partly open. Holding the gun close, she +tiptoed along the wall and into one of the rooms.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Frederick knew that Hughes had gone for a gun, but that was +not as important as Covey’s cautious approach to the thick, knotty +stick of wood.</p> + +<p><i>He’ll knock me down with it</i>, Frederick thought. He breathed +evenly, knowing exactly what he was going to do. The moment Covey +leaned over to grab the stick, the boy leaped forward, seized his shirt +collar with both hands and brought the man down, stretched out full +length in the cow dung. Covey grabbed the boy’s arms and yelled lustily.</p> + +<p>Feet, suddenly no longer tired, were hastening toward the back yard. +The news was spreading.</p> + +<p>Bill, another of Covey’s “trainees,” came around the house. He +stared—open-mouthed.</p> + +<p>“Grab him! Bill! Grab him!” Covey shouted.</p> + +<p>Bill’s feet were rooted to the ground, his face a dumb mask.</p> + +<p>“Whatchu say, Massa Covey, whatchu say?”</p> + +<p>“Get hold of him! Grab him!”</p> + +<p>Bill’s eyes were round. He swallowed, licking out his tongue.</p> + +<p>“I gotta get back to mah plowin’, Massa. Look! Hit’s sun-up.” With a +limp hand he indicated the sun shooting its beams over the eastern +woods and turned vaguely away.</p> + +<p>“Come back here, you fool! He’s killing me!”</p> + +<p>A flash of interest flickered across the broad, flat face. Bill took +several steps forward. Frederick fixed him with a baleful gaze and +spoke through clenched teeth.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you put your hands on me!”</p> + +<p>Bill sagged. “My God, ye crazy coon, I ain’t a-gonna tech ye!” And he +shuffled around the barn.</p> + +<p>Covey cursed. He could not free himself. The boy was like a slippery +octopus, imprisoning him with his arms and legs.</p> + +<p>Frederick was panting now. His heart sank when he saw Caroline.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> She +must have been milking in the shed, for she carried a brimming pail. +Covey could make her help him. She really was a powerful woman, and +Frederick knew she could master him easily now, exhausted as he was.</p> + +<p>Covey, too, saw her and called out confidently. Caroline stopped. She +set down the pail of milk. Covey relaxed, an evil grin on his face.</p> + +<p>And then—Caroline laughed! It wasn’t loud or long; but Covey sucked in +his breath at the sound.</p> + +<p>“Caroline! Hold him!” The iron in his voice was leaking out.</p> + +<p>Caroline’s words were low in her throat—rusty because so seldom used. +Two words came.</p> + +<p>“Who? Me?”</p> + +<p>She picked up the pail of milk and walked toward the house, dragging +her leg a little.</p> + +<p>Frederick felt Covey go limp. And in that moment he sprang up, himself +grabbed the knotty chunk of wood and backed away. Covey rolled over on +to his side. He was not hurt, but he was dazed. When he did get to his +feet, swaying a bit, the yard seemed crowded with dark, silent forms. +Actually only four or five slaves, hearing the outcries, had come +running and now showed the whites of their eyes from a safe distance. +But Covey’s world was tottering. He must do something.</p> + +<p>The boy stood there, holding the stick. Now Covey went toward him. +Frederick saw the defeat on his face, and he made no move to strike +him. So Covey was able to take him by the shoulders and shake him +mightily.</p> + +<p>“Now then, you wretch,” he said in a loud voice, “get on with your +work! I wouldn’t ’a’ whipped you half so hard if you hadn’t resisted. +That’ll teach you!”</p> + +<p>When he dropped his hands and turned around, the dark figures had +slipped away. He stood a moment blinking up at the sun. It was going +to be another hot day. He wiped his sleeve across his sweating face, +leaving a smear of barnyard filth on his cheek. The kitchen door was +closed. <i>Just like that skunk, Hughes, to go off and leave me!</i> +He’d send him packing off the place before night. But he didn’t want to +go into the house now. He was tired. Covey walked over to the well and +stood looking out toward the bay.</p> + +<p>Frederick once more started up the ladder. He would get some sweet, +fresh hay for the oxen. Then he could lead them out.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Three"><span class="smcap">Chapter Three</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>An old man drives his mule</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>When Covey came down sick right after Hughes was fired, his wife was +certain things would go to rack and ruin. Strangely enough, they did +not. The stock got fed; the men left for the fields every morning; wood +was cut and piled, and the never-ending job of picking cotton went on.</p> + +<p>Amelia thought she’d never seen anything prettier. Cotton didn’t grow +up in the hills, and now the great green stalks with their bulbs of +silver fascinated her. With no more floggings going on out back, she +began to notice things. She found herself watching the rhythm of a +slave’s movements at work, a black arm plunged into the gleaming mass. +She even caught the remnants of a song floating back to her. There was +peace in the air. And the boy Fred went scampering about like a colt.</p> + +<p>Inside the house, Covey groaned and cursed. After a time he sat silent, +huddled in a chair, staring at the wall.</p> + +<p>He’d sent Hughes packing, all right. But there had been hell to +pay first. Hughes had been all set to go in town and bring out the +authorities. The nigger had struck him, he blubbered, and should get +the death penalty for it. The young mule certainly had given his +dear cousin an awful wallop. Had Covey let himself go, he would have +grinned. But, after all, it was unthinkable for a black to strike a +white man. <i>The bastard!</i> But had it got about that he, Covey, +couldn’t handle a loony strippling—not a day over sixteen—he would be +ruined. Nobody would ever give him another slave to break. So Hughes’s +mouth had to be shut. He was willing to go, but he had forced a full +month’s salary out of Covey. The worst thing was Hughes’s taking the +gun along in the bargain!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span></p> + +<p>Hughes swore he couldn’t find the gun. But Covey knew he had cleaned +that gun just the day before and stood it right behind the hall door. +That’s where he always kept it, and he knew it was there. No use +telling him one of the boys took it. A black won’t touch a gun with a +ten-foot pole. No, it had gone off with Hughes, and he’d just have to +get himself another one next time he went to Baltimore.</p> + +<p>By now Covey had convinced himself that most of his troubles stemmed +from Hughes. Take the matter of Captain Auld’s boy. After Hughes left, +he’d handled him without a mite of trouble.</p> + +<p>Frederick for his part had tasted freedom—and it was good. “When a +slave cannot be flogged,” he wrote many years later, “he is more than +half free.”</p> + +<p>So it was as a free man that he reasoned with himself. He would prove +to Covey—and through him to Captain Auld—that he could do whatever +job they assigned. When he did not understand, he asked questions. +Frederick was not afraid. He was not afraid of anything. Furthermore, +his fellow-workers looked up to him with something like awe. Until now +he had been just another link in the shackles that bound them to the +mountain of despair. Their hearts had been squeezed of pity, as their +bodies had been squeezed of blood and their minds of hope. But they had +survived to witness a miracle! They told it over and over, while they +bent their backs and swung their arms. They whispered it at night. Old +men chewed their toothless gums over it, and babies sucked it in with +their mothers’ milk.</p> + +<p>The word was passed along, under cover, secret, unsuspected, until all +up and down the Eastern Shore, in field and kitchen, they knew what had +happened in “ole man Covey’s back yard on ’at mawnin’!” And memories +buried beneath avalanches of wretchedness began to stir.</p> + +<p>Something heard somewhere, someone who “got through!” A +trail—footprints headed “no’th”—toward a star! And as they talked, +eyes that had glazed over with dullness cleared, shoulders straightened +beneath the load, and weary, aching limbs no longer dragged.</p> + +<p>It was a good fall. Even Covey, forcing himself through the days, had +to admit that. Crops had done well, and the land he had put in cotton +promised much. Undoubtedly cotton was the thing. Next year he would buy +a gin and raise nothing else. But now it was a big job to weigh, bale, +and haul his cotton into town.</p> + +<p>Covey’s strength came back slowly. He had Tom Slater in to help him +for a spell, but Tom wasn’t much good at figuring; and figuring<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> was +necessary, if he didn’t want those town slickers to cheat him out of +every cent.</p> + +<p>One Sunday evening he was sitting out front, waiting for it to get dark +so he could go to bed. Around the house came Amelia, trowel in hand. +Covey didn’t mind Amelia’s flowers. That little patch of purple was +right nice. But Amelia had hardly knelt down when from out back came +the boy Fred. He stopped at a respectful distance and bowed.</p> + +<p>“You sent for me, Miss Amelia?”</p> + +<p>Covey sucked his tongue with approval. They had said this nigger was +house-broke. He sure had the manners. Amelia had jumped up and was +talking brightly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Fred. I wonder if you can’t fix that old gate. Even with our +netting this yard has no protection as long as the gate’s no good.”</p> + +<p>She indicated the worm-eaten boards sagging between two rotten posts. +Fred turned and studied them a moment before replying.</p> + +<p>“Miss Amelia,” he said slowly, “I better make you a new gate.”</p> + +<p><i>Damn!</i> thought Covey.</p> + +<p>“Can you do that?” Amelia was delighted.</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’m. I’ll measure it right now.”</p> + +<p>Covey watched him hurry across the yard, draw a piece of string from +somewhere about him, and with clear-cut, precise movements measure the +height and width between the two posts.</p> + +<p>“I’ll have to allow for straightenin’ these posts and the swing in and +out, but I’m sure I can find the right sort of pieces in the barn,” he +explained. “If it’s all right with Mr. Covey.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m sure he won’t mind.”</p> + +<p>The next thing, Amelia was coming toward him. His wife’s sister +certainly wasn’t as droopy as she used to be. Didn’t seem to be moping +around any more.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Covey, don’t you think it would be very nice if Fred makes us a +new gate? He says he can. It’ll help the appearance of the whole yard.”</p> + +<p>Yes, she sure had perked up.</p> + +<p>“Go ahead,” he grunted.</p> + +<p>Fred made one last calculation with his string. “I’ll go see about the +wood right away,” he said, and turned to leave.</p> + +<p>“Wait till tomorrow,” Covey barked. “It’s still the Sabbath.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” said Fred, and disappeared around the house. Amelia bent +over her flowers.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> + +<p>A thought was breaking through the thick layers of Covey’s brain. +Damned if that fresh nigger didn’t sound just like one of those city +slickers! The way he had measured that opening! <i>I’ll bet he can +figure!</i></p> + +<p>It was a staggering thought and struck him unprepared. Full on like +that, it was monstrous. But when the first shock had passed—when the +ripples sort of spread out—he calmed down and began to cogitate.</p> + +<p>He went back over what Captain Auld had said—how the buck had been +ruined by the Captain’s city kin, coddled and taught to read until he +was too smart for his own or anybody else’s good.</p> + +<p>“Take it out of him!” Captain Auld had stormed. “Break him!”</p> + +<p>And he had promised he would. <i>Well!</i></p> + +<p>Covey was so still that Lucy, coming to the door and peeping out, +thought he was dozing. She went away shaking her head. <i>Poor Mr. +Covey! He’s not himself these days.</i></p> + +<p>He was turning it over in his mind, weighing it. Really big plantations +all had some smart niggers on them, niggers who could work with tools, +niggers who could measure and figure, even buy and sell. Naturally +he hated such niggers when he came across them in town, often as not +riding sleek, black horses. But having one on your own plantation was +different. Like having a darky preacher around, like being a Colonel in +a great white plantation house with a rolling green and big trees.</p> + +<p>The last faint streaks of color faded from the sky. For a little while +the tall pines in the distance loomed blade against soft gray. Then +they faded, and overhead the stars came out.</p> + +<p>Covey rose, yawned and stretched himself. Tomorrow he would talk to +Fred about that figuring. It was still the Sabbath.</p> + +<p>There was nothing subtle about Covey the next day. He was clumsy, +disagreeable and domineering. Frederick suspected that he was being +tricked. But there was no turning back. He said, “Yes, sir, I can chalk +up the bales.”</p> + +<p>So he marked and counted each load of cotton, noted the weighing of the +wheat and oats, set down many figures. And Covey took his “chalk man” +to town with him. It got about among the white folks that the “Auld +boy” could read and write. The white masters heard other whisperings +too—vague, amusing “nigger talk.” But it was disturbing. Couldn’t be +too careful these days. There had been that Nat Turner! And a cold +breath lifted the hair on the backs of their necks.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p> + +<p>Frederick’s term of service with Edward Covey expired on Christmas day, +1834. The slave-breaker took him back to Captain Auld. The boy was in +good shape, but Captain Auld regarded both of them sourly. The talk had +reached his ears, and he had been warned that he had better get rid +of this slave. “One bad sheep will spoil a whole flock,” they said. +Captain Auld dared not ignore the advice of his powerful neighbors. +His slave holdings were small compared to theirs. Yet he did not want +to sell a buck not yet grown to his full value. Therefore he arranged +to hire the boy out to easy-going Mr. William Freeland, who lived on a +fine old farm about four miles from St. Michaels.</p> + +<p>Covey covered the dirt road back to his place at a savage pace. He +was in a mean mood. That night he flogged a half-wit slave until the +black fainted. Then he stomped into the house and, fully dressed, +flung himself across the bed. Lucy didn’t dare touch him and Caroline +wouldn’t.</p> + +<p>Frederick’s return to the Auld plantation was an event among the +slaves. Little boys regarded him with round eyes; the old folks talked +of his grandmother. There were those who claimed to have known his +mother; others now recalled that they had fed from the same trough, +under the watchful eye of “Aunt Katy.” He had returned during “the +Christmas” so they could wine and dine him. He saw the looks on their +faces, felt the warm glow. For the first time he saw a girl smiling at +him. Life was good.</p> + +<p>Early on the morning of January 1 he set out from St. Michaels for the +Freeland plantation. He had been given a fresh allotment of clothes—a +pair of trousers, a thin coarse jacket, and even a pair of heavy shoes. +Captain Auld did not intend his slave to show up before “quality” in +a state which would reflect shame on his owner. Though not rich, the +Freelands were one of the first families of Maryland.</p> + +<p>Life would be easier for him now, Frederick knew. But, as he walked +along the road that morning, he was not hastening toward the greener +grass and spreading shade trees on Mr. Freeland’s place. He was +whistling, but not because he would sleep on a cot instead of on the +floor, nor because his food would be better and ampler. He might even +wear a shirt. But that wasn’t it. Two strong, brown legs were carrying +his body to the Freeland plantation, but Frederick was speeding far +ahead.</p> + +<p>He carried his shoes in his hand. Might need those good, strong shoes! +They’d take him over sharp rocks and stubby, thorn-covered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span> fields +and through swamplands. <i>Rub them with pepper and they leave no +scent!</i> He kicked the sand up with his bare feet. It felt good. He +stamped down hard, leaving his footprints in the damp earth.</p> + +<p>He met an old man driving a mule.</p> + +<p>“Whar yo’ goin’, boy?” the old man asked.</p> + +<p>“I’m on my way!” It was a song.</p> + +<p>The old man peered at him closely. He was nearly blind and knew his +time was almost over. But he wanted to see the face of this young one +who spoke so.</p> + +<p>“Whatchu say, boy?” He spoke sharply.</p> + +<p>“My master’s sending me over to Mr. Freeland’s place,” Frederick +explained.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” the old man said, and waited.</p> + +<p>Frederick lowered his voice, though there was no one else in sight.</p> + +<p>“It is close by the bay.”</p> + +<p>The old man’s breath made a whistling sound as it escaped from the +dried reeds of his throat.</p> + +<p>“God bless yo’, boy!” Then he passed on by, driving his mule.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Several hours later Amelia passed the same old man. She had offered +to drive into town and pick up some things for the house. When Covey +had snarled that all the boys were busy, she said cheerfully she could +drive herself.</p> + +<p>“I did all of Tom’s buying,” she reminded him. Covey frowned. He didn’t +like opinionated women.</p> + +<p>Amelia urged Lucy to go along; the drive would do her good. But poor +Lucy only shrank further into herself and shook her head.</p> + +<p>The fact was that Amelia was expecting some mail at the post office. +Also, she wanted to mail a letter. She was writing again to Tom’s +cousin who lived in Washington.</p> + +<p>Tom had missed Jack terribly when he went away. They had shot squirrels +and rabbits together, but Jack never took to plowing. He was kind of +wild. Jack had urged Tom to give up, to leave the hills. Tom had hung +on—and now he was dead. They had told Amelia she must be resigned, +that it was “God’s will.”</p> + +<p>When Amelia began to wonder, she wrote Jack. <i>Why did Tom die?</i> +she asked him. From there she had gone on to other questions, many +questions. Words had sprawled over the thin sheets. She had never +written such a long letter.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p> + +<p>Jack had replied immediately. But that letter had been only the first. +He had sent her newspapers and books. As she read them her astonishment +increased. She read them over and over again.</p> + +<p>Now she was thinking about going down to Washington. She was thinking +about it. She hardly saw the old man, driving his mule.</p> + +<p>The old man did not peer closely at her. His mule turned aside +politely.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Four"><span class="smcap">Chapter Four</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Frederick comes to a dead end</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>William Freeland, master of Freelands, gave his rein the slightest tug +as he rode between the huge stone columns. It was good to be alone and +let all memory of the Tilghmans drain from his mind, including Delia’s +girlish laughter. He was glad the Christmas was over. Now he could have +peace.</p> + +<p>Just inside the wrought-iron gates, where the graveled drive was +guarded by a stately sycamore, the big mare came to a quivering pause. +She knew this was where her master wished to stop. From this spot the +old dwelling far up the drive, with tulip poplars huddled around it, +was imposing.</p> + +<p>It was a good house, built in the good old days when Maryland boasted +noble blood. Beside the winding staircase of the wide hall hung +a painting of Eleanor, daughter of Benedict Calvert, sixth Lord +Baltimore. William Freeland was not a Calvert; but the families had +been close friends, and the lovely Eleanor had danced in those halls. +That was before Maryland had broken her ties with England. For a +long time there were those who regretted the day Maryland signed the +Articles of Confederation; but when ambitious neighbors crowded their +boundaries, loyal Marylanders rallied round; and in 1785 William +Freeland’s father, Clive Freeland, had gone to Mount Vernon to contest +Virginia’s claim to the Potomac. He had spoken eloquently, and +Alexander Hamilton had accompanied the young man home. There Hamilton +had been received by Clive’s charming bride, had rested and relaxed +and, under the spell of Freelands, had talked of his own coral-strewn, +sun-drenched home in the Caribbeans.</p> + +<p>In those days the manor house sat in the midst of a gently rolling +green. Spreading trees towered above precise box borders; turfed +walkways, bordered with beds of delicate tea-roses, crossed each +other<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> at right angles; Cherokee rose-vines climbed the garden walls; +and wisteria, tumbling over the veranda, showed bright against the +whitewashed bricks, joined with pink crêpe myrtle by the door and +flowed out toward the white-blossomed magnolias in the yard. The +elegant, swarthy Hamilton lingered, putting off his return to New York +as long as he could. He told them how he hated that city’s crooked, +dirty streets and shrill-voiced shopkeepers.</p> + +<p>All this was fifty years ago. The great estate had been sold off in +small lots. On the small plantation that was left, the outhouses were +tumbling down, moss hung too low on the trees, the hedges needed +trimming and bare places showed in the lawn. Everything needed a coat +of paint. Slowly but surely the place was consuming itself, as each +year bugs ate into the tobacco crop.</p> + +<p>“It will last out our time.” More than that consideration did not +concern the present master of Freelands.</p> + +<p>There was a faint wild fragrance of sweet shrub in the air—the smell +of spring. It was the first day of January, but he knew that plowing +must be got under way. Spring would be early. He sighed. Undoubtedly, +things would have been very different had his elder brother lived. For +Clive, Jr., had had will and energy. He would have seen to it that the +slaves did their work. He would have made the crops pay. Clive had been +a fighter. In fact, Clive had been killed in a drunken brawl. The whole +thing had been hushed up, and young William sent off to Europe. For +several years they spoke of him as “studying abroad.” Actually, William +did learn a great deal. He met lots of people who became less queer as +the days and months passed. He ran into Byron in Italy.</p> + +<p>A cable from his mother had brought him hurrying back home. His father +was dead when he arrived.</p> + +<p>Everything seemed to have shrunk. For a little while he was appalled by +what he saw and heard. Then gradually the world outside fell away. His +half-hearted attempts to change things seemed silly. He had forgotten +how easy life could be in Maryland.</p> + +<p>Now he looked at the substantial old house. Someone was opening the +second-floor shutters. That meant his mother was getting up. He smiled, +thinking how like the house she was—untouched, unmarred, unshaken by +the passing years. At seventy she was magnificent—the real master of +Freelands. He bowed to her every wish, except one. Here he shook his +head and laughed softly. At forty, he remained unmarried.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span></p> + +<p>His mother could not understand that the choice young bits of +femininity which she paraded before him amused, but did not intrigue, +him. So carefully guarding their pale skin against the sun, so daintily +lifting billowing flowered skirts, so demure, waiting behind their +veils in their rose gardens. He knew too well the temper and petty +shrewishness that lurked behind their soft curls. In some cases there +would be brains, too, but brains lying dormant. None of them could hold +a candle to his mother! He would tell her so, stooping to kiss her ear.</p> + +<p>The mare pawed restlessly. Someone was whistling just outside the gate. +Freeland drew up closer to the low wall. It was a black who had sat +down on the stump beside the road. He was pulling on a shoe. The other +shoe lay on the ground beside him. Apparently he had been walking along +the sandy road in his bare feet. Freeland chuckled. Just like a nigger! +Give them a good pair of shoes, and the minute your back’s turned they +take them off. Don’t give them shoes, and they say they can’t work. +This fellow was undoubtedly turning in at Freelands and didn’t want to +appear barefoot.</p> + +<p>He was standing up now, brushing himself off carefully. A likely +looking youngster, well built. Freeland wondered where he belonged. He +wasn’t black, rather that warm rich brown that indicated mixed blood.</p> + +<p>“Bad blood,” his mother always called it. And she would have rapped her +son smartly with her cane had he questioned the verdict. Why should he? +It would seem that the Atlantic Ocean produced some queer alchemical +changes in bloods. In Europe “mixed blood” was, well, just mixed +blood. Everybody knew that swarthy complexions in the south of France, +in Spain, in Italy, indicated mixed blood. Over here things were +different. Certainly there was nothing about slavery to improve stock. +He had seen enough to know that.</p> + +<p>He suspected that his mother had doubts and suspicions which she did +not voice. Her feverish anxiety to get him safely married didn’t fool +him. He shrugged his shoulders. She need not worry. He knew men who +blandly sold off their own flesh and blood. He rubbed elbows with them +at the tobacco market, but he never invited them to his table.</p> + +<p>In the road Frederick stood looking at the gates a moment. They were +swung back, so he had no hesitancy about entering; but he had never +seen such large gates before. He touched the iron trimmings. Close by a +horse neighed. Frederick turned and knew it must be the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> master sitting +there so easily on the big red mare. He jerked off his hat and bowed.</p> + +<p>“Well, boy, what do you want?” The voice was pleasant.</p> + +<p>“I’m Captain Auld’s boy, sir. He sent me to work.”</p> + +<p>Freeland studied the brown face. This young darky was unusual; such +speech was seldom heard on the Eastern Shore. He asked another question.</p> + +<p>“Where are you from, boy?”</p> + +<p>Frederick hesitated. It was hardly likely that his master had told his +prospective employer about the year at Covey’s. Had he heard from some +other source? That would be a bad start. He temporized.</p> + +<p>“I walked over from St. Michaels just now, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Must have got an early start. We haven’t had breakfast here yet.”</p> + +<p>The master slid easily to the ground, tossing the reins in the boy’s +direction. “Come along!”</p> + +<p>He had not the faintest idea what this was all about. But things had a +way of clearing up in time. He started walking up the driveway toward +the house. Frederick followed with the horse.</p> + +<p>“Did you bring a note?” Freeland asked the question over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“No, sir. Captain Auld just told me to get along.”</p> + +<p><i>Who the devil is Captain Auld? Oh</i>, he remembered, <i>St. +Michaels—yes</i>. Had said he could send him some help this spring, a +good strong hand. Now what would poor trash like Auld be doing with a +slave like this? He spoke his thoughts aloud, impatiently.</p> + +<p>“You’re not a field hand! What do you know about tobacco?”</p> + +<p>Frederick’s heart missed a beat. He didn’t want him; didn’t like his +looks! He saw the big gates of Freelands—this lovely place—swinging +shut behind him. He swallowed.</p> + +<p>“I—I can do a good day’s work. I mighty strong.”</p> + +<p>Freeland flipped a leaf from a bush with his riding crop before he +spoke.</p> + +<p>“You weren’t raised up at St. Michaels, and you’re no field hand. Don’t +lie to me, boy!” He turned and looked Frederick full in the face. The +boy stopped but did not flinch. Nor did he drop his eyes in confusion. +After all, the explanation was simple.</p> + +<p>“When I was little, Old Marse sent me to Baltimore to look after his +grandson, Tommy. I was raised up there.”</p> + +<p>“I see. Who’s your folks?”</p> + +<p>The answer came promptly. “Colonel Lloyd’s my folks, sir.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh!”</p> + +<p>So that was it! Colonel Edward Lloyd—one of the really great places +in Talbot County—secluded, far from all thoroughfares of travel +and commerce, sufficient unto itself. Colonel Lloyd had transported +his products to Baltimore in his own vessels. Every man and boy on +board, except the captain, had been owned by him as his property. The +plantation had its own blacksmiths, wheelwrights, shoemakers, weavers +and coopers—all slaves—all “Colonel Lloyd’s folks.” Freeland’s mother +had known dashing Sally Lloyd, the Colonel’s eldest daughter. They had +sailed together in the sloop called the <i>Sally Lloyd</i>. Yes, the +old master was dead now. Naturally many of the slaves had been sold. He +was in luck.</p> + +<p>They had reached the house. Freeland mounted the veranda steps. He did +not look around. His words were almost gruff.</p> + +<p>“Go on round back. Sandy’ll take care of you.”</p> + +<p>He disappeared, leaving Frederick’s “Yessir” hanging in the air.</p> + +<p>Frederick patted the mare’s neck and whispered in her ear, “It’s all +right, old girl. Let’s go find Sandy!”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>From the road the big house and its tangled yard made a charming +picture of sleepy tranquility. But “round back” all was bustling +activity. “The Christmas” was over. Aunt Lou had emphasized the fact in +no uncertain terms.</p> + +<p>“Yo black scamps clean up all dis hyear trash!”</p> + +<p>Rakes, brooms, mops and wheelbarrows were whisking. There were sleepy +groans and smart cuffs. Already one round bottom had been spanked. +Everybody knew New Year’s was a day to start things <i>right</i>. Aunt +Lou’s standards and authority were unquestioned. Mis’ Betsy would be +coming along soon. And Lawd help if everything wasn’t spick and span +by then! ’Course Master William was already up and out on that mare +of hissen. But nobody minded Master William too much. Though he could +lay it on if he got mad! Most of the time he didn’t pay no ’tention to +nothin’—not a thing.</p> + +<p>Then came a strange nigger leading Master William’s horse. <i>Well!</i> +The young ones stopped and stared, finger in mouth. Susan, shaking a +rug out of an upstairs window, nearly pitched down into the yard. John +and Handy regarded the intruder with eager interest. Sandy turned and +just looked at him.</p> + +<p>Frederick’s pulse raced, but he made no sign of recognition either.</p> + +<p>Then “voodoo” Sandy smiled, and everybody relaxed. <i>So!</i></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span></p> + +<p>In the high wainscoted dining room young Henry was serving breakfast. +Old Caleb always served dinner—and even breakfast when there were +guests—but Henry was in training under the eye of his mistress. +Polished silver, gleaming white linen and sparkling glasses—all the +accoutrements of fine living were there. A slight woman in a soft +black silk dress with an ivory-colored collar, sat across from Master +William. Her hair was white, but her blue-veined hands had not been +worn by the years and her eyes remained bright and critical. The +mistress of Freelands had not aged; she had withered.</p> + +<p>“Henry!” She rapped the table with her spoon. “Be careful there! How +many times have I told you not to use those cups for breakfast?”</p> + +<p>“Please, Mis’ Betsy.” Henry’s tone was plaintive. “’Tain’t none of mah +fault. Caleb set ’em out, ma’m. They was sittin’ right hyear on tha +sideboard.”</p> + +<p>“Stop whining, Henry!” Her son seldom spoke with such impatience. Mrs. +Freeland glanced at him sharply.</p> + +<p>“Yessah, Massa William, but—” began Henry.</p> + +<p>“He’s quite right, Mother,” Freeland interrupted. “Caleb served coffee +to the Tilghmans before they left. I had a cup myself.”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad of that.” The cups were forgotten. “I had no idea they were +leaving so early. I should have been up to see my guests off.”</p> + +<p>“No need at all, Mother. I accompanied the carriage a good piece down +the road. They’ll make it back to Richmond in no time.”</p> + +<p>“It was nice having them for the holidays.” She tasted her coffee +critically.</p> + +<p>Mornings were pleasant in this room. The canary, hanging beside the +window, caught the gleam of sunshine on its cage and burst into song. +Some place out back a child laughed. The mistress suppressed a sigh. It +would be a black child. Her son lounged so easily in his chair. She bit +her lips.</p> + +<p>“I never thought Delia Tilghman would grow up to be such a charming +young lady.” She spoke casually. “She’s really lovely.”</p> + +<p>“She is, indeed, Mother,” her son assented; but at his smile she looked +away.</p> + +<p>“I reckon Caleb better wash these cups himself.” Her eyes grew +indulgent as they rested on Henry. He shuffled his feet as she added, +“Henry here was probably out skylarking all night.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, <i>ma’m</i>.” Henry gave a wide grin before vanishing +kitchen-ward.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p> + +<p>His master’s snort was emphatic. “Henry probably slept twelve hours +last night. The silly ass!”</p> + +<p>“Really, William, I do not understand your attitude toward our own +people. Henry was born right here at Freelands.”</p> + +<p>He laughed and took another hot biscuit.</p> + +<p>“Which undoubtedly should make him less an ass. But does it?” At his +mother’s stricken look he was contrite. “Forgive me, Mother, but I’ve +just found much better material for you to work on, worthy of your +efforts.”</p> + +<p>“What are you talking about?”</p> + +<p>Henry had returned with golden-brown baked apples, swimming in thick +syrup.</p> + +<p>“Henry,” Freeland said, “step out back and fetch in that new boy.” +Henry’s eyes widened, but he did not move. “Run along! You’ll see him.”</p> + +<p>Henry disappeared, moving faster than was his wont. Freeland smiled at +his mother.</p> + +<p>“I took on a new boy this morning. You’ll like him.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Freeland was incredulous. “You bought a boy this morning?”</p> + +<p>“I’m hiring this fellow from a peckawood over at St. Michaels.” His +mother’s sniff was audible. “But he’s really one of Colonel Lloyd’s +people.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! That’s different. Should be good stock.”</p> + +<p>“Unquestionably. I’d like to buy him.”</p> + +<p>The old lady’s eyes had grown reminiscent. She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I wonder if that fine old place is going to pieces. How sad that the +Colonel died without a son.”</p> + +<p>The door behind her was shoved open noisily, admitting Henry who +breathed as if he had been running.</p> + +<p>“Hyear he is!” he blurted out.</p> + +<p>Frederick stopped on the threshold. The room made him hold his +breath—sunlight reflected on rich colors and pouring through the +singing of a little bird. He wanted to stoop down to see if his shoes +carried any tiny speck of sand or dust. He must step softly on the +beautiful floor.</p> + +<p>“Come in, boy!”</p> + +<p>The man’s voice was kind. Mrs. Freeland turned with a jerk and stared +keenly at the new acquisition. She noted at once his color, or lack of +color. That meant—the thought was rigorously checked. Who was this +boy her son had picked up in St. Michaels? Why this sudden interest in +buying the half-grown buck? She spoke brusquely.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span></p> + +<p>“Come here!”</p> + +<p>He drew near, walking quietly but firmly, and bowed. Under her +merciless scrutiny he neither shuffled his feet nor lowered his eyes. +It was the master who broke the silence.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mother—”</p> + +<p>She waved him to silence with a peremptory gesture.</p> + +<p>“Do you have a name?” she questioned.</p> + +<p>“My name is Frederick, ma’m.” His words were respectfully low and +distinct.</p> + +<p>The man nodded his head in approval. His mother did not move for a +moment. When she spoke there was a harsh grating in her voice.</p> + +<p>“Who gave you such a name?”</p> + +<p>Frederick was conscious of something tightening inside of him. His name +always surprised people. He had come to wish that he did know how he +got it. From his grandmother? His mother? His father? In Baltimore he +and Tommy had talked about it. Then the young master had said to his +little slave, “Aw, fiddlesticks! What difference does it make? That’s +your name, ain’t it? Just tell ’em!”</p> + +<p>“Answer me, boy!” this frightening old lady was saying.</p> + +<p>His back stiffened and he said in the same respectful tone, “Frederick +is my name, ma’m.”</p> + +<p>She struck him, hard, with her cane. The master pushed back his chair +and half rose.</p> + +<p>“Mother!”</p> + +<p>“Impudence!” Her eyes blazed. “Get out of my sight!”</p> + +<p>Frederick backed away. He dare not run, he dare not answer. He would +not cower. He had no need of asking how he had offended her. He had +the fierce satisfaction of knowing. “Impudence” could be committed by +a slave in a hundred different ways—a look, a word, a gesture. It was +an unpardonable crime. He knew he was guilty. Henry had backed to the +wall, eyes popping, mouth open.</p> + +<p>Now William Freeland was on his feet. He spoke to Henry rather than to +Frederick, and his voice was hard.</p> + +<p>“Take him out back. I’ll come along in a moment.”</p> + +<p>Frederick had a crazy impulse to laugh at Henry’s face as he came +toward him. The lumbering dark fellow was heavier, perhaps a year or +two older, but in a fair fight Frederick knew he could outmarch him. +There was no question of resistance in his mind now, however. The timid +way Henry took his arm was silly.</p> + +<p>The moment the door had closed behind them, Henry’s entire demeanor +changed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span></p> + +<p>“Look-a-hyear, boy,” he whispered, dropping Frederick’s arm, “ain’t you +dat crazy nigger what whopped a white man?”</p> + +<p>Frederick shrugged his shoulders. His tiny spurt of exaltation had +passed. He felt sick.</p> + +<p>“I <i>am</i> crazy.” His words were a groan.</p> + +<p>“I knowed it!” exulted Henry. “I knowed it! Come on out to tha barn. I +gotta tell tha others.” There was no suggestion of whine in his voice, +nor was his head cocked to one side.</p> + +<p>At Henry’s silent arm-wavings they gathered round—the numerous yard +boys and men working in the stables and barns. Frederick dropped on +an empty box, but Henry delivered a dramatic account of what had just +occurred. They kept their voices low, and when Handy slapped his knee +and laughed out loud, John whirled on him.</p> + +<p>“Shut yo’ big mouth! Wanta bring tha house down on us?”</p> + +<p>“Standin’ up to Ole Missus!”</p> + +<p>“Lawd! Lawd! She’ll skin you!”</p> + +<p>They looked at him admiringly. Only Sandy shook his head. “Not good!” +was his only comment.</p> + +<p>And Frederick, sitting there on the empty box, agreed with Sandy.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Mrs. Freeland’s cane slipped to the floor as the door closed behind the +two slaves. Her hand was shaking. Her son was puzzled as he bent to +pick up the cane.</p> + +<p>“Mother, you have upset yourself. I’m so sorry. But I declare I don’t +see why.”</p> + +<p>The small white head jerked up.</p> + +<p>“You don’t! So this is your idea of better material. That—That +mongrel!” Her words were vehement.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mother! For heaven’s sake!” The scene he had witnessed suddenly +took on meaning. Was “bad blood” getting to be an obsession with her?</p> + +<p>“Strutting in here with his airs and impudence!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll confess he is a little cocky.” Then he sought to mollify her. +“He’s probably been spoilt. I told you he was from Colonel Lloyd’s +place. He’s not just a common hand.”</p> + +<p>She managed to control the trembling of her lips. <i>I must not fight +with William.</i> She pressed back her tears and got to her feet.</p> + +<p>“Keep him, if you like. He looks strong. Only I will not have him in +the house.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span></p> + +<p>She started across the floor, her cane muffled by the rug. In the +hallway she turned.</p> + +<p>“I don’t like him. A nigger who looks you straight in the eye is +dangerous. Send Tessie to me!” The keys hanging at her side rattled.</p> + +<p>She ascended the stairs, the cane taps growing fainter.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be damned!” He spoke the words under his breath, looking after +her. Then, returning to the room, he reached for his pipe. Standing +there, he crushed the bits of dried tobacco leaf into its bowl. “Wonder +if the old girl’s right.”</p> + +<p>He sat a while smoking before he went out back. He forgot about Tessie.</p> + +<p>The folks in the yard were surprised when Frederick was sent to the +fields. Obviously he had been considered for houseboy. Then, after he +offended Old Missus, they thought he would go scuttling. But, after +a time, Master William came stomping into the yard. He wore his high +boots and he carried his riding crop. In a loud voice he asked where +that boy was hiding. One little pickaninny began to whimper. Everybody +thought that boy was going to get it. But he came right on out of the +barn. The master just stood there, waiting, drawing the whip through +his hands. He didn’t say anything until the boy was quite close. Then +he spoke so low they couldn’t hear.</p> + +<p>“Do you want to work on my place?”</p> + +<p>Frederick was so surprised by the question that he barely managed to +gasp, “Oh, yes, sir! I do, sir!”</p> + +<p>The master’s next words were louder.</p> + +<p>“Then get down to the bottom tract.” He pointed with his whip. “And +hurry!” he almost shouted.</p> + +<p>Without another word the boy streaked off across the field. Master +William yelled for his horse and went riding lickety-split after him. +The yard folks stared: <i>Well!</i></p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Some of the boys tried to console Frederick that evening. They +considered field work low drudgery and held themselves aloof from the +“fiel’ han’s.” But Frederick considered himself fortunate. He liked Mr. +Freeland, liked the way he had told an older worker to show him, liked +the way he had gone off, leaving them together.</p> + +<p>He found he was to bunk over the stable with Sandy and John. John was +Henry’s brother, but Henry slept in the house where he could answer +a summons. Handy occupied a cabin with his mother and sister. Before +Frederick went to sleep that first night he knew all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> there was to know +about these four, who were to be his closest friends. Sandy, though +still owned by Mr. Grooms, had been hired out for the season as usual +to Mr. Freeland. He told Frederick that his wife Noma was well. He +spent every Sunday with her as always. Some Sunday, he promised, he +would take Frederick to see her. The mother of John and Handy had died +while they were quite young. They had never been away from Freelands, +and were curious about what went on “outside.”</p> + +<p>Never had Frederick enjoyed such congenial companionship. The slaves +at Freelands had all they wanted to eat; they were not driven with a +lash; they had time to do many things for themselves. Aunt Lou was an +exacting overseer, but Aunt Lou could be outwitted. After his grueling +labor at Covey’s, Frederick’s duties seemed very light indeed. He was +still a field hand, but he preferred work in the open to any service +which would bring him under the eyes of the Old Missus. Since he had +no business in the house or out front, he could stay out of her sight. +Once in a while he would look up to find Master William watching him at +work, but he seldom said anything.</p> + +<p>Frederick was growing large and strong and began to take pride in the +fact that he could do as much hard work as the older men. The workers +competed frequently among themselves, measuring each other’s strength. +But slaves were too wise to keep it up long enough to produce an +extraordinary day’s work. They reasoned that if a large quantity of +work were done in one day and it became known to the master, he might +ask the same amount every day. Even at Freelands this thought was +enough to bring them to a dead halt in the middle of a close race.</p> + +<p>The evenings grew longer and more pleasant, and Frederick’s dreams for +the future might have faded. But now he found himself talking more and +more earnestly to his friends. Henry and John were remarkably bright +and intelligent, when they wished to be. Neither could read.</p> + +<p>“If I only had my <cite>Columbian Orator</cite>!”</p> + +<p>He told them how he lost his precious book and how he had learned to +read it. Perhaps such a book could be found.</p> + +<p>“What’s in a book?” they asked.</p> + +<p>Frederick told them everything he knew—about stories he and Tommy had +read together, spelling books, newspapers he had filched in Baltimore, +how men wrote down their deeds and thoughts, about things happening in +other places, how once white men fought a war,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> and a speech one of the +boys had learned from the <cite>Columbian Orator</cite>—a speech that said +“Give me liberty or give me death!”</p> + +<p>“All dat in a book?” But then they noticed Master William sitting with +a book. Evening were long now and warmer. The master rode only in the +mornings. They saw him on the veranda, for hours at a time, sitting +with a book. One day Henry made up his mind.</p> + +<p>“I’ll git me a book!”</p> + +<p>It was easy. Just walk into the room which was usually empty and +take a book! It was his job to dust them, anyhow, so no one noticed. +Henry could hardly wait for evening when Frederick would come in from +the fields. Henry and John and Handy—waiting with a book. They were +excited.</p> + +<p>Frederick’s heart leaped too when he saw the book. He took it eagerly +and opened to the title page. He frowned. The words were very long and +hard-looking. Pictures would have made it easier, but no matter. He +turned to the first page. They held their breath. Frederick was going +to read.</p> + +<p>But Frederick did not read. Letters were on the page in front of +him, but something terrible had happened to them. He strained his +eyes searching—searching for one single word he recognized. Had he +forgotten everything? That could not be. With his mind’s eye he could +see pages and words very clearly. But none of the words he remembered +were here. What kind of book was this? Slowly he spelt out the title, +vainly endeavoring to put the letters together into something that +would make sense.</p> + +<p>“G-a-r-g-a-n-t-u-a-e-t-p-a-n-t-a-g-r-u-e-l.” And underneath all that +were the letters “R-a-b-e-l-a-i-s.”</p> + +<p>He shook his head. Many years later, in Paris, Frederick Douglass read +portions of Rabelais’ <cite>Gargantua et Pantagruel</cite>. And he vividly +recalled the awful sense of dismay which swept over him the first time +he held a copy of this masterpiece of French literature in his hands.</p> + +<p>They were waiting. He swallowed painfully.</p> + +<p>“G’wan, big boy! Read!” Handy was impatient.</p> + +<p>“I—I—” Frederick began again. “This—This book—It’s not—the one I +meant. I can’t make—This book—” He stopped. John drew nearer.</p> + +<p>“Hit’s a book, ain’t it?” He was ready to defend his brother.</p> + +<p>“Yes, but—”</p> + +<p>“Then read hit!”</p> + +<p>Frederick turned several pages. It was no use. He wished the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> ground +would open and swallow him up. He forced his lips to say the words.</p> + +<p>“I—can’t!”</p> + +<p>They stared at him, not believing what they heard. Then they looked at +each other and away quickly. They’d been taken in. He had been lying +all the time.</p> + +<p>Handy spat on the ground, disgusted.</p> + +<p>But Henry was puzzled. Frederick looked as if he were going to be sick. +He hadn’t looked like that when the old lady struck him, or when Master +William came out after him with his whip. Henry shifted his weight.</p> + +<p>“Looky, Fred! What all’s wrong wid dat book?”</p> + +<p>Gratitude, like a cool breeze, steadied Frederick. He wet his lips.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, Hen. It’s all different. These funny words—Everything’s +mixed up.”</p> + +<p>“Lemme see!” Henry took the book and turned several pages. He liked the +feel of the smooth paper.</p> + +<p>“Humph!” Handy spit again.</p> + +<p>“Huccome they’s mixed?” John’s suspicions sounded in his voice. The +recklessness of desperation goaded Frederick.</p> + +<p>“Henry, could you get another book? I—I never said I could read +<i>all</i> the books. Could you try another one? Could you, Henry?”</p> + +<p>Henry sighed. He tucked the rejected book under his arm.</p> + +<p>“Reckon.”</p> + +<p>His brief reply brought Hand’s withering scorn.</p> + +<p>“Yo’ gonna lose yo’ hide! Hyear me!” With this warning Handy walked +away. His disappointment was bitter.</p> + +<p>The next day stretched out unbearably. Frederick forced himself +through the motions of his work while his mind went round and round +in agonizing circles. Then suddenly it was time to stop, time for +the evening meal, time to return to the yard. He knew Henry would be +waiting with another book. His moist hands clung to his hoe, his feet +seemed rooted in the cool, upturned earth. Then his legs were carrying +him back.</p> + +<p>He saw them standing behind the barn—John and Henry and, slightly +removed, leaning against a tree, Handy. He went on whittling when +Frederick came up. Handy’s demeanor was that of a wholly disinterested +bystander. But Henry said, “I got hit—anodder one.” His tone was +cautious.</p> + +<p>Frederick took the book with hands that trembled. Handy’s knife<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> +paused. Then Frederick gave a whoop, and Handy, dropping his stick, +came running.</p> + +<p>“The Last of the Mo-hi-cans!” read Frederick triumphantly. He didn’t +know what “Mohicans” meant, but what was one small word? He turned the +pages and shouted for joy. Words, words, words—beautiful, familiar +faces smiled up at him! He hugged the book. He danced a jig, and they +joined him, making such a disturbance that Sandy came out of the barn +to see what was going on.</p> + +<p>Sandy was their friend, so they told him—all talking together. They +hid the book and went to eat, swallowing their food in great gulps. +Afterward they went down to the creek, and Frederick read to them until +darkness blotted out the magic of the pages. They talked, then, turning +over the words, examining them.</p> + +<p>This was the beginning. As summer came on and the long evenings +stretched themselves over hours of leisure, the good news got around; +and additional trusted neophytes were permitted to join them at the +creek. Learning to read was now the objective. More books disappeared +from the house. After Frederick slipped up in the attic and found +several old school books, real progress began. Then trouble arose.</p> + +<p>Seemed like everybody wanted to learn “tha readin’.” That, argued the +select few, would not do. This certainly was not a matter for “fiel’ +han’s.” Field hands, however, were stubborn in their persistence. The +fact that the teacher was a field hand seemed to have erased their +accustomed servility. One of them even brought in Mr. Hall’s Jake, an +uncouth fellow from the neighboring plantation. They vouched for Jake’s +trustworthiness, and he proved an apt pupil. Then Jake brought a friend!</p> + +<p>Sandy counseled caution. Frederick, happy in what he was doing, was +hardly aware of the mutterings. So they wrestled with their first +problem in democracy.</p> + +<p>Then, one Sunday afternoon, they were nearly caught.</p> + +<p>It was a scorcher, late in July. The noon meal was over, and they were +sitting in the shade of a big oak tree at the edge of the south meadow, +ten or twelve of them under the big tree. Jake appeared, coming over +the ridge that marked the boundary of Freelands. He saw them and waved, +then started walking down.</p> + +<p>“Glad I ain’t walkin’ in no hot sun.” John had just learned a new word, +and he felt good. Suddenly Jake was seen to straighten up, wave both +arms frantically and start running in the opposite direction.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span></p> + +<p>Books were whisked out of sight, papers disappeared as if by magic. +When Master William and his guest came trotting around the dump of +trees, all they saw was a bunch of lazy niggers stretched out in the +shade.</p> + +<p>“Watch out, there!” Freeland’s mare shied away. With a sleepy grunt, +Henry rolled over.</p> + +<p>The guest was from Baltimore. He had been speaking vehemently for such +a hot day.</p> + +<p>“Look at that!” he burst out. “Show me a bunch of sleek, fat niggers +sleeping through the day in Boston.”</p> + +<p>The master of Freelands laughed indulgently. His guest continued.</p> + +<p>“Those damned Abolitionists ought to come down here. Freein’ niggers! +The thieving fools!” He jerked his horse’s head savagely.</p> + +<p>William Freeland spoke in his usual, pleasant, unheated voice.</p> + +<p>“I’d kill the first Abolitionist who set foot on my land, same as I +would a mad dog.”</p> + +<p>They rode on out of hearing.</p> + +<p>No one moved for a long minute. Then Henry sat up abruptly.</p> + +<p>“Where is mah book?” He jerked it from under the belly of a sweating +stable boy.</p> + +<p>Black Crunch, long, lean and hard like a hound, moved more slowly. He +was thinking.</p> + +<p>“Fred,” he asked, leaning forward, “does yo’ know whar is dat dar +Boston place?”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>After this, the “Sunday School” grew in numbers. There was no more talk +of restricting “members.” The name was Frederick’s idea, and everybody +followed the lead with complete understanding. It was well known that +masters seldom raised any objection to slaves leaving the plantation +for Sunday services, even when they went some distance away. So now +it was possible to talk freely about the Sunday School over on Mr. +Freeland’s place!</p> + +<p>Somebody hailed William Freeland one day as he rode along.</p> + +<p>“Hear your niggers are holding some kind of a revival, old man,” he +called. “Got a good preacher?”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t know.” Freeland laughed back, waving his whip. Next +morning, however, he spoke to Henry.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Henry, what’s this I hear about a revival going on?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span></p> + +<p>“Whatchu sayin’, Massa William?” Henry’s lips hung flabby. Not a trace +of intelligence lighted his face.</p> + +<p>“A revival! You know what a revival is.” Freeland tried to curb his +impatience.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yessuh!” Henry showed his teeth in a wide grin. “Yessuh, Ah knows +a revival. Yes, <i>suh</i>!”</p> + +<p>“Well, is there a revival going on around here?”</p> + +<p>“Revival? Roun’ hyear?” The whites of Henry’s eyes resembled marbles.</p> + +<p>Freeland kicked back his chair. What the hell difference did it make?</p> + +<p>At the end of the year William Freeland rode over to St. Michaels and +renewed his contract with Captain Auld for his boy’s services. He +reported that the slave had worked well; he had no complaints to make. +Captain Auld’s eyes glittered when he took the money. Evidently that +buck was turning out all right. Another year and he’d bring a good +price in the market.</p> + +<p>The master was really touched by Frederick’s gratitude when told that +he was to remain on. As a matter of fact, Frederick had been deeply +worried. As the year had drawn to a close he felt he had wasted +valuable time. There was much to do—plans to make and lines to be +carefully laid—before he made his break for freedom.</p> + +<p>Another Christmas and a new year. And New Year’s Day was a time to +start things right. Everybody knew that!</p> + +<p>They heard it first in the yard, of course. Black Crunch had run away! +When the horsemen came galloping up the drive not a pickaninny was +in sight. Old Caleb opened the front door and bowed with his beautiful +deference. But they shoved him out of the way unceremoniously, calling +for the master. Old Missus sniffed the air disdainfully, standing very +straight, but Master William rode off with them.</p> + +<p>The next night all along the Eastern Shore slaves huddled, shivering +in dark corners. The baying of the hounds kept some white folks awake, +too. They didn’t find Black Crunch. They never found Black Crunch.</p> + +<p>There was a hazy tension in the air. The five friends bound themselves +together with a solemn oath of secrecy—Frederick, Handy, Henry, John, +and Sandy. They were going together—all five. John pleaded for his +sweetheart, little Susan, to be taken along; and Sandy knew the danger +that threatened his wife if he left her. Though a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> free woman herself, +she could be snatched back into bondage if he ran away. Noma knew this +also. Yet the woman said simply, “Go!”</p> + +<p>The Eastern Shore of Maryland lay very close to the free state of +Pennsylvania. Escape might not appear too formidable an undertaking. +Distance, however, was not the chief trouble. The nearer the lines of a +slave state were to the borders of a free state, the more vigilant were +the slavers. At every ferry was a guard, on every bridge sentinels, in +every wood patrols and slave-hunters. Hired kidnappers also infested +the borders.</p> + +<p>Nor did reaching a free state mean freedom for the slave. Wherever +caught they could be returned to slavery. And their second lot would be +far worse than the first! Slaveholders constantly impressed upon their +slaves the boundlessness of slave territory and their own limitless +power.</p> + +<p>Frederick and his companions had only the vaguest idea of the geography +of the country. “Up North” was their objective. They had heard of +Canada, they had heard of New York, they had heard of Boston. Of what +lay in between they had no thoughts at all.</p> + +<p>After many long discussions they worked out their plan for escape. On +the Saturday night before the Easter holidays they would take a large +canoe owned by a Mr. Hamilton, launch out into Chesapeake Bay and +paddle with all their might for its head, a distance of about seventy +miles. On reaching this point they would turn the canoe adrift and bend +their steps toward the north star until they reached a free state.</p> + +<p>This plan had several excellent points. On the water they had a chance +of being thought fishermen, in the service of a master; hounds could +not track them; and over Easter their absence might not be noted. On +the other hand, in bad weather the waters of the Chesapeake are rough, +and there would be danger in a canoe, of being swamped by the waves. +Furthermore, the canoe would soon be missed; and, if absent slaves +were suspected of having taken it, they would be pursued by some +fast-sailing craft out of St. Michaels.</p> + +<p>They prepared for one quite possible emergency. Any white man, if he +pleased, was authorized to stop a Negro on any road and examine and +arrest him. Many a freeman, being called upon by a pack of ruffians to +show his free papers, presented them, only to have the hoodlums tear +them up, seize the victim and sell him to a life of endless bondage.</p> + +<p>The week before their intended start, Frederick wrote a pass for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> each +of the party, giving him permission to visit Baltimore during the +Easter holidays. He signed them with the initials of William Hamilton, +tobacco planter whose place edged on the bay and whose canoe they had +planned to take. The pass ran after this manner:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>This is to certify that I, the undersigned, have given the bearer, +my servant John, full liberty to go to Baltimore to spend the Easter +holidays.</p> + +<p>Near St. Michaels, Talbot Co., Md.<span class="lpad"> W. H.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>Although they were not going to Baltimore and intended to land east of +North Point, in the direction they had seen the Philadelphia steamers +go, these passes might be useful in the lower part of the bay, while +steering toward Baltimore. These were not, however, to be shown until +all other answers had failed to satisfy the inquirer. The conspirators +were fully alive to the importance of being calm and self-possessed +when accosted, if accosted they should be; and they more than once +rehearsed to each other how they would behave under fire.</p> + +<p>With everything figured out, the days and nights of waiting were long +and tedious. Every move, every word, every look had to be carefully +guarded. Uneasiness was in the air. Slaveholders were constantly +looking out for the first signs of rebellion against the injustice +and wrong which they were perpetrating every hour of the day. And +their eyes were skilled and practiced. In many cases they were able to +read, with great accuracy, the state of mind and heart of the slave +through his sable face. Any mood out of the common way gave grounds for +suspicion and questioning.</p> + +<p>Yet, with the plowing over, with spring in the air and an Easter +holiday drawing near, what more natural than that the slaves should +sing down in their quarters—after the day’s work was over?</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Oh Canaan, sweet Canaan,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ah’m boun’ fo’ the lan’ o’ Canaan.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>They sang, and their voices were sweet. William Freeland, sitting on +the veranda, took his pipe from between his teeth and smiled at his +mother.</p> + +<p>“I always say there’s nothing like darkies singing—nothing. Some of +our folks have really beautiful voices. Listen to that!” The master of +Freelands spoke with real pride.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span></p> + +<p>Inside the house old Caleb fussed with the curtains. He felt a +trembling inside of him. That dear, young voice out there in the dusk:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Ah thought Ah heared them say</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There was lions in the way</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I don’ expect to stay</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Much longah here.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The buoyant refrain—all the voices singing triumphantly:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Oh Canaan, sweet Canaan,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Not much longah here!”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“Crazy fools!” whispered Caleb. “Singin’ lak dat!”</p> + +<p><i>Singing for all the world to know!</i> He wanted to warn them. He +shook his head. Caleb had been young once, too. And he had dreamed of +freedom. He was old now. He would die a slave. He shuffled back to the +pantry. Shut in there he could no longer hear the singing.</p> + +<p>Two days before the appointed time Sandy withdrew. He could not go off +and leave his wife. They pleaded with him.</p> + +<p>“You young ones go! You make good life. I stay now!”</p> + +<p>John was the most visibly shaken. John whose little Susan had wept +several times of late because of his moody silences and bad temper. +After saying that nothing could change his mind or intention he walked +away stiffly.</p> + +<p>Then Sandy confessed that he had had a dream, a bad dream.</p> + +<p>“About us?” Frederick asked the question, his heart heavy. This was +bad, coming from Sandy. And Sandy spoke, his voice low and troubled.</p> + +<p>“I dream I roused from sleep by strange noises, noises of a swarm of +angry birds that passed—a roar like a coming gale over the tops of the +trees. I look up. I see you, Frederick, in the claws of a great bird. +And there was lots of birds, all colors and all sizes. They pecked at +you. Passing over me, the birds flew southwest. I watched until they +was clean out of sight.” He was silent.</p> + +<p>Frederick drew a long breath.</p> + +<p>“And they took me with them?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>Frederick did not meet his eyes. He stiffened his back.</p> + +<p>“It was just a dream, Sandy. Look, we’re worried and jumpy. That’s all. +Hen, that’s right—don’t you think? What’s a little dream?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p> + +<p>Henry spoke with unaccustomed firmness.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t no little ole dream gonna stop <i>me</i>!”</p> + +<p>Frederick gripped his arm, thankful for Henry’s strength and +determination. He keenly felt the responsibility of the undertaking. If +they failed it would be his fault. He wished Sandy had not told him the +dream.</p> + +<p>The day dawned. Frederick went out to the field earlier than usual. He +had to be busy. At breakfast Henry broke one of the precious cups. He +was roundly berated by Old Missus. Her son said nothing. Henry had been +more clumsy than usual lately.</p> + +<p>The morning dragged. Frederick had been spreading manure for what +seemed to him an eternity when—for no apparent reason at all—he +experienced a sudden blinding presentiment.</p> + +<p>“We’ve failed!”</p> + +<p>It was as if a hundred eyes were watching him—as if all his intentions +were plainly written in the sky. A few minutes after this, the long, +low, distant notes of the horn summoned the workers from the field to +the noon-day meal. Frederick wanted nothing to eat. He looked around +probing the landscape for some reason for the awful certainty in his +mind. He shook himself. He pressed the back of his hand hard against +his mouth.</p> + +<p>As he crossed the field he saw William Freeland come out of the house +and go toward the barn. He came nearer, and the long graveled driveway +was in full view. And so he saw the four men on horseback turn into the +drive and approach the house. Then he saw two blacks whom he could not +identify walking behind. One of them seemed to be tied!</p> + +<p><i>Something has happened! We’ve been betrayed!</i></p> + +<p><i>No need to run now.</i> He came on, cutting across the front yard; +he climbed over the low hedge and was stooping to pass under the +rotting rose trellis as one horseman, far in the lead and riding very +rapidly, reached the house. It was the tobacco planter, Mr. William +Hamilton. The horseman pulled his horse to an abrupt stop and hailed +Frederick.</p> + +<p>“Hey, boy! Where’s your master?”</p> + +<p>Even in this bitter moment of defeat some perverse imp inside Frederick +forced him to reply, speaking very politely, “Mr. Freeland, sir, just +went to the barn.”</p> + +<p>Hamilton’s whip jerked in his hand, but he did not bring it down on +Frederick. He wheeled about in a flurry of gravel and rode off<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> toward +the stables. By this time the other three had come up, and Frederick +saw that they were constables.</p> + +<p>He burst into the kitchen, heedless of Aunt Lou’s wrath. But the +kitchen was quiet with an ominous stillness. Only John was there, +his back to the room, looking out the window. He turned quickly, and +Frederick saw his quivering face. They grasped each other by the hand +and stood together, waiting.</p> + +<p>The outside door opened a second time, admitting Master Freeland. His +eyes were glinting steel in a grim face. His voice was harsh.</p> + +<p>“So, here you are!” He was looking at Frederick. “Go outside! These men +want to question you.”</p> + +<p>“He ain’t done nothin’, Massa William.” There was panic in John’s +appeal.</p> + +<p>“Shut up!” Freeland shoved Frederick toward the door.</p> + +<p>As he stepped outside, two constables seized him.</p> + +<p>“What do you want? Why do you take me?”</p> + +<p>A blow in the mouth cut his lip. They twisted his arm, throwing him to +the ground.</p> + +<p>Hamilton, standing beside his horse, pointed to John, who had followed +Frederick to the door.</p> + +<p>“That one, too. Take him!” He held a rifle in his hand.</p> + +<p>John cried out when they seized him.</p> + +<p>All this was taking place just outside the kitchen door, some distance +from the barns and outhouses. Motionless black figures could be seen. +Now a kind of hushed wail was heard.</p> + +<p>Henry, running with Sandy behind him, was coming from the barn. A +constable met him, a heavy gun at his side. He carried a rope. Hamilton +had pointed to Henry, nodding his head.</p> + +<p>“Tie him!”</p> + +<p>“Cross your hands!” ordered the constable. Henry was panting. He did +not speak at once. In that moment he had seen everything. Then, looking +straight at the man in front of him, he said, “I won’t!”</p> + +<p>They were all taken by surprise. The master of Freelands stared at a +Henry he had never seen before. The constable sputtered.</p> + +<p>“Why you black ——! You won’t cross your hands!” He reached for his +revolver.</p> + +<p>“Henry!” His master’s voice cracked.</p> + +<p>And Henry looked at him and said, with added emphasis, “No! I won’t!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span></p> + +<p>The three constables now cocked their revolvers, surrounded him. Mr. +Hamilton was agitated. He also drew his rifle.</p> + +<p>“By God, Freeland, he’s dangerous!”</p> + +<p>William Freeland could say nothing. Iron bands seemed to be choking +him. <i>Henry!</i> That clumsy, silly slave had grown a foot.</p> + +<p>“Shoot me! Shoot me and be damned! I won’t be tied!”</p> + +<p>And at the moment of saying it, with the guns at his breast, Henry +quickly raised his arms and dashed the weapons from their hands, +sending them flying in all directions.</p> + +<p>In the confusion which followed Frederick managed to get near John.</p> + +<p>“The pass?” he asked. “Do you have the pass?”</p> + +<p>“It’s burned. I put it in the stove.”</p> + +<p>“Good!” This much evidence was gone, anyway.</p> + +<p>Henry fought like a tiger. Inside the house, Old Missus heard the +uproar and came out back.</p> + +<p>“Henry! Henry! They’re killing Henry!” she shrieked. Her son rushed to +her, trying to explain. She pushed him away. “Stop them! Stop those +ruffians!”</p> + +<p>Finally they had Henry overpowered. As he lay on the ground trussed +and bleeding, Frederick and John, helpless though they were, stood +accused in their own eyes because they too had not resisted. John +cried bitterly, in futile rage. Frederick stood rigid, every breath +a separate stab of pain. Mrs. Freeland, her own eyes wet, tried to +comfort John.</p> + +<p>“Don’t, Johnny. I know it’s all a mistake. We’ll fix it. We’ll get you +and Henry out of it!”</p> + +<p>They took Sandy, whose black face remained unfathomable. Then the +tobacco planter spoke.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps now we’d better make a search for those passes we understand +Captain Auld’s boy has written for them.”</p> + +<p>Freeland was almost vehement, insisting that they be taken immediately +to the jail and there carefully examined. To himself he said that his +mother’s outburst had unnerved him. He wanted to get the whole business +over and done with—get it out of his sight.</p> + +<p>As they stood, securely bound, ready to start toward St. Michaels, the +mistress came out with her hands full of biscuits which she divided +between John and Henry, ignoring both Sandy and Frederick. And as they +started around the house she pointed her bony finger at Frederick.</p> + +<p>“It’s you! You yellow devil!” she called out after him. “You put<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> it in +their heads to run away! John and Henry are good boys. You did it! You +long-legged, yellow devil!”</p> + +<p>At the look which Frederick turned on her, she screamed in mingled +wrath and fright and went in, slamming the door.</p> + +<p>The constables fastened them with long ropes to the horses. Now +Frederick recognized the two dark forms he had seen from a distance +as Handy and a boy owned by Mr. Hamilton. Handy had slipped off that +morning to hide their supplies near the canoe. This boy had somehow +become involved. Maybe Handy had solicited his aid—maybe that was +what happened. Frederick turned the possibility over inside his aching +head. The boy had been beaten. His shirt hung in stained utters. Under +the watchful eyes they gave no sign of knowing each other. They waited +while the horses pawed restlessly, kicking up sharp bits of gravel into +their faces.</p> + +<p>As Freeland mounted his big mare, the tobacco planter pointed at Sandy.</p> + +<p>“Is that one of your own niggers?”</p> + +<p>“No,” the master of Freelands shook his head. “I hire him from a man +named Groomes, over in Easton.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “I +hate to lose the best carpenter we’ve had in a long time.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve seen him somewhere before.” Hamilton looked thoughtful. “Believe +he’s the one they call a voodoo.” Freeland shrugged his shoulders, +settling himself firmly in the saddle. Hamilton continued, his voice +grim. “Best keep an eye on him.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t tell me you take stock in nigger black magic!” Freeland mocked +him.</p> + +<p>It was Hamilton’s turn to shrug his shoulders, as his ungracious host +headed the procession down the drive and out into the highway.</p> + +<p>Inside the house old Caleb straightened the worn, brocaded curtains, +his stiff fingers shaking. He felt old and useless. Upstairs Susan +sought to muffle her sobs in Old Missus’ feather bolster, heedless of +the fact that she was staining the fine linen slip. The children down +in the slave quarters were very still, hardly breathing.</p> + +<p>Easter was in the air. The sun shone bright and warm. Folks were +thinking about the holiday, and overseers were relaxed. In the fields, +slaves leaned on their hoes and watched them go by—five white men, +their hats pulled low, their shirts open at the neck, riding on horses; +and behind them, jerking, grotesque figures, pulled by the horses, dust +blinding and choking them, their bare feet stumbling over rocks and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> +raising a cloud of dust, their bare heads covered with sweat and grime.</p> + +<p>Frederick, fastened with Henry to the same horse, pulled hard on the +rope, endeavoring to slacken the pace. He knew what torture Henry was +enduring. The constable, noticing this tugging, lashed out once with +his whip. Then he chose to ignore the matter. It was a long, hot drive +to the Easton jail, and the constable was in no particular hurry.</p> + +<p>Henry managed to get his breath. The mistress had made them loose one +of his hands. In this free hand he still clinched his biscuits. Now, +looking gratefully at Frederick, he gasped, “The pass! What shall I do +with my pass?”</p> + +<p>Frederick answered immediately. “Eat it with your biscuit!”</p> + +<p>A moment later Henry had managed to slip the piece of paper into his +mouth. He chewed well on the biscuit and swallowed with a gulp. Then he +grinned, a trickle of blood starting from his cut lip.</p> + +<p>The word went round from one bound figure to another, “Swallow your +pass! Own nothing! Know nothing.”</p> + +<p>Though their plans had leaked out—somehow, some way—their confidence +in each other was unshaken. Somebody had made a mistake, but they were +resolved to succeed or fail together.</p> + +<p>By the time they reached the outskirts of St. Michaels it was clear +that the news had gone on ahead.</p> + +<p>A bunch of runaway niggers! Fair sport on a Saturday afternoon. The +“insurrection”—the word stumbled off their tongues—had been started +by that “Auld boy,” the “smart nigger.”</p> + +<p>“A bad un!”</p> + +<p>“Ought to be hanged!” They laughed and ordered another drink of burning +whiskey. <i>Wish something would happen in this God-forsaken hole!</i></p> + +<p>The procession stopped first at Captain Auld’s. The Captain was loud in +his cries of denunciation.</p> + +<p>“Done everything for this boy, everything! I promise you he’ll be +punished—I’ll take all the hide off him! I’ll break every bone in his +body!”</p> + +<p>He was reminded that Frederick and the others were already in the hands +of the law. Beyond a shadow of doubt they would be punished. At this +the Captain calmed down. Here was a horse of another color. Frederick +was <i>his</i> property. His slow mind began to revolve. He dared +not offend either Mr. Freeland or Mr. Hamilton. He had no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> stomach +for losing a valuable piece of property to anything as vague and +unrewarding as “the law.” He fixed a stern eye on Frederick—noting the +thick broad shoulders and long legs.</p> + +<p>“What have you done, you ungrateful rascal?”</p> + +<p>“Nothin’, Massa, nothin’, nothin’, nothin’! The whistle blowed, I come +in to eat—an’ they took me! They took me!”</p> + +<p>Frederick’s mind also had been working. He was resolved to throw the +burden of proof upon his accusers. He could see that the passion of his +outcry now had its effect. The Captain grunted with satisfaction. He +asked the gentlemen for more details. Just exactly what <i>had</i> the +boy done?</p> + +<p>Of course, no single pass was found on them. All six of the accused +said the same thing—they had been going about their work as usual. +They had not the slightest idea why they had been arrested. Handy +explained in great detail how he had been sent over to Mr. Hamilton’s +place by Aunt Lou. He was returning from that errand. The Hamilton +boy had been down on the beach mending a net. Their protestations of +innocence were loud and voluble. Too voluble, each master thought to +himself. But he did not put his thoughts into words. It would never do +to admit that they were being outwitted by a bunch of sniveling darkies.</p> + +<p>They were taken to the county jail and locked up. It was a ramshackle, +old affair. A good wind coming in from the bay could have knocked it +over, and a very small fire would have wiped it out in short order. +But it was prison enough for the six. Henry, John, and Frederick were +placed in one cell and Sandy, the Hamilton boy, and Handy in another. +They had plenty of space, since the cells really were rooms of the +building. They were fed immediately and were left completely alone +throughout the night. They were thankful for this respite.</p> + +<p>Early Easter morning they were at them—a swarm of slave-traders and +agents of slave-traders who, hearing of the “catch” in the county jail +at Easton, hurried over to ascertain if the masters wanted to rid +themselves of dangerous “troublemakers.” Good bargains could often be +picked up under such circumstances. Rebellious slaves were usually +strong and vigorous. Properly manacled, they were rendered helpless. +And there was a demand for them on the great plantations where they +were beginning to grow enormous crops of cotton. Word had gone out that +these captured slaves were young and in unusually good condition.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> + +<p>The sheriff willingly obliged the traders. So they fell upon the +prisoners like a bunch of vultures, feeling their arms and legs, +shaking them by the shoulders to see if they were sound and healthy, +making them jump up and down on one foot, examining their teeth, +examining their testicles.</p> + +<p>“This one, now,”—the trader was “going over” Frederick—“he’d go fine +with a piece I picked up last week. She’s swellin’ with heat. They’d +make a litter!”</p> + +<p>The two men laughed.</p> + +<p>“How’d you like to go with me, buck boy?” He kicked him lightly.</p> + +<p>Frederick, his rage choking him, did not answer.</p> + +<p>“Um—no tongue,” the second trader grunted.</p> + +<p>“Look at his eyes!” the first man said. “If I had ’im, I’d cut the +devil out of him pretty quick!”</p> + +<p>This went on for several days, with no further questions nor any +beatings. The suspense was terrible. The dream of freedom faded.</p> + +<p>Then one afternoon the master of Freelands appeared with Mr. Hamilton +and took away all the prisoners except Frederick. They were going back +with no further punishment. Old Missus had persuaded her son that this +was the just and correct course.</p> + +<p>“Nobody’s to blame but that hired boy! Bring our folks home!”</p> + +<p>He talked it over with Hamilton. For want of an alternative, he +assented.</p> + +<p>Freeland could not have explained to himself why he allowed them to +tell Frederick goodbye. All that his mother had said about him had been +proven true. He <i>was</i> dangerous. He was certain that this boy, +standing there so quietly, had planned an escape for his slaves. How +many were involved and where were they going? Why should they wish to +leave Freelands? They had far less to worry them than the master had—a +shelter over their heads, clothing, food. His mother nursed them when +they were sick. Their work was not heavy. He would have liked to ask +this boy some questions.</p> + +<p>It was evident that the others did not want to go. Henry clung to +Frederick’s arm, his big, ugly face working. He heard Sandy, who seldom +spoke, say, “Big tree bow in the wind. Big tree stand!”</p> + +<p>“I will not be forgettin’!” Frederick answered.</p> + +<p>They went away then and climbed into the waiting wagon. They were going +back in state—riding with one of Mr. Hamilton’s men driving the mules. +The masters were on horseback. Frederick, standing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> beside the barred +window, saw them wave as the wagon turned into the road.</p> + +<p>Alone in the prison Frederick gave way to complete misery. He felt +certain now that he was doomed to the ever-dreaded Georgia, Louisiana, +or Alabama. They would be coming for him now, to take him “down the +river.” Even in his despair he was glad that the others were not going +with him. At least they were no worse off than before their heads had +been filled with dreams of freedom. And now they could read. Eventually +they would get away. But he was too young to derive much comfort from +this thought—too young and too much alive.</p> + +<p>A long week passed, and then to Frederick’s joyful relief Captain Auld +came for his boy. In a loud voice he told the sheriff that he was +sending him off to Alabama to a friend of his.</p> + +<p>The sheriff looked at Frederick. Pity a clean-looking hand like that +couldn’t behave himself! He spat out a fresh cud of tobacco. It had +lost its taste.</p> + +<p>Frederick’s heart fell, but obediently he went with his master. The +next several days went by in comparative idleness on the Auld place +just outside St. Michaels. Frederick’s stature with the other slaves +had grown. By them he was treated as an honored guest, and in this +he found some comfort. But the Alabama friend did not put in an +appearance, and finally Captain Auld announced that he had decided to +send him back to Baltimore again, to live with his brother Hugh. He +told Frederick that he wanted him to learn a trade, and that if he +behaved himself properly he might emancipate him in time.</p> + +<p>Frederick could hardly believe his ears. The morning came when they +went into St. Michaels, and there he was placed in the custody of +the captain of a small clipper. They set sail over the waters of the +Chesapeake Bay toward Baltimore.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Five"><span class="smcap">Chapter Five</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>One more river to cross</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>On its way to the sea, the Patapsco River cuts through the old city +of Baltimore. Here the fall line—the point where the harder rocks of +the Piedmont meet the softer rocks of the coastal plain—moves close +to the coast, and the deep estuary affords a large sheltered harbor. +Baltimore was a divided city: by temperament, dreamily looking toward +the South; but, during business hours at least, briskly turning her +face to the North. The old English families seemed to be dwindling, and +the “upstarts” wanted business.</p> + +<p>Early in the nineteenth century, Baltimore became second only to New +York as port of entry for immigrants from Europe—Irish, Italians, +Greeks, Poles, Scandinavians. They spread out from Baltimore all +over Maryland. The increase of population in Baltimore, especially +foreign or non-British population, made the counties afraid. When +the Federalists were overthrown in 1819 the issue of apportioning +of delegates by population came up in the Assembly. It was defeated +because the counties refused to place the great agricultural state of +Maryland “at the feet of the merchants, the bank speculators, lottery +office keepers, the foreigners and the mob of Baltimore.”</p> + +<p>For many years this attitude helped to retard enfranchisement of Jews. +Not until 1826 were Jews allowed to vote. This was just two years after +thin, stoop-shouldered Benjamin Lundy came walking down out of the +backwoods of Tennessee, a printing press on his back, and began turning +out the <cite>Genius of Universal Emancipation</cite>, first antislavery +journal to appear in the whole country.</p> + +<p>After the “Jew Bill” got by, Baltimoreans paid more attention to +Lundy’s journal. There was talk of “outside influence”; and one day +Austin Woolfolk, a notoriously mean slave-trader, beat up the editor on +the street and nearly killed him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p> + +<p>The city’s business was expanding. Shipbuilding had started in the +Colonial days. With the new roads bringing in products from the west, +merchants were soon making shipments in their own vessels and the +town’s prominence as a seaport was assured. By 1810 the city had become +the third largest in America. The population had quadrupled since the +Declaration of Independence, mainly because of the maritime business. +Baltimore clippers brought coffee from South America, tea and opium +from China, and slaves from Africa.</p> + +<p>It was well known that smuggling sprang up, after the importation of +African slaves was made a felony. By 1826 the interstate traffic was +enormous. Boatloads of slaves, manacled together, were conveyed in +sailing vessels along the Atlantic and Gulf coasts to New Orleans, +great slave mart of the South. These cargoes of living freight were +listed openly in the papers with the regular shipping news. Law or +no law, the great city of Baltimore had little patience with “loose +talk” about so lucrative a market. A meddling outsider, William Lloyd +Garrison, was thrown in jail. Publication of the <cite>Genius</cite> ceased, +and all copies of the incendiary journal were destroyed. At least +that’s what the merchants thought. But old marked sheets had a way of +turning up in the queerest places!</p> + +<p>Even as a child—a slave child, following his young master from place +to place—Frederick had not been wholly unaware of the swelling, +pushing traffic of the growing city. As he sat on the school steps +waiting for Tommy to come out, he watched heavy carts go by on their +way to the wharf. Sometimes one would get stuck in the mud; and then, +while the mule pulled and backed, the “furriners” yelled funny-sounding +words. A stalk of sugar cane dropped from the load made a good find. +If it was not too large, Frederick would hide it until night. Then he +and Tommy would munch the sweet fiber, the little master in his bed, +the slave stretched out on the floor. The day came when the growing +boys slipped off to the wharves where vessels from the West Indies +discharged their freight of molasses, to gorge themselves on the stolen +sweet, extracted on a smooth stick inserted through a bunghole.</p> + +<p>Frederick had seen coffles of slaves trudge through Baltimore +streets—men and women and sometimes little children chained together. +The boys always stopped playing and stared after them.</p> + +<p>The year 1836 had been a good year for the South. Cotton was rolling +up into a gleaming ball—an avalanche which would one day bring ruin; +but now prices were soaring. On the June evening when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> Frederick sailed +into Baltimore’s harbor, tall masts of square-rigged vessels bowed and +dipped. They spoke to him of places in the far corners of the world; +they beckoned to him. He nodded, his heart leaping.</p> + +<p>He had left Baltimore a child; he returned a man. He looked around now, +thinking, evaluating, remembering places he must go, people he must +look up.</p> + +<p>But first, there was Mr. Hugh Auld waiting for him on wharf. Tommy was +nowhere in sight. Then he remembered. Tommy also was a man—a free, +white man. A little stab of pain shot through Frederick.</p> + +<p>Hugh Auld and his brother Thomas had come South to seek their fortunes. +Raised in Vermont, they had found the lush softness of Maryland very +pleasant. Employed by Colonel Lloyd on his rolling tidewater acres, +Hugh had in due time married the Colonel’s youngest daughter and set up +business in Baltimore. Hugh Auld had prospered. He was now part owner +of a shipyard. Soon it would be Auld & Son.</p> + +<p>“Good evening, Captain. I see you’ve got my boy.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Auld greeted the captain though Frederick had hurried forward, his +face alight.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; shipshape, sir. And not a mite of trouble.” Nantucket Bay +was more familiar to the captain than Chesapeake, but he liked the +southern waters and he found Baltimore people friendly. They stood +chatting a while and Frederick waited.</p> + +<p>“Well, I thank you.” Mr. Auld was adjusting his panama hat. “Now I’ll +be taking him off your hands.”</p> + +<p>“Go along, boy!” the Captain said.</p> + +<p>Mr. Auld stepped to the waiting rig, motioning Frederick to climb up +beside the driver, and they were off toward Lower Broadway. They wound +their way between warehouses, great piles of cotton bales and tobacco, +pyramided kegs of rum and stinking fish markets; and finally Mr. Auld +spoke.</p> + +<p>“So, Fred, we’re going to make a caulker out of you!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.” Frederick turned his head.</p> + +<p>“Well, you’re big and strong. Ought to make a good worker. Watch +yourself!”</p> + +<p>After that they drove in silence, the driver casting sidelong glances +at Frederick, neither slave saying anything. Their time to talk would +come later. The rig bumped over the cobblestones on Thames Street<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span> with +its shops and saloons, and came out into a pleasant residential section +of shuttered windows, dormered roofs and paneled doors.</p> + +<p>Here the June evening was lovely. They passed a fine old house beside +which a spreading magnolia tree, all in bloom, spilt its fragrance out +into the street. In gardens behind wrought-iron handrails children were +quietly playing. Young dandies passed along the sidewalks, parading +before demure young misses. On white stoop or behind green lattice, +the young ladies barely raised their eyes from their needlework. Negro +servants moved to and fro, wearing bright red bandanas and carrying +market baskets tilted easily on their heads. They passed a gray +cathedral and came to a small brick house with white marble steps and +white-arched vestibule.</p> + +<p>Frederick’s heart turned over. The house had been freshly painted, +the yard trimmed and cut. The place with its lace curtains had an air +of affluence which Frederick did not recall; but this had been the +nearest thing to a home that he had ever known, and he felt affection +for it. Was Tommy at home? After the master had descended, they drove +around back. There was the cellar door down which he and Tommy had +slid; the gnarled tree was gone. He wondered what Tommy had done with +the notebooks they had hid inside the trunk—those notebooks in which +Frederick had so painfully traced his young master’s letters. As they +climbed down from the rig Frederick, trying to keep the urgency from +his voice, turned to the boy.</p> + +<p>“Is Master—Master Tommy at home?”</p> + +<p>The black boy stared at him a moment without answering. Then he asked, +“Young Massa?” And at Frederick’s nod, “Yes—Massa Thomas, he hyear.”</p> + +<p>So it was “Master Thomas” now. Frederick checked his sigh as he smiled +at this boy of his own color.</p> + +<p>“My name’s Fred. What’s yours?” he said cordially.</p> + +<p>“I Jeb.” The boy answered immediately, but there was a puzzled look on +his face. They were unhitching the horse now. He cleared his throat and +burst out, “Say, yo’—Yo’ talks lak white folks. Huccome?”</p> + +<p>Frederick hesitated. Should he tell him about the notebooks and reading +lessons—that he and the Young Master had learned together? He decided +not. So he only laughed and said, “Fiddlesticks!”</p> + +<p>Jeb studied the newcomer covertly as they went inside. He liked this +Fred—liked the way he looked at you—liked the way he walked; but Jeb +recognized that here was something to think about.</p> + +<p>The ugly, gaunt woman at the stove turned when they entered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span> the +kitchen. She did not smile, and Frederick felt her dark eyes, set deep +in bony sockets, take him in from head to foot. Then she motioned them +to places at the scrubbed pine board. They sat down on stools.</p> + +<p>“Hit’s Nada.” Jeb leaned forward and whispered. “She free! She free +’oman!”</p> + +<p>Now it was Frederick’s turn to stare at the big woman. She moved +slowly, clumsily, as if the springs of her body were giving way. The +deep ridges of her face were pitted with smallpox, the scars extending +from her eyes to the wide sad space of her mouth. But she was free, and +Frederick looked at her with envy.</p> + +<p>There were several hundred “free people of color” in Baltimore at +this time. Their lot was one of inconceivable hardship. Yet no slave +having purchased or having been granted his freedom ever voluntarily +went back into slavery. Under the laws of the state, he had no rights +as a citizen. At times he was restrained from working at certain +occupations, from selling tobacco and other commodities without a +certificate from the justice of peace. He couldn’t keep a dog, carry +firearms, belong to a secret order, or sell spirituous liquors. The +mere word of a white man could convict the Negro of any offense. And +punishment was swift and severe.</p> + +<p>These people did what work they could for the smallest possible +wages—as caulkers in the shipyards, hod carriers, dock workers. A few +were good bricklayers and carpenters. No matter what their work, they +had to take what they were given. Therefore, they were despised and +hated by white workers who were often ousted by this cheaper labor. +The rising merchant and business class of the city found it cheaper to +employ such help for a few cents a week than to buy slaves to work in +their homes. A master had some responsibility for his slave’s upkeep. +He had none for his “paid servants.” So, Nada worked for Mrs. Hugh Auld +from six o’clock in the morning until eight or nine at night. Then she +disappeared down the alley—no one ever bothered to find out where.</p> + +<p>After supper Mrs. Auld came back to speak to Frederick. She was a Lloyd +and remembered Frederick’s grandmother. Now she asked after her foster +sister, Captain Auld’s wife, whom she had not seen for many years. She +had a moment of nostalgia for those girlhood days on the plantation, +and patted his arm.</p> + +<p>“You’ve grown to be a fine, upstanding boy,” she said. “We’re proud of +you!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></p> + +<p>Master Thomas did not come.</p> + +<p>It was not until the next afternoon when he had been set to work in the +shipyard that he heard a pleasant voice at his elbow.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Fred! They tell me you’re going to build ships.”</p> + +<p>He looked up at the tall, clean young man in his tailored suit. He +tried to smile.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Massa Thomas,” he said, but his voice was gruff.</p> + +<p>Something like a veil slipped over the white man’s face. They stood +there a moment facing each other. And the cloud, which in their boyhood +had been no larger than a man’s hand, now enveloped them. Frederick +hardly heard his words as he turned away.</p> + +<p>“Well—Good luck! So long!”</p> + +<p>Frederick never saw him again. A few days afterward Thomas Auld sailed +on one of his father’s ships. A year later he was drowned in a gale off +the coast of Calcutta.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>William Gardiner, big shipbuilder on Fells Point, was having trouble. +Some time before he had put down demands for higher wages in his yard +by peremptorily hiring a number of colored mechanics and carpenters.</p> + +<p>“And damned good mechanics!” he had pointedly informed his foreman. +“Now you can tell those blasted micks, kikes and dagos they can leave +any time they don’t like what we’re paying.”</p> + +<p>Labor organizations were getting troublesome in Baltimore, but so far +he had been fairly lucky in getting around them. He shuddered, however, +looking into the bleak future. He’d better save all the money he could +now by hiring more cheap niggers.</p> + +<p>The white workers had swallowed their disappointment. Some of the more +skilled did leave, swearing vengeance, but most of them hung on to +their jobs.</p> + +<p>“If we could only kill off these niggers!”</p> + +<p>They did what they could, seriously injuring several, and bided their +time.</p> + +<p>Their chance came when Gardiner ambitiously contracted to build two +large man-of-war vessels, professedly for the Mexican government. It +was a rush job. The vessels were to be launched in August. Failure +to do so would cause the shipbuilder to forfeit a very considerable +sum of money. Work was speeded up. Some of the blacks were given jobs +requiring the highest skill.</p> + +<p>Then, all at once, the white carpenters swore they would no longer work +beside the freedmen.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span></p> + +<p>William Gardiner saw his money sinking to the bottom of Chesapeake Bay. +Frantic, he appealed to his friend and associate, Hugh Auld. The small +shipbuilder was flattered. Gardiner was a powerful man. Mr. Auld took +the matter under consideration and came up with a solution.</p> + +<p>“Let some of the niggers go,” he said. “Then take over a lot of +apprentices—whites and blacks. Work them at top speed under good +supervision. You’ll pull through.”</p> + +<p>The older man frowned, pulling at his stubby mustache.</p> + +<p>“Oh, come now.” Mr. Auld clapped his friend on the back. “I’ve got +several good boys I can let you have.”</p> + +<p>Frederick was one of the apprentices sent to the Fells Point shipyard. +He had worked hard and under very good instruction. But when he arrived +at Gardiner’s yard he found himself in a very different situation.</p> + +<p>Here everything was hurry and drive. His section had about a hundred +men; of these, seventy or eighty were regular carpenters—privileged +men. There was no time for a raw hand to learn anything. Frederick was +directed to do whatever the carpenters told him. This placed him at the +beck and call of about seventy-five men. He was to regard all of them +as his masters. He was called a dozen ways in the space of a single +minute. He needed a dozen pairs of hands.</p> + +<p>“Boy, come help me cant this here timber.”</p> + +<p>“Boy, bring that roller here!”</p> + +<p>“Hold on the end of this fall.”</p> + +<p>“Hullo, nigger! Come turn this grindstone.”</p> + +<p>“Run bring me a cold chisel!”</p> + +<p>“I say, darky, blast your eyes! Why don’t you heat up some pitch?”</p> + +<p>It went on hour after hour. “Halloo! Halloo! Halloo!”—“Come here—go +there—hold on where you are.” “Damn you, if you move I’ll knock your +brains out!”</p> + +<p>Although Frederick was only an apprentice, he was one of the hated +threats to their security. They had no mercy on him. The white +apprentices felt it degrading to work with him. Encouraged by the +workmen, they began talking contemptuously about “the niggers,” saying +they wanted to “take over the country” and that they ought to be +“killed off.”</p> + +<p>One day the powder keg exploded.</p> + +<p>It was a hot afternoon. Frederick had just lowered a heavy timber into +place. Someone called him. He stepped back quickly, jostling against +Edward North, meanest bully of them all. North struck him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> viciously. +Whereupon, with one sweep, Frederick picked up the white fellow and +threw him down hard upon the deck.</p> + +<p>They set on him in a pack. One came in front, armed with a brick, one +at each side, and one behind. They closed in, and Frederick, knowing he +was fighting now for his life, struck out on all sides at once. A heavy +blow with a handspike brought him down among the timbers. They rushed +him then and began to pound him with their fists. He lay for a moment +gathering strength, then rose suddenly to his knees, throwing them off. +Just as he did this one of their number planted a blow with his boot in +Frederick’s left eye. When they saw his face covered with blood there +was a pause.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile scores of men looked on at this battle of four against one.</p> + +<p>“Kill him!” they shouted. “Kill the nigger. He hit a white boy!”</p> + +<p>Frederick was staggering, but he grabbed up a handspike and charged. +This time they were taken by surprise. But then several of the +carpenters grabbed Frederick and held him powerless. He was sobbing +with rage. What could he do against fifty men—laughing, jeering, +cursing him? At that moment the division superintendent was seen coming +to investigate the uproar. They thinned out. Taking advantage of the +lull, Frederick dropped over the side of the hull and escaped from the +yard. He knew he would find no justice at the hands of the authorities +there.</p> + +<p>Bleeding and battered, he made his way home, nearly frightening the +wits out of Jeb. At Nada’s call, Mrs. Auld came running to the kitchen. +She had them carry him to his attic room, and herself saw that his +wounds were bathed. She bound up his battered eye with a piece of fresh +beef.</p> + +<p>“The brutes! The beastly brutes!” she kept saying while she rubbed his +head with ointment.</p> + +<p>There was no question about Mr. Auld’s reaction when he reached home +that evening. He was furious. It never entered his head that his +friend, William Gardiner, was in any way to blame. He heaped curses on +the shipyard ruffians; it might well be some “Irish plot,” and he was +going to see that the scoundrels were punished.</p> + +<p>Just as soon as Frederick was somewhat recovered from his bruises, +Mr. Auld took him to Esquire Watson’s office on Bond Street, with a +view to procuring the arrest of the four workers. The Master gave the +magistrate an account of the outrage. Mr. Watson, sitting quietly with +folded hands, heard him through.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> + +<p>“And who saw this assault of which you speak, Mr. Auld?” he coolly +inquired.</p> + +<p>“It was done, sir, in the presence of a shipyard full of hands.”</p> + +<p>The magistrate shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot move in this matter, except upon the oath +of white witnesses.”</p> + +<p>“But here’s my boy. Look at his head and face!” Mr. Auld was losing his +temper.</p> + +<p>“I am not authorized to do anything unless white witnesses come forward +and testify on oath as to what took place.”</p> + +<p>For one flashing moment the veil was torn from Hugh Auld’s eyes. His +blood froze with horror. It would have been the same had the boy been +killed! He took Frederick by the arm and spoke roughly.</p> + +<p>“Let’s get out of here!”</p> + +<p>For several days Hugh Auld fussed and fumed. He went to call on Mr. +Gardiner. The big shipbuilder received the younger man coolly.</p> + +<p>“You’re loosing your head, Auld,” he observed shrewdly, “and you’re +following a line that may cause you to lose your shirt. Do you think +I’m going to upset my shipyard because one fresh nigger got his head +cracked? I’ve got contracts to fill.”</p> + +<p>“But—” Mr. Auld’s confidence was oozing out.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” continued Mr. Gardiner, still cold, “I’ll compensate you +for any expense you’ve had. Did you have to get a doctor to patch him +up?” He reached for his wallet.</p> + +<p>Outside, with the August sun blistering the boardwalks, Hugh Auld +shivered.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Before the year had passed it was decided that Frederick would be more +valuable to his master as a journeyman caulker than working in his +small shipyard. He was therefore allowed to seek paying employment. He +was in the enviable position of being able to pick his job and demand +wages. He was known as “Hugh Auld’s boy” and was reputed remarkably +bright and dependable. He made his own contracts and collected his +earnings, bringing in six and seven dollars a week during the busy +season. At the end of some weeks he turned over nine dollars to his +master.</p> + +<p>Frederick congratulated himself. His lot was improving. Now he could +increase his little stock of education. On the Eastern Shore he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> had +been the teacher. As soon as he had got work in Baltimore, he began +looking up colored people who could teach him. So it happened that he +heard about the East Baltimore Mental Improvement Society and met a +free colored girl named Anna Murray.</p> + +<p>The Oblate Sisters of Providence had been attracted by dark-eyed, +slender Anna Murray. Madame Montell herself had brought the girl to +the side door of St. Mary’s Seminary. She told the sisters she was of +free parentage and employed in her household. Madame wished the girl +carefully instructed.</p> + +<p>Then Madame Montell died. And the weeping girl was told that she +had been provided with a dowry—a great feather bed, eider-down +pillows, some real silver and linen, dishes. Her heart was filled with +gratitude. Madame’s relatives did not deprive the faithful girl of her +wealth. They had packed a trunk for her and seen her safely installed +with the nice Wells family on South Carolina Street. All this before +they returned to their beloved France, where Madame had once planned to +take Anna.</p> + +<p>The Wellses were not French, but they were gentle people and Anna was +not unhappy with them.</p> + +<p>Anna was a great favorite among the free Negroes of Baltimore. She had +had access to Madame’s books, and anything she said was likely to start +an inspiring line of thought. The Negroes from Haiti were drawn to her. +She understood their French, though she herself seldom tried to speak +it.</p> + +<p>In spite of the staggering obstacles, groups of free Negroes did manage +to sustain themselves even within the boundaries of slave states. They +ran small businesses, owned property, were trusted in good jobs. In +the 1790’s statesmen from Washington and merchants from Richmond and +Atlanta came to Baltimore to buy the clocks of Benjamin Banneker, Negro +clockmaker.</p> + +<p>Any meeting of Negroes was safest in a church. The whites readily +encouraged religious fervor among the “childlike” blacks. “Slaves, +obey your masters” was a Biblical text constantly upon the lips of the +devout. Over all blacks the ease and glories of heaven were sprayed +like ether to deaden present pain. It was especially good for free +Negroes to have lots of religion.</p> + +<p>The East Baltimore Mental Improvement Society usually met in the +African Methodist Episcopal Church on Sharp Street. Having carefully +established their purpose by lusty singing and a long, rolling prayer, +watchers were set and copies of the <cite>Freedom’s Journal</cite>,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> +published in New York, or a newer paper called the <cite>Liberator</cite>, +were brought out.</p> + +<p>One evening a group of shipyard workers from Fells Point had something +to say. They wanted to present a new name for membership.</p> + +<p>“He is a young man of character,” their spokesman said.</p> + +<p>“A good caulker, steady and industrious,” added his companion.</p> + +<p>“He writes and ciphers well,” put in another.</p> + +<p>“Invite this newcomer, by all means.” The chairman spoke cordially. +“What is his name?”</p> + +<p>There was a moment of embarrassment among the Fells Point workers.</p> + +<p>“He is—He is still a—slave.”</p> + +<p>A horribly scarred old man with only one leg spat contemptuously. He +had been one of the followers of Gabriel in the Virginian insurrection. +He had seen the twenty-four-year-old giant die without a word. He +himself had been one of the four slaves condemned to die, who had +escaped. Now, he had little patience with “strong young men” who were +content to remain slaves.</p> + +<p>“Let ’im be!” He rumbled deep in his throat.</p> + +<p>One of the caulkers turned to him. He spoke with deference, but with +conviction.</p> + +<p>“Daddy Ben, I have seen him fight. He is a man!”</p> + +<p>“His name?” asked the chairman.</p> + +<p>“He is known as Frederick.”</p> + +<p>So Frederick was admitted to membership. At his first meeting he sat +silent, listening. He felt very humble when these men and women rose to +their feet and read or spoke. His head whirled. It seemed that he could +not bear any more when a young woman, whom he had noticed sitting very +quietly in a corner, rose. She held a paper in her hand, and when she +spoke her voice was low and musical. At first he heard only that music. +He shook himself and tried to attend to what she was saying.</p> + +<p>“This third edition of the <cite>Appeal</cite> has been wholly reset and +contains many corrections and important additions. David Walker is +dead, but let us remember that his words are addressed to us, to every +one of us. Remember the preamble to his four articles, his own words +‘To the Colored Citizens of the World, but in particular, and very +expressly, to those of the United States of America.’ The hour is too +late for you to hear the entire text of his final message. But in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span> this +time of great stress and discouragement I should like to call your +attention to this one paragraph.”</p> + +<p>And then, standing close to the smoking oil lamp, she read from the +paper in her hand:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“For although the destruction of the oppressors God may not effect by +the oppressed, yet the Lord our God will bring other destruction upon +them, for not infrequently will He cause them to rise up one against +the other, to be split, divided, and to oppress each other. And +sometimes to open hostilities with sword in hand.”</p> +</div> + +<p>She sat down then amid complete and thoughtful silence. The meeting +broke up. They dispersed quickly, not loitering on the street, not +walking together. But first Frederick buttonholed his friend from Fells +Point.</p> + +<p>“What’s her name?” he whispered. His friend knew whom he meant.</p> + +<p>“Anna Murray.”</p> + +<p>The bonds of slavery bit deeper than before. The calm, sweet face of +Anna Murray shimmered in his dreams. He had to be free!</p> + +<p>He was living and working among free men, in all respects equal to them +in performance. Why then should he be a slave? He was earning a dollar +and a half a day. He contracted for it, worked for it, collected it. +It was paid to him. Turning this money over to Mr. Auld each Saturday +became increasingly painful. He could see no reason why, at the end of +each week, he should pour the rewards of his toil into the purse of a +master.</p> + +<p>It is quite possible that Mr. Auld sensed some of this rebellion, +though not its intensity. Each time he carefully counted the money and +each time he looked searchingly at the young man and asked, “Is that +all?”</p> + +<p>It would not do to let the boy consider himself too profitable. On the +other hand, when the sum was extra large he usually gave him back a +sixpence or shilling along with a kindly pat.</p> + +<p>This dole did not have the intended effect. The slave took it as an +admission of his right to the whole sum. In giving him a few cents the +master was easing his conscience.</p> + +<p>Frederick could not think what to do. At this rate he could not even +<i>buy</i> his freedom. To escape he needed money. His free friends +offered a suggestion: that he solicit the privilege of buying his +time.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> It was not uncommon in the large cities. A slave who was +considered trustworthy could, by paying his master a definite sum at +the end of each week, dispose of his time as he liked.</p> + +<p>Frederick decided to wait until his actual master, Captain Auld, came +up to Baltimore to make his spring purchases. Master Hugh was only +acting as the Captain’s agent, but Frederick was confident that the +report concerning him given to the Captain would be a good one.</p> + +<p>In this he was not disappointed. Captain Auld was told that his slave +had learned well, had worked diligently. But when Frederick presented +his request, the Captain’s face turned red.</p> + +<p>“No!” he shouted. “And none of your monkey business!”</p> + +<p>He studied the slave’s gloomy face. His own eyes narrowed.</p> + +<p>“Get this through your black skull. You can’t run away! There’s no +place you can go that I won’t find you and drag you back.” His voice +was grim. “Next time I won’t be so easy. It’ll be the river!”</p> + +<p>He meant he’d “sell him down the river.” Frederick turned away.</p> + +<p>“Give ’em an inch and they want an ell,” grumbled the Captain to his +brother.</p> + +<p>Hugh Auld shook his head sympathetically. He was having his own +troubles. Along with a lot of other speculators he was beginning to +doubt the wisdom of his “sure” investments. He had taken out stock +in both the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad and the Chesapeake and Ohio +Canal. Now there were dire whispers of an impending crash. The Bank of +Maryland had closed—temporarily, of course—but the weeks were passing +and business was falling off.</p> + +<p>Therefore, when, a month later, Frederick came to him with the same +proposition, he said he would think about it. Jobs for journeymen +caulkers were going to be fewer, wages were coming down. He had this +big hulk of a fellow on his hands. No telling what would happen within +the next months. Let him try himself. He told Frederick he could have +all his time on the following terms: he would be required to pay his +master three dollars at the end of each week, board and clothe himself +and buy his own caulking tools. Failure in any of these particulars +would put an end to the privilege.</p> + +<p>His words staggered Frederick. The week just ended had not been good. +He had worked only four and a half days. That meant there would be no +sixpence for him tonight. They were standing in the kitchen. Frederick +had been eating when the master came in.</p> + +<p>“Well? Speak up?”</p> + +<p>Frederick watched his week’s earning go into the small black<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span> pouch. A +slight movement from Nada at the stove caused him to look at her. She +was forming the word “Yes” with her lips, nodding her head vigorously +at him. Mr. Auld spoke complacently.</p> + +<p>“You see, being your own boss means more than just keeping your money. +Do you want your time or don’t you?”</p> + +<p>Frederick’s face did not change expression, but he squared his +shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” he said to Mr. Auld. “I’ll take my time.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. You can start Monday.” The master joined his wife in the +living room. She did not like what he told her.</p> + +<p>“You shouldn’t let him,” she frowned over her mending. “They can’t look +out after themselves. It’s wicked!”</p> + +<p>“He’ll be back.” Mr. Auld settled himself comfortably in his favorite +chair. “The young buck’s restless. This will be a good lesson to him.”</p> + +<p>Back in the kitchen Frederick turned worried eyes on Nada. She gave him +one of her rare smiles.</p> + +<p>“No worry!” she said. “Yo’ come live by me.”</p> + +<p>Jeb was appalled. Frederick had taught him to read, and he regarded the +young man with something akin to adoration. That night in their attic +room they talked.</p> + +<p>“Yo’ gonna run away! Yo’ gonna run away!” All the terrors of pursuing +hounds, starvation and dragging chains choked the boy’s voice.</p> + +<p>“Hush!” Frederick gripped his shoulder. Then he whispered fiercely, “Do +you want to be a slave all your life?”</p> + +<p>“No! Oh, Jesus! No!” He began to sob.</p> + +<p>“Then keep still—and let me go!”</p> + +<p>The boy gulped piteously. He put his mouth close to Frederick’s ear.</p> + +<p>“Take me wid yo’, Fred, take me wid yo’! I not feared.” But Frederick +pushed him away gently.</p> + +<p>“Don’t talk. Wait!”</p> + +<p>“Yo’ not forget me?”</p> + +<p>And Frederick promised. “I will not forget.”</p> + +<p>The following evening when Nada disappeared down the alley, Frederick +was with her.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Events now moved rapidly. The entire membership of the East Baltimore +Mental Improvement Society was concerned with Frederick.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> They all knew +what he was trying to do. The caulkers were on the alert for any extra +jobs, older men advised, and Anna Murray’s eyes began to glow softly. +Sometimes Frederick entered into the discussions at the meeting now, +but usually he sat silent, listening. Afterward he walked home with +Anna, avoiding the lighted streets. And he poured into her willing ear +his whole mad scheme. The stringent cordon thrown around Baltimore to +prevent slaves from escaping demanded a bold plan. Frederick knew that +he had to get well away or he would surely be captured, and he knew +that a second failure would be fatal.</p> + +<p>The railroad from Baltimore to Philadelphia was under such rigid +regulations that even free colored travelers were practically excluded. +They had to carry free papers on their persons—papers describing +the name, age, color, height and form of the traveler, especially +any scars or other marks he had. Negroes were measured and carefully +examined before they could enter the cars, and they could only go in +the daytime. The steamboats had similar rules. British seamen of color +were forbidden to land at Southern ports. An American seaman of African +descent was required to have always on him a “sailor’s protection,” +describing the bearer and certifying to the fact that he was a free +American sailor.</p> + +<p>One night Frederick was introduced to a sailor who appeared to be well +known to the group. The older ones, standing round, studied the two +young men talking together. Then Daddy Ben said briefly, “It will do!”</p> + +<p>After that Frederick spent every moment away from his work in the +sailor’s company. They leaned over bars in crowded saloons off Lower +Broadway and swapped talk with old salts who had not yet recovered +their land legs. They swore at the fresh young landlubber, but his +friend, laughing heartily, warded off their blows.</p> + +<p>On the last Sunday in August, as was his custom, Frederick reported +with his three dollars.</p> + +<p>“I’m taking Mrs. Auld to the country over next Sunday,” Mr. Auld said. +“This awful heat is bad for her. Come in next Monday.”</p> + +<p>Frederick knew the time had come. He reported at each place punctually +that week. He took every extra job he could find. Sunday evening he +slipped into the little garden behind the house on South Carolina +Street. Anna was waiting.</p> + +<p>“Take care! Oh, take care!” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“You’ll be getting a letter from up North—soon!” he boasted.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span></p> + +<p>The next morning the Philadelphia train was puffing into the Baltimore +and Ohio station when a swaggering young sailor strode across the +platform. Several Negro passengers stood in a huddled group to one +side. All had passed their examinations. The impatient young sailor +did not join them. His bell-bottom trousers flopped about his legs, +the black cravat fastened loosely about his neck was awry, and he +pushed his tarpaulin hat back on his head, as he peered anxiously up +the street. The conductor had yelled “All aboard!” when a ramshackle +old hack drew up. The sailor ran to it, flung open the door before +the stupid old hackman could move, and grabbed a big, battered bag, +plastered with many labels and tied with strong hemp.</p> + +<p>“Damn you!” cursed the sailor, “yo’ makin’ me miss ma ship!”</p> + +<p>He sprinted for the last car of the train, leaving the blinking old +hackman unpaid. The conductor laughed.</p> + +<p>The train was well on the way to Havre de Grace before the conductor +reached the last car to collect tickets and look over the colored +folks’ papers. This was rather perfunctory, since he knew they had +all been examined at the station. He chuckled as he spied the sailor +slumped in a back seat, already fast asleep. Bet he’d made a night of +it—several nights, no doubt! Probably overstayed his time and knew the +brig irons were waiting for him. <i>Oh, well, niggers don’t care.</i> +So long as they had their whiskey and women! He shook the sailor +playfully. Frederick stared up at him, blinking.</p> + +<p>“All right, sailor boy, your ticket!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, <i>suh</i>.” Frederick fumbled in his blouse, producing a not too +clean bit of cardboard. He appeared to be groggy.</p> + +<p>“I reckon you got your free papers?”</p> + +<p>The fellow showed the whites of his eyes. He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No, suh. Ah nevah carries mah papahs to sea wid me.”</p> + +<p>“But you do have something to show you’re a free man, haven’t you?”</p> + +<p>The sailor’s face beamed.</p> + +<p>“Yes, <i>suh</i>. Ah got a papah right hyear wid da ’Merican eagle +right on hit. Dat little ole bird carries me round da world!”</p> + +<p>From somewhere about himself he drew out a paper and unfolded it +carefully. The conductor immediately recognized it as a sailor’s +protection. He looked at the spread American eagle at its head, nodded +and went on down the aisle.</p> + +<p>Frederick’s hand was trembling as he folded the paper. It called for +a man much darker than himself. Close examination would have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> brought +about not only his arrest, but the arrest and severe punishment of the +sailor who had lent it to him.</p> + +<p>The danger was not over. After Maryland they passed through Delaware, +another slave state, where slave-catchers would be awaiting their prey. +It was at the borders that they were most vigilant.</p> + +<p>They reached Havre de Grace, where the Susquehanna River had to be +crossed by ferry. Frederick was making his way to the rail so that he +could stand with his back to the other passengers, when he literally +bumped into Henry!</p> + +<p>Henry saw him first. In a second the big fellow pushed him violently +to one side; and so Mr. William Freeland did not catch a glimpse of +the young sailor. A sailor who no longer swaggered but whose legs +hardly managed to bear him up as he clung to the rail. On shore Henry, +watching the ferry pull away from the dock, was also trembling.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with you, Henry?” asked Mr. Freeland. The fellow +looked as if he was going to be sick.</p> + +<p>“Nothin’, suh! Nothin’ at all!” Henry answered quickly.</p> + +<p>On the other side of the river Frederick ran into a new danger. A +German blacksmith for whom he had worked only a few days before looked +him full in the face. Two trains had stopped on tracks next to each +other—one going south, the other going north. The blacksmith was +returning to Baltimore. The windows were open and Frederick, sitting +close to his window, was bareheaded. The German opened his mouth. Then +his face froze like Frederick’s. He flicked ashes from his big cigar +and turned away from the window.</p> + +<p>Frederick sank back into his seat, closed his eyes and pulled his hat +over his face as if he were asleep.</p> + +<p>The last danger point, and the one he dreaded most, was Wilmington. +Here he had to leave the train and take the steamboat for Philadelphia. +It was an hour of torture, but no one stopped him; and finally he was +out on the broad and beautiful Delaware on his way to the Quaker City.</p> + +<p>He had eaten nothing and his head felt very light as he stood on the +deck. He knew that never would he see anything so beautiful as that +river. Yet he dared not relax one moment of watchfulness.</p> + +<p>They reached Philadelphia late in the afternoon. The sky was a crimson +glow as he stepped first upon free soil. He wanted to shout and sing, +but he had been warned not to pause until he reached New York—there +only might he savor the taste of freedom. He asked the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> first colored +man he saw in Philadelphia how he could get to New York. The man +directed him to the Willow Street depot. He went there at once, and +had no trouble buying a ticket. During the several hours’ wait for his +train, he did not leave the station. It seemed as if the train would +never come, but at last he was safely aboard.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>He thought something was wrong. It was still dark, but all the +passengers were getting off. He was afraid to ask questions.</p> + +<p>“Come on, sailor!” the conductor said. And when he looked up stupidly, +the conductor added, “It’s the ferry. You have to take the ferry over +to Manhattan.”</p> + +<p>He watched the skyline of New York come up out of the dawn. The hoarse +whistles along the waterfront made a song; the ships’ bells rang +out freedom. He walked across the gangplank, set his battered bag +down on the wharf and looked back. The busy river was like a crowded +thoroughfare. A barefoot Negro had leaned against a pile, watching him.</p> + +<p>“What river is this, boy?” Frederick asked. The boy stared.</p> + +<p>“That’s tha Hudson River. Where you come from, sailor?”</p> + +<p>The fugitive from slavery’s Eastern Shore smiled.</p> + +<p>“A long way, boy. I’ve crossed a heap of rivers!”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Then, early in the morning of September 4, 1838, he walked up into New +York City. He was free!</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Part_II">Part II</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>THE LIGHTNING</i><br> +</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And what man moves but on the crest of history!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The spark flashes from each to each.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The incandescence fuses—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Blooms out of the ghetto pit—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Roars to the sky—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fans into a fiery liberty tree</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Showering its seed to the last beaches of the embattled earth!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p class="right"> +—<span class="smcap">Harry Granick</span><br> +</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Six"><span class="smcap">Chapter Six</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Is this a thing, or can it be a man?</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>Freedom is a hard-bought thing! Frederick expected to remain in New +York. He was free, he had money in his pocket, he would find work. +He had no plans beyond reaching this big city, where there were +Abolitionists who printed papers calling for the freeing of the slaves, +and many free Negroes. Here he could work in safety.</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr">Voila!</i>” murmured a little French seamstress, peeping through +the slits of her blinds as the jaunty figure came in view. She +had seen such stepping before, such lifting of the head, such a +singing with the shoulders. She remembered free men marching into +the Place de la Concorde. She smiled and hummed a few bars of the +“<i lang="fr">Marseillaise</i>.” “<i lang="fr">Allons, enfants.... Marchons....</i>” She +threw the shutters open. What a beautiful morning!</p> + +<p>But Frederick didn’t find work that first day. By nightfall he was +feeling uneasy. Job-hunting had brought him up against an unexpected +wall. The colored people he saw seemed to be avoiding him. He walked +straight up to the next Negro he saw and spoke to him. From his +bespattered appearance, and his pail and brush, Frederick judged the +man to be a house painter.</p> + +<p>“Good evening, mister! Could you tell me where I might find a place to +stay? I just got here and—”</p> + +<p>The man’s eyes in his sunken, dark face were rolling in every direction +at once.</p> + +<p>“Lemme be. I donno nothin’.” He was moving on, but Frederick blocked +his path.</p> + +<p>“Look, mister, I only want—”</p> + +<p>The man’s tones were belligerent, though his voice was low.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span></p> + +<p>“Donno nothin’ ’bout you, sailor. An’ I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’!”</p> + +<p>Frederick watched him disappear around a corner. As night came on he +followed a couple of sailors into a smoke-filled eating place. There he +ate well, served by a swarthy, good-natured fellow, whose father that +day had picked olives on a hillside overlooking Rome. Garlic, coarse +laughter, warmth and the tangy smell of seamen mingled in the dimly +lighted room. Some of the men lifted their foamy mugs in greeting as +Frederick sank into a corner. He waved back. But he hurried through his +meal, not daring to linger long for fear of betraying himself.</p> + +<p>He walked aimlessly in the gathering gloom. He thought a lamplighter, +lifting his wick to the corner lamp, eyed him suspiciously. Frederick +turned down a dimmer thoroughfare. He was tired. The suitcase was heavy.</p> + +<p>Across the street a bearded seaman took his stubby pipe from between +his teeth and looked after the solitary figure. <i>Young sailors do not +carry heavy suitcases, bumping against their legs!</i> The man grunted, +crossed the street and came up behind the young man. He spoke softly.</p> + +<p>“Hi, sailor!”</p> + +<p>With a start Frederick turned. Now it was his turn to hesitate. In the +fading light he could not distinguish whether the face behind the thick +beard was white or colored. So he only answered, “Hi, yo’self!”</p> + +<p>The stranger fell in beside him. “When’d you get in?”</p> + +<p>“Yesterday. Up from the West Indies.” The answer came easily. +<i>But</i>, the seaman thought to himself, <i>it’s the wrong +answer</i>. Out of the corner of his eye he studied the young man and +threw out another question.</p> + +<p>“What’s your ship?”</p> + +<p>Frederick was well prepared for this question.</p> + +<p>“The <i>Falcon</i>.”</p> + +<p>They walked along in silence, the bearded seaman puffing his pipe. +Frederick waited.</p> + +<p>“Might you be headin’ toward the—north star?”</p> + +<p>Frederick’s heart leaped. The words could have only one meaning. Yet +was this man friend or foe? Dared he trust him?</p> + +<p>“I hear tell the north star leads us straight,” he said.</p> + +<p>The stranger took Frederick’s arm.</p> + +<p>“It has led you well. Come!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p> + +<p>In the little house on Centre Street, Frederick met Tom Stuart’s +mother, a bright-eyed little woman who greeted him warmly. But hardly +could he blurt out an outline of his story before he had fallen +asleep—for the first time in nearly forty-eight hours.</p> + +<p>Then Tom Stuart went quickly to the corner of Lispenard and Church +Streets and knocked on the door of David Ruggles, secretary of the New +York Vigilance Committee.</p> + +<p>“You are right,” said the secretary, when he heard what the seaman had +to say. “He is not safe here.”</p> + +<p>“New York’s full of Southerners. They’re beginning to come back from +the watering-places now,” Stuart added.</p> + +<p>“Looking for work down on the waterfront, he’ll be caught.”</p> + +<p>The scar on Ruggles’ black face twisted into a smile.</p> + +<p>“God’s providence protected him today. Now we must do our part and get +him away.” He covered his sightless eyes with his hand and sat thinking.</p> + +<p>David Ruggles had been born free. He was schooled, alert, and he had +courage. But once he had dared too much for his own good. In Ohio an +irate slave-chaser’s whip had cut across his face. Its thongs had torn +at his eyes, and he would never see again. But the slave whom he was +helping to escape had got away. And David Ruggles had said, “My eyes +for a man’s life? We were the winners!”</p> + +<p>The seaman cleared his throat.</p> + +<p>“There is a girl—a freewoman. She is to meet him here.”</p> + +<p>The secretary frowned.</p> + +<p>“Good heavens! Haven’t we enough to do without managing love trysts?”</p> + +<p>Tom Stuart grinned in the darkness as he walked home. He knew the heart +of this black man. He would show no sign of annoyance the next morning +when he welcomed the young fugitive.</p> + +<p>As for Frederick, he wanted to kiss the hands of this blind man +when they clasped his own so firmly. <i>An agent of the Underground +Railroad! Underground Railroad!</i>—a whisper up and down the Eastern +Shore. Now Frederick was to hear them spoken aloud.</p> + +<p>The increasing numbers of slaves who were escaping, in spite of +the rigid cordons thrown round the slave states and the terrifying +penalties for failure in the attempt, gave rise to wild rumors. The +bayous of Louisiana, the backlands of Alabama and Mississippi, the +swamps of Florida and the mountains of the Atlantic states, seemed to +suck them in like a man-eating plant. People said there was a colony<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span> +of blacks deep in the Florida scrub, where they lived a life of ease +far inside the bayous that no white man could penetrate. Another group, +so they said, raised crops on the broad flat plains that ran toward the +border of Georgia; and two thousand more hid inside the dismal swamps +of Virginia, coming out to trade with Negroes and whites.</p> + +<p>There was no denying the fact that Negroes showed up across the border +of Canada with surprising regularity—slaves from the rice fields of +Georgia and South Carolina, the tobacco lands of Virginia and Maryland, +and the cotton fields of Alabama.</p> + +<p>“One thousand slaves a year disappear!” John Calhoun thundered in +Congress. “They go as if swallowed up by an underground passage.”</p> + +<p>The idea caught on. Young America expanding—passages opening to new +territory. To a people still using the stagecoach, trains symbolized +daring and adventure. An underground railway to freedom! Men cocked +their hats rakishly, cut off their mustaches and tightened the holsters +at their belts; small shopkeepers put heavy padlocks on their doors +and slipped out to meetings; tall, lean men wearing linen and nankeen +pantaloons—sons of planters among them—emptied their mint juleps and +climbed into the saddle; the devout Quaker put a marker in his Bible +and dug a new deep cellar underneath his house, partitioned off rooms +with false walls and laid in fresh supplies of thick wide cloaks and +long black veils.</p> + +<p>What more natural than that slaves down in their quarters sang, <i>Dat +train comin’, hit’s comin’ round da bend!</i> and <i>Git on board, lil’ +chillun, git on board!</i></p> + +<p>The “train” might be a skiff, securely fastened under overhanging +reeds. Or it might be a peddler’s cart, an open wagon filled with hay, +or the family carryall, driven by a quiet man in a wide-brimmed Quaker +hat, who spoke softly to the ladies sitting beside him, neatly dressed +in gray, with Quaker bonnets on their heads and veils over their faces. +The “train” might simply be a covered-up path through the woods. But +the slave voices rose, exulting:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Da train am rollin’</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Da train am rollin’ by—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hallelujah!”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“Conductors” planned the connections. And David Ruggles in the house +on Church Street routed the train in and out of New York City.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span> He +collected and paid out money, received reports and checked routes. +David Ruggles was a busy man.</p> + +<p>He heard Frederick through quietly. Frederick was worried. If he could +not stay in New York, where would he go?</p> + +<p>“It’s a big country,” Mr. Ruggles assured the young man. “A workman is +worthy of his hire. We shall look about.” Then he asked abruptly, “Have +you written the young lady?”</p> + +<p>Frederick felt his face burn. Being among people with whom he could +share his precious secret was a new experience.</p> + +<p>“Y-es, sir,” he stammered. “I—I posted a letter this morning—On my +way here.”</p> + +<p>He looked toward Tom Stuart, whose eyes were laughing at him. The +seaman put in a word.</p> + +<p>“Got up and wrote the letter before dawn!”</p> + +<p>“Since she is a freewoman,” Mr. Ruggles smiled, “she can no doubt join +you immediately.”</p> + +<p>“Yes—Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. Then you must remain under cover until she comes.”</p> + +<p>“He’s safe at my house,” Tom Stuart said quickly, and the secretary +nodded.</p> + +<p>“That is good,” he said. “And now for the record.”</p> + +<p>At this word a slender boy of nine or ten years, who had been sitting +quietly at the table, opened a large ledger and picked up a quill +pen. He said nothing but turned his intelligent, bright eyes toward +Frederick. Mr. Ruggles laid his hand on the boy’s arm.</p> + +<p>“My son here is my eyes,” he said.</p> + +<p>Frederick regarded the little fellow with amazement. He was going to +write with that pen!</p> + +<p>“You are called Frederick?” the father asked.</p> + +<p>Frederick gave a start. “I have sometimes heard of another +name—Bailey,” he said. “I—I really don’t know. They call me +Frederick.”</p> + +<p>“For the present, we shan’t worry about the surname. It is safer now to +lose whatever identity you might have. Write Frederick Johnson, son!” +The boy wrote easily. “There are so many Johnsons. But now that you are +a free man, you must have a name—a family name.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, sir!”</p> + +<p>The days passed swiftly. Anna arrived—warmly welcomed by Tom Stuart’s +mother and whisked quickly out of sight until the moment when she +stood beside him. Anna, her eyes pools of happiness, wearing a lovely +plum-colored silk dress! They were married by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> the Reverend J. W. C. +Pennington, whose father, after having been freed by George Washington, +had served him faithfully at Valley Forge. He refused the fee offered +by the eager young bridegroom.</p> + +<p>“It is my wedding gift to you, young man. God speed you!”</p> + +<p>They were put aboard the steamer <i>John W. Richmond</i>, belonging to +the line running between New York and Newport, Rhode Island.</p> + +<p>“New Bedford is your place,” David Ruggles had said. “There are many +Friends in New Bedford, and the shipyards are constantly fitting out +ships for long whaling voyages. A good caulker will find work. Good +luck, my boy!”</p> + +<p>Since colored passengers were not allowed in the cabins, the bride and +groom had to pass their first night on the deck. But what mattered +whether they were cold or hot, wet or dry; whether they stood leaning +over the rail, jammed against sticky kegs, or sat on the hard boards? +They were free—they were young—they were on their way, to make a +home, to build a life <i>together</i>.</p> + +<p>Oh, how bright the stars shone that night! Anna saw Frederick’s lips +move as he gazed at them. She leaned closer and he tightened his arm +about her. “I must not forget!” he murmured.</p> + +<p>The nights on the open deck—they had two of them—enfolded them and +shut out all the world. The ache of all their lonely years dissolved +before the new happiness in their hearts. Then, out of the gray mist +and the darker shadows, emerged the gaunt shores of their new world. +Anna gripped her husband’s arm and trembled. But he lifted her face to +his and kissed her.</p> + +<p>As the boat approached New Bedford, the crowded harbor, with its +stained, weather-beaten ships and dirty warehouses, was a golden +gate—let down from the clouds just for them. Frederick wanted to shout.</p> + +<p>“Look! Look!” He was pointing at an imposing house that stood on a +hill behind the town. “That’s the kind of house we’ll have. A fine, +big house! I’ll make it with my own hands. I’m free, Anna, I’m free to +build a house like that!”</p> + +<p>Her eyes laughed with him.</p> + +<p>So it was that they landed on the rocky shores of New England, where +free men had set their feet before them. Leif, son of Eric the Red, +touched this coast with his Norsemen. In 1497 and ’98 John Cabot, +Venetian navigator, explored here and gave England her claim to the +region. Cabot under the British flag, Verrazzano under the <i lang="fr">fleur<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span> de +lis</i>, and Gomez under the flag of Spain, all of them had come even +before the Pilgrim Fathers.</p> + +<p>It was from Rhode Island—from Roger Williams and Anne Hutchinson, all +part of the rising winds of rebellion—that New Bedford got its start. +Time and again this salty breeze had blown through the Massachusetts +commonwealth. It rose and blew steadily during most of the eighteenth +century, bringing gains in political freedom and education and +religious tolerance. Impoverished farmers had followed Daniel Shays; +and an early governor, James Sullivan, had been stirred to say, “Where +the mass of people are ignorant, poor and miserable, there is no public +opinion excepting what is the offspring of fear.” The winds had died +down during the rise of Federalism, but now once more a little breeze +fanned the cheeks of the mill girls in Lowell and the mechanics in +Boston. It rustled the dead, dry leaves piled high in Cambridge and +Concord. It was scattering the seeds of Abolitionism.</p> + +<p>Boston had William Lloyd Garrison, whom neither jails, fires, threats, +nor the elegant rhetoric of William Ellery Channing could stifle. He +waved his paper, the <cite>Liberator</cite>, high in the air, whipping the +breeze higher. He stood his ground and loosed a blast destined to shake +the rafters of the nation.</p> + +<p>“Urge me not to use moderation in a cause like the present. I am in +earnest. I will not equivocate. I will not excuse. I will not retreat a +single inch—and I will be heard!”</p> + +<p>Certain slave states had set a price on William Lloyd Garrison’s head. +But in February, 1837, the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society had +convened in the hall of the House of Representatives in Boston, and +after every space was filled nearly five thousand people were turned +away. Nathan Johnson had been one of the delegates from New Bedford.</p> + +<p>Nathan Johnson was proud of the commonwealth of Massachusetts. His +people had lived in the midst of a group of Dutch dairy farmers +comfortably spread out over the meadowlands near Sheffield. They had +owned a tiny piece of land. Nathan had gone to school, learned a trade +and, like many another Massachusetts farm boy, made a trip to sea. +For a time he had lingered in Scotland where a Negro was a curiosity. +There was something about the hills and valleys with their jutting +rocks that drew him. Then he realized he was homesick. He returned to +Massachusetts, married and plied his trade—he was a carpenter—near +the sight and sound and smell of the sea. He had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> seen the face of +slavery, but he believed the State of Massachusetts would educate the +nation away from such evil practices.</p> + +<p>David Ruggles had written Nathan Johnson about Frederick. The answer +had come back: “Send him along!” And Johnson had hurried to the dock to +meet the “poor critters.”</p> + +<p>But the young man who stepped from the boat and took his hand with such +a firm grip did not call forth pity. To the Yankee he had the look +neither of a fugitive nor a slave.</p> + +<p>Ma Johnson blocked all questions while she bustled about setting a +good, hot meal before the newcomers.</p> + +<p>“Dead beat, I know,” was her comment. “Now you just wash up and make +yourselves right at home.” She poured water and handed them thick white +towels, while little Lethia and Jane stared with wide eyes.</p> + +<p>Everything floated in a dreamy mist. This house, this abundant table, +this room were unbelievable. Frederick’s fingers itched to take down +the books from their shelves, to pick up papers lying about. With an +effort he brought his eyes back to the animated face of his host.</p> + +<p>“There ain’t a thing in the laws or constitution of Massachusetts to +stop a colored man being governor of the state, if the folks sees fit +to elect him!” Lethia nodded her small head gravely and smiled at +Frederick.</p> + +<p>Ma Johnson sighed gently. Nathan was off on his favorite +topic—Massachusetts! But that was safe talk for these two nice young +people. They could just eat in peace. She set a plate of savory clam +chowder in front of Anna.</p> + +<p>“No slaveholder’d dare try takin’ a slave out of New Bedford!” The +glasses quivered as Johnson thumped the table. Frederick smiled.</p> + +<p>“I’m glad to hear that—after what they told me about New York.”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” The Yankee snorted. “New York ain’t in Massachusetts, young +man. All sorts of people there. Can’t count on ’em!” Ma Johnson gently +intervened.</p> + +<p>“Reckon we have some troublemakers, too, even in New Bedford.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, and I reckon we know how to take care of ’em!”</p> + +<p>It was Indian summer in New England. The evenings were still long, with +no suggestion of frost in the air. After supper they sat in the yard, +and between long puffs on his pipe the host talked and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> gradually drew +out the young man. Came the moment when he took his pipe from his mouth +and sat forward on his chair, lips pressed together in a grim line.</p> + +<p>“I cannot understand how such things be!” he said, shaking his head.</p> + +<p>The women had gone inside. Lights shone in the cottage across the +way, and on the other side of the white picket fence a girl laughed. +Frederick stood up. Even in the dusk, Johnson was conscious of the +broad shoulders and the long, lithe limbs. He was looking up at the +trees.</p> + +<p>“Almost—Almost I am afraid,” Frederick said.</p> + +<p>“Afraid? Now? Your time to be afraid is gone. Now you are safe!”</p> + +<p>“That’s it! <i>I</i> am safe. I’m afraid of so much happiness.”</p> + +<p>“A mite o’ happiness won’t spoil you, my boy. There’s strength in you. +And now I reckon your wife is waiting.” Nathan Johnson stood up.</p> + +<p>Inside the house Frederick turned and clasped the hand of his host.</p> + +<p>“How can I thank you?” he asked.</p> + +<p>The older man smiled. “Fine words ain’t needed, son. The two of you are +good for Ma and me. Now go ’long with you!”</p> + +<p>And he sent him to Anna.</p> + +<p>They were awakened by church bells. Then they heard the children +getting off to church. Anna started up guiltily. Perhaps they were +delaying Mrs. Johnson.</p> + +<p>But over the house lay a sweet Sabbath calm; it ran all up and down +the street—and over all New Bedford. The day passed in unhurried +discussion of jobs and plans for the young folks. Now indeed Frederick +must have a name.</p> + +<p>“Some take the name of their old master.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t.” Frederick spoke emphatically.</p> + +<p>“Ay,” agreed Nathan. “No sense in tying a stone round your children’s +necks. Give ’em a good name.” He grinned at Frederick and Anna. “When +I look at you I think of somebody I read about—fellow by the name of +Douglass.”</p> + +<p>“You want to name him from a book, Pa?” His wife laughed.</p> + +<p>“Why not? He’s already got a heap out of books. And this Scotchman, +Douglass, was a fine man. The book says he had a ‘stalwart hand’.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span></p> + +<p>Then Nathan launched into a vivid description of Scotland as he had +seen it. He came back to the name.</p> + +<p>“Ay, Douglass is a bonny name.”</p> + +<p>Anna spoke softly. “Frederick Douglass—It has a good, strong sound.”</p> + +<p>“You like it, Anna?” Frederick’s eyes drew her to him.</p> + +<p>And Anna smiled, nodding her head. So Douglass was the name he passed +on to their children.</p> + +<p>The next day he went down to the wharves and caught his first view of +New England shipping.</p> + +<p>“The sight of the broad brim and the plain, Quaker dress,” he recalled +later, “which met me at every turn, greatly increased my sense of +freedom and security. <i>I am among the Quakers</i>, thought I, <i>and +am safe</i>. Lying at the wharves and riding in the stream, were +full-rigged ships of finest model, ready to start on whaling voyages. +Upon the right and the left, I was walled in by large granite-fronted +warehouses, crowded with the good things of this world. On the wharves, +I saw industry without bustle, labor without noise, and heavy toil +without the whip. There was no loud singing, as in Southern ports +where ships are loading or unloading—no loud cursing or swearing—but +everything went on as smoothly as the works of a well-adjusted machine. +How different was all this from the noisily fierce and clumsily absurd +manner of labor-life in Baltimore and St. Michaels! One of the first +incidents which illustrated the superior mental character of Northern +labor over that of the South, was the manner of unloading a ship’s +cargo of oil. In a Southern port, twenty or thirty hands would have +been employed to do what five or six did here, with the aid of a single +ox hitched to the end of a fall. Main strength, unassisted by skill, is +slavery’s method of labor. An old ox worth eighty dollars was doing in +New Bedford what would have required fifteen thousand dollars’ worth +of human bone and muscle to have performed in a Southern port.... The +maid servant, instead of spending at least a tenth part of her time +in bringing and carrying water, as in Baltimore, had the pump at her +elbow. Wood-houses, indoor pumps, sinks, drains, self-shutting gates, +washing machines, pounding barrels, were all new things, and told me +that I was among a thoughtful and sensible people. The carpenters +struck where they aimed, and the caulkers wasted no blows in idle +flourishes of the mallet.”<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span></p> + +<p>He remembered little about the hardships of that first winter in the +North, and only mentioned in passing that he was not permitted to use +his skill as a caulker. Even here white labor shut the black worker +out. The difference between the wage of a caulker and that of a common +day-laborer was 50 per cent. But Frederick would not be stopped. He was +free. So he sawed wood, dug cellars, shoveled coal, rolled oil casks +on the wharves, loaded and unloaded vessels. It was the cold that he +remembered.</p> + +<p>Nothing had prepared them for the cold—the silent, thick, gray cold +that shut down like a vise over the land. The tiny house on a back +street, which had seemed the fulfillment of their dreams, now was a +porous shed. It had none of the Northern conveniences, and each trip +through the snowdrifts to the distant well with its frozen buckets was +a breath-taking effort.</p> + +<p>Each morning Anna got her husband’s breakfast by candlelight, and +Frederick set out for work. Odd jobs were not as easy to find nor as +steady as he would have liked. Many cotton mills in New England were +still that winter, and many ships lay idle all along Cape Cod. Down in +Washington a new President was proving himself weak and ineffectual. +Banks were tottering and business houses were going down in ruins. This +was the year Susan B. Anthony’s father lost his factory, his store, +his home; and the eighteen-year-old Quaker girl, with Berkshire hills +mirrored in her eyes, went out to teach school.</p> + +<p>During the hardest part of the winter, Frederick’s wages were less than +ten dollars for the month. He and Anna were pinched for food. But they +were never discouraged: they were living in a new world. When he could, +Frederick attended the meetings of colored people of New Bedford. These +meetings went far beyond the gatherings of the East Baltimore Mental +Improvement Society, and once more Frederick sat silent, listening and +learning. He was constantly amazed at the resolutions presented and +discussions which followed. All the speakers seemed to him possessed of +marvelously superior talents.</p> + +<p>Two events during his first months in New Bedford had a decisive effect +upon his life.</p> + +<p>“Among my first concerns on reaching New Bedford,” he said years +later, “was to become united with the church, for I had never given +up, in reality, my religious faith. I had become lukewarm and in a +backslidden state, but I was still convinced that it was my duty to +join the church.... I therefore resolved to join the Methodist church +in New Bedford and to enjoy the spiritual advantage of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> public worship. +The minister of the Elm Street Methodist Church was the Reverend Mr. +Bonney; and although I was not allowed a seat in the body of the house, +and was proscribed on account of my color, regarding this proscription +simply as an accommodation of the unconverted congregation who had not +yet been won to Christ and his brotherhood, I was willing thus to be +proscribed, lest sinners should be driven away from the saving power of +the Gospel. Once converted, I thought they would be sure to treat me +as a man and a brother. <i>Surely,</i> thought I, <i>these Christian +people have none of this feeling against color</i>....</p> + +<p>“An opportunity was soon afforded me for ascertaining the exact +position of Elm Street Church on the subject.... The occasion ... +was the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.... At the close of his (Mr. +Bonney’s) discourse, the congregation was dismissed and the church +members remained to partake of the sacrament. I remained to see, as +I thought, this holy sacrament celebrated in the spirit of its great +Founder.</p> + +<p>“There were only about a half dozen colored members attached to the +Elm Street Church, at this time.... These descended from the gallery +and took a seat against the wall most distant from the altar. Brother +Bonney was very animated, and sung very sweetly, ‘Salvation, ’tis +a joyful sound,’ and soon began to administer the sacrament. I was +anxious to observe the bearing of the colored members, and the result +was most humiliating. During the whole ceremony, they looked like sheep +without a shepherd. The white members went forward to the altar by the +bench full; and when it was evident that all the whites had been served +with the bread and wine, Brother Bonney—pious Brother Bonney—after +a long pause, as if inquiring whether all the white members had been +served, and fully assuring himself on that important point, then raised +his voice to an unnatural pitch, and looking to the corner where his +black sheep seemed penned, beckoned with his hand, exclaiming, ‘Come +forward, colored friends!—come forward! You, too, have an interest in +the blood of Christ. God is no respecter of persons. Come forward, and +take this holy sacrament to your comfort.’ The colored members—poor, +slavish souls—went forward, as invited. I went <i>out</i>, and have +never been in that church since, although I honestly went there with +the view of joining that body.”<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> + +<p>The second event was happier. Not long after they moved into the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> +little house a young man knocked on their door. Frederick had just +come in from a particularly hard and unproductive day. Anna, turning +from the stove where she was about to serve the evening meal, listened +attentively. She wanted to say something. Then she heard Frederick’s +tired voice, “Subscribe? the <cite>Liberator</cite>?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” the young man spoke briskly, “You know, William Lloyd Garrison’s +Abolitionist paper. Surely <i>we</i> ought to support him!”</p> + +<p>Anna moved to the doorway, but Frederick was shaking his head.</p> + +<p>“I wish I could, but—We—I can’t—now.”</p> + +<p>Anna slipped her hand in his. It was warm and a little moist. The young +man understood. He cleared his throat.</p> + +<p>“You’d <i>like</i> to read it?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” It was Anna who breathed the answer.</p> + +<p>“Then—you can pay me later!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Freddie, that’s wonderful!” Anna said, but her eyes were beaming +at the young man, who grinned and disappeared around the corner.</p> + +<p>“<i>She’s</i> got brains!” he thought, with thorough appreciation.</p> + +<p>Back at the stove, Anna was fairly singing.</p> + +<p>“We hardly dared get the <cite>Liberator</cite> through the mail in +Baltimore. Now to think we can sit in our own yard and read it!”</p> + +<p>Every week Anna watched eagerly for the paper. When it came she waved +the sheet triumphantly over her head as she walked back from the +mailbox. Garrison was a hero. The authorities had run the New Englander +out of Baltimore. But it had been from the sparks he drew that the East +Baltimore Improvement Society had come into being. Anna sent their +copies to Baltimore after they had finished with them.</p> + +<p>“E-man-ci-pa-tion,” Frederick stumbled over the long word. “What does +it mean, Anna?”</p> + +<p>“Freedom, Frederick—or rather <i>setting</i> the people free. Listen +to this!” The two dark heads bent near the oil lamp. “‘The Constitution +of the United States knows nothing of white or black men; makes no +distinction with regard to the color or condition of free inhabitants.’”</p> + +<p>Frederick learned to love the paper and its editor. Now he and Nathan +Johnson could really talk together. Nathan found an apt pupil, and Ma +Johnson took Anna under her wing.</p> + +<p>As the days grew cooler folks began talking about Thanksgiving.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” Anna asked, wrinkling her brow.</p> + +<p>Then Ma Johnson told her about the Pilgrims, of their first, hard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span> +winter, of how now each year after harvest time the people of New +England set aside a special feasting day in their memory, a day when +they gave thanks for all the good things of the earth.</p> + +<p>“What a beautiful idea!” Anna turned it over in her mind. “A day of +thanksgiving!”</p> + +<p>“Those poor young ones never tasted turkey.” Ma conveyed this tragic +information to Nathan. They decided to take a turkey to them.</p> + +<p>“And I’ll show her how to cook it.” Ma was very fond of Anna.</p> + +<p>They carried the fresh-killed bird, resplendent in all its feathers, to +the little house. Frederick and Anna gazed upon it with awe.</p> + +<p>“Hot water! Plenty of hot water!” Nathan rolled up his sleeves, and +while they followed his movements like two children he plucked the fowl +and handed it to Anna.</p> + +<p>“We’ll have meat all winter!” Frederick laughed, his eyes on Anna’s +shining face.</p> + +<p>The little house was fairly bursting with happiness that fall. They +were going to have a child—a child born on free soil.</p> + +<p>“He’ll be a free man!” Frederick made the words a hymn of praise.</p> + +<p>And Anna smiled.</p> + +<p>In April William Lloyd Garrison came to New Bedford.</p> + +<p>“You must go, Frederick,” Anna said, “since I can’t. Look at me!”</p> + +<p>“Not without you.” The young husband shook his head, but Anna laughed +and rushed supper. Frederick was one of the first to arrive at the hall.</p> + +<p>He saw only one face that night, he heard only one voice—a face which +he described as “heavenly,” a voice which he said “was never loud or +noisy, but calm and serene as a summer sky, and as pure.”</p> + +<p>Garrison was a young man then, with a singularly pleasing face and an +earnest manner.</p> + +<p>“The motto upon our banner has been, from the commencement of our +moral warfare, ‘Our country is the world—our countrymen are all +mankind.’ We trust it will be our only epitaph. Another motto we have +chosen is ‘Universal Emancipation.’ Up to this time we have limited +its application to those who are held in this country, by Southern +taskmasters, as marketable commodities, goods and chattels, and +implements of husbandry. Henceforth we shall use it in its widest +latitude: the emancipation of our whole race from the dominion of man, +from the thralldom of self, from the government of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> brute force, from +the bondage of sin—and bringing them under the dominion of God, the +control of an inward spirit, the government of the law of love, and +into the obedience and liberty of Christ, who is the same yesterday, +today, and forever.”</p> + +<p>Frederick’s heart beat fast. He was breathing hard. The words came +faint; for inside he was shouting, “This man is Moses! Here is the +Moses who will lead my people out of bondage!” He wanted to throw +himself at this man’s feet. He wanted to help him.</p> + +<p>Then they were singing—all the people in the hall were singing—and +Frederick slipped out. He ran all the way home. He could not walk.</p> + +<p>Summer came. There was more work on the wharves, when his son was born. +Frederick laughed at obstacles. He’d show them! “Them” became the whole +world—the white caulkers who refused to work with him, anybody who +denied a place to his son because his skin was rosy brown! The young +father went into an oil refinery, and then into a brass foundry where +all through the next winter he worked two nights a week besides each +day. Hard work, night and day, over a furnace hot enough to keep the +metal running like water, might seem more favorable to action than +to thought, yet while he fanned the flames Frederick dreamed dreams, +saw pictures in the flames. He must get ready! He must learn more. +He nailed a newspaper to the post near his bellows and read while he +pushed the heavy beam up and down.</p> + +<p>In the summer of 1841 the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society held its +grand convention in Nantucket. Frederick decided to take a day off from +work and attend a session.</p> + +<p>The little freedom breeze was blowing up a gale. Theologians, +congressmen, governors and business men had hurled invectives, abuse +and legislation at the Anti-Slavery Society, at the <cite>Liberator</cite> +and at the paper’s editor, William Lloyd Garrison. But in London, +Garrison had refused to sit on the floor of the World Convention of +Anti-Slavery Societies because women delegates had been barred; and +now the very man who had founded the movement in America was being +execrated by many of those who professed to follow him.</p> + +<p>But Frederick knew only that William Lloyd Garrison would be at +Nantucket.</p> + +<p>The boat rounded Brant Point Light and came suddenly on a gray town +that rose out of the sea. Nantucket’s cobbled lanes, bright with +summer frocks, fanned up from the little bay where old whalers rested<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> +at anchor, slender masts of long sloops pointed to the sky, deep-sea +fishing boats sprawled on the dirty waters, and discolored warehouses +crowded down on the quays.</p> + +<p>Frederick had no trouble finding his way to the big hall, for the +Abolitionist convention was the main event in the town. It spilled out +into the streets where groups of men stood in knots, talking excitedly. +Quakers, sitting inside their covered carriages, removed their hats and +talked quietly; and women, trying not to be conspicuous, stood under +shade trees, but they too talked.</p> + +<p>The morning session had been stormy. A serious rift had developed +within the ranks of the antislavery movement. During his absence +Garrison had been attacked by a body of clergymen for what they termed +his “heresies”—the immediate charge being his “breaking of the +Sabbath.” Garrison, it seemed, saw no reason why anyone should “rest” +from abolishing slavery any day of the week. He maintained that all +days should be kept holy. He lacked forbearance and Christian patience, +they charged. He “aired America’s dirty linen” in Europe. He “insulted” +the English brethren when he took his stand for full recognition of +women in the World Anti-Slavery Convention, despite the fact that St. +Paul had adjured women to silence. Garrison had made a statement in the +<cite>Liberator</cite>: “I expressly declare that I stand upon the Bible, and +the Bible alone, in regard to my views of the Sabbath, the Church, and +the Ministry, and that I feel that if I can not stand triumphantly on +that foundation I can stand nowhere in the universe. My arguments are +all drawn from the Bible and from no other source.”<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> + +<p>For weeks the controversy had raged—sermons were preached, columns and +letters were written. Theodore Parker, young minister in Boston, was +denounced by his fellow-clergymen because he sided with Garrison. Now +they had all come to Nantucket—Garrisonites and anti-Garrisonites; +the issue of slavery was tabled while scholars drew nice lines in the +science of casuistry and ethics, and theologians chanted dogmas.</p> + +<p>All morning Garrison sat silent. His right hand twitched nervously. +Pains shot up into his arm. His face was drawn and tired. His heart was +heavy. Here and there in the crowd a bewildered black face turned to +him. William Lloyd Garrison lowered his eyes and shut his teeth against +a groan that welled up from his heart.</p> + +<p>And so he did not see one more dark figure push into the hall; but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> +William C. Coffin, a Quaker and ardent Abolitionist, did. He had met +Frederick at the house of his friend, Nathan Johnson. Coffin made his +way back through the crowd and laid his hand on Frederick’s arm.</p> + +<p>“Thee are well come, my friend,” he said.</p> + +<p>Frederick had been peering anxiously toward the platform. He was so +far back, the crowd was so thick and the people wedged in so tightly, +that he despaired of hearing or seeing anything; but he smiled a warm +greeting at the Quaker.</p> + +<p>“Follow me, there are seats up front,” Friend Coffin was saying.</p> + +<p>The older man led the way down a side aisle, and there close against +the wall was a little space. Frederick gratefully slipped in beside his +friend.</p> + +<p>“This is fine,” he whispered, “I hated to miss anything.” He looked +around at the other occupants of the side seats. He spoke worriedly. +“But—But I don’t belong up here.”</p> + +<p>The Quaker smiled. “This is thy place.” He leaned closer, and his eyes +were very earnest. “Douglass, I am asking thee to speak a few words to +the convention this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Frederick stared at him. He gasped.</p> + +<p>“Me? Speak?”</p> + +<p>The great hall was a vast arena packed with all the people in the +world! Surely the Quaker was joking. But no, the voice was very low, +but calm and sure.</p> + +<p>“Tell them thy story, Douglass, as thee have told the men at the mill. +Just tell them the truth—no matter how the words come.” Frederick +shook his head helplessly. He couldn’t stand up there before all those +people. He tried to hear what the man on the platform was saying, but +the words were meaningless. The hall was stifling hot. Men were mopping +their brows with damp handkerchiefs. Frederick opened his shirt at the +neck and let his coat slip off his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Thee cannot escape thy duty, Douglass,” Mr. Coffin urged quietly. +“Look about you! Today, thy people need thee to speak for them.” +Frederick held his breath, and the Quaker added gravely, “And <i>he</i> +needs thee—that good man who has worked so hard needs thy help.”</p> + +<p>Frederick followed the Quaker’s eyes. He was gazing at William Lloyd +Garrison, the man whom he honored and loved above all other men. How +sunken and tired he looked!</p> + +<p>“He needs thee,” the Quaker said again.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span></p> + +<p>Frederick’s lips formed the words, though no sound came at first.</p> + +<p>“I’ll try,” he whispered.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>How long it was after this that Frederick found himself on his feet, +being gently pushed toward the platform, he could not have said. Only +when he was standing up there before all those people did he realize +that he had not replaced his coat. It was a clean shirt, fresh from +Anna’s tub and iron, but—! He fumbled with the button at his neck. His +fingers were stiff and clumsy. He could not button it with the faces, a +sea of faces, looking up at him, waiting. Everything was so still. They +were waiting for him. He swallowed.</p> + +<p>“Ladies and gentlemen—” a little girl, all big grave eyes, pushed her +damped curls back and smiled at him, encouraging. Suddenly a mighty +wave of realization lifted and supported him. These people were glad +that he was free. They wanted him to be free! He began again.</p> + +<p>“Friends, only a few short months ago I was a slave. Now I am free!” He +saw them sway toward him. “I cannot tell you how I escaped because if +known those who helped me would suffer terribly, <i>terribly</i>.” He +said the word a second time and saw some realization of what he meant +reflected in their faces.</p> + +<p>“I do not ask anything for myself. I have my hands to work—my +strength.... All of the seas could not hold my thanksgiving to Almighty +God—and to you.” He was silent a moment and they saw his eyes grow +darker; his face contracted as if in pain. When he began again, his +voice trembled, they had to lean forward to catch his words.</p> + +<p>“But I am only one. Where are my brothers? Where are my sisters? Their +groans sound in my ears. Their voices cry out to me for help. My +mother—my own mother—where is she? I hope she is dead. I hope that +she has found the only peace that comes to a slave—that last, last +peace in a grave. But even as I stand before you it may be—It may be +that—” He stopped and covered his face with his hands. When he lifted +his head, his eyes shone with resolution. “Hear me,” he said, “hear me +while I tell you about slavery.”</p> + +<p>And then, in a clear voice, he told them of Caroline, why she dragged +her leg, and how she had risked her life to save him; he told them +about Henry and John, Nada and Jeb. He told them of little children he +had seen clinging to their mother as she was being sold away, of men +and women whose “spirits” had to be broken, of degradation. He told +them the content of human slavery.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span></p> + +<p>“I am free,” his voice went low; but they leaned forward, hanging on +every word. “But I am branded with the marks of the lash. See!” And +with one movement, he threw back his shirt. He turned, and there across +the broad, young back were deep knotty ridges, where the brown flesh +had been cut to the bone and healed in pink lumps. They gasped.</p> + +<p>“I have not forgotten—I do not forget anything. Nor will I forget +while, any place upon this earth, there are slaves.”</p> + +<p>He turned to leave the platform.</p> + +<p>Then in the silence another voice, a golden voice, was heard. It was as +if a trumpet called.</p> + +<p>“Is this a thing—a chattel—or a man?”</p> + +<p>William Lloyd Garrison stood there—his eyes flaming—his face alight. +He waited for an answer, holding Frederick’s hand in his, facing the +audience. And from a thousand voices rose the shout.</p> + +<p>“He is a man!”</p> + +<p>“A man! A man!”</p> + +<p>Garrison let the tumultuous shouts roll and reverberate. Men wept +unashamed. Far down the street people heard the applause and shouting +and came running. Through it all Garrison stood, holding the strong +brown hand in his. At last Garrison pressed the hand gently, and +Frederick stumbled to his seat. Then Garrison stepped to the edge of +the platform.</p> + +<p>Those who had heard him oftenest and known him longest were astonished +by his speech that afternoon. He was the fabulous orator who could +convert a vast audience into a single individuality.</p> + +<p>“And to this cause we solemnly dedicate our strength, our minds, our +spirits and our lives!”</p> + +<p>As long as they lived men and women talked about that August afternoon +on Nantucket Island.</p> + +<p>John A. Collins, general agent of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery +Society, was at Frederick’s elbow when the meeting let out.</p> + +<p>“We want you as an agent,” he was saying. “Come, Mr. Garrison told me +to bring you to him.”</p> + +<p>While the crowd surged about them, the great man once more held +Frederick’s hand, but now he gazed searchingly at the brown face.</p> + +<p>“Will you join us, Frederick Douglass?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh, sir, I am a member of the Society in New Bedford,” Frederick +answered quickly and proudly. Garrison smiled.</p> + +<p>“Of course. But I mean more than that—a lot more. I’m asking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> +you to leave whatever job you have and work with me. The pay +is—well—uncertain. They tell me you have a family. I too have a +family.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. I know,” Frederick said, his eyes like an adoring child’s.</p> + +<p>“I am asking you to leave your own family and work for the larger +family of God.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, I understand. I want to help. But I am ignorant. I was +planning to go to school.”</p> + +<p>“You will learn as you walk, Frederick Douglass. Your people need your +strength now. We all need you.”</p> + +<p>So Frederick left his job at the foundry and, as an agent of the +Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society, began active work to outlaw slavery +in the nation.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Seven"><span class="smcap">Chapter Seven</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Jobs in Washington and voting in Rhode Island</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>Amelia Kemp stood at her attic window. The waters of Chesapeake Bay +tossed green and white and set the thick mass of trees on distant +Poplar Island in motion. A boat rounded Keat Point. For a few moments +Amelia could see the tips of the masts and a bit of white sail against +the sky. Then it all disappeared. But the sight of a boat sailing away +over the waters, of a ship going out to sea, was not at this moment +depressing. She too was going away.</p> + +<p>Lucy was dead. That morning they had laid her worn body in a grave at +the edge of the pines. Covey, his Sunday suit sagging, stared stupidly +while they shoveled in the hard lumps of clay. The preacher had wrung +the widower’s hand, reminding him that “The Lord giveth and the Lord +taketh away”; and they had returned to the unpainted, sagging house. +Now there was nothing further to do. She could go.</p> + +<p>Amelia had tried to persuade her sister to leave with her before it was +too late. She had dared to read her portions of Jack’s letters—“Come +along, there are jobs in Washington—even for women.” But Lucy would +have none of it. Her duty was clear. There were moments when she urged +Amelia to go, others when she clung to her weakly. So the months had +stretched into six years, and Amelia had stayed on.</p> + +<p>Covey dropped into a chair on the front porch when they returned from +the grave. All the lines of his body ran downward. Covey had not +prospered. He knew nothing about a nationwide depression, Van Buren’s +bickering with the banks, wars in Texas, or gag rules in Congress; he +had no idea there was any connection between the 1840 presidential +election and the price of cotton. He did know he was losing ground. +No matter how hard he beat the slaves, crops failed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> or rotted in the +fields, stock died, debts piled up, markets slumped and tempers were +short all around the bay.</p> + +<p>Now, his wife was dead—<i>hadn’t been really sick, either. Just, +petered out.</i> Here it was April, and the sun was scorching.</p> + +<p>He had heard no sound, but Covey was suddenly aware of being watched. +He sat very still and stared hard into the bushes near the corner of +the porch. Two hard, bright eyes stared back. Covey spoke sharply.</p> + +<p>“Who’s that? Who’s that sneakin’ in them bushes?”</p> + +<p>The eyes vanished, but the bushes did not stir. With a snarl, Covey +leaned forward.</p> + +<p>“Dammit! I’ll git my shotgun!”</p> + +<p>The leaves parted and he saw the streaked, pallid, pinched face +in which the green eyes blazed—a face topped with dirty, tangled +tow-colored hair. It was an old face; but the slight body with +pipe-stem legs and arms was that of a child, a girl-child not more +than ten years old. She wore a coarse one-piece slip. One bare foot +was wrapped as if to protect some injury, the other was scratched +and bruised. The child did not come forward, but crouched beside the +porch giving back stare for hard stare. Then with a little cry she +disappeared around the house.</p> + +<p>Covey spat over the porch rail and settled back. It was that brat of +Caroline’s of course, still running about like a wild animal. Time she +was helping around the house. He began to deliberate. Might be better +to get rid of her right off. She’d soon be market size, and yellow +gals brought good prices. He’d speak to Caroline about feeding her up. +Better bring her in the house. Mustn’t let Caroline suspect anything, +though.</p> + +<p>He pulled himself up and turned to go inside. Maybe Caroline had +something for him to eat.</p> + +<p>Amelia stopped him in the hallway. She was wearing a hat and carrying a +suitcase. Covey frowned.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mr. Covey! I was looking for you.” Her voice had a note of urgency.</p> + +<p>Amelia had a way of emerging from the nondescript background with +startling vividness. Months passed when he hardly saw her. Then there +she was jumping out at him! What the devil did she want now? He waited +for her to explain.</p> + +<p>“I’m going away.”</p> + +<p>Just like that. No stumbling around the words. Covey let his flat<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> eyes +travel over her. Not a bad-looking woman, Amelia. More spirit than her +sister. He spoke slowly.</p> + +<p>“I ain’t putting you out.”</p> + +<p>Amelia’s response sounded grateful enough. “Oh, I know, Mr. Covey. It’s +not that. But now that poor Lucy’s gone, I’ve no right to—to impose.”</p> + +<p>Covey remembered that he <i>had</i> been keeping a roof over her head +all these years. And what had he got out of it? Nothing. His eyes +narrowed.</p> + +<p>“Where you aiming to go?”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to Washington. A cousin of Tom’s down there—his name’s Jack +Haley—says I can get a—a job.”</p> + +<p>Her words had started in a rush, but they faltered a little by the time +she reached her incredible conclusion.</p> + +<p><i>A job in Washington!</i> Was the female crazy? In a surge of +masculine protectiveness, Covey glowered at her.</p> + +<p>“Who said you had to get out and get a job? Eh? Who said so?”</p> + +<p>Amelia swallowed. She had not expected an argument. She did not intend +to argue. She had to be getting along. She would miss her boat. She +spoke firmly.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Covey, it’s all settled. I’m going. Ben told me you were sending +him to town this afternoon. I want to ride with him.”</p> + +<p>Covey spoke deliberately. “The nigger’s lyin’—as usual. He better not +go off the place this afternoon. An’ you best get those fool notions +out of your head. You can stay right here and look after the house. I +ain’t kickin’.” He strode into the kitchen. That took care of that. +It was close to ten miles to St. Michaels. She’d have time to think +it over. But who was this fellow in Washington—a cousin of her late +husband, so she said. Um-um! Yes, Amelia had more spirit than poor Lucy.</p> + +<p>Amelia, left standing in the hall, sighed and set down her bag. <i>A +pretty kettle of fish!</i> Did Covey think he could hold her? Was she +one of his slaves? Then in a flash of realization she saw the truth. +She was indeed a slave—had been for all these years. And she was +running away—just as much as those black slaves she read about.</p> + +<p>Amelia picked up her suitcase, walked out onto the porch, down the +steps, along the path, out to the road. She looked down the long dusty +road to St. Michaels, and started walking.</p> + +<p>It was nearly two miles to Lawson’s place, and when she reached the +welcome shade of his grove she sank down to rest. Not too bad:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> she was +making time. She rubbed her benumbed arm and wondered if there weren’t +something in the bag she could dump out. She was going to have blisters +on her feet. Soon, now, she’d reach the highway. If she did not get a +ride, she would miss the boat.</p> + +<p>When she set out again, she stumbled and cut her foot against a hidden +stone. There was no time to do anything about it, however, so she +plodded along, fixing her mind firmly on the Washington boat.</p> + +<p>Thus she did not hear the cart until it was close behind her. Then she +stopped, her legs trembling. The mule stopped without any sign from the +Negro driver.</p> + +<p>It was not the same mule, driven by the old Negro who had passed Amelia +one morning more than six years before. There were so many mules being +driven by so many Negroes up and down the Eastern Shore. This Negro +was younger and he could see quite clearly. And what he saw puzzled and +disturbed him—a white woman, alone on a side road, carrying a suitcase +and giving every sign of being about to ask him for a lift!</p> + +<p><i>Not good.</i> He sat, a solid cloud of gloom, waiting for her to +speak.</p> + +<p>Amelia smiled. She had to clear her throat. The mule regarded her +stolidly.</p> + +<p>“Boy,” she asked, and the tone of her voice confirmed his worse fears, +“are you going into St. Michaels?”</p> + +<p>“No, <i>ma’m</i>. Jus’ up da road a piece, an’ right back. No, ma’m, Ah +ain’t goin’ neah St. Michael. No, <i>ma’m</i>.”</p> + +<p>He was too vehement. Amelia saw the confusion in his face and, because +she was in the process of acquiring wisdom, she knew the cause. She +must think of a way to reassure him. She spoke slowly.</p> + +<p>“You see, I’m trying to get to St. Michaels. I want to catch a boat.”</p> + +<p>Amelia saw the man’s eyes flicker. Going somewhere always aroused +interest. He shook his head, but did not speak. Amelia looked away. The +road seemed to quiver in the sun.</p> + +<p>“You see, I’m starting on a journey.” Now she looked full at him—she +looked at him as one looks at a friend and she said softly, “I’m +heading toward the north star.”</p> + +<p>Perhaps the man’s hands tightened on the reins. At any rate the mule +jerked up his head. The black face froze. For one instant everything +stood still. Then the Negro looked up and down the road and to the +right and to the left. There were only dust and fields, and here and +there a tree.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p> + +<p>He climbed down from the cart and picked up her bag. He spoke without +looking at her.</p> + +<p>“Jus’ remembered, ma’m, Ah might could drive toward St. Michael. Jus’ +<i>might</i> could.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” The warmth in her tone forced a +smile from him.</p> + +<p>“Reckon Ah could fix up a seat for you in back.”</p> + +<p>He did fix a seat, shoving aside sacks and cords of wood. It was not an +upholstered carriage, but it got her to St. Michaels. She alighted at +the market, to arouse less attention. But he insisted on carrying her +bag to the pier.</p> + +<p>“Ma’m,” he said, turning his hat in his hands, “hit seem mighty funny, +but Ah—Ah wishes yo’ luck!”</p> + +<p>And Amelia, eyes shining, answered, “Thank you—Thank you, my friend. +The same to you!”</p> + +<p>The slave leaned lazily against a pile until the gangplank was pulled +up, his eyes under the flopping straw hat darting in every direction, +watching. Then, as the space of dirty water widened and the boat became +a living thing, he stood up, waved his hat in the air and, after wiping +the beads of sweat from his forehead, spoke fervently.</p> + +<p>“Do Jesus!”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Washington, D. C. had become a tough problem to the Boston +Abolitionists. A group was meeting one evening in the <cite>Liberator</cite> +office to map out some course of action.</p> + +<p>“Every road barred to us! Our papers not even delivered in the mail!” +Parker Pillsbury tossed his head angrily.</p> + +<p>“Washington is a slave city. Thee must accept facts.” The Quaker, +William Coffin, spoke in conciliatory tones.</p> + +<p>“But it’s our Capital, too—a city of several thousand inhabitants—and +the slaveholders build high walls around it.” The Reverend Wendell +Phillips was impatient.</p> + +<p>“We should hold a meeting in Washington!” William Lloyd Garrison +sighed, thinking of all the uninformed people in that city.</p> + +<p>His remark was followed by a heavy silence. An Abolitionist meeting in +Washington was out of the question. Several Southern states had already +put a price on Garrison’s head. Frederick, sitting in the shadows, +studied the glum faces and realized that, in one way or another, every +man in the room was marked. They were agents of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> Anti-Slavery +Society and they, no more than he, could go South. Washington was +South. Then from near the door came a drawling voice.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen, trouble your heads no longer. I’m going home.” A slender +man was coming forward into the lamplight.</p> + +<p>At the sound of the soft drawl, Frederick froze. He crouched low, +hiding his face. But no alarm was sounded. There was welcome in +Garrison’s low greeting: “Gamaliel Bailey!”</p> + +<p>The first voice answered, “I heard only enough to agree fully. We +do need a spokesman in Washington. I would not flatter myself, +gentlemen—but I am ready.”</p> + +<p>Garrison spoke with unaccustomed vehemence.</p> + +<p>“No! We need you here.”</p> + +<p>Frederick slowly lifted his head. The man was a stranger to him. His +speech proclaimed him a Southerner. Now Frederick saw an attractive, +dark-haired gentleman in black broadcloth and loosely fitted gray +trousers. He looked down at Garrison, his black eyes bright.</p> + +<p>“This is the job that I alone can do,” he said.</p> + +<p>Wendell Phillips’ golden voice was warm as he nodded his head.</p> + +<p>“He’s right. Garrison. Gamaliel Bailey can go to Washington. He +belongs.”</p> + +<p>“Captain John Smith, himself,” Pillsbury teased, but with affection.</p> + +<p>“At your service, sir.” The Southerner swept him a low bow.</p> + +<p>“This is no laughing matter, Mr. Bailey,” a stern voice interposed. +“They know you have worked with us. You are a known Abolitionist!”</p> + +<p>Gamaliel Bailey flicked a bit of non-existent dust from his waistcoat, +and gave a soft laugh.</p> + +<p>“Once a Virginia Bailey, always a Virginia Bailey! Have no fear, Mr. +Hunton,” he said. He caught sight of Frederick’s dark face lifting +itself among them. His eyes lit up. “This must be the new agent of whom +I’ve been hearing.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” several said at once. “It’s Frederick Douglass.”</p> + +<p>Their handclasp was a promise. “I go to Washington now, so that you can +come later,” said the Virginian.</p> + +<p>“And I’ll be along!” promised Frederick Douglass.</p> + +<p>William Lloyd Garrison did not smile. His face was clouded with +apprehension. “You’ll need help,” he said.</p> + +<p>“It is best that I find my help in Washington. I know one young<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> man +whom I can count on. Jack Haley. He’ll bring me all the news. You know, +I think I’ll publish a paper!” He grinned. “Since they won’t let the +<cite>Liberator</cite> in, we’ll see if I can’t get a paper out.”</p> + +<p>So it happened that Jack Haley was not on the dock to meet Amelia’s +boat from St. Michaels. The weekly issue of the <cite>National Era</cite> +had hit the streets the day before, and scattered like a bomb all up +and down Pennsylvania Avenue. In Congress, on the streets and in the +clubs they raged! Here was heresy of the most dangerous order, printed +and distributed within a stone’s throw of the Capitol. It was enough +to make God-fearing Americans shudder when the son of such an old and +respected family as the Virginia Baileys flaunted the mongrel elements +in their faces. They did shudder, some of them. And grinning reporters +ran from one caucus to the other.</p> + +<p>Jack was much younger than his cousin Tom. He remembered Tom’s wife +with affection. Her letters had intrigued him, and he was glad she was +coming to Washington.</p> + +<p>He found her down on the wharf, surrounded by bales of cotton, serenely +rocking in a highback New England rocker!</p> + +<p>Amelia saw him staring at her and with a little cry of joy she sprang +up.</p> + +<p>“Jack, I knew you’d get here! I wasn’t worrying a bit. And kind Captain +Drayton has made me quite comfortable.”</p> + +<p>The weather-beaten Vermonter, leaning against the rail of his ship, +regarded the late arrival and scowled until his thick eyebrows +threatened to tangle with his heavy beard.</p> + +<p>“Nice way to treat a female!” he boomed.</p> + +<p>Jack held her hands in his. She was so thin, so little. The gray +strands smoothed carefully behind her ears accentuated the hollows in +her face; the cotton dress she wore was washed out, but the blue eyes +looking up at him were young and bright.</p> + +<p>Amelia exclaimed over the little buggy Jack had waiting. He helped her +in, tucked the bag under their feet and flapped the reins.</p> + +<p>Washington in the spring! Heavy wagon wheels bogged down in deep ruts, +and hogs wallowed in the mud; but a soft green haze lay over the +sprawling town and wrapped it in loveliness. They were rolling along a +wide street, and Amelia was trying to see everything at once. Then she +saw the Capitol lifting its glistening dome against the wide blue sky, +and she caught her breath.</p> + +<p>They circled the Capitol grounds, turned down a shaded lane and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span> +stopped before a two-story brick house which sat well back in a yard +with four great elms.</p> + +<p>“Here we are!” Jack smiled down at her.</p> + +<p>“How nice! Is this where you live?”</p> + +<p>“No, ma’am. This is where, I hope, you’re going to live.”</p> + +<p>“But who—?” began Amelia.</p> + +<p>“Just you wait.” Jack jumped out and hitched the reins around a post. +The big trees up and down the street formed an avenue of coolness. +Amelia hesitated when he turned to assist her.</p> + +<p>“Are they—Are they expecting me?”</p> + +<p>Jack chuckled.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Royall, my dear, is expecting anything—at any time!”</p> + +<p>“Jack! You don’t mean Mrs. Royall—the authoress!” Amelia hung +motionless over the wheel. Jack grasped her firmly by the elbow.</p> + +<p>“Who else? There is only one Mrs. Royall. There’s Her Highness now, +back in the chicken yard. Come along. I’ll fetch the bag later.”</p> + +<p>Amelia shook out her skirts and followed him along the path that led +around the house.</p> + +<p>The little old lady bending over a chicken coop from which spilled +yellow puffs of baby chicks, might have been somebody’s indulgent +grandmother. The calico dress drawn in around a shapeless middle +was faded; so was the bonnet from which escaped several strands of +iron-gray hair.</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon, Mrs. Royall!” There was warm deference in Jack’s voice.</p> + +<p>She stood up and her shoulders squared. There was a certain +sprightliness in the movement, and in the tanned, unwrinkled face +gleamed eyes of a remarkable brightness. When she spoke her voice had +an unexpected crispness.</p> + +<p>“Indeed—it’s Jack Haley. And who is this female with you?”</p> + +<p>“This is a kinswoman of mine, Mrs. Royall. I have the pleasure of +presenting to you, Mrs. Amelia Kemp.”</p> + +<p>“How do ye do!” The little old lady spoke with prim formality, her eyes +flashing briefly over Amelia.</p> + +<p>“I am honored, ma’am.” Amelia scarcely managed the words.</p> + +<p>“She has come to Washington to work,” Jack went on. “So I have brought +her to you.”</p> + +<p>The gray eyes snapped.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span></p> + +<p>“And why should you bring your kinswoman to me?”</p> + +<p>“Because, Mrs. Royall, it’s newspapers she wants to know about. And +you’re the best newsman in Washington, begging your pardon, ma’am.” He +bowed elaborately.</p> + +<p>“You needn’t!” She turned to Amelia.</p> + +<p>“I’ve read one of your books, ma’am. Jack sent it to me. I learned so +much about America.”</p> + +<p>Undoubtedly the gray eyes softened, but the tone did not change.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you take her to your friend on the avenue—that infamous +Abolitionist?”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Royall!” Jack’s voice was charged with shock. “You couldn’t be +speaking about Editor Gamaliel Bailey?”</p> + +<p>“He should be ashamed of himself. Selling out to those long-winded +black coats!”</p> + +<p>“But, Mrs. Royall—”</p> + +<p>“Don’t interrupt. If he’d come to me I’d tell him how to get rid +of slavery. It’s a curse on the land. But those psalm-singing +missionaries—Bah!”</p> + +<p>“May I remind you, Mrs. Royall,” Jack spoke very softly, “that when you +came back from Boston you spoke very highly of the Reverend Theodore +Parker. And he’s a—”</p> + +<p>“He’s <i>not</i> a black coat.” The lady spoke with feeling. Her face +cleared and she added sweetly, “He must be a Unitarian.” Then she +laughed, all shadows and restraint gone. “Forgive an old windbag, +guilty of the very faults she criticizes in others.” She lifted her +eyes. “See how the sun shines on our Capitol. Have you ever seen +anything half so beautiful?”</p> + +<p>Amelia shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I’ve never traveled any place before, ma’am. Washington is more than I +can believe.”</p> + +<p>“It’s too good for the people who live here. But come and rest +yourself. I am a bad hostess.” Her eyes twinkled as she turned to Jack. +“First, does she know I’m a criminal—a convicted criminal?” She made +it sound very mysterious, and Amelia stared.</p> + +<p>Jack laughed. “You tell her, Mrs. Royall!”</p> + +<p>“’Tis very sad.” There was mockery in her voice. “A ‘common +scold’—that was the finding of the jury. In England they would have +ducked me in a pond; but here there was only the Potomac, and the +honored judge deemed that might not be right—the waters would be +contaminated. So they let me go.” They were in the house now<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> and she +was setting out china cups. “You know,” she frowned slightly, “the +thing I really objected to was the word ‘common.’ That I did not like.”</p> + +<p>“I agree with you, madam. Mrs. Royall’s scoldings of senators, +congressmen and even presidents, of bankers and bishops, have always +been in a class by themselves. ‘Common’ was not the word.” And again he +bowed.</p> + +<p>The old lady eyed him with approval.</p> + +<p>“Where, might I ask, did you get your good manners? They are rare +enough in Washington these days.” Before he could reply she had turned +to Amelia—the gracious host to her guest. “Some day, my dear, I shall +tell you of the Marquis de la Fayette. Ah! there were manners!”</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr">Liberté, fraternité, égalité!</i>” Jack murmured the words half +under his breath, but the old lady turned on him, her eyes flashing. +Then, like an imp, she grinned.</p> + +<p>So Amelia came to live with Anne Royall, long-time relict of Captain +William Royall. He had fought beside Washington in the Revolutionary +War and had been the General’s lifelong friend. In her own way she +waged a war too. Each week she cranked a clumsy printing press in +her shed and turned out a pithy paper called the <cite>Huntress</cite>. It +advocated free schools for children everywhere, free trade, and liberal +appropriations for scientific investigation. Amelia helped her about +the house and with her chickens, accompanied her on interviews, saw +red-faced legislators dodge down side-streets to avoid her. Gradually +she learned something of how news is gathered and dispensed, but she +learned more about the ways of Washington, D. C.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Amelia had been in Washington three weeks when one evening Jack stopped +by.</p> + +<p>“I’m going up North!” he announced.</p> + +<p>“Where? What for?”</p> + +<p>“The boss heard something about a rebellion in New England. He’s +tickled pink. Said maybe that would keep Yankee noses out of other +people’s worries. He’s sending me out to puff the scandal!”</p> + +<p>“Do you know anything about it?” Mrs. Royall’s ears were alert.</p> + +<p>“From what I can gather, seems a lot of poor folks in Rhode Island want +to vote. And the bigwigs don’t like it!”</p> + +<p>All of New England had become involved. Two state administrations<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> +were claiming the election in Rhode Island, and a clash was imminent. +Until 1841 Rhode Island had operated under its colonial charter, which +prohibited anyone from voting who did not own 134 acres of land. +Therefore, seats in the state legislature were controlled by the older +conservative villages, while the growing industrial towns, where the +larger portion of the population was disfranchised, were penalized. +That year Thomas Wilson Dorr, a Whig and graduate of Harvard, started a +reform movement; and a new constitution was drawn up. This constitution +was framed to enlarge the basis of representation and abolish the +odious property requirement. But it confined the right of suffrage to +white male citizens, pointedly shutting out the Negroes who had settled +in Rhode Island.</p> + +<p>Quakers were non-resistance men; they held themselves aloof from +politics, but they were always on the alert to protect the black man’s +rights. All antislavery advocates wanted a new constitution, but they +did not want a defective instrument which would require reform from +the start. So they could not back Dorr. The Perry brothers, Providence +manufacturers, wrote to their friend, John Brown, a wool merchant in +Springfield, Massachusetts.</p> + +<p>“The time has come when the people of Rhode Island must accept a more +comprehensive gospel of human rights than has gotten itself into this +Dorr constitution. We have talked to him, and while he agrees in +principle he fears to go further.”</p> + +<p>John Brown sent the letter on to John Greenleaf Whittier, Secretary of +the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society. Whittier talked it over with +the Reverend Theodore Parker, who was considering making a series of +speeches in Rhode Island, denouncing the color bar in what was being +called a “People’s Constitution.”</p> + +<p>“Why should not Negroes vote with all the other workers?” asked +Whittier. “They would limit their gains in throwing out the old +charter.”</p> + +<p>Theodore Parker sighed wearily.</p> + +<p>“It’s the workers who are doing this. Their own struggle has blinded +them.”</p> + +<p>“Thee are right.” Whittier slipped into the Quaker idiom in moments of +great seriousness. “They see the black man only as a threat.”</p> + +<p>Then their eyes met, fusing in a single thought. They spoke almost in +one breath.</p> + +<p>“Frederick Douglass!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span></p> + +<p>For a moment they smiled together, congratulating themselves. Then a +frown came on Whittier’s face. He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“But Friend Garrison will not consent. Thee knows his attitude toward +any of us taking part in politics.”</p> + +<p>Theodore Parker was silent a moment, drumming his long, white fingers +on the table. Then his black eyes flashed.</p> + +<p>“Are we discussing politics? We are concerned here with the rights of +men.”</p> + +<p>Whittier shook his head, but he grinned.</p> + +<p>“Thee had best take care! Quoting Thomas Paine will not help.”</p> + +<p>“Fiddlesticks! Tom Paine had more religion than all the clerics of +Massachusetts rolled into one.” The young divine got to his feet, his +thin face alight with enthusiasm. “Douglass goes to Rhode Island! I’ll +take care of Garrison.”</p> + +<p>It was decided, and Douglass was one of the Abolitionists’ trio which +invaded every town and corner of the little state. They were Stephen S. +Foster of New Hampshire, Parker Pillsbury from Boston, and Frederick +Douglass from some unspecified section of the slave world—two white +and one black—young and strong and on fire with their purpose. The +splendid vehemence of Foster, the weird and terrible denunciations +of Pillsbury, and the mere presence of Douglass created a furor from +one end of the state to the other. They were followed by noisy mobs, +they were thrown out of taverns, they were pelted with eggs and rocks +and foul words. But they kept right on talking—in schoolhouses and +churches and halls, in market places, in warehouses, behind factories +and on docks. Sometimes they were accompanied by Abby Kelly, who was +later to become Stephen Foster’s wife. Her youth and simple Quaker +beauty, combined with her wonderful earnestness, her large knowledge +and great logical power, bore down opposition. She stilled the wildest +turmoil.</p> + +<p>The people began to listen. They drew up a Freeman’s Constitution to +challenge Thomas Dorr’s and called a huge mass meeting in Providence. +On streamers and handbills distributed throughout the state, they +listed “Frederick Douglass, Fugitive from Slavery,” as the principal +speaker.</p> + +<p>Jack Haley saw the streamers when he reached Providence late in the +evening. He heard talk of the meeting around the hostelry while he +gulped down his supper. When he reached the crowded hall things were +already under way. There was some confusion as he was pushing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> his way +in. Someone on the floor seemed to be demanding the right to speak.</p> + +<p>“It’s Seth Luther!” whispered excited bystanders. “Thomas Dorr’s +right-hand man.”</p> + +<p>“Go on, Seth, have your say!” called out a loud voice in the crowd.</p> + +<p>The young man on the platform motioned for silence. He nodded to the +man standing in the aisle.</p> + +<p>“Speak, my friend!” he said.</p> + +<p>The man’s voice was harsh.</p> + +<p>“You philanthropists are moaning over the fate of Southern slaves. +Go down there and help them! We here are concerned with equal rights +for men, with the emancipation of white men, before we run out after +helping blacks whether they are free or in slavery. You’re meddling +with what doesn’t concern you!”</p> + +<p>There was some applause. There were boos and hisses, but the man sat +down amid a murmur of approval from those near him.</p> + +<p>Then Jack saw that the chairman on the platform had stepped aside and +his place had been taken by an impressive figure. Even before he said +a word the vast audience settled into silence. For undoubtedly this +was the “fugitive slave” they had come to hear. Jack stared: this man +did not look as if he had ever been a slave. The massive shoulders, +straight and shapely body, great head with bushy mane sweeping back +from wide forehead, deep-set eyes and jutting jaw covered with full +beard—the poise and controlled strength in every line—called forth a +smothered exclamation from Jack.</p> + +<p>“My God! What a human being!”</p> + +<p>“Ssh-sh!” several people hissed. Frederick Douglass was speaking.</p> + +<p>“The gentleman would have us argue more and denounce less. He speaks +of men and black and slaves as if our cause can differ from his own. +What is our concern except with equal rights for men? And must we argue +to affirm the equal manhood of the Negro race? Is it not astonishing +that, while we are plowing, planting, and reaping, using all kinds +of mechanical tools, erecting houses, constructing bridges, building +ships, working in metals of brass, iron, copper, silver and gold; +that, while we are reading, writing and ciphering, acting as clerks +and secretaries, digging gold in California, capturing the whale in +the Pacific, feeding sheep and cattle on the hillside, living, moving, +acting, thinking, planning, living in families as husbands, wives and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> +children, and, above all, confessing and worshiping the Christian’s +God, we are called upon to prove that we are men!</p> + +<p>“I tell you the slaveholders in the darkest jungles of the Southland +concede this fact. They acknowledge it in the enactment of laws for +their government; they acknowledge it when they punish disobedience on +the part of the slave. There are seventy-two crimes in the state of +Virginia which, if committed by a black man (no matter how ignorant +he be) subject him to punishment by death; while only two of the +same crimes will subject a white man to the like punishment. What is +this but the acknowledgment that the slave is a moral, intellectual, +and responsible being? It is admitted in fact that Southern statute +books are covered with enactments forbidding, under severe fines and +penalties, the teaching of the slave to read or to write. When you can +point to any such laws in reference to the beasts of the field, than I +may consent to argue the manhood of the black man.”</p> + +<p>Men stamped and shouted and threw their hats into the air. The hall +rang. Douglass took up in a quieter mood. He talked of the meaning +of constitutional government, he talked of what could be gained if +exploited people stood together and what they lost by battling among +themselves.</p> + +<p>“The slaveholders, with a craftiness peculiar to themselves, encourage +enmity of the poor labouring white man against the blacks, and succeed +in making the white man almost as much a slave as the black slave +himself. The difference is this: the latter belongs to one slaveholder, +the former belongs to the slaveholders collectively. Both are +plundered, and by the same plunderers.”</p> + +<p>Afterward Jack tried to go forward and ask some questions of the +amazing orator, but the press of the crowd stopped him. He gave up and +returned to the inn. And the next day they had gone back to Boston, he +was told. Thomas Dorr, through his timidity and caution, had lost the +people.</p> + +<p>When the new Rhode Island constitution was finally adopted the word +<i>white</i> had been struck out.</p> + +<p>Jack Haley returned to Washington and handed in his account of the +“rebellion.” The editor blue-penciled most of it. He said they had +thrown away money on a wild-goose chase.</p> + +<p>But Gamaliel Bailey studied the closely written pages Jack laid on his +desk. True, he could not now publish the material in his <cite>National +Era</cite>; but he drew a circle around the name “Frederick Douglass” and +slipped the sheets into his file for future reference.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span></p> + +<p>Every drop of blood slowly drained from Amelia’s face while +Jack talked. Mrs. Royall dropped the stick of type she had been +clutching—Jack had interrupted them at work in the shed—and stared at +her helper.</p> + +<p>“She’s sick!”</p> + +<p>But Amelia shook her head. She leaned against the board, struggling to +speak while into her white face there came a glow which changed her +blue eyes into dancing stars.</p> + +<p>“You said his name was Frederick, didn’t you? About how old would you +say he was?”</p> + +<p>“What?” asked Mrs. Royall.</p> + +<p>“<i>How old?</i>” asked Jack.</p> + +<p>“Yes.” Amelia was a little impatient. “The one you’re talking +about—that slave who spoke. I’m sure I know who he is!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my goodness, Amelia! That’s impossible!” The idea made Jack frown. +Mrs. Royall snorted.</p> + +<p>“Describe him to me, Jack,” Amelia insisted, “every detail.”</p> + +<p>She kept nodding her head while Jack rather grudgingly complied with +her request. It seemed such a waste of time. He shook his head as he +finished.</p> + +<p>“There couldn’t possibly have been such an extraordinary slave around +any place where you’ve been. All of us would have heard of him!”</p> + +<p>Amelia smiled.</p> + +<p>“I remember how he came walking up the road that day in a swirl of +dust. He was little more than a boy then. Now he’s a man. It is the +same.”</p> + +<p>Then she told how that morning at dawn she had leaned from her attic +window and watched a young buck slave defy a slave-breaker, how he had +sent the overseer moaning to one side with his kick, how he had thrown +the master to the ground. This was the first time she had ever told the +story, but she told it very well.</p> + +<p>“His name was Frederick—the same color, the same powerful shoulders +and the same big head.”</p> + +<p>“But this man—he looked older—he’s educated! If you had heard him!” +Jack could not believe this thing.</p> + +<p>Amelia only smiled.</p> + +<p>“I found out afterward that even then he could read and write. Mr. +Covey had him help with the accounts.”</p> + +<p>“It’s just too incredible. That man from the Eastern Shore!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Royall spoke precisely. “Young man, when you’re my age you’ll know +that it’s the incredible things which make life wonderful.”</p> + +<p>And Amelia added, “There couldn’t be two Fredericks—turned from the +same mold!”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Eight"><span class="smcap">Chapter Eight</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>On two sides of the Atlantic</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>Many people would have shared Jack’s reluctance to believe Amelia’s +story. As time passed the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society found +itself caught in a dilemma. The committee knew all the facts of +Frederick’s case; but for his protection the members took every +precaution, withholding the name of the state and county from which +he had come, his master’s name and any other detail which might lead +to his capture. Even so they realized that they must be constantly on +guard. But the audiences began to murmur that this Frederick Douglass +could not be a “fugitive from slavery.”</p> + +<p>During the first three or four months Frederick’s speeches had +been almost exclusively made up of narrations of his own personal +experiences as a slave.</p> + +<p>“Give us the facts,” said Secretary Collins. “We’ll take care of the +philosophy.”</p> + +<p>“Tell your story, Frederick,” Garrison would whisper as his protégé +stepped upon the platform. And Frederick, smiling his devotion to the +older man, always followed the injunction.</p> + +<p>But Frederick was growing in stature. Scholars’ libraries were thrown +open to him. Theodore Parker had sixteen thousand volumes; his library +covered the entire third floor of his house.</p> + +<p>“Come up any time, Frederick. Books, my boy, were written to be read.”</p> + +<p>And Frederick reveled in Thomas Jefferson, Carlyle, Edmund Burke, Tom +Paine, John Quincy Adams, Jonathan Swift, William Godwin. He became +drunk on books; staggering home late at night, his eyes red, he would +fall heavily across his bed. He pored over the newspapers from all +parts of the country which Garrison gathered in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span> the <cite>Liberator</cite> +office; he sat at the feet of the greatest orators of the day—Wendell +Phillips, Charles Redmond, Theodore Parker among them. He munched +sandwiches and listened, while John Whittier read his verses; and +always the young fugitive from slavery followed in the wake of William +Lloyd Garrison, devouring his words, tapping his sources of wisdom, +attuning his ears to every pitch of the loved voice.</p> + +<p>Frederick’s speeches began to expand in content, logic and delivery.</p> + +<p>“People won’t believe you ever were a slave, Frederick, if you keep on +this way,” cautioned Collins. But Garrison shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Let him alone!” he said.</p> + +<p>The year 1843 was one of remarkable antislavery activity. The New +England Anti-Slavery Society mapped out a series of one hundred +conventions. The territory covered in the schedule included all of New +England, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio and Indiana. Under Garrison’s +leadership it was a real campaign, taking more than six months to +complete. Frederick Douglass was chosen as one of the agents to tour +the country.</p> + +<p>The first convention was held in Middlebury, Vermont, home of William +Slade, for years co-worked with John Quincy Adams in Congress. Yet in +this town the opposition to the antislavery convention was intensely +bitter and violent. Vermont boasted that within her borders no slave +had ever been delivered up to a master, but the towns did not wish to +be involved in “agitation.”</p> + +<p>What was in this respect true of the Green Mountain State was most +discouragingly true of New York, the next state they visited. All +along the Erie canal, from Albany to Buffalo, they met with apathy, +indifference, and sometimes the mob spirit. Syracuse refused to furnish +church, market, house, or hall in which to hold the meetings. Mr. +Stephen Smith, who had received the little group of speakers in his +home, was sick with distress. Frederick, standing beside a wide window, +looked out upon a park covered with young trees. He turned to his +unhappy host.</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry, my friend,” he said. “We’ll have our meeting.”</p> + +<p>The next morning he took his stand under a tree in the southeast +corner of this park and began to speak to an audience of five persons. +Before the close of the afternoon he had before him not less than five +hundred. In the evening he was waited upon by the officers of the +Congregational church and tendered the use of an old wooden<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> building +which they had deserted for a better. Here the convention continued for +three days.</p> + +<p>In the growing city of Rochester their reception was more cordial. +Gerrit Smith, Myron Holly, William Goodell and Samuel Porter were +influential Abolitionists in the section. Frederick was to know the +eccentric, learned and wealthy Gerrit Smith much better. Now he argued +with him, upholding Garrison’s moral persuasion against Gerrit Smith’s +ballot-box, as the weapon for abolishing slavery. From Rochester, +Frederick and William Bradburn made their way to Buffalo, a rising city +of steamboats, business and bustle. The Friends there had been able to +secure for the convention only an old dilapidated and deserted room +on a side-street, formerly used as a post-office. They went at the +time appointed and found seated a few cabmen in their coarse, wrinkled +clothes, whips in hand, while their teams were standing on the street +waiting for a job.</p> + +<p>Bradburn was disgusted. After an hour of what he considered futile talk +and haranguing, he left. That evening he took the steamer to Cleveland. +But Frederick stayed on. For nearly a week he spoke every day in the +old post-office to constantly increasing audiences. Then a Baptist +church was thrown open to him. The following Sunday he spoke in an open +park to an assembly of several thousand persons.</p> + +<p>In Richmond, Indiana, their meeting was broken up, and their clothes +ruined with evil-smelling eggs. In Pendleton, Indiana, Frederick’s +speaking schedule suffered a delay.</p> + +<p>It had been found impossible to obtain a building in Pendleton in which +to hold the convention. So a platform was erected in the woods at the +edge of town. Here a large audience assembled and Frederick and his +companion speaker, William A. White, were in high spirits. But hardly +had they climbed to the stand when they were attacked by a mob of about +sixty persons who, armed with clubs, picks and bricks, had come out to +“kill the nigger!”</p> + +<p>It was a furious but uneven fight. The Friends tried to protect +Frederick, but they had no defense. White, standing his ground, pleaded +with the ruffians and got a ferocious blow on the head, which cut his +scalp and knocked him to the ground. Frederick had caught up a stick, +and he fought with all his strength; but the mob beat him down, leaving +him, they supposed, dead on the ground. Then they mounted their horses +and rode to Anderson where, it was said, most of them lived.</p> + +<p>Frederick lay on the ground at the edge of the woods, bleeding<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span> and +unconscious. Neal Hardy, a Quaker, carried him to his cart and took him +home. There he was bandaged and nursed. His right hand had been broken +and never recovered its natural strength and dexterity. But within a +few days he was up and on his way. His arm was in a sling but, as he +remarked, the rest of him “little the worse for the tussle.”</p> + +<p>“A complete history of these hundred conventions would fill a volume +far larger than the one in which this simple reference is to find +place,” Frederick Douglass wrote many years later. “It would be a +grateful duty to speak of the noble young men who forsook ease and +pleasure, as did White, Gay and Monroe, and endured all manner of +privations in the cause of the enslaved and down-trodden of my race.... +Mr. Monroe was for many years consul to Brazil, and has since been a +faithful member of Congress from Oberlin District, Ohio, and has filled +other important positions in his state. Mr. Gay was managing editor +of the <cite>National Anti-Slavery Standard</cite>, and afterward of the +<cite>New York Tribune</cite>, and still later of the <cite>New York Evening +Post</cite>.”<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The following winter, against the advice of his friends, Douglass +decided on an independent course of action.</p> + +<p>“<i>Your word</i> is being doubted,” he said to Garrison and Phillips. +“That I cannot endure. They are saying that I am an impostor. I shall +write out the facts connected with my experience in slavery, giving +names, places and dates.”</p> + +<p>“It will be a powerful story!” said Garrison, his eyes watching the +glow of light from the fireplace.</p> + +<p>Theodore Parker spoke impatiently. “So powerful that it will bring the +pack on his heels. And neither the people nor the laws of Massachusetts +will be able to protect him.”</p> + +<p>“He’s mad!” Wendell Phillips’ golden voice was hard. “When he has +finished I shall advise him to throw the manuscript in the fire!”</p> + +<p>But Garrison smiled.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,” he said, “we’ll find a way. God will not lose such a man +as Frederick Douglass!”</p> + +<p>They looked at him sitting there in the dusk, with the firelight +playing over his calm face. There were times when Garrison’s quiet +faith confounded the two divines.</p> + +<p>A way did reveal itself. In May, 1845, the <cite>Narrative of the Life<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span> of +Frederick Douglass</cite>, prefaced by letters by Garrison and Phillips, +made its appearance. Priced at fifty cents, it ran through a large +edition. In August, Douglass, with a purse of two hundred and fifty +dollars raised by his friends in Boston, boarded the British ship +<i>Cambria</i> for England, in company with the Hutchinsons, a family +of Abolitionist singers, and James Buffum, vice-president of the +Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society.</p> + +<p>Anna stood on the dock and waved goodbye. She smiled, though the ship +was blurred and she could not distinguish his dear face at the rail. +A blast of the whistle made little Freddie clutch her skirts and bury +his face in alarm. He wanted to go home. Close by her side, straight +and unmoved, stood six-year-old Lewis, holding the hand of his weeping +sister, Rosetta.</p> + +<p>“Look after Mother and the children, Son. I’m depending on you!” Lewis +was turning over his father’s parting words. Now he would be the man of +the house. Girls, of course, could cry. He watched his mother’s face.</p> + +<p>A few final shouts, a last flutter of handkerchiefs, some stifled sobs, +and the relatives and friends of the voyagers began to disperse. Anna +felt a light touch on her arm.</p> + +<p>“Come, Mrs. Douglass”—it was Mrs. Wendell Phillips—“we’re going to +drive you home.”</p> + +<p>Friends surrounded her—comforting, solicitous.</p> + +<p>“You can depend upon us, Mrs. Douglass. You know that.”</p> + +<p>Anna smiled. She had wanted him to go, to get out of harm’s reach. She +could not continue to live in the terror that had gripped her ever +since Frederick had returned from the western trip. He had made light +of the “Indiana incident,” but his broken hand could not be hidden. +Each time he left her after that, she knew what <i>might</i> happen. So +she had urged him to go; she had smiled and said, “Don’t worry about +us, Frederick. You must go!”</p> + +<p>“My salary will be paid direct to you.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll manage. Now that we’re in our home, it will be easy.” Nothing but +confidence and assurances for him.</p> + +<p>The summer before they had bought a lot in Lynn, Massachusetts. They +had planned the house together; and in the fall—between trips and with +the help of several friends—Douglass had built a cottage.</p> + +<p>Anna hated to leave New Bedford—“a city of friends,” she called it.</p> + +<p>“But you see,” she explained to them ruefully, “the Douglass<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> family +has simply rent the seams of this little house. We have to have more +room.”</p> + +<p>They had chosen Lynn because it was more on the path for Frederick’s +work and because the town had a thriving Anti-Slavery Society. Came +the day when they moved into their cottage. Anna washed windows and +woodwork, and Lewis followed his father around, “chunking up all the +holes” so that when the cold weather came they would be snug and warm.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The highway was good and the May day pleasant as the Reverend Wendell +Phillips drove Douglass’ family back to their home.</p> + +<p>“How long do you think he’ll have to stay away, Mr. Phillips?”</p> + +<p>They were nearly there, before Anna dared ask the question she had been +avoiding.</p> + +<p>Wendell Phillips flicked his whip. It was a moment before he answered.</p> + +<p>“It’s impossible to say, Mrs. Douglass. We’re certain he’ll render +valuable service to the cause of freedom among peoples who do not know +the real horrors of American slavery. Meanwhile, we’ll do what we can +to see that his own return may be safe.”</p> + +<p>“Pray God the time will not be long!” Mrs. Phillips laid her hand over +that of the woman by her side.</p> + +<p>Then they were at the gate and goodbyes were said. The children climbed +down nimbly and rushed up the path. Anna moved more slowly.</p> + +<p>She smiled at the sight of moist, chubby Charlie in the neighbor +woman’s arms. This was their youngest son—hers and Frederick’s. Poor +little fellow! Anna felt her heart contract. <i>He</i> didn’t know his +father was going so far away.</p> + +<p>“Hasn’t whimpered a mite,” the neighbor had kept him during the +family’s absence. “So I mixed up a pot of soup for you. It’s on the +stove all ready. I knew you’d all be starved.”</p> + +<p>Anna’s voice choked when she tried to thank the good soul. The woman +patted her arm and hurried homeward across the vacant lot.</p> + +<p>Small Charlie was quite happy, so Anna left him with the other children +and went to the room she shared with her husband. It was very small. +The wardrobe door, left swinging open, bumped against the washstand +crowding the bed. Anna took off her hat, placed it on the shelf and +closed the door. Moving mechanically, she emptied the half-filled +bowl of water on the stand and hung up an old alpaca coat.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span> Frederick +had discarded it at the last moment. Then she stood motionless, just +thinking.</p> + +<p>She had not told him she was going to have another baby: he might not +have gone. But she knew she needed more money than that tiny salary. +She could not leave the children. There must be something she could do. +She must manage. Suddenly her face lighted. Lynn, Massachusetts, had +one industry which in the early 1840’s spilled over into every section. +Lynn had developed like a guild town in England; and that evening +Anna made up her mind that she could do what was being done in many +households in the town—she would make shoes.</p> + +<p>In time she learned to turn a sole with the best of them.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Meanwhile a ship was going out to sea. And all was not smooth sailing.</p> + +<p>“We should have taken one of the French boats—even if they are +slower!” Mrs. Hutchinson regarded the apologetic purser scornfully.</p> + +<p>“I’ll see the Captain at once.” And James Buffum stalked away in search +of him.</p> + +<p>No cabin had been assigned to Frederick Douglass. Though the tickets +had been purchased together, the party was being separated—the +Hutchinsons and Mr. Buffum sent to cabins, Frederick Douglass to the +steerage.</p> + +<p>Douglass took no part in the angry discussion that ensued. It was an +old story to him. Negroes who had the temerity to travel about the +United States were subject to insults and indignities. On the Sound +between New York and Stonington no colored man was allowed abaft the +wheel. In all seasons of the year, hot or cold, wet or dry, the deck +was his only place. Douglass had been in many fights—had been beaten +by conductors and brakemen. He smiled now remembering the time six men +ejected him from a car on the Eastern Line between Boston and Portland. +He had managed to tear away several seats and break a couple of windows.</p> + +<p>But this morning, as the <i>Cambria</i> nosed her way out of the bay +and started back to the Old Country which so many had left in their +search for freedom, Douglass shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Let it go!” he said. “We’ll all reach England together. If I cannot go +to the cabins, you can come to me in the steerage.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, Mr. Douglass,” Captain Judkins quickly intervened.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> “There is +only the formality of an invitation. You can visit your friends at any +time.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, sir!” Douglass bowed gravely.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Hutchinson would not be quieted. “It’s ridiculous!”</p> + +<p>Her husband sighed and slipped his arm through Frederick’s.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go now and see that our friend is properly settled,” he said.</p> + +<p>So they all went first to the steerage. And here, to the edification of +the steerage passengers, they spent most of their time. But, as always +happens within a small world, word got around, and during the long +afternoons and evenings other first-class passengers began visiting the +steerage.</p> + +<p>The Hutchinsons, celebrated vocalists, sang their sweetest songs, and +groups gathered on the rude forecastle-deck in spirited conversation +with Frederick Douglass.</p> + +<p>“Always thought Abolitionists were crackpots!” The man from Indiana +frowned.</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t think any—er—a black could talk like that!” The speaker, +who came from Delaware, certainly had never heard such talk before.</p> + +<p>“This man—he is not black.” The tinge of foreign accent in the words +caused the Americans to glance up sharply. Perhaps the immaculate +swarthy passenger was from Quebec. A Washingtonian eyed him coolly and +rose to his feet.</p> + +<p>“He’s a nigger just the same!” he said, and walked away from the group.</p> + +<p>They fell silent after that. But some time afterward several of the +passengers approached the Captain with the request that he invite this +unusual character to deliver a lecture in the salon. Captain Judkins, +who had been unhappy about the matter, gladly complied. He himself went +to the steerage and sat chatting with the ex-slave. The dark man’s +manners captivated him.</p> + +<p>Announcement was made of the scheduled lecture. News of the Captain’s +visit to the steerage got around. In one of the most expensive suites +on the ship three young men faced each other. They were trembling with +rage.</p> + +<p>“By God, suh,” said one, thumping the table with his fist, “we won’t +stand for it!”</p> + +<p>“Invited to the salon!” said another.</p> + +<p>“By the Captain!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span></p> + +<p>The pampered son of a Louisiana planter tore his silk cravat as he +loosened it.</p> + +<p>“Dog of a runaway slave—flaunted in our faces!” His voice choked in +his throat. His cousin quickly assented.</p> + +<p>“Fool Captain ought to be horsewhipped!”</p> + +<p>The fair-haired boy from Georgia emptied his glass of brandy and waved +his hand drunkenly.</p> + +<p>“Just a minute, gentlemen. No rash talk! Gotta plan—that’s it—gotta +plan!”</p> + +<p>“Plan—hell!” The dark face of the Louisianian flushed dangerously. +“We’ll just throw the nigger overboard if he dares show his impertinent +face!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” agreed his cousin. “That’ll show the damned Yankees!”</p> + +<p>They did not really believe he would come. But, of course, they did not +know Frederick Douglass.</p> + +<p>On the appointed evening the salon filled up early. Few of the ladies +had dared to go to the steerage, and now flowered ruffles and curls +fluttered with excitement as they settled into the cushioned seats. +Promptly on the hour the imposing figure appeared in the doorway. At a +sign from the Captain, who had risen, Douglass walked toward the front +of the room.</p> + +<p>Then it happened.</p> + +<p>The three young men were now five. At Douglass’ appearance the two who +were inside the salon sprang quickly to their feet, the three who had +been watching from the deck came running in.</p> + +<p>“We’ll stop him!”</p> + +<p>“Get the nigger!”</p> + +<p>“Throw him overboard!”</p> + +<p>Ladies screamed, men jumped up, but Frederick only stood still while +they closed in on him. Perhaps he had expected something like this. At +any rate, his face did not change. The clamor increased as, cursing, +the young men knocked aside any opposition.</p> + +<p>But they had reckoned without the Captain. The stern old Britisher’s +voice thundered out. His shipmen came running, and before the rioters +could realize what had happened, they were struggling in the firm grasp +of British seamen, who looked toward the Captain for further orders.</p> + +<p>Captain Judkins was outraged. He glared at the offenders who, utterly +bewildered by the turn of events, were stuttering their objections. The +Captain chose to ignore everything except one obvious fact.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span></p> + +<p>“Put these young drunks in irons until they sober up!” He turned away, +leaving his competent crewmen to execute the order.</p> + +<p>The Louisianian’s face paled. He stared about stupidly, expecting the +whole roomful of people to rise in protest. But they did not. The faces +swam before his eyes crazily as, stumbling a little, he was led away. +Later he heard them applauding on the upper deck.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The next day they sighted land. A mist between the ocean and the sky +turned green, took shape. The man beside Frederick gripped the rail +with his broken nails.</p> + +<p>“’Tis Ireland,” he repeated softly. And there was pain and heartache in +his voice.</p> + +<p>Frederick did not sleep that night. He was one of the huddled group +that stayed on deck. They talked together in low voices, watching the +distant flicker of an occasional light, straining their ears to catch +some sound. Some of them had failed in the bewildering New World, and +they were going back. Others had succeeded and now were returning for +parents or wives and children.</p> + +<p>But Frederick was breaking through the horizon. He was getting on the +other side. He had sailed through the sky. America and all that it had +meant to him lay far behind. How would Europe receive this dark-skinned +fugitive from slavery?</p> + +<p>The ship docked at Liverpool, but certain preliminaries prevented the +passengers from going ashore immediately. Baltimore, New Bedford, not +even New York, had prepared Frederick for the port of Liverpool. It was +rapidly becoming Britain’s monstrous spider of commerce, flinging its +sticky filaments to the far corners of the world and drawing into its +net all that the earth yields up to men.</p> + +<p>Just inside the bottleneck entrance to the Mersey River, kept +relatively free from silt by tidal scour, Liverpool was once a shelter +for fishing vessels which built up a comfortable coastal trade with +Ireland. Medieval sailors gave little thought to the sandstone hill +that lay beyond the marshy fringe. The Dee River silted up and trade +with America grew; and it was found that Liverpool was well situated +to meet the change. The mouth of the old pool was converted into wet +docks, the marshes were hollowed out, and railroads tunneled through +the sandstone hill with ease. The British Empire was expanding.</p> + +<p>Now all along the wharves rode merchant ships of every variety, ships +laden with iron and salt, timber and coal, grains, silks and woollens, +tobacco and, most of all, raw cotton from America.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span></p> + +<p>Frederick saw them unloading the cotton and piling it high on the +docks. He knew it was going to the weavers of Lancashire. He wondered +if those weavers knew how cotton was planted and chopped and picked.</p> + +<p>The Hutchinsons had been in Liverpool before, so they all went to a +small hotel not far from the wide Quadrant. Frederick stood in the +square gazing up at the great columned building fashioned after the +Greek Parthenon and for a moment he forgot about the cotton. He liked +the quiet, solid strength of that building. He resolved to visit it to +feel the stone and measure the columns.</p> + +<p>Quite unexpectedly Liverpool became aware of Frederick Douglass.</p> + +<p>The young men who had been so rudely halted in their premeditated +violence, went immediately to the police demanding the arrest of the +“runaway slave” and of the ship’s Captain! They were not prepared for +the calm detachment of British justice. Never doubting the outcome, +the young men repaired to the newspapers, where they told of their +“outrageous treatment,” denounced the Captain and all his crew and +heaped abuse upon the insolent instigator of this “crime against +society.”</p> + +<p>British curiosity is not easily aroused. But the young men’s language +pricked both the authorities and the newspapermen. They did not like +it. They dropped in on Captain Judkins. His words were few, brusque and +pointed. The police asked politely if he wished them to lock the young +men up. The Captain considered their proposal coolly and decided he had +no interest in the young men. He <i>was</i> going to take his Missus +to hear the black American speak. She would enjoy it. And now, if the +inspector was finished, his Missus was waiting. The Captain hurried +away, rolling a little on his sea legs; and the newspapermen decided +they would visit the “black American.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The Honorable William Gladstone, down from London for a few days, +re-read a certain column in his paper over a late and solitary +breakfast. The new Colonial Secretary spent most of his time in London; +but Liverpool remained his home. It was a lovely house, well out of +town, away from the dirt and noise of warehouses and docks. Well back +from the graveled road, behind high fences and undulating greens, sat +the residences of England’s merchant princes. Gladstone had represented +his neighbors in the government since he was twenty-three years old, +first as vice-president and then president of the Board<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span> of Trade. Now, +at thirty-six, he had been made Colonial Secretary. It took a man who +knew trade and the proper restrictions for its protection to handle the +affairs of Egypt, Australia and fabulously rich India.</p> + +<p>The young man frowned and crumpled his paper.</p> + +<p>“Nevins!” he called.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir!”</p> + +<p>“Nevins, have you been in town this week?”</p> + +<p>Nevins considered before answering. There must be no mistake about this +matter.</p> + +<p>“Not this week, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Well, have you heard any talk of a British India Society meeting?”</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, sir?”</p> + +<p>“India Society,” the Colonial Secretary explained, “or anything +at all about India. I understand there have been meetings in the +provinces—talk about starving India—Indian independence—some sort of +agitation.”</p> + +<p>“We’ve had nothing of that kind in these parts.” Nevins spoke with a +touch of disapproval.</p> + +<p>The Colonial Secretary picked up his paper. He frowned at it a moment.</p> + +<p>“I was wondering if there were any connection. Any connection at all. +Might well be, you know.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand, sir.”</p> + +<p>“There’s something here about a runaway slave from America speaking in +town tonight—at one of those workers’ halls. They’re springing up all +over England.” He added the last thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“Did you say a slave, sir, perhaps an African cannibal?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly. This gives a most extraordinary account of the fellow on +shipboard. Ship’s Captain says he’s educated.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t believe it, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Um—would be very strange, if true. But who would be bringing him over +here?” The American Revolution had not yet become a mellowed memory. +Americans—white or black—would bear watching.</p> + +<p>“Nevins!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I should like you to attend this meeting.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> + +<p>“I, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Find out what this slave has to say and what’s behind him.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It had really been planned by the Hutchinsons as a concert. The +Anti-Slavery Society had asked Mr. Buffum to say a few words. Douglass +was merely to be presented and to say that he was glad to be in +England. But the newspapers had played up Frederick Douglass’ story +so much that at the last moment they decided to seize the opportunity +and feature him. When, long before dark the hall began to fill, it was +obvious that they had come to hear “the black man.”</p> + +<p>While the crowd listened respectfully to the Hutchinsons, Frederick +studied his first British audience. Somehow it was different. He +realized it bore out what he had witnessed in two days of wandering +about Liverpool. For the first time in his life he had seen white +people whose lot might well be compared with that of the black slave +in America. Here in Liverpool they could indeed leave their jobs, he +thought grimly; but their children would starve. He saw them living in +unbelievable squalor, several families herded together in two or three +rooms, or in a single dirty cellar, sleeping on straw and shavings.</p> + +<p>He sat on the platform and studied their faces. There was something in +their eyes, something in the stolid set of their chins, something hard +and unyielding, some strength which could not be destroyed—something +to join with his strength. And so when he rose he did not fumble for +words. He told them that he was glad that here on British soil he was +truly free, that no slave-hunter could drag him from the platform, no +arm, however long, turn him over to a master. Here he stood a free man, +among other free men!</p> + +<p>They cheered him lustily. And when they had quieted down he began to +talk to them about cotton. He talked to them of the cotton piled high +on the docks of Liverpool and how it got there. He talked to them of +black hands picking cotton and blood soaking into soil around the +cotton stalks.</p> + +<p>“Because British manufacturers need cotton, American slavery can defy +the opinions of the civilized world and block Abolitionists in America +and England. If England bought free cotton from some other part of the +world, if she stopped buying slave-grown cotton, American slavery would +die out.”</p> + +<p>Graphically, he added up the horrors of slavery. He told how the labor +of the slave in chains cheapened and degraded labor everywhere. They +listened, leaning forward in their seats, their eyes fixed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span></p> + +<p>“Cotton can be grown by free labor, at a fair cost and in far greater +abundance, in India. England, as a matter of self-interest as well as +on the score of humanity, should without delay redress the wrongs of +India, give protection and encouragement to its oppressed and suffering +population, and thus obtain a permanent and abundant supply of free +cotton produced by free men.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“A powerful speech, sir!” Nevins reported the next morning.</p> + +<p>The Colonial Secretary looked at his man with some impatience.</p> + +<p>“Well, really, Nevins! Let’s be a bit more specific. A black make a +powerful speech—something of an exaggeration, surely!”</p> + +<p>“He’s not really a black, sir,” Nevins answered surprisingly.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord! What is he then?”</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t rightly say, sir.” There was a dogged stubbornness about +Nevins this morning. The Colonial Secretary shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Well, well. What did he talk about?”</p> + +<p>A lucid thought flashed across Nevins’ mind.</p> + +<p>“He talked about cotton, sir.”</p> + +<p>“About cotton?” The Colonial Secretary stared. “What on earth did he +say about cotton?”</p> + +<p>“He said that better cotton could be raised in India than in America.”</p> + +<p>The lucid moment passed, and Nevins could tell no more. But the young +Colonial Secretary saw the newspaper accounts of Douglass’s talk before +he returned to London. He took out his notebook and on a clean, fresh +page he wrote a name, “Frederick Douglass.” Then he thoughtfully drew +a circle around it. William Gladstone’s mind had projected itself +into the future, when there might be no more cheap cotton coming from +America. The Colonial Secretary was a solid young man with no nonsense +about him.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Across the narrow strip of water, in Dublin, Daniel O’Connell sat in +a ruby-brick house off Rutland Square, while the dusk of a September +evening closed about him. He held a letter in his hand—a letter he +had been re-reading while he waited. From far-off America his friend, +William Lloyd Garrison, had written:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>I send him to you, O’Connell, because you of all men have most to +teach him. He is a young lion, not yet fully come into his strength, +but all the latent power is there. I tremble for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span> him! I am not a +learned man. When confronted with clever phrasing of long words I +am like to be confused. Scholars well versed in theology say I am a +perfectionist.... As Christians, I believe we must convert the human +race. Yet, God forgive me, doubts assail my heart. Here is a man, +a few short years ago a slave. I stand condemned each time I look +into his face. I am ashamed of being identified with a race of men +who have done him so much injustice, who yet retain his people in +horrible bondage. I try to make amends. But who am I to shape this +young man’s course? I have no marks of a lash across my back; I’ve +had the comforts of a mother’s tender care; I speak my father’s name +with pride. I am a free white man in a land shaped and designed for +free white men. But you, O’Connell, know of slavery! Your people are +not free. Poor and naked, they are governed by laws which combine all +the vices of civilization with those of primitive life. The masses of +Ireland enjoy neither the freedom of the savage, left to roam his own +forests and draw fish from his rivers, nor the bread of servitude.... +From you, Frederick Douglass can learn. I commend him to you, with my +love. He will strengthen your great heart. He will renew your faith +and hope for all mankind.</p> +</div> + +<p>The old man sat, turning the letter in his hand. The years lay heavy +along his massive frame. His own voice came back to him: <i>Sons of +Ireland! Agitate, agitate, agitate!</i></p> + +<p>Yet the evictions of starving tenants went on. The great castle in its +circle of wretched cabins, stripped the surrounding country of food +and fuel. People were ignorant because they could not go to school, +slothful because there was nothing they could do. Drunkards because +they were cold. Ireland had long been in subjection harsh enough to +embitter, yet not complete enough to subdue. But the failure of the +potato crop this year had brought a deadening apathy. The Irish cottier +was saying he could never be worse off or better off by any act of his +own. And everywhere there were the gendarmes, sodden with drink and +armed with carbines, bayonets and handcuffs.</p> + +<p>Daniel O’Connell had been thirty-six years old when, in 1812, Robert +Peel came to Dublin. To O’Connell the twenty-four-year-old Secretary +for Ireland was the embodiment of everything English. The Irishman +had been destined and educated for the priesthood, had taken up law +instead, and risen as rapidly as a Catholic could in a Protestant +government. An Irish Catholic could vote, but could not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span> sit in +Parliament; he could enter the army, navy or professions, but could not +rise to the higher ranks. The universities and all the important posts +in the Civil Service were closed to him.</p> + +<p>As an advocate, Daniel O’Connell had been greatly in demand. In those +days he stood six feet tall, with a head of fox-red curls and a face +that had irregular, almost ugly features. They said his voice could be +heard a mile off and was like music strained through honey. Reckless, +cunning, generous and vindictive, O’Connell had fought for Ireland. +They threw him in jail when he challenged Robert Peel to a duel. It +never came off. He finally apologized, thinking to propitiate the +Englishman in the matter of his Catholic Relief Bill that was up before +Parliament.</p> + +<p>Now Robert Peel was Prime Minister of England, and misery still lay +like a shroud over all Ireland. O’Connell shook his head. Garrison was +mistaken. There was nothing he could teach his young man. At seventy, +one’s work is finished, and he, Daniel O’Connell, had failed.</p> + +<p>After a while the girl brought in a lighted lamp and set it on the +table. O’Connell said nothing. He was waiting.</p> + +<p>Then he heard voices in the hall and he stood up, his keen eyes fixed +on the door. It opened to admit Frederick Douglass. The dark man stood +a moment where the lamplight fell on him; then he smiled. And something +in the Irishman’s tired heart ran out to meet that smile. O’Connell +strode across the room. He placed his two hands on the younger man’s +shoulders and looked deep into his eyes.</p> + +<p>“My son, I’m glad you’ve come,” he said.</p> + +<p>So Frederick Douglass saw Ireland and came to know its people. He +learned why women’s faces beneath their shawls aged so quickly. He +watched children claw the débris on the coal-quays of Cork. He saw the +rich grasslands of the Golden Vale where fine, fat cattle fed while +babies died for milk. Looking out over the Lakes of Killarney, he saw +on the one side uncultivated tracts, marshy wastes studded with patches +of heather, with here and there a stunted fir tree; and on the other, +along the foot of the mountains beside the lovely lakes, green, smiling +fields and woods of almost tropical vegetation. He learned that in +Ireland there were only rich and poor, only palaces and hovels.</p> + +<p>“Misrule is due to ignorance and ignorance is due to misrule.” +O’Connell tapped the short stem of his pipe on the table. “Few +Englishmen ever visit Ireland. When they do they drive in a carriage +from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> country house to country house. The swarms of beggars in Dublin +only fill them with disgust.”</p> + +<p>“But—But why don’t these beggars work?”</p> + +<p>“There are no industries in Ireland. Our wool and wheat go into English +mills. In Ireland, in order to work, one must have a plot of land.”</p> + +<p>Frowning, Douglass grappled with the problem. Oppression then was not +confined to black folks! There was some common reason for it all.</p> + +<p>O’Connell nodded his head.</p> + +<p>“Possession of the land! This is the struggle, whether we’re talking +about the Gaels of Scotland and Ireland, the brown peoples of India, or +the blacks of South Africa. Indeed, where are your red men in America?”</p> + +<p>The young man’s face showed something of horror. Was the earth so small +then that men must destroy each other to have their little bit?</p> + +<p>“Not at all. But there have always been those who would share nothing. +Conquest has come to be a glorious thing. Our heroes are the men who +take, not those who give!”</p> + +<p>The old man was in fine form that fall. The young man with his vibrant +personality and searching questions inspired him. Earlier in the year +he had vetoed plans for a huge rally at the great Conciliation Hall. +The place held twenty thousand people and O’Connell had not felt equal +to it. But now he announced a change of mind: he and Douglass would +speak there together.</p> + +<p>It was an event talked of many a long winter evening afterward. +“Dan—Our Dan,” they said, outdid himself. The massive stooped +shoulders were squared, the white head high. Once more the magnificent +voice pealed forth.</p> + +<p>“Until I heard this man that day,” Douglass himself wrote, “I had +thought that the story of his oratory and power was exaggerated. I +did not see how a man could speak to twenty or thirty thousand people +at one time and be heard by any considerable portion of them, but the +mystery was solved when I saw his ample person and heard his musical +voice. His eloquence came down upon the vast assembly like a summer +thunder-shower upon a dusty road. At will he stirred the multitude to +a tempest of wrath or reduced it to the silence with which a mother +leaves the cradle-side of her sleeping babe. Such tenderness, such +pathos, such world-embracing love! And, on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> other hand, such +indignation, such fiery and thunderous denunciation, such wit and +humor, I never heard surpassed, if equaled, at home or abroad.”<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> + +<p>A piece on O’Connell came out in <cite>Brownson’s Review</cite>. Mr. O. A. +Brownson, recently become a Catholic, took issue with the “Liberator” +of Ireland for having attacked American institutions. O’Connell gave +another speech.</p> + +<p>“I am charged with attacking American institutions, as slavery is +called,” he began. “I am not ashamed.... My sympathy is not confined to +the narrow limits of my own green Ireland; my spirit walks abroad upon +sea and land, and wherever there is sorrow and suffering, there is my +spirit to succor and relieve.”</p> + +<p>The striking pair toured Ireland together. O’Connell talked about the +antislavery movement and why the people of Ireland should take part in +it; Douglass preached O’Connell’s doctrines of full participation of +all peoples in government and legislative independence.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“There must be government,” said O’Connell. They were talking together +quietly in the old man’s rooms. “And the people must take part, must +learn to vote and take responsibility. You have a fine Constitution in +the United States of America. I have studied it carefully.”</p> + +<p>“I have never read it,” confessed the dark man, very much ashamed.</p> + +<p>“No?” O’Connell studied the somber face. “But you have read the +Declaration of Independence. A glorious thing!”</p> + +<p>“Yes.” And now there was deep bitterness. “And I find it only words!”</p> + +<p>The Irishman leaned over and placed his hand upon the young man’s knee. +He spoke softly.</p> + +<p>“Aye, lad—words! But words that can come alive! And that’s worth +working and even fighting for!”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Nine"><span class="smcap">Chapter Nine</span></h3> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“<i>To be henceforth free, manumitted and discharged from all manner +of servitude to me....</i>”</p> +</div> + + +<p>The two letters reached them in the same mail. One came from James +Buffum to Frederick; the other was for Daniel O’Connell from George +Thompson, the English Abolitionist. Thompson, who had been stoned +from his platform in Boston on his last trip to America, had not met +Frederick. However, he had heard from William Lloyd Garrison.</p> + +<p>Their letters said substantially the same thing: “We need Douglass in +Scotland.”</p> + +<p>The facts were brief. It had been proved that the Free Church of +Scotland, under the leadership of the great Doctors Cunningham, +Candlish and Chalmers, had taken money from slave-dealers to build +churches and to pay church ministers for preaching the gospel. John +Murray of Bowlien Bay and other antislavery men of Glasgow had called +it a disgrace. The leading divines had thereupon undertaken to +defend, in the name of God and the Bible, not only the principle of +taking money from slavers, but also of holding fellowship with these +traffickers in human beings. The people of Scotland were thoroughly +aroused. Meetings were being called and strong speakers were needed. +Buffum and Thompson were already on their way to Edinburgh.</p> + +<p>“You’ll come back, Frederick?” O’Connell’s voice was wistful. It was +like parting with a son.</p> + +<p>“Come with us!” Frederick urged. But the “Liberator” shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Our people are threatened with starvation. First our potatoes. And now +the wheat crop has failed in England. There is no longer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> time. Richard +Cobden writes that the Prime Minister may be with us. A shallow hope, +but I must be on hand if needed.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps then I shall see you in London?” The thought that he might not +see the old man again was unbearable.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps, Frederick. God bless you!”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Frederick found the famous old city of Edinburgh literally plastered +with banners. <i>Send Back the Money</i> stared at him from street +corners. Every square and crescent carried the signs. They had +scribbled it on the sidewalks and painted it in large white letters on +the side of the rocky hill which stands like some Gibraltar, guarding +the city: <i>Send Back the Money</i>.</p> + +<p>For several days George Thompson, James Buffum and another American, +Henry C. Wright, had been holding antislavery meetings in the city. As +soon as Douglass arrived, they hurried him off to the most beautiful +hall he had ever seen. The audience was already assembled and greeted +him with cheers. Without taking time to remove the dust and grime of +travel, he mounted the platform and told his story.</p> + +<p>After that, excitement mounted in the town. <i>Send Back the Money</i> +appeared in a banner across the top of Edinburgh’s leading newspapers. +Somebody wrote a popular street song, with <i>Send Back the Money</i> +in the chorus. Wherever Douglass went, crowds gathered. It was as if he +had become the symbol of the people’s demand.</p> + +<p>At last the general assembly of the Free Church rose to the bait and +announced they would hold an open session at Cannon Mills. Doctors +Cunningham and Candlish would defend the Free Church of Scotland’s +relations with slavery in America. The great Dr. Chalmers was in feeble +health at the time. “Besides,” Douglass wrote afterward,<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> “he had +spoken his word on this question; and it had not silenced the clamor +without nor stilled the anxious heavings within.” As it turned out, the +whole weight of the business fell on Cunningham.</p> + +<p>The quartet of Abolitionists made it their business to go to this +meeting of the opposition. So did the rest of Edinburgh. The building +held about twenty-five hundred persons. Long ahead of time, the crowd +gathered outside and stood waiting for the doors to open.</p> + +<p>Douglass always remembered the meeting at Cannon Mills with relish.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span></p> + +<p>Dr. Cunningham rose to tumultuous applause and began his learned +address. With logic and eloquence he built up his argument, the high +point of which was that neither Jesus Christ nor his holy apostles had +looked upon slaveholding as a sin.</p> + +<p>Just as the divine reached this climax, George Thompson called out, in +a dear, sonorous, but rebuking voice, “Hear! Hear! Hear!” Speaker and +audience were brought to a dead silence.</p> + +<p>“The effect of this common exclamation was almost incredible,” Douglass +reported.<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> “It was as if a granite wall had been suddenly flung up +against the advancing current of a river.... Both the Doctor and his +hearers seemed appalled by the audacity as well as the fitness of the +rebuke.”</p> + +<p>After a moment the speaker cleared his throat and continued. But his +words stuck in his throat—the flow of language was dammed. The speech +dragged on for several minutes, and then the Doctor stumbled to his +seat to scattered patting of hands.</p> + +<p>The Free Church of Scotland held on to its bloodstained money, and the +people bowed their heads in shame.</p> + +<p>“Ours is a long history,” said Andrew Paton, sadly, “of incompetent +leadership and blind, unquestioning following by the ranks.”</p> + +<p>“But this time you did protest. The people of Scotland know what +slavery means now,” George Thompson assured him.</p> + +<p>Thompson, Buffum and Douglass traveled back to London together. They +went by stagecoach, stopping each night at some inn. It was like a +holiday. Frederick thought the soft mist that lay over all the land was +very lovely. And there was something comforting and homelike about the +way the stark grandeur of Scotland’s rugged crags gave way to rounded +hills, wide valleys and gently rolling moors. The roads of Ireland had +been bad, the occasional inns wretched and dirty. Now, for the most +part, they rolled along in state; and, when night came, lights from +an inn twinkled a jolly welcome, the dinner was hot and filling, the +innkeeper genial. Undoubtedly, thought Frederick, life is pleasanter in +England.</p> + +<p>The three Abolitionists were teetotalers—temperance men on principle. +But Frederick could not stifle a desire to taste of the foamy ale which +he saw being tossed off with such gusto.</p> + +<p>“Are you <i>sure</i> it’s alcoholic?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Thompson threw back his head with a hearty laugh.</p> + +<p>“If you mean will a bit of our ale with your dinner make you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span> drunk. +I’ll say no.” He eyed him with a quizzical twinkle. “You’d like some?”</p> + +<p>“Frederick!” Buffum frowned his disapproval. He was three-fourths +Massachusetts Puritan and he felt an older man’s responsibility.</p> + +<p>But the Englishman spread his hands and reasoned.</p> + +<p>“This is a test, Friend Buffum. Here is a newcomer to England. He +observes that ale is a national drink. He asks why?” He leaned forward. +“How can he speak of the temptations of any kind of drink if he has +never even tasted ale? Be logical, man!” Frederick was certain that one +eye winked. He grinned and looked anxiously at the Secretary of the +Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society. By now he really <i>wanted</i> some +ale. Buffum had to laugh, if weakly. He clucked his tongue and shook +his head.</p> + +<p>“Frederick, Frederick! What would the folks at home say?”</p> + +<p>Thompson was signaling to the waiter to bring them a large ale.</p> + +<p>“That,” he said sagely, as he turned back to his companions, “is +something history will not record!” He looked at Frederick’s broad, +rather solemn face and raised his eyebrows. “But I am of the opinion +that a single wild oat sown by our young friend will do him no great +harm.”</p> + +<p>The boy came up, bearing three huge, foaming mugs, having interpreted +the order as he thought right. He set the mugs down with a thump, +scattering the suds in every direction, and departed before anyone +could say “Jack Robinson!”</p> + +<p>“Well”—Thompson shook with laughter—“it seems our young friend here +is not going to sow his oats alone. So be it!” He raised his mug high +in the air and led off.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen! To the Queen! God bless her!”</p> + +<p>As they neared London they talked plans.</p> + +<p>“First,” said Thompson, “our distinguished visitor must have some +clothes.”</p> + +<p>Frederick wondered whom he was talking about, but Buffum, his eyes on +Frederick, nodded his head thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I suppose so,” he murmured. Then they both looked at Frederick +and he shifted uneasily. Answering the unspoken question in his face, +Thompson explained.</p> + +<p>“You are becoming something of a celebrity. You will be going to +dinners and teas. You must have proper apparel.”</p> + +<p>“But—” Frederick began, flushed and downcast.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span></p> + +<p>“You are now in the employ of the World Anti-Slavery Society,” Thompson +went on, “our chief and most effective spokesman. In the interest +of the entire cause you must make what the French call the good +impression.”</p> + +<p>Now Frederick’s apprehensions began to mount. How could he go into +English “society”?</p> + +<p>“Clothes do not make a gentleman,” he said, shaking his head violently. +“I am a workingman. I will speak—yes—anywhere. I will tell the +meaning of slavery, I will do anything, but I have no manners or ways +for society.”</p> + +<p>Thompson regarded the young man a long moment before answering.</p> + +<p>“You are right, Frederick,” he said quietly. “Clothes do not make +a gentleman. They only serve to render him less conspicuous.” He +placed the tips of his fingers together and continued. “It will +interest you to know that our word aristocracy comes from the Greek +<i>aristokratia</i>, which is to say ‘the best workman.’” He leaned +forward. “Someday we’ll recognize that. Meanwhile, Frederick Douglass, +make no mistake about it—<i>you</i> belong!”</p> + +<p>Came the evening when the swaying stagecoach drew up before the Golden +Cross Hostelry on Charing Cross. The thick fog gave Frederick a feeling +of unreality. He could see nothing but dim lights and looming shadows, +but he was surrounded by a kind of muffled, intermittent rumbling. He +stood in the drizzling rain listening.</p> + +<p>“Come,” said Thompson, taking him by the arm. “Let’s get inside. You’ll +be drenched before you realize it.”</p> + +<p>Thompson lived in Dulwich, a suburb of London, but he was going to stay +in town a few days until his friends had found suitable lodging and +until, as he put it, chuckling, Frederick was “launched.”</p> + +<p>The next few days were busy ones. They found lodgings in Tavistock +Square, not far from the Tavistock House, where Dickens lived for ten +years. London would be Douglass’ headquarters. From there he would make +trips throughout England and in the spring would go to Wales. He was +waited upon by the British India Committee, the Society of Friends, the +African Colonial Society and by a group working for the repeal of the +Corn Laws.</p> + +<p>“It is the poor man’s fight,” they said.</p> + +<p>The newcomer listened carefully, read newspapers morning and night +and asked questions. He spoke at the Freemason’s Hall, taking as his +theme the right of every workman to have bread. Douglass<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> spoke well, +for he had only to step outside his rooms in London to see the pinch +of poverty. Then, just as Thompson had warned him, the writers William +and Mary Howitt sent a charming note asking him for a week-end in the +country. Fortunately Frederick had managed to see a good tailor.</p> + +<p>“Go, Frederick,” his co-workers urged him. “They are Quakers. They have +influence. You will come back rested.”</p> + +<p>Fall was closing around London like a shroud, but Clapham was +delightful. The Howitts greeted him warmly.</p> + +<p>“We have read your <cite>Narrative</cite>, so you are an old friend.”</p> + +<p>This was Frederick’s initiation into English country life. He walked +out into the beautiful garden where, rounding a smilax, he almost +stepped on Hans Christian Andersen!</p> + +<p>It was Mary and William Howitt who had translated the Danish writer’s +works into English. Andersen was very fond of them, and their home in +Clapham was his haven. When they had guests he could always putter +about in the garden. He knew that the famous ex-slave was coming that +afternoon, but he would meet him after the tea party was over. Now, on +his knees, trowel in hand, a smudge of mud on his nose, he stared with +amazement. <i>So much of darkness and beard—and what a head!</i></p> + +<p>A peal of musical laughter behind him caused Frederick to turn. The +funny little man scrambled to his feet and Mary Howitt, who had +followed Frederick into the garden, was saying, “It is our dear Hans.”</p> + +<p>Andersen knew very little English and Frederick had never before heard +Danish, so they could do very little more than grin at each other. But +later, before an open fire, Frederick read Hans Christian Andersen’s +fairy stories, while Andersen, sipping his brandy, watched the +expressive dark face. Their eyes met, and they were friends.</p> + +<p>The next day Douglass asked the Howitts about their translations and +what it meant to study languages other than one’s native tongue. Then +the writer of fairy tales began to talk. He spoke in Danish, and Mary +interpreted. He talked of languages, of their background and history. +He told Frederick about words and their symbolic magic. And another +corner of Frederick’s brain unfolded itself.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>There was too much rain the summer and fall of 1845. Robert Peel, Prime +Minister of Great Britain, stood at his window and watched it beat down +on the slippery stones of the court. But he was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> not seeing the paving +stones, he was not seeing the dripping walls. He was seeing unripened +spikes of wheat rotting in the mud. He knew he had a crisis on his +hands and he was not ready.</p> + +<p>Robert Peel was a Tory. His background and education, his +administration as Secretary of Ireland, his avowed policies, all had +been those of the Conservative party. In appearance he was cold and +proud. But he was an honest man, and he grew in wisdom.</p> + +<p>Until the 1840’s, despite the vast industrial changes of the previous +half-century, some balance had been maintained between industry and +agriculture. British farmers had been able to feed most of the workers +in the new towns and factories and mines. But population had increased, +villages had dwindled, and whole networks of manufacturing towns had +sprung into being. When Peel took office the country was already in +serious straits. The problem was economic, he knew. He listened to the +speeches of John Bright, a Quaker cotton-spinner from Lancashire and he +received Richard Cobden.</p> + +<p>“There are thousands of houses in England at this moment where wives, +mothers, and children are dying of hunger. Come with me and you will +never rest until you give them bread,” Cobden said.</p> + +<p>Cobden backed his facts with logic. High tariffs kept out foodstuffs +and essential commodities; landowners were keeping up the price of +wheat while workingmen starved. Britain was on the verge of social +revolution.</p> + +<p>So Robert Peel, the Conservative, began to reduce customs. In 1842 he +set a gradually lowering scale for corn duties. He sought to shift +the burden of taxation from the poor to the wealthier classes and to +cheapen the necessities of life. He saw that reforms were necessary, +but he wished to avoid hasty changes. And in this caution lay his +undoing.</p> + +<p>His own party fell away. The Whigs distrusted the haughty, gray-eyed +Minister. What did he, a Tory, mean by “seeming” to favor lower +tariffs? The Irish still hated him because he stood firm against +Repeal of the Union. The Catholics opposed him because he had backed +nonsectarian schools.</p> + +<p>But the enemy who kept closest watch was Disraeli. Not for a day did +this ambitious member of Parliament forget that he had been left +out of the new Prime Minister’s cabinet. He took this omission as a +personal slight. Hatred for Peel distorted his every move. Cleverly, +coolly, calculatingly, Disraeli widened the cleavage in party ranks; he +drew young aristocrats about him; he flattered them with his wit and +charm, and whispered that Robert Peel, <i>their</i> Robert Peel, was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> +betraying them. He was pushing the country into Free Trade. He would +open the gates to a deluge that would destroy England.</p> + +<p>In the spring of 1845 Richard Cobden had risen in the House of Commons +and called for Repeal of the Corn Laws. He said that Free Trade ought +to be applied to agriculture and pointed to what it had done for +British manufacturing. He decried the old fallacy that wages vary +with the price of bread. He thundered that there was no truth in the +contention that wages were high when bread is dear and low when bread +is cheap. The Conservatives drew together, their faces hardening.</p> + +<p>But Robert Peel no longer backed the Corn Laws. He wanted the +drawbridges around Britain lowered forever. But he wondered how +could he, leader of the Conservative party, carry through such a +revolutionary change? He decided to let the present Parliament run its +course. In the next election he would appeal to the country: he would +carry the fight to the people. Then they could send him back, free of +all party ties and obligations, as a Free Trader.</p> + +<p>But the weather is no respecter of parliamentary elections! The wheat +crop failed in England, like the potato crop in Ireland. People were +starving, and the Corn Laws locked out food. Peel called a meeting of +his Cabinet, and the storm broke.</p> + +<p>The Cobden forces were ready. They held great mass meetings, with +Cobden and Bright enlisting every available speaker. Frederick Douglass +addressed crowds in Piccadilly, on the docks, and in Hyde Park. He and +John Bright went down into Lancashire. They talked in Birmingham and +other towns and cities about the worker’s right to have bread.</p> + +<p>Then one morning a week before Christmas, Bright burst into the rooms +on Tavistock Square, waving a newspaper.</p> + +<p>“We’ve won! We’ve won!” he shouted. “The Cabinet’s intact, the Prime +Minister is back, the Repeal stands! We’ve won!”</p> + +<p>James Buffum rolled out of bed and reached for the paper. Frederick, +partly dressed, emerged from behind a curtained cubicle and clapped the +little man on the shoulder. John Bright had watched his wife die of +starvation while he sat at his spindles. But he could not fill enough +spools. He could not spin fast enough. She had died. So John Bright had +left his loom and joined Richard Cobden. Now there would be more food +in England. He stood clinging to the dark man’s hand—this new friend +who knew so much about suffering.</p> + +<p>“I’m going home,” he said in his rich rolling Lancashire brogue.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> +“I’m going down to tell the folks myself. Come with me. We’ll be glad +together!”</p> + +<p>So it happened that Frederick spent the Christmas in a spinner’s shack +in Lancaster. On Christmas Eve he wrote Anna.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>The baby’s crying in the next room and here in the corner sleeps a +little lad just about Freddie’s age. He’s curled in a tight knot and +his hair is falling over his face. It’s not as round as I remember +Freddie’s, nor are his legs as plump. This house isn’t as big as our +little place in New Bedford and there are four children! But tonight +they’re all happy. The weavers carried on as if John and I had given +them the world! My hand shakes as I think of it. We brought a goose +and a few toys for the children. You should have seen their eyes! +Tomorrow we will feast! How I wish you could share this with me. +They’re letting me borrow their little ones. But my heart cannot but +be anxious for my own. Are you well and are the children well? I +enclose some money. Enough, I hope, for your most urgent needs. But my +real Christmas present to you is news that will make you very happy. +Friends here are raising money to purchase my freedom—seven hundred +and fifty dollars! The Misses Richardson, sweet sisters in Newcastle, +have written to Mr. Walter Forward of Philadelphia, who will seek +out Captain Auld and ask what he will accept for my person. He will +tell my former master that I am now in England and that there is no +possibility of my being taken. There can be little doubt that under +the circumstances the Captain will name his price—and be very glad to +get it! So, dear Anna, soon this separation will be at an end. I will +return to you and to my dear children, in fact and before the law, a +free man.</p> +</div> + +<p>The writer sat for a few moments regarding that last line. Anna’s eyes +would shine when she read it. For an instant her face was there. Then +the child stirred in his sleep. Frederick rose and straightened the +little limbs on the cot. His hands were very tender.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“Frederick! I believe you’ve grown,” Garrison beamed. He had just +arrived in London from America.</p> + +<p>John Bright nodded. “He is a big man,” he said.</p> + +<p>Garrison whisked Frederick away to Sir John Bowring’s castle where they +had been asked for over New Year’s.</p> + +<p>Sir John had represented England as Minister to China. He was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> a +brilliant talker and drew about himself a circle of literary friends. +On New Year’s Eve, Douglass stood at a table covered with fine linen +and old silver. He held in his hand a crystal glass and drank another +toast: “The Queen! God bless her!”</p> + +<p>They were all back in London for the opening of Parliament. Robert Peel +on the side of the people! A great day for England!</p> + +<p>As if to honor the auspicious occasion the fog blew away during the +night, and January 22, 1846, dawned clear and bright like a spring +day. People poured into the streets and lined Pall Mall. The Queen +was coming! They crowded into Cannon Row and Parliament Street and +surrounded Westminster Hall and Parliament. The Queen was coming!</p> + +<p>Cobden had secured seats for them in the gallery, but Garrison and +Douglass lingered in the crowd, craning their necks. The bobbies were +forcing them back to keep the way clear when a modest, closed carriage +drew up and a tall figure in a high silk hat stepped out.</p> + +<p>“It’s Peel! It’s Robert Peel!” shouted Garrison and that started the +crowd cheering. They had not recognized the Prime Minister. But the +tall, pale man looked neither to the right or left. He walked straight +ahead, unsmiling, and disappeared. The people were disappointed. They +wanted to know him. They wanted to be friends.</p> + +<p>The cheers had not gone unheeded. In the great, open carriage with +prancing horses that now turned into the square, Disraeli tightened his +lips. The carriage stopped with a clatter, the footman sprang down and +threw open the door. Disraeli stepped out, his head high, his silken +cape enveloping him with majesty. The crowd pressed forward.</p> + +<p>“Who is it?”</p> + +<p>“Who is that man?”</p> + +<p>“Disraeli!” someone answered.</p> + +<p>“The Jew!” another voice added.</p> + +<p>They drew back then, and let him pass in silence. Frederick Douglass +followed him with his eyes. There was something painful in the defiant +swagger. As he disappeared Frederick caught his breath sharply. He felt +a hurt in his chest.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry for that man,” he said, in a heavy tone.</p> + +<p>“Why?” asked Garrison coolly. “He would spit upon you!”</p> + +<p>Frederick shook his head. “Let’s go in.” Suddenly, he was very tired.</p> + +<p>Inside he forgot his singular depression when, from the throne of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> +England, Queen Victoria declared the session of Parliament open. She +was only thirty-one years old at that time, not beautiful perhaps, but +a radiantly happy woman. Prince Albert was at her side. She was adored +by her people. None of their hardships were laid at her door. Now she +felt that a crisis had been successfully averted. Her voice rang with +confidence and pride as she addressed her trusted Prime Minister.</p> + +<p>And all the Lords and Ministers of the realm bowed low. The royal +couple took their leave, and the business of running an empire was +resumed. Every eye turned toward Robert Peel.</p> + +<p>The Prime Minister rose, very pale, and began to state his case. He +had the facts. Step by step, he unfolded his plan for combating the +economic stalemate: cheap raw materials for the manufacturer, no +protection against fair foreign competition, cheaper seed for the +farmer, the open door for foreign meat and corn; for all, cheaper +living.</p> + +<p>No longer was his face cold and remote. The fires of deep conviction +glowed in his eyes, and there was passion in his final declaration of +independence.</p> + +<p>“I will not, sirs,” he concluded, “undertake to direct the course of +the vessel by observations which have been taken in 1842.” His words +rang. “I do not wish to be Minister of England, but while I have the +high honor of holding that office, I am determined to hold it by no +servile tenure. I will only hold that office upon the condition of +being unshackled by any other obligation than those of consulting the +public interests, and of providing for the public safety.”</p> + +<p>He bowed and took his seat. Douglass wet his dry lips. What did the +heavy silence mean? He wanted to blister his hands with applause. +Garrison laid his hand on the younger man’s arm.</p> + +<p>There was a slight stir of movement, and Sir John Russell was on his +feet. He commended the Prime Minister’s speech and quietly backed it up +with the authentic statement of Whig disasters. Some of the tenseness +relaxed. There was polite applause when Sir John ended and a bit of +parliamentary phrasing by the clerk. Men moved restlessly, wondering +what to do next.</p> + +<p>Then, like an actor carefully choosing his entrance Disraeli rose. +Slowly his eyes swept the chamber. There was a sneering smile on his +lips. It was as if he scorned their cowardly silence. Disraeli knew his +time had come.</p> + +<p>He stepped forth as defender of everything sacred! He talked of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> +all the fine traditions of Great Britain. Englishmen, he said, must +be protected without and within, from those who would undermine her +power. The Prime Minister had given a “glorious example of egotistical +rhetoric,” and his policy was a “gross betrayal of the principles which +had put him in power and of the party which kept him there.”</p> + +<p>The brilliance of his style held them spellbound. His defense +of England thrilled them and his attack on Peel justified their +selfishness. Disraeli took his seat to thunderous applause.</p> + +<p>Douglass was shaking as though ill.</p> + +<p>“What does it mean?” he asked, when they had got away.</p> + +<p>“It means,” said Richard Cobden, grimly, “that we’ll have to fight +every inch of the way all over again. We have won nothing. Except that +now Disraeli will stop at nothing to ruin Peel.”</p> + +<p>“But how can Disraeli oppose the cause of poor people? I thought he +knew of oppression and suffering from his own experience.” Douglass’ +distress was very real. John Bright tried to explain.</p> + +<p>“Suffering and oppression often only embitter men, Frederick, embitter +and harden them. They close in upon themselves. They are so determined +to be safe that they are ruthless and cruel. Undoubtedly Disraeli has +suffered, but he has suffered selfishly—he has refused to see the +sufferings of other people. He will sacrifice anything for power.”</p> + +<p>Frederick Douglass was learning what it takes to make men free. In the +spring he went up into Wales. He traveled, as he said in a letter which +was published in the <cite>Liberator</cite>, “from the Hill of Howth to the +Giant’s Causeway, and from the Giant’s Causeway to Cape Clear.” On May +12 he made a speech at Finsbury Chapel, Moorfields, which was published +throughout England. William Gladstone addressed a note to him, inviting +him to call.</p> + +<p>Douglass heard that Daniel O’Connell was in London, that the Irish and +Catholics were joined in the coalition against Peel. Yet the Prime +Minister carried his Corn Bill through the House of Commons with +comparative ease. It began to look as if, in spite of Lord Bentinck and +Disraeli, it would get through the House of Lords. Then they attacked +Peel’s character.</p> + +<p>Returning to London in May, Douglass immediately sought out O’Connell. +The old man greeted him warmly, but he was haggard and shaken. Also, +he was on the defensive. They could not avoid the subject which was +uppermost in both their minds.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> + +<p>“He’s a lifelong enemy of Ireland, lad.” O’Connell studied Frederick’s +troubled face anxiously.</p> + +<p>“But Richard Cobden proves that Peel will listen to reason. Cobden has +won him so far along the way. His enemies are using the Irish question +now to destroy him.”</p> + +<p>“He would tie Ireland to England forever!” The old man rose defiantly, +shaking his white hair.</p> + +<p>On June 25 the Corn Bill passed in the House of Lords, but the same +day the Commons repudiated the Minister’s Life Preservation bill for +Ireland by a majority of seventy-three. Once more his enemies could say +that Peel had betrayed his principles and fooled his followers. Three +days later Peel tendered his resignation to the Queen.</p> + +<p>That evening Douglass, accompanied by O’Connell, made his way to the +Parliament.</p> + +<p>“He will speak tonight—for the last time,” John Bright had told them.</p> + +<p>The members sat in their seats, strangely subdued. The contest between +Peel and Disraeli was over. True, the Corn Laws were repealed—the +gates were down. But Disraeli had forced Robert Peel out. He was +finished.</p> + +<p>Yet the grimness which had marked his pale face in the past months was +gone, and in his final words there was a sense of peace that seemed to +reach beyond that time and place.</p> + +<p>“When Ministers appear to change their course, and lay themselves open +to the charge of inconsistency, it were better perhaps for this country +and for the general character of public men that they be punished by +expulsion from office.” He did not blame them, then. There was no word +of bitterness. Moreover, the credit for his reforms, he said, should +not go to him. “The name which ought to be chiefly associated with the +success of these measures is the name of Richard Cobden,” one who has +achieved his disinterested purpose by “appeals to our reason.”</p> + +<p>There was a slight rustle throughout the chamber. It was as if the very +shadows were listening.</p> + +<p>“In relinquishing power, I shall leave a name censured by many who +deeply regret the severance of party ties, by others, who, from no +selfish interest adhere to the principles of Protection, considering +its maintenance essential to the welfare and interests of the country; +I shall leave a name execrated by every monopolist, who clamors for +Protection because it conduces to his own individual benefit. But it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span> +may be that I shall leave a name sometimes remembered with expressions +of goodwill in the abodes of those whose lot it is to labor, and to +earn their bread by the sweat of their brow. Perhaps they too will call +my name when they shall recruit their exhausted strength with abundant +and untaxed food, the sweeter because it is not leavened by a sense of +injustice.”</p> + +<p>It was all over in a few minutes. Frederick turned at a sound beside +him. O’Connell had covered his face with his two hands. Frederick +slipped his arm through his, pressing against him. The grand old man of +Ireland was weeping.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It was the Reverend Samuel Hanson Cox who now decided that London had +had just about enough of Frederick Douglass!</p> + +<p>Sixty or seventy American divines had arrived in London that summer for +the double purpose of attending the World Evangelical Alliance and the +World Temperance Convention. It was the avowed purpose of a group of +these ministers, under the leadership of the Reverend Cox, to procure +a blanket endorsement for the Christian character of slaveholders. The +matter was becoming a little ticklish in certain quarters, and these +churchmen were determined to establish the Biblical and divine status +of the “sons of Ham” whom—they agreed—God had designated “hewers of +wood and drawers of water.”</p> + +<p>What was their dismay, therefore, to find one of the slaves running +around at large in England, speaking from platforms, and being invited +to the homes of respectable, but utterly misguided, Englishmen +<i>and</i> Englishwomen—<i>God save us!</i></p> + +<p>The divines set about enlightening the English people. Before they +realized it, the question of slavery became a burning issue in the +Evangelical Alliance. And things did not go well. By far the larger +crowds were attracted to the Temperance Convention, which was being +held in huge Covent Garden. The Abolitionists planned carefully. One +afternoon when the Garden was packed, Frederick Douglass was called +from the audience to “address a few words” to the Convention. The +slavers’ advocates were thunderstruck! They could not believe that such +treachery existed within their own ranks. As, amid clamorous applause, +Douglass made his way to the platform, Reverend Cox leaped to his feet +and shouted his protests. But he was yelled down.</p> + +<p>“Let him speak!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span></p> + +<p>“Hear him!”</p> + +<p>“Douglass! Frederick Douglass!”</p> + +<p>They shouted until the livid little divine sank helpless into his seat.</p> + +<p>Frederick Douglass, “the young lion,” had come into his full strength. +He stood facing the audience which filled every corner of Covent +Garden, and felt power coursing all along his veins. He resolved that +no man or woman within the sound of his voice that afternoon should +ever be able to say “I did not know!”</p> + +<p>According to the account written by the Reverend Cox that appeared in +his denominational paper, the <cite>New York Evangelist</cite>, Douglass’ +speech was “a perversion, an abuse, and an iniquity against the law +of reciprocal righteousness—inspired, I believe, from beneath, and +not from above. This Douglass,” said Reverend Cox, “denounced American +temperance societies and churches as a community of enemies of his +people. He talked to the American delegates as if he had been our +schoolmaster and we his docile and devoted pupils.”</p> + +<p>And Covent Garden rocked as it seldom had in all its history.</p> + +<p>“We all wanted to reply,” the account concluded, “but it was too late. +The whole theater seemed taken with the spirit of the Ephesian uproar; +they were boisterous in the extreme, and poor Mr. Kirk could hardly +obtain a moment to say a few well-chosen words.”</p> + +<p>The applause was like thunder. When Douglass bowed and tried to leave +the platform, people rushed forward to seize his hand. They blocked his +path. Men and women wept. They shouted until they were hoarse. Nobody +heard or heeded “poor Mr. Kirk.” Douglass left the theater at the head +of a procession of Londoners, who continued to cheer him as they came +out on the street. Curious passersby swelled the ranks. They followed +him down Bow Street to Russell and past the Drury Lane Theater. But +just beyond the theater Frederick stopped. He faced the crowd and at a +motion from him they closed in around him.</p> + +<p>“My friends,” he told them, “never in my life have people been so good +to me. But I have spoken not to arouse you to cheers, but to move you +to action. I have told you of slavery, of oppression, of wrongdoing +which is going on in this world. I tell you now that this is true not +only of black slaves in America, but of white slaves here in Europe. My +friends, these are not times for cheering. Go to your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> homes, to your +shops and to your offices! Pass my words along and find the job that +you can do to bring about the freedom of all peoples. Go now, quickly!”</p> + +<p>He stood facing them until they had dispersed, looking back over their +shoulders, talking excitedly.</p> + +<p>Then, with a sigh of deep satisfaction, Frederick Douglass went walking +on down Russell Street. He turned into Drury Lane and half an hour +later was rolling along Fulham Road.</p> + +<p>Tavistock Square no longer claimed him as a lodger. When James Buffum +returned to America and Douglass set out on his northern tour the attic +rooms were given up. Upon his return to London he had been invited +to make his home with friends in Chelsea where, in the rare periods +between strenuous rounds, he could enjoy a haven from the noise and +dirt of the city. He remembered that summer with pleasure—no fog, a +mild sun, long walks over the Heath, across Albert Bridge and down by +the river. Hours of undisturbed reading in a little arbor behind the +cottage continually opened new vistas and broadened his understanding. +More than the scars on his back, he deplored his lack of education. Now +he seized every opportunity to learn.</p> + +<p>Back in America the Mexican War was arousing people. The possibility +of more slave states being added to the Union speeded up the +Abolitionists. Word was rushed to the Anti-Slavery Society in England +to enlist the people of Great Britain, to let the workers of Britain +know how slavery in America threatened all their hard-bought gains, and +perhaps get them to boycott slave-grown cotton.</p> + +<p>Frederick Douglass rose to the need. Thousands packed into the Free +Trade Hall in London to hear him; workers in Manchester and Birmingham +learned how cotton was produced; merchants and dock hands rubbed +shoulders at Concert Hall in Liverpool.</p> + +<p>Frederick Douglass spoke to men and women in every walk of life. +William Gladstone listened and learned from the black American. +In Edinburgh he was entertained by George Combe, and the eminent +philosopher listened as well as talked. Together they discussed the +Corn Laws, reduction of hours of labor, and what black slavery was +doing to the world. During this time Douglass was urged to remain in +Europe. He was offered important posts in Ireland and in Scotland.</p> + +<p>“Send for your family, Douglass!” they said. “There is work here for +you to do.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span></p> + +<p>But he shook his head. In spite of all his activities, he was growing +restless that winter. True, he was presenting the case of the slave +to Britain. In a few months he had become famous; but within himself +he felt that all this had only been a period of preparation. He was +like an athlete who, trained to the pink of condition, was only going +through preliminary skirmishes. For Frederick Douglass knew his real +work lay ahead—in America.</p> + +<p>They were still waiting for the final settlement with Captain Auld. +He had asked one hundred and fifty pounds sterling for his slave. The +money had been promptly sent.</p> + +<p>Then, one morning, a letter reached Douglass in Darlington. It was from +George Thompson.</p> + +<p>“Your papers have arrived. Come down with us for two or three days +before you go to Wales. There is so much to talk about and I know this +means an early farewell.”</p> + +<p>This was the beginning of his last days in Britain. He was invited to +dinners, receptions, teas, scheduled for “farewell” speeches.</p> + +<p>“What will you do?” they asked.</p> + +<p>“I should like to establish a paper, a paper in which I can speak +directly to my people, a paper that will prove whether or not a Negro +has mind, the tongue of reason, and can present facts and arguments +clearly.”</p> + +<p>They placed twenty-five hundred dollars in his hands—as a start toward +this enterprise.</p> + +<p>“You will come back!” They made it both a question and an affirmation.</p> + +<p>“When we have won our fight!” He nodded.</p> + +<p>A crowd accompanied him to the boat at Liverpool and stood waving him +goodbye. John Bright’s eyes were wet.</p> + +<p>“We’ll miss you, Douglass!” said the little spinner from Lancaster.</p> + +<p>The shores and wharves and people blurred as he stood on the deck. They +had been so good. He reached in his pocket and once more took out the +precious papers that declared him free.</p> + +<p>The transaction had to be in two parts. Thomas Auld first sold him to +his brother Hugh, and then the Philadelphia lawyer had secured the +final manumission paper through the Baltimore authorities. It was this +second and final sheet that Frederick unfolded—the paper for which the +people of England had paid seven hundred and fifty dollars.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><i>To all whom it may concern</i>: Be it known, that I, Hugh Auld, of +the city of Baltimore, in Baltimore county, in the state of Maryland, +for divers good causes and considerations, me thereunto moving, have +released from slavery, liberated, manumitted, and set free, and by +these presents do hereby release from slavery, liberate, manumit, +and set free, My Negro Man, named Frederick Bailey, otherwise called +Douglass, being of the age of twenty-eight years, or thereabouts, +and able to work and gain a sufficient livelihood and maintenance; +and him the said negro man, named Frederick Bailey, otherwise called +Frederick Douglass, I do declare to be henceforth free, manumitted, +and discharged from all manner of servitude to me, my executors, and +administrators forever.</p> + +<p>In witness whereof, I, the said Hugh Auld, have hereunto set my hand +and seal, the fifth of December, in the year one thousand eight +hundred and forty-six.</p> + +<p class="right"> +<i>Signed</i> <span class="smcap">Hugh Auld</span>.<br> +</p> + +<p><i>Sealed and delivered in presence of</i> <span class="smcap">T. Hanson Belt</span>.<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></p> +</div> + +<p>He looked out across the waters. He had been away nearly two years. It +was spring, and he was going home.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Ten"><span class="smcap">Chapter Ten</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>A light is set on the road</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>Massachusetts hung out her fairest garlands that spring. The fruit +trees were in bloom. Dandelions a foot tall framed the winding roads in +gold; across the meadows lay Queen Anne’s lace and white daisies; the +lake shallows were covered with dark, green rushes; and alders, growing +at the water’s edge, stood between white and yellow water-lilies. There +was sweetness in the air.</p> + +<p>Behind the little house between two cedar trees the line of white +clothes waved merrily in the breeze. Mrs. Walker from the other side of +the fence, stood in the doorway and admired the scrubbed and polished +kitchen.</p> + +<p>“Land sakes, Mis’ Douglass, you <i>are</i> smart this morning!”</p> + +<p>The dark woman, her sleeves tucked up, was kneading a batch of dough. +She did not stop. There was still so much to do, and her breasts were +heavy with milk. She must set these loaves before she nursed the baby. +But she smiled at her neighbor, her eyes shining.</p> + +<p>“My husband’s coming home!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Walker laughed sympathetically.</p> + +<p>“I know, but not today. Body’d think he was walkin’ in this minute.”</p> + +<p>In the next room little Rosetta filled an earthen jar with buttercups +and violets she had picked down by the river. It spilled over and she +began to cry.</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” comforted Lewis. He spoke with masculine superiority, +reinforced by his eight years. “Pa’s got no time for flowers anyhow.”</p> + +<p>But Miss Abigail always kept flowers on the table. She had taught +Rosetta how to arrange them, and now the little girl wiped her eyes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span> +and returned to her task. She had only that week been brought back +to the cottage in Lynn for her father’s homecoming. Shortly before +the baby was born the Misses Abigail and Lydia Mott had taken the +child to live with them in Albany. To this extent the Quaker ladies +had lightened Anna’s responsibilities. They had cared for and taught +Frederick Douglass’ little daughter carefully. Now she was home for a +visit, they said: they wanted her back.</p> + +<p>“Don’t touch!” Rosetta climbed down from the chair and eyed her +centerpiece with satisfaction. She spoke to three-year-old Charlie, +whose round face was also turned toward the flowers. Freddie, all of +his six years intent on mending a hole in the fence, had sent his “baby +brother” into the house with a terse “Get outta my way!”</p> + +<p>Charlie’s plump legs carried him hither and yon obeying orders. Now he +was wondering what he could do on his own. Pa was coming—and he wanted +to do something special. All at once he yelled, “I’ll show him the +baby!”</p> + +<p>Two days later he clung, ecstatic with joy, to the big man’s coat when +for the first time the father held his new daughter in his arms. It was +love at first sight. Perhaps because she was called Annie, or perhaps +it was the very special way she wrapped her fist about his thumb.</p> + +<p>Over the heads of their children, Anna and Frederick smiled at each +other. The months had put lines on her face; he knew the days and +nights had not been easy. He had yet to rub the rough callouses on +her hands and find out about the shoes! Anna saw that her husband had +grown, that he had gone far. He had walked in high places. But now he +was home again. They were together.</p> + +<p>They feasted that evening. The children tumbled over themselves being +useful. They emptied their plates and then sat listening, wide-eyed. He +talked and then he too asked questions.</p> + +<p>“Say nothing about the shoes. We’ll surprise him,” she had cautioned.</p> + +<p><i>A joke on Pa!</i> They hugged their secret gleefully, as children +will.</p> + +<p>At last the house was still and she lay down beside him.</p> + +<p>“Everything’s gone fine, hasn’t it, dear?” He spoke with deep +contentment. “The children are well. The house looks better than it did +when I went away. How did you do it?”</p> + +<p>Her body touched his in the old bed.</p> + +<p>“I managed,” she murmured. The shoes had made her hands rough and hard. +His skin was warm and smooth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span></p> + +<p>“Have you missed me?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Her sigh of response came from a heart at peace.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Washington read of Frederick Douglass’ return in the <cite>National +Era</cite>. Gamaliel Bailey had been printing short accounts of his +activities in Great Britain. Many of the Abolitionists had protested +against Douglass’ purchase by English friends. They declared it a +violation of antislavery principles and a wasteful expenditure of +money. The <cite>National Era</cite> took up the issue.</p> + +<p>“Our English friends are wise,” Bailey’s editorial commented. +“Maryland’s slave laws still stand. Frederick Douglass is now free +anywhere in the United States, only because he carries manumission +papers on his person. The Eastern Shore can no longer claim him.”</p> + +<p>The slaveholding power, it seemed, was stronger than ever. Texas with +its millions of acres had been admitted to the Union, and President +Polk was negotiating a treaty that favored the slave oligarchy. +Abolitionists had split over political matters and had weakened +themselves. But the sparks had fallen and were lighting fires in +unexpected places. Charles Sumner, emerging from the State Legislature +in Massachusetts, was moving toward the United States Senate. From +Pennsylvania came David Wilmot with his amendment of the proposed +treaty saying “neither slavery nor involuntary servitude shall ever +exist in any part” of the territory acquired as a result of the +Mexican War. Longfellow, most popular author in America, was writing +thunderously on slavery; <cite>The Biglow Papers</cite> were circulating, and +petitions, signed by tens of thousands, were gathered and delivered +in Washington by Henry Wilson and John Greenleaf Whittier. Inside +Congress, the aged John Quincy Adams laid the petitions before the +House. The House tabled them—but the sparks continued to fly.</p> + +<p>On an evening late in May a group of people responded to invitations +sent out by the Reverend Theodore Parker and gathered at his house in +Boston. He had called them together to discuss further strategy. Among +those present were Bronson Alcott, Ralph Waldo Emerson, William Ellery +Channing,<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> Walter Channing, +<a id="FNanchor_9_" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> Wendell Phillips, James Russell Lowell, +James and Lucretia Mott, Charles Sumner, Joshua Blanchard, William +Lloyd Garrison and Frederick Douglass.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span></p> + +<p>These men and women had not agreed on every issue in the past, but +now they united their efforts toward one single end: Slavery must be +stopped. If it could not now be abolished, at least it must not spread. +The <i>Wilmot Proviso</i> must be carried to the country.</p> + +<p>And who was better equipped to carry out such a mandate than William +Lloyd Garrison and their newly returned co-worker, who had been hailed +throughout Great Britain? The man who bore his “diploma” on his back, +Frederick Douglass. So it was decided.</p> + +<p>Douglass’ reputation no longer rested on the warm word of his +personal friends. Not only had accounts of him been printed in the +<cite>Liberator</cite>, but the <cite>Standard</cite> and the <cite>Pennsylvania +Freeman</cite> had told of his speeches and reception abroad. Every +antislavery paper in the country had picked up the stories. Horace +Greeley had told New York about him. Nor was the opposition unaware +of him. The advocates and supporters of slavery pointed to him as “a +horrible example” of what “could happen.”</p> + +<p>“Douglass!” The name was whispered in cabins and in tobacco and rice +fields. It traveled up and down the Eastern Shore. A tall black girl, +dragging logs through the marsh, heard it and resolved to run away. +She became “Sojourner Truth” of the Underground Railroad—the fearless +agent who time after time returned to the Deep South to organize bands +of slaves and lead them out.</p> + +<p>In Boston and Albany and New York they clamored to see and hear +Douglass. And in clubs and offices and behind store-fronts they +muttered angry words.</p> + +<p>During the first week in August the Anti-Slavery Society held a +three-day convention in Morristown, Pennsylvania, with hundreds of +people coming by train from Philadelphia. Lucretia Mott, the foremost +woman Abolitionist of her day, fired the crowd with enthusiasm. +Douglass did not arrive until the second day. His name was on +everyone’s lips, the trainmen craned their necks to see him, and he was +pointed out wherever he went.</p> + +<p>The evening of the closing day of the convention, Garrison and Douglass +were to speak together at a church. It was packed when they arrived. +Garrison spoke first. All went well until Douglass rose, when there +came a sound of breaking glass and large stones flew through the +windows. The men in the audience rushed out. There was the sound of +shouting and running outside. The rowdies fled, and in a short while +the meeting continued.</p> + +<p>In Philadelphia there were a large number of educated and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span> extremely +active Negro Abolitionists. Douglass was particularly happy to spend +some time with them, and they were eager to heed and honor him. William +Grant Still, secretary of the Philadelphia Vigilance Committee, saw to +it that they met Douglass.</p> + +<p>On Saturday morning Garrison and Douglass said goodbye to their friends +and hurried to the station. At the last moment Garrison recalled an +errand.</p> + +<p>“Go ahead and get the tickets, Douglass,” he said. “I’ll be along in +time.”</p> + +<p>Douglass complied with his request, but Garrison had not arrived when +the train pulled in. Douglass boarded one of the last cars and, sitting +down close to a window, watched rather anxiously for his traveling +companion.</p> + +<p>He did not notice the man who came up to the seat until he heard: “You +there! Get out of that seat!”</p> + +<p>It came like the old-remembered sting of a whip. He had not heard that +tone for so long. He looked up. The speaker was a big man. He had +evidently been drinking. His face was flushed.</p> + +<p>“Get along up front where you belong!”</p> + +<p>“I have a first-class ticket which entitles me to this seat,” Douglass +said quietly. The muscles along his back were tightening.</p> + +<p>“Why, you impudent darky!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, John, please!”</p> + +<p>Then Douglass saw that behind the man and, until that moment hidden +by him, was a little woman, the thin, gray strands of her hair partly +concealed by a poke bonnet, her blue eyes now wide with alarm.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Douglass, rising, “excuse me, madam. Would you like my seat?”</p> + +<p>The bully’s mouth dropped open. For a moment the unexpected words +struck him dumb.</p> + +<p>“Why—why—I—” the woman stammered.</p> + +<p>“Shut up!” The man had recovered his breath. “Don’t talk to that +nigger. I’ll knock his teeth down his black throat if he says another +word.”</p> + +<p>Frederick smiled at the woman.</p> + +<p>“As I said, I have my ticket. But there are plenty of seats. I’ll +gladly vacate this one for a lady.”</p> + +<p>He moved quickly, catching his assailant’s blow with a swing of his +arm, and brushed past before the man could recover himself. Douglass +went on down the aisle. Behind him the man cursed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, please, John!” the little lady protested.</p> + +<p>Out on the platform, Douglass walked into Garrison. They hurried into +another car and the train moved off.</p> + +<p>“We’ll report the man when we reach the station,” said Garrison.</p> + +<p>Douglass shrugged his shoulders. “He was drunk!” was his only comment.</p> + +<p>The train pulled into Harrisburg about three o’clock in the afternoon. +At the depot they found Dr. Rutherford, long-time subscriber to the +<cite>Liberator</cite>, his sister-in-law, Agnes Crane, and several colored +people awaiting them. One of the latter, a Mr. Wolf, proudly bore off +Frederick Douglass to his home, while Dr. Rutherford took Mr. Garrison +in tow.</p> + +<p>Harrisburg, capital of Pennsylvania, was very much under the influence +of slavery. The little group of Abolitionists had struggled valiantly +against odds. They had obtained the Court House for the Saturday +and Sunday evening presentations of their two speakers. Heretofore, +antislavery lecturers had drawn only a few anxious listeners. This +Saturday evening the Court House was filled to overflowing, and crowds +had gathered in the street in front of the building.</p> + +<p>Mischief was brewing. Outside, mounted horsemen mingled with the crowd, +and inside the hall seethed with tense expectancy.</p> + +<p>The chairman for the evening rose and introduced Mr. Garrison first. He +spoke briefly, merely to open the meeting. Everybody knew that whatever +happened would be aimed at Douglass. The dark speaker came forward, and +someone in the back yelled, “Sit down, nigger!”</p> + +<p>It was the signal. Through the windows came hurtling stones, bricks and +pieces of Harrisburg pottery. From the back of the hall people threw +stones and rotten eggs, ripe tomatoes and other missiles. Several men +armed with clubs leaped for the platform.</p> + +<p>The hall had become a bedlam: shrieks, shattering glass, and shouts of +“Out with the damned nigger!” “Kill him!” “Break his head!” Douglass, +recalling the mob in Indiana, seized a chair and laid about him with +a will. A flying stone struck him just above the eye, and a brickbat +grazed his head; but no one could get near him. It turned into a +free-for-all. Garrison from his place on the platform thundered +denunciations and rallied the people to their own defense. Gradually, +they routed the disturbers and peace was restored.</p> + +<p>One might suppose that the exhausted audience would have called<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span> it +quits. But not so with this crowd which had come out to hear Frederick +Douglass. Scratches and wounds and broken heads were hurriedly tended; +cold cloths were applied. And finally, holding a damp handkerchief to +his head to stay the flow of blood, Douglass told his story. Far down +the street the would-be “nigger killers” heard the cheers.</p> + +<p>Sunday morning and afternoon they spoke at Negro churches. White people +attended both times, and the meetings were unmolested. The Sunday +evening crowd at the Court House was doubled. There was no trouble.</p> + +<p>“Always heared tell them nigger-loving Abolitionists was +chicken-hearted!” a man in a tavern complained morosely. “It’s a damn +lie!” He rubbed his aching head thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>Monday morning they left for Pittsburgh, going by train as far as +Chambersburg, where they had to change to the stage. Here they were +told that there had been some mistake about the tickets. The one +Douglass held enabled him to go directly through on the two o’clock +stage, but Garrison would have to wait until eight in the evening. +Garrison told Douglas they would be expected and he might as well go +ahead.</p> + +<p>The route over the Alleghenies was beautiful, but slow and difficult. +The stage was crowded, and it was a melting-hot day. When they drew up +at the taverns for meals, Douglass was not allowed to eat in the dining +room. He was told he might eat, if he stood outside. He preferred to go +hungry—for the better part of two days.</p> + +<p>On arriving at Pittsburgh the stage was met by a committee of twenty +white and colored friends, with a brass band of colored men playing for +all they were worth! The stage was late. It pulled in at three o’clock +in the morning, but both committee and band had waited.</p> + +<p>Douglass could not help relishing the consternation of his +fellow-travelers when, to the accompaniment of deafening blasts from +tuba and trumpet, he was literally lifted from the stage. How could +they have known that the quiet, dark man whom they had seen humiliated +and pushed aside, was a celebrity?</p> + +<p>There was much about the dingy, smoke-covered city of Pittsburgh which +reminded Douglass and Garrison of manufacturing towns in England. These +people were down to bare necessities. They knew life and death could be +hard and violent. They wanted no part of slavery.</p> + +<p>“No more slave states!” they shouted.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></p> + +<p>Their enthusiasm was in the English style. They expressed approval +without stint. At the close of the final meeting, they gave three +tremendous cheers—one for Garrison, one for Douglass, and one for the +local worker who had brought the speakers, A. K. Foster.</p> + +<p>On Friday Garrison and Douglass took a steamer down the Ohio River. +They stopped off at New Brighton, a village of about eight hundred +people. They spoke in a barn, where, from barrels of flour piled on the +beams over their heads, specks sifted down, whitening their clothes. +They left aboard a canal boat, in the company of a young Negro named +Peck, a future graduate of Rush Medical College at Chicago.</p> + +<p>The next stop was Youngstown, where they were the guests of a jovial +tavern keeper. He always took in Abolitionist lecturers free of charge. +There they spoke three times in a huge grove. By evening Douglass +was without voice. His throat was throbbing and he could not speak +above a whisper. Garrison carried on. New Lyme, Painesville, Munson, +Twinsburg—every town and hamlet on the way—in churches, halls, barns, +tents, in groves and on hillsides. Oberlin, which come next, was a +milestone for them both.</p> + +<p>“You know that from the commencement of the Institution in Oberlin,” +Garrison wrote his wife, “I took a lively interest in its welfare, +particularly on account of its springing up in a wilderness, only +thirteen years since, through the indomitable and sublime spirit +of freedom by which the seceding students of Lane Seminary were +actuated....</p> + +<p>“Oberlin has done much for the relief of the flying fugitives from the +Southern prison-house, multitudes of whom have found it a refuge from +their pursuers, and been fed, clad, sheltered, comforted, and kindly +assisted on their way out of this horrible land to Canada. It has also +promoted the cause of emancipation in various ways, and its church +refuses to be connected with any slaveholding or pro-slavery church by +religious fellowship....</p> + +<p>“I think our visit was an important one.... Douglass and I have +been hospitably entertained by Hamilton Hill, the Treasurer of the +Institution, an English gentleman, who formerly resided in London, +and is well acquainted with George Thompson and other antislavery +friends.... Among others who called was Miss Lucy Stone, who has +just graduated, and who yesterday left for her home in Brookfield, +Massachusetts.... She is a very superior young woman, and has a soul as +free as air, and is preparing to go forth as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span> a lecturer, particularly +in vindication of the rights of woman.... But I must throw down my pen, +as the carriage is at the door to take us to Richfield, where we are to +have a large meeting today under the Oberlin tent, which is capable of +holding four thousand persons.”<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></p> + +<p>It was Garrison who finally broke down.</p> + +<p>Their first meeting in Cleveland was held in Advent Chapel. Hundreds +were turned away, and in the afternoon they moved out into a grove in +order to accommodate the crowd. It sprinkled occasionally during the +meeting, but no one seemed to mind. The next morning, however, Garrison +opened his eyes in pain. He closed them again and tried to move. He sat +up, dizzy and swaying. Douglass, seeing his face, rushed to his side.</p> + +<p>The doctor ordered him to stay in bed for a few days. They were +scheduled to leave for Buffalo within the hour, and once more Garrison +urged Douglass to go on ahead.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be along,” he said weakly.</p> + +<p>Garrison did not join him at Buffalo. Douglass held the meetings +alone and it was the same at Waterloo and West Winfield. By the time +he reached Syracuse on September 24, Douglass had begun to worry. +There, however, he found word. Garrison had been very ill. He was now +recovering and would soon be in Buffalo. Somewhat relieved, Douglass +went on to Rochester, where he held large and enthusiastic meetings.</p> + +<p>For a few days he visited with Gerrit Smith on his estate at Peterboro. +Only then did he realize how tired he was. The high-ceilinged, paneled +rooms of the fine old manor offered the perfect refuge from the rush +and noise and turmoil of the past weeks. Douglass stretched out in an +easy chair before an open fire and rested.</p> + +<p>Something was bothering Douglass. Now that the cheering crowds were far +away he frowned. Gerrit Smith fingered a long-stemmed glass of sherry +and waited.</p> + +<p>“They listened eagerly,” Douglass said at last, “they filled the halls +and afterward they cheered.” He stopped and Gerrit Smith nodded his +head.</p> + +<p>“And what then?” Smith’s voice had asked the question in Douglass’ mind.</p> + +<p>Douglass was silent a long moment. He spoke slowly.</p> + +<p>“They did not need convincing. The people know that slavery is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span> wrong.” +Again Smith nodded his head. Douglass frowned. “Is it that convictions +are not enough?”</p> + +<p>Then Gerrit Smith leaned forward.</p> + +<p>“Convictions are the final end we seek,” he said. “But even you +dare not pit your convictions against the slaveholder’s property. +Slaveholders are not concerned or bothered about cheering crowds north +of the Ohio river. They can laugh at them! But they will not laugh long +if the cheering crowds go marching to the ballot box. Convictions need +votes to back them up!”</p> + +<p>The shadows in the room deepened. For a long time there was only +silence.</p> + +<p>“There’s a man in Springfield you ought to know,” Gerrit Smith spoke +quietly. “His name is John Brown.”</p> + +<p>And so Douglass first heard of John Brown, in whose plans he would be +involved for many years to come.</p> + +<p>Upon the establishment of Oberlin College in 1839, Gerrit Smith had +given the school a large tract of land in Virginia. The small group in +Ohio hardly knew what to do with his gift until, in 1840, young John +Brown, son of one of the Oberlin trustees, wrote proposing to survey +the lands for a nominal price if he could buy some of it himself and +establish his family there.</p> + +<p>“He said,” continued Smith, “that he planned to set up there a school +for both the Negroes and poor whites of the region.”</p> + +<p>Titles to the Virginia lands were not clear because squatters were in +possession, and the Oberlin trustees welcomed Brown’s plan. Thus John +Brown first saw Virginia and looked over the rich and heavy lands which +roll westward to the misty Blue Ridge. The Oberlin lands lay about two +hundred miles west of Harper’s Ferry in the foothills and along the +valley of the Ohio.</p> + +<p>“He wrote that he liked the country as well as he had expected and its +inhabitants even better,” Smith chuckled.</p> + +<p>By the summer of 1840 the job was done, and Brown had picked out his +ground. It was good hill land on the right branch of a valuable spring, +with a growth of good timber and a sugar orchard. In August the Oberlin +trustees voted “that the Prudential Committee be authorized to perfect +negotiations and convey by deed to Brother John Brown of Hudson, one +thousand acres of our Virginia land on the conditions suggested in +the correspondence which has already transpired between him and the +Committee.”<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span></p> + +<p>“But then”—Gerrit Smith’s voice took on new urgency—“all negotiations +stopped. The panic overthrew everybody’s calculations. Brown’s wool +business collapsed, and two years later he was bankrupt. He had +endorsed notes for a friend, and they sent him to jail. Then he entered +into partnership with a man named Perkins, with a view to carrying on +the sheep business extensively. Perkins was to furnish all the feed and +shelter for wintering, and Brown was to take care of the flock.” Smith +was silent for a few minutes, puffing on his pipe. “I think he loved +being a shepherd. Anyway, during those long, solitary days and nights +he developed a plan for furnishing cheap wool direct to consumers.</p> + +<p>“He has a large store now in Springfield, Massachusetts. They say his +bales are firm, round, hard and true, almost as if they had been turned +out in a lathe. But the New England manufacturers are boycotting him. +He’s not playing according to the rules and he’s being squeezed out. +The truth of the matter is that John Brown has his own set of rules. He +says he has a mission to perform.” There was another long silence. Then +Gerrit Smith spoke and his voice was sad. “I wish I had it in my power +to give him that tract of land protected by the Blue Ridge Mountains. I +think that land lies at the core of all his planning.”</p> + +<p>Gerrit Smith was right. John Brown had a plan. One thing alone +reconciled him to his Springfield sojourn and that was the Negroes whom +he met there. He had met black men singly here and there before. He was +consumed with an intense hatred of slavery, and in Springfield he found +a group of Negroes working manfully for full freedom. It was a small +body without conspicuous leadership. On that account it more nearly +approximated the great mass of their enslaved race. Brown sought them +in home, in church and on the street; he hired them in his business. +While Garrison and Douglass were touring Ohio, John Brown was saying to +his black porter and friend, “Come early in the morning so that we’ll +have time to talk.”</p> + +<p>And so before the store was swept or the windows wiped, they carefully +reviewed their plans for the “Subterranean Pass Way.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Amelia and Mrs. Royall did not make the trip north. Amelia’s +disappointment was tempered because she knew Frederick Douglass was +somewhere out West. Jack Haley laughed and said that was the reason +the old lady did not go. But Anne Royall said no newspaper woman could +leave Washington when news was fairly bristling in the air.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span></p> + +<p>That last was true. Had not the South fought and paid for the gold +fields of California? Now the scratch of President Polk’s pen as +he signed the treaty with Mexico reverberated through the halls of +Congress. Tempers were short.</p> + +<p>“And manners have been tossed out the window,” said Anne Royall.</p> + +<p>Then Jefferson Davis was sent up from Mississippi. Mrs. Royall was +immediately intrigued by the tall, handsome war hero.</p> + +<p>“Careful, Mrs. Royall!” warned Jack Haley, shaking his finger.</p> + +<p>“Attend your own affairs, young man,” snapped the old lady. “Jefferson +Davis brings charm into this nest of cawing crows!”</p> + +<p>Foreign consulates were rocking, too. Ambassadors dared not talk. For +this was a year of change—kings being overthrown; Garibaldi, Mazzini, +Kossuth emerging as heroes. Freedom had become an explosive word—to be +handled with care. They smashed the windows of the <cite>National Era</cite> +office and talked of running Gamaliel Bailey out of town. But it was +difficult to call out a mob within sight of the Capitol building. And +Gamaliel Bailey—facing his critics with that dazzling, supercilious, +knowing smile of his—sent them away gnashing their teeth but helpless.</p> + +<p>The time had come for action. Oratory was not enough. Convictions, +however sound and pure, were not enough. Time was running out.</p> + +<p>Frederick Douglass wrote a letter to John Brown in Springfield, +Massachusetts. Douglass told the wool merchant of his recent visit with +Gerrit Smith.</p> + +<p>“I’d like to talk with you,” he wrote. And John Brown answered, “Come.”</p> + +<p>Of that first visit with John Brown, Douglass says:</p> + +<p>“At the time to which I now refer this man was a respectable merchant +in a populous and thriving city, and our first meeting was at his +store. This was a substantial brick building on a prominent, busy +street. A glance at the interior, as well as at the massive walls +without, gave me the impression that the owner must be a man of +considerable wealth. My welcome was all that I could have asked. Every +member of the family, young and old, seemed glad to see me, and I was +made much at home in a very little while. I was, however, surprised +with the appearance of the house and its location. After seeing the +fine store I was prepared to see a fine residence in an eligible +locality.... In fact, the house was neither commodious nor elegant, +nor its situation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> desirable. It was a small wooden building on a +back street, in a neighborhood chiefly occupied by laboring men and +mechanics. Respectable enough, to be sure, but not quite the place +where one would look for the residence of a flourishing and successful +merchant. Plain as was the outside of this man’s house, the inside was +plainer. Its furniture would have satisfied a Spartan. It would take +longer to tell what was not in this house than what was in it. There +was an air of plainness about it which almost suggested destitution.</p> + +<p>“My first meal passed under the misnomer of tea.... It consisted of +beef-soup, cabbage, and potatoes—a meal such as a man might relish +after following the plow all day or performing a forced march of a +dozen miles over a rough road in frosty weather. Innocent of paint, +veneering, varnish, or table-cloth, the table announced itself +unmistakably of pine and of the plainest workmanship. There was no +hired help visible. The mother, daughters, and sons did the serving, +and did it well. They were evidently used to it, and had no thought of +any impropriety or degradation in being their own servants. It is said +that a house in some measure reflects the character of its occupants; +this one certainly did. In it there were no disguises, no illusions, no +make-believes. Everything implied stern truth, solid purpose, and rigid +economy. I was not long in company with the master of this house before +I discovered that he was indeed the master of it, and was likely to +become mine too if I stayed long enough with him....</p> + +<p>“In person he was lean, strong and sinewy, of the best New England +mold, built for times of trouble and fitted to grapple with the +flintiest hardships. Clad in plain American woolen, shod in boots of +cowhide leather, and wearing a cravat of the same substantial material, +under six feet high, less than one hundred and fifty pounds in weight, +aged about fifty, he presented a figure straight and symmetrical as +a mountain pine. His bearing was singularly impressive. His head was +not large, but compact and high. His hair was coarse, strong, slightly +gray and closely trimmed, and grew low on his forehead. His face +was smoothly shaved, and revealed a strong, square mouth, supported +by a broad and prominent chin. His eyes were bluish-gray, and in +conversation they were full of light and fire. When on the street, he +moved with a long, springing, race-horse step, absorbed by his own +reflections, neither seeking nor shunning observation.</p> + +<p>“After the strong meal already described, Captain Brown cautiously<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> +approached the subject which he wished to bring to my attention; for he +seemed to apprehend opposition to his views. He denounced slavery in +look and language fierce and bitter, thought that slaveholders had +forfeited their right to live, that the slaves had the right to gain +their liberty in any way they could, did not believe that moral suasion +would ever liberate the slave, or that political action would abolish +the system.</p> + +<p>“He said that he had long had a plan which could accomplish this end, +and he had invited me to his house to lay that plan before me. He had +observed my course at home and abroad and he wanted my co-operation. +His plan as it then lay in his mind had much to commend it. It did not, +as some suppose, contemplate a general rising among the slaves, and a +general slaughter of the slave-masters. An insurrection, he thought, +would only defeat the object; but his plan did contemplate the creating +of an armed force which should act in the very heart of the South. He +was not averse to the shedding of blood, and thought the practice of +carrying arms would be a good one for the colored people to adopt, as +it would give them a sense of manhood. No people, he said, could have +self-respect, or be respected, who would not fight for their freedom. +He called my attention to a map of the United States, and pointed out +to me the far-reaching Alleghenies, which stretch away from the borders +of New York into the Southern states. ‘These mountains,’ he said, +‘are the basis of my plan. God has given the strength of the hills to +freedom; they were placed there for the emancipation of the Negro race; +they are full of natural forts, where one man for defense will be equal +to a hundred for attack; they are full also of good hiding-places, +where large numbers of brave men could be concealed, and baffle and +elude pursuit for a long time. I know these mountains well, and could +take a body of men into them and keep them there despite of all the +efforts of Virginia to dislodge them. The true object to be sought is +first of all to destroy the money value of slave property; and that can +only be done by rendering such property insecure. My plan, then, is to +take at first about twenty-five picked men, and begin on a small scale; +supply them with arms and ammunition and post them in squads of five on +a line of twenty-five miles. The most persuasive and judicious of these +shall go down to the fields from time to time, as opportunity offers, +and induce the slaves to join them, seeking and selecting the most +restless and daring.’</p> + +<p>“When I asked him how he would support these men, he said<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span> emphatically +that he would subsist them upon the enemy. Slavery was a state of war, +and the slave had a right to anything necessary to his freedom.... ‘But +you might be surrounded and cut off from your provisions or means of +subsistence.’ He thought this could not be done so they could not cut +their way out; but even if the worst came he could but be killed, and +he had no better use for his life than to lay it down in the cause of +the slave. When I suggested that we might convert the slaveholders, he +became much excited, and said that could never be. He knew their proud +hearts, and they would never be induced to give up their slaves, until +they felt a big stick about their heads.</p> + +<p>“He observed that I might have noticed the simple manner in which he +lived, adding that he had adopted this method in order to save money to +carry out his purpose. This was said in no boastful tone, for he felt +that he had delayed already too long, and had no room to boast either +his zeal or his self-denial. Had some men made such display of rigid +virtue, I should have rejected it as affected, false and hypocritical; +but in John Brown, I felt it to be real as iron or granite. From this +night spent with John Brown in Springfield in 1847, while I continued +to write and speak against slavery, I became all the same less hopeful +of its peaceful abolition.”<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a></p> + +<p>Soon after this visit with John Brown, Frederick Douglass decided on a +definite step. He would move to Rochester, New York, and there he would +set up his contemplated newspaper.</p> + +<p>He had been dissuaded from starting a newspaper by two things. First, +as soon as he returned from England he had been called upon to exercise +to the fullest extent all his abilities as a speaker. Friends told him +that in this field he could render the best and most needed service. +They had discouraged the idea of his becoming an editor. Such an +undertaking took training and experience. Douglass, always quick to +acknowledge his own deficiencies, began to think his project far too +ambitious.</p> + +<p>Second, William Lloyd Garrison needed whatever newspaper gifts Douglass +had for the <cite>Liberator</cite>. Garrison felt that a second antislavery +paper in the same region was not needed. He pointed out that the way +of the <cite>Liberator</cite> was hard enough as it was. He did not think of +Douglass as a rival. But, quite frankly, he wanted the younger man to +remain under his wing. There was nothing more selfish here than what a +father might feel for his own son.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p> + +<p>But Douglass was no longer a fledgling. The time had come for him to +strike out for himself.</p> + +<p>Rochester was a young, new city. It was ideally located in the Genesee +valley, where the Genesee River flowed into Lake Ontario; it was a +terminus of the Erie Canal. Here was an ideal set-up for getting slaves +safely across into Canada! Day and night action—more action—was +what Douglass wanted now. There was already an intelligent and highly +respected group of Abolitionists in Rochester. It was composed of both +Negroes and whites. They would, he knew, gather round him. He would +not be working alone. In western New York his paper would in no way +interfere with the circulation of the <cite>Liberator</cite>.</p> + +<p>And so on December 3, 1847, appeared in Rochester, New York, a new +paper—the <cite>North Star</cite>. Its editor was Frederick Douglass, its +assistant editor Martin R. Delaney, and its object “to attack slavery +in all its forms and aspects; advance Universal Emancipation; exact +the standard of public morality, promote the moral and intellectual +improvement of the colored people; and to hasten the day of freedom to +our three million enslaved fellow-countrymen.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“Politics is an evil thing—it is not for us. We address ourselves to +men’s conscience!” Garrison had often said. But Frederick Douglass went +into politics.</p> + +<p>The Free Soil party, formed in 1848, did not become a positive +political force under that name. But, assembling in August as the +election of 1852 drew near, it borrowed the name of “Free Democracy” +from the Cleveland Convention of May 2, 1849, and drew to itself +both Free Soilers and the remnants of the independent Liberty party. +Frederick Douglass, on motion of Lewis Tappan, was made one of the +secretaries. The platform declared for “no more slave states, no slave +territory, no nationalized slavery, and no national legislation for the +extradition of slaves.”</p> + +<p>The most aggressive speech of the convention was made by Frederick +Douglass, who was for exterminating slavery everywhere. The lion had +held himself in rein for some time. The duties of editor and printer of +his paper had chained him to his desk. He had built onto his house to +make room for the fugitive slaves who now came in a steady stream to +Rochester, directed to “Douglass,” agent of the Underground Railroad, +who handled the difficult and dangerous job of getting the runaway +slaves into Canada.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span></p> + +<p>Douglass was still a young man, yet that night as he stood with the +long, heavy bush of crinkly hair flowing back from his head like a +mane—thick, full beard and flashing eyes—there was about him a +timeless quality, embracing a long sweep of years, decades of suffering +and much accumulated wisdom.</p> + +<p>“Americans! Your republican politics, not less than your republican +religion, are flagrantly inconsistent. You boast of your love of +liberty, your superior civilization, and your pure Christianity, while +the whole political power of the nation (as embodied in the two great +political parties) is solemnly pledged to support and perpetuate +the enslavement of three million of your countrymen. You hurl your +anathemas at the crowned headed tyrants of Russia and Austria and +pride yourselves on your democratic institutions, while you yourselves +consent to be the mere tools and bodyguards of the tyrants of Virginia +and Carolina. You invite to your shores fugitives of oppression +from abroad ... and pour out your money to them like water; but the +fugitives from your own land you advertise, hunt, arrest, shoot and +kill.... You shed tears over fallen Hungary, and make the sad story +of her wrongs the theme of your poets, statesmen and orators.... Your +gallant sons are ready to fly to arms to vindicate her cause against +the oppressor; but, in regard to the ten thousand wrongs of the +American slave, you would enforce the strictest silence.... You are all +on fire at the mention of liberty for France or for Ireland; but are +as cold as an iceberg at the thought of liberty for the enslaved of +America!”</p> + +<p>The people went out along the streets of Pittsburgh repeating his +words. The convention delegates scattered to their states.</p> + +<p>And out in Illinois a homely state legislator named Abraham Lincoln was +saying that it is “the sacred right of the people ... to rise up and +shake off the existing government, and form a new one that suits them +better.... It is the quality of revolutions not to go by old lines or +old laws, but to break up both and make new ones.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Part_III">Part III</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>THE STORM</i><br> +</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>When the measure of their tears shall be full—when their groans shall +have involved heaven itself in darkness—doubtless a God of justice +will awaken to their distress, and by his exterminating thunder +manifest his attention to the things of this world, and that they are +not left to the guidance of a blind fatality.</p> + +<p class="right"> +—<span class="smcap">Thomas Jefferson</span><br> +</p> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Eleven"><span class="smcap">Chapter Eleven</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>The storm came up in the West and birds flew North</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>There never had been such a time for cotton. All over the South the +cotton foamed in great white flakes under the sun. Black workers +staggered beneath its weight. Up and down the roads straining mules +pulled wagons loaded with bubbling masses of whiteness. The gins spat +flames and smoke; the presses creaked and groaned, as closer and closer +they packed the quivering mass until, dead and still, it lay in hard, +square bundles on river wharves, beside steel rails and on rotting +piers. Shiploads were on their way to the hungry looms of England and +the crawling harbors of China. Prosperity lay like a fragrant mist upon +the Southland in 1854.</p> + +<p>William Freeland rode over his acres with satisfaction. True, they +had diminished in number; but if cotton prices continued to rise, the +master of Freelands could see years of ease stretching ahead. Since +his mother’s death Freeland had left the running of the plantation +pretty much to hired overseers. He had not interfered. He spent a lot +of time in Baltimore, Washington and Richmond. With his dark brooding +face and wavy, gray-streaked hair, the master of Freelands enjoyed much +popularity with the ladies. He remained a bachelor.</p> + +<p>It was Sunday morning, and the slight chill in the air was stimulating. +Dead leaves rustled beneath his horse’s hoofs as he pulled up just +inside the wrought-iron gates, where the graveled drive was guarded +by the old sycamore. Time was beginning to tell on the big house far +up the drive, but it still stood firm and substantial, though the Old +Missus no longer tapped her cane through its halls. William Freeland +sighed. He wished his mother had lived to see the last two good years +at Freelands. For things falling to piece had made her unhappy. “A +strong hand was lacking,” she said. The Mistress had grieved when old +Caleb died and Aunt Lou, crippled with rheumatism<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> and wheezing with +asthma had to be sent away to a cabin at the edge of the fields. Henry +had taken Caleb’s place, of course. But in this, she had acknowledged, +her son had been right: Henry was stupid and incompetent. It was +evident he would never master the job of being a good butler. On the +other hand she used to remind William of the “bad-blood rascal” he had +brought in to plant wicked seeds of rebellion at Freelands. Grumbling +and sullen faces multiplied. In the old days, she had said, Freeland +slaves never tried to run away.</p> + +<p>The overseers came, had tightened up on things. The last runaway had +been a young filly with her baby. The dogs had caught her down by +the river and torn her to pieces. Freeland had gone away for a while +afterward.</p> + +<p>He went on up the drive slowly, chuckling when he spied the queer +figure bent double under the hedge, scooping at the dirt with his +bare hands. The inevitable butterfly net and mesh bag lay close by +on the ground, though everybody knew that fall was no time to chase +butterflies. William Freeland shook his head. What some men did to get +famous! For that funny little figure under his hedge was Dr. Alexander +Ross, entomologist, ornithologist, and ichthyologist, whose discoveries +of rare specimen of bugs were spread out on beautifully colored plates +in expensive books! He had met the scientist at the home of Colonel +Drake in Richmond. The daughter of the house, who had been sent +North to school, had simply babbled about him. She had displayed an +autographed copy of one of those books, as if it were worth its weight +in gold. When the funny little man had murmured he might be able to +find a <i>Croton Alabameses</i> on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, the +master of Freelands had invited him to his plantation where, he had +said with a laugh, there were sure to be some very rare bugs indeed. +Later Freeland learned that a <i>Croton Alabameses</i> was not a bug, +but a plant. It was the first evening when they were sitting on the +veranda, and Dr. Ross had remarked on the charm of the old garden with +its sweeping mosses, overgrown walks and thick hedges.</p> + +<p>“It is lovely!” The little man had screwed up his eyes behind his thick +glasses and blinked with delight.</p> + +<p>After that he had been up before dawn and out all day, net and bag in +hand. He tramped great distances through woods and river mud. He talked +with the slaves, who, his host was certain, thought the little man was +crazy. Freeland thought it well to warn him about lonely, unused lanes +and river lowlands.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></p> + +<p>“Time was,” he added, “when I’d never think of cautioning a visitor +at Freelands. Crime used to be unknown in these parts. But now there +are many bad blacks about. It’s dangerous!” The little man was not +listening. He was measuring the wing spread of a moth. Freeland became +more insistent.</p> + +<p>“Just a few weeks ago,” he said, “a poor farmer named Covey was found +in his own back yard with his head crushed in. Most of the slaves were +caught before they got away, but the authorities are still looking for +his housekeeper, whom they really suspect of the crime. It’s horrible!”</p> + +<p>The scientist was frowning, a puzzled expression on his round face.</p> + +<p>“But why—Why should they think his housekeeper did this awful thing?”</p> + +<p>William Freeland shrugged his shoulders. “It seems a dealer in the +village told how this woman carried on like mad when Covey sold some +girl off the place. I don’t know the details. But the man says he heard +the woman say she’d kill her master.”</p> + +<p>“Tck! Tck!” The little man shook his head.</p> + +<p>“So you see, Doctor,” continued his host, judiciously, “that woman is +at large and <i>you’d</i> never be able to cope with her.”</p> + +<p>“Why, is she in the neighborhood?” Now Dr. Ross seemed interested.</p> + +<p>“It would be very hard for her to get through the cordon they’ve laid +around that neck of land. In your long tramps you might easily wander +into the section without knowing it. So I wouldn’t get too far off the +place if I were you.”</p> + +<p>The little man nodded his head. Next evening, however, he did not +return to the house until long after dark. He was bespattered with mud. +He said he had stumbled and lost his specimens for the day. The mesh +bag hung limp at his side.</p> + +<p>But no harm had befallen him. There he was, looking like one of his own +bugs, under the hedge. William Freeland swung off his horse and went +into the house.</p> + +<p>“Tell the Doctor breakfast is ready,” he said to Henry, who came +forward.</p> + +<p>“Dat dirty old man!” grumbled Henry, as he shuffled away on his errand. +The master had to laugh.</p> + +<p>No yellow canary sang in the alcove, but breakfast hour in the +high-ceiled, paneled room passed very pleasantly. In the rare +intervals<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> when Dr. Ross was not squinting through his microscope or +chasing through the woods, he was an interesting talker. This morning +he compared the plant and insect life of this section of the Eastern +Shore to a little strip of land in southern France on the Mediterranean.</p> + +<p>“Nature has scattered her bounties lavishly here in the South,” he +said. And because it was a happy subject William Freeland began to tell +the scientist about cotton.</p> + +<p>“The new state of Texas added thousands of acres. They’re starting to +raise cotton in California, and now,” his voice showed excitement, +“they find cotton can be raised in the Nebraska Territory.”</p> + +<p>“A marvelous plant!” Dr. Ross was really interested.</p> + +<p>A shadow crossed Freeland’s face.</p> + +<p>“There is just one drawback. There aren’t enough slaves to raise cotton +on all this land. The Yankees fear our cotton. They know that, if they +let us alone, cotton will become the deciding factor throughout the +country. Because they have no cotton lands, they try to throttle us. +They tie our hands by trying to limit slavery. They know that cotton +and slavery expand together.”</p> + +<p>“But if slavery becomes illegal—as it did in Great Britain—in +the West Indies?” The little man leaned forward. William smiled +indulgently. He took a long draw on his pipe before answering.</p> + +<p>“The United States is only a federation of states—nothing more. Where +slavery was not needed it was abolished. But we need slaves here in +the South, now more than ever. So”—and he waved his pipe—“we’ll keep +them!”</p> + +<p>“I’m reversing my schedule today,” Dr. Ross said as they rose from the +table. “This afternoon I shall take a nap, because tonight I’m going +out after <i>Lepidoptera</i>. I saw signs of him down by the creek +yesterday, but they only fly after dark. I may be out all night.”</p> + +<p>His host frowned.</p> + +<p>“I’d better send one of the boys with you.” The little man shook his +head.</p> + +<p>“No need at all, sir. I doubt if I go off your grounds. I’ll trap one +down in the bottoms below the meadow.”</p> + +<p>William Freeland thought about the doctor that night when he went to +bed—out chasing moths in the dark. Freeland took another sip of brandy +before he put out his light.</p> + +<p>Nine young men met Alexander Ross that night in the woods. To all of +them, through devious channels, had come the word that “riders” on the +Underground Railroad could be accommodated.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span></p> + +<p>Dr. Ross sorted them into three groups and gave each one a set of +directions. At such and such a place in the woods, the first trio +would find a man waiting. Half a mile up the river bank, the second +contingent were to look for an empty skiff tied to a willow: it wasn’t +empty. The others had a wagon waiting for them on a nearby back road.</p> + +<p>They had come supplied with as much food as they could conveniently +carry. Ross handed each slave a few dollars, a pocket compass, a knife +and pistol.</p> + +<p>Then they scattered. Ross went a few miles with the group heading +inland through the woods and then doubled back toward Freelands. He +even caught a rare moth, which he carefully placed in his mesh bag.</p> + +<p>A few days later the quiet little scientist shook hands with his host +and took his departure.</p> + +<p>Such was Alexander Ross before he was knighted by several kings for +his scientific discoveries and honored by the French Academy. Wherever +he went in Virginia, Maryland, South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama or +Mississippi, he talked of birds and plants. Equipped with shotgun and +preservatives, he roamed nonchalantly into field and wood. The slave +disappearances were never related to him.</p> + +<p>Along the Underground Railroad they called him “the Birdman.” Through +him, Jeb, the boy Frederick had left behind in Baltimore, got away +to freedom. And there were others along the Eastern Shore to whom +Frederick had said, “I’ll not be forgetting!” Douglass sent Alexander +Ross back along the way he had come and made good his promises.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Cotton and slavery—by 1854 the two words became synonymous. The Cotton +Empire was straining its borders. More land was needed for the “silver +fleece,” and slaves must break the land and plant the seed and pick the +delicate soft pods. There was no other way.</p> + +<p>Then a shrewd bidder for the presidency made an offer to the +South—western territory for their votes—and they sprang at the bribe. +Passage of the Nebraska Bill stacked the ammunition for civil war +dangerously high.</p> + +<p>This scrapping of the Missouri Compromise struck antislavery men all +in a heap. The line against slavery had been so clear—no slaves above +the line. It should have run to the Pacific, stretching west with the +course of empire. But now, by means of the clever<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> wording of the +Nebraska (Territory) Bill—“to leave the people ... free to form and +regulate their domestic institutions in their own way”—a vast tract +embracing upward of four hundred thousand square miles was being thrown +open to slavery. Stephen Douglas drove the Bill through Congress. It +was his moment of triumph.</p> + +<p>The North reacted. Harriet Beecher Stowe led eleven hundred women +marching through the streets in protest. Great mass meetings assembled. +They hanged Stephen Douglas in effigy. State legislatures met in +special sessions and sent manifests to Congress. William Lloyd +Garrison, Frederick Douglass, Wendell Phillips, Henry Highland Garnet, +and Henry Ward Beecher raised their voices like mighty trumpets; they +filled the air with oratory.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The five sons of John Brown set out for Kansas.</p> + +<p>They were among the less important people who saw that if “the domestic +institutions” were to be left to those who lived there to decide, it +was going to be necessary for antislavery men to settle on the land. +The brothers’ combined property consisted of eleven head of cattle and +three horses. Ten of this number were fine breeds. Thinking of their +value in a new country, Owen, Frederick and Salmon took them by way of +the Lakes to Chicago and thence to Meridosia where they were wintered. +When spring came, they drove them into Kansas to a place about eight +miles west of the town of Osawatomie, which the brothers had selected +as a likely spot to settle.</p> + +<p>Seven hundred and fifty men set out that summer under the auspices of +the Massachusetts Emigrant Aid Society. Some traveled by wagon over +lonely trails. Others sailed down the Ohio River, their farm implements +lashed to the decks of the boats.</p> + +<p>They found a lovely land—wide open spaces, rolling prairies and wooded +streams under a great blue dome. They set up their tents and went about +breaking soil. They dreamed of cattle herds, waving fields of corn and +wheat, orchards and vineyards. There was so much of the good, rich +earth in Kansas.</p> + +<p>Election Day—when members for the first territorial legislature were +chosen—came on March 30, 1855. Horace Greeley himself went out to +Kansas to cover the election for his paper, the <cite>New York Tribune</cite>.</p> + +<p>Slaveholders poured into the territory from Missouri by the thousands +and took over the polls.</p> + +<p>“On the evening before and the day of the election,” Greeley<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span> wrote, +“nearly a thousand Missourians arrived in Lawrence in wagons and on +horseback, well armed with rifles, pistols and bowie-knives.” According +to his account, they made no pretense of legality, one contingent +bringing up two pieces of cannon loaded with musket balls. It was the +same everywhere in the territory: the invaders elected all the members +of the legislature, with a single exception in either house. These +were two Free Soilers from a remote district which the Missourians +overlooked. “Although only 831 legal electors in the territory voted, +there were no less than 6,320 votes polled.”</p> + +<p>The people of Kansas repudiated this election and refused to obey the +laws passed. Ruffians were called in “to aid in enforcing laws.” Then +it was that the sons of John Brown wrote their father asking him to +procure and send them arms and ammunition to defend themselves and +their neighbors.</p> + +<p>John Brown had given up his store in Springfield, Massachusetts, and +moved to a small farm in the hills of North Elba, New York. Just before +the trek West, he had written his son John: “If you or any of my family +are disposed to go to Kansas or Nebraska with a view to help defeat +Satan and his legions in that direction, I have not a word to say; but +I feel committed to operate in another part of the field.”<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></p> + +<p>He had not heard from Kansas for many months, when he got the request +for arms.</p> + +<p>John Brown held his sons’ letter in his hands. He went outside and +stood looking up at the Adirondacks, his hacked-out frame and wrinkled, +yellow face hard against the sky. Then he strode to the barn and +saddled his horse.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to Rochester,” he told his wife. “I want to talk this over +with Douglass.”</p> + +<p>She stood in the narrow door and watched him riding down the trail. He +did not look back. John Brown never looked back.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>In Rochester people had already begun pointing out Frederick Douglass’ +house to strangers. Until Douglass came and moved his family into the +unpretentious two-story frame dwelling, Alexander Street had been +one of many shady side-streets in a quiet section of the city. The +dark-skinned new arrivals caused a lot of talk, but no open antagonism.</p> + +<p>Famous folk from Boston and New York and Philadelphia began appearing +on Alexander Street. Somebody said he’d recognized<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> Horace Greeley, +editor of a newspaper in New York; and somebody else was sure he saw +the great preacher, Wendell Phillips. The neighbors grew accustomed +to seeing Mr. Daniel Anthony’s huge carryall drive up of a Sunday +afternoon and stop in front of the house, while all the Douglass family +piled in. Mr. Anthony’s big place with its rows of fruit trees was +several miles out in the country. Evidently that was where they went. +Then they talked about Mr. Anthony’s daughter, Susan B. Anthony. She +was pretty famous herself—what with going around the country and +getting her name in all the papers. Some of the men shook their heads +over this. But the women bit off the threads of their sewing cotton +with a snap and eyed each other significantly. They reminded their men +folks that the Woman’s State Temperance Convention had been a pretty +important affair.</p> + +<p>“Temperance conventions is one thing,” said the men, “but this talk +about women voting is something else!”</p> + +<p>Then one lady spoke up and said she’d heard their neighbor Frederick +Douglass make a speech about women voting. “And it was wonderful!” she +added.</p> + +<p>“Seems like he’d have enough on his hands trying to free slaves!” +grumbled one man, snapping his suspenders.</p> + +<p>Douglass did have a lot on his hands. The <cite>North Star</cite> was a +large sheet, published weekly, and it cost eighty dollars a week to +issue. Everybody rejoiced when the circulation hit three thousand. +There were many times when Douglass was hard pressed for money, and the +mechanical work of getting out the paper was arduous. The entire family +was drafted. Lewis and Frederick learned typesetting, and both boys +delivered papers. The two little fellows soon became a familiar sight +on Rochester streets, papers under their arms and school books strapped +to their backs.</p> + +<p>But the paper was only part of Douglass’ work. One whole winter he +lectured evenings at Corinthian Hall. Other seasons he would take an +evening train to Victor, Farmington, Canandaigua, Geneva, Waterloo, +Buffalo, Syracuse or elsewhere. He would speak in some hall or church, +returning home the same night. In the morning Martin Delaney would find +him at his desk, writing or mailing papers.</p> + +<p>Sleep in his house was an irregular business. At any hour of the day +or night Underground “passengers” arrived. They came sometimes in +carriages, with Quaker capes thrown about their shoulders; or they came +under loads of wheat or lumber or sacks of flour. Some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> of them rode in +boldly on the train, and more than once a packing-box arrived, marked +<i>Open with Care</i>.</p> + +<p>Every agent of the Underground Railroad risked fine and imprisonment. +They realized they were bailing out the ocean with a teaspoon, yet the +joy of freeing one more slave was recompense enough. One time Douglass +had eleven fugitives under his roof. And there they had to remain until +Douglass could collect enough money to send them on to Canada. His wife +cooked numerous pots of food which quickly vanished. “Passengers” slept +in the attic and barn loft.</p> + +<p>Many people in Rochester became involved. One evening after dark a +well-dressed, middle-aged man knocked at Douglass’ door and introduced +himself as the law partner of the United States commissioner of that +city. He would not sit down.</p> + +<p>“I have come to tell you,” he said, “that an hour ago the owner of +three slaves who have escaped from Maryland was in our office. He says +he has traced them to Rochester. He has papers for their arrest, and he +is coming to your house!”</p> + +<p>Douglass stared at the man in amazement. He had recognized his name as +that of a distinguished Democrat, perhaps the last person in Rochester +from whom he would have expected assistance. He tried to say something, +but the gentleman waved him aside.</p> + +<p>“I bid you good evening, Mr. Douglass. There is not a moment to lose!” +And he disappeared down Alexander Street.</p> + +<p>One of the fugitives was at that moment in the hayloft, the other +two were on the farm of Asa Anthony, just outside the city limits. +That night two black horses rode swiftly through the night. Then Asa +Anthony’s farm wagon rumbled down to the docks, and in the morning +the three young men were on the free waves of Lake Ontario, bound for +Canada.</p> + +<p>Douglass and the <cite>North Star</cite> formed the pivot about which +revolved much of the work of other Negro Abolitionists, whom Douglass +now met for the first time. Henry Highland Garnet, well-educated +grandson of an African chief, had never been closely associated with +William Lloyd Garrison. From the first he had gravitated toward +political action. There were Dr. James McCune Smith, who had studied +medicine at Glasgow; James W. Pennington, with his degree from +Heidelberg; Henry Bibb, Charles L. Redmond, and Samuel Ringgold Ward, +Garnet’s cousin, who attracted Douglass in a very special manner. Ward +was very black and of magnificent physique.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> They were all older than +Douglass. But they strengthened his hand; and he, in his turn, was +proud of them.</p> + +<p>Then in 1850 the Fugitive Slave Law was passed, and no Negro, +regardless of his education, ability, or means, was safe anywhere in +the United States. Douglass had his manumission papers. His freedom had +been bought. But Henry Highland Garnet and Samuel Ringgold Ward knew it +was best that they leave the country.</p> + +<p>Until Ward died the two men traveled in Europe, where Henry Highland +Garnet came to be called the “Negro Tom Paine.” Douglass felt most +deeply the loss of Ringgold Ward, whom he considered vastly superior to +any of them, both as an orator and a thinker.</p> + +<p>“In depth of thought,” he wrote, “fluency of speech, readiness of wit, +logical exactness, and general intelligence, Samuel Ringgold Ward has +left no successor among colored men amongst us.”</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Douglass squared his shoulders and took on more +responsibility. He saw former slaves who had lived for years safely +and securely in western New York and elsewhere—who had worked hard, +saved money and acquired homes—now forced to flee to Canada. Many died +during the first harsh winter. Bishop Daniel A. Payne of the African +Methodist Episcopal Church consulted Douglass as to the advisability of +both of them fleeing.</p> + +<p>“We are whipped, we are whipped,” moaned Payne, “and we might as well +retreat in order.”</p> + +<p>Douglass shook his head. “We must stand!”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It was the spring of 1855, and never had the huge mills and factories +and tanneries of Rochester been busier. Great logs of Allegheny pine +rode down the Genesee River and lay in clean, shining tiers of lumber +in the yards. Up and down the Erie Canal went the flatboats, mules +straining at the heavy loads; and on the docks of Rochester Port the +goods lay piled waiting for lake steamers to go westward. Rochester +boasted that it was the most important station on the newly completed +New York Central Railroad.</p> + +<p>The vigorous young city waxed fat. Sleek, trim “city fathers” began +considering the “cultural aspects” of their town. Rochester’s Gallery +of Fine Arts was established; plans were drawn up for an Academy of +Music. “Causes” became less popular than they had been. There were +those who gave an embarrassed laugh when Susan B. Anthony’s name came +up, and some wondered if so much antislavery agitation was good for +their city.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span></p> + +<p>Slaveholders, vacationing in Saratoga Springs, dropped in on Rochester. +They admired its wide, clean streets and fine buildings, but they +shuddered at the sight of well-dressed Negroes in the streets. The +Southerners spent money freely and talked about new cotton mills; and +more than one wondered aloud why Frederick Douglass was allowed to +remain in such a fine city.</p> + +<p>But the hardy, true strain of the people ran deep. When Frederick +Douglass was prevented from speaking in nearby Homer by a barrage of +missiles, Oren Carvath resigned as deacon of the Congregational Church, +sold his farm and moved to Oberlin. His son, Erastus, made Negro +education the work of his life and became the first president of Fisk +University.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>There was scarcely any moon the night Douglass rode his horse homeward +along Ridge Road. He had spoken in Genesee on the Nebraska Bill and +politics for Abolitionists.</p> + +<p>He enjoyed these solitary rides. They cleared his brain. But tonight +he kept thinking about an angry letter he had received that day—a +letter in which the writer had accused Douglass of having deserted his +friend Garrison “in the time of his greatest need.” Douglass loved +William Lloyd Garrison and the complete unselfish sincerity of the New +Englander’s every utterance.</p> + +<p>“If there is a <i>good</i> man walking on this earth today, that man is +Garrison!” Douglass spoke the words aloud and then he sighed.</p> + +<p>For he knew that the <cite>North Star</cite> was diverging more and more from +Garrison’s <cite>Liberator</cite>. Douglass took a different stand on the +Constitution of the United States.</p> + +<p>Garrison had come to consider the Constitution as a slaveholding +instrument. Now as the clashes were becoming more bitter in Boston and +New York, he was raising the slogan “No Union with Slaveholders.”</p> + +<p>Douglass, with the Abolitionists in western New York, accepted the fact +that the Constitution of the United States was inaugurated to “form a +more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, +provide for common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the +blessings of liberty.” They therefore repudiated the idea that it could +at the same time support human slavery. Douglass held the Constitution +as the surest warrant for the abolition of slavery in every state in +the Union. He urged the people to implement the Constitution through +political action.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span></p> + +<p>And so the former teacher and pupil were being pushed farther and +farther apart. Douglass knew that Garrison’s health was poor. He +thought, <i>I must go to Boston, I must see him</i>. And then his mind +reverted to the low state of his funds. He rode along sunk in dejection.</p> + +<p>He did not heed the horses’ hoofs beating the road until they came +close behind him. He looked back—three riders were just topping the +hill. They slowed up there and seemed to draw together. And suddenly +Douglass felt that familiar stiffening of his spine. At the moment +he was in the shadow of a grove; but just ahead the road lifted and +he would be completely exposed. He walked his horse. Perhaps he was +mistaken. They were coming forward at a slower pace and would most +certainly see him any moment now. As he left the shadow of the trees he +touched his horse and shot forward. He heard a shout and bent over as a +bullet whizzed by!</p> + +<p>It was to be a chase, but they were armed and he could not outrun their +bullets. The road was a winding ribbon now, and he was gaining. He saw +a clump of trees ahead. Yes, there was a little lane. As he turned off +sharply, he felt a sear of pain across his head. He leaned forward and +let his horse find its own way through the trees. Once a low hanging +branch nearly swept him off, and several times the animal stumbled. +Then they came out into a field, and ahead on a slight knoll was a big +house. He could hear them behind him, and that open field meant more +exposure; but the house was his only hope. He thought of the unfinished +editorial lying on his desk.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got to finish it!” he thought desperately, and gritted his teeth +to keep from fainting.</p> + +<p>Horse and rider were panting when they pulled up at the steps of the +wide porch. No lights showed anywhere. Naturally, Douglass thought, +everybody was sound asleep. His head felt very queer. He wanted to +giggle—<i>What on earth am I doing pounding at this heavy door in the +middle of the night?</i></p> + +<p>Gideon Pitts heard the pounding. He got up and started down in his bare +feet.</p> + +<p>“You’ll catch your death of cold, Gideon!” his wife called after him. +But she herself was fumbling for her wrapper. She lit the lamp and +holding it in her hand followed her husband to the head of the stairs. +Down below in the dark he was fumbling with the heavy bolt. It shot +back at last and the great door swung in. A big man filled the doorway. +He was gasping for breath. He took one step inside and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> said, “I’m—I’m +Frederick Douglass.” Then he collapsed on the floor at Gideon Pitts’s +bare feet.</p> + +<p>Gideon stood staring out. Through the open door he was sure he saw a +couple of horsemen down at the edge of the field. He slammed the door.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pitts was hurrying down, the lamp casting grotesque shadows on the +wall.</p> + +<p>“What is it, Gideon? What is it? Did he say—?”</p> + +<p>“Hush! It’s Frederick Douglass. He’s been hurt. Somebody’s after him!” +Her husband’s words were hurried and low. He was bending over the man +on the floor.</p> + +<p>“I’ll call—” Mrs. Pitts began. Her husband caught her robe.</p> + +<p>“Don’t call anyone. Pray God the servants heard nothing. He’s coming +to!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pitts was suddenly the efficient housewife.</p> + +<p>“Some warm water,” she said, setting the lamp down, “and then we’ll get +him upstairs.” She disappeared in the shadows of the hall.</p> + +<p>There was a patter of feet on the stairway.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, papa?” a child’s voice asked. “Oh!”</p> + +<p>“Go back to bed, Helen! Mr. Douglass, are you all right?” Gideon Pitts +bent over his unexpected visitor anxiously. Douglass sat up and put his +hand to his head. It came away sticky. He looked around him and knew he +was safe.</p> + +<p>“I’m fine, thank you!” he smiled.</p> + +<p>“Lie quiet, Mr. Douglass. Your head is hurt. My wife’s gone for warm +water.”</p> + +<p>“You are very kind, sir.” Douglass’ head was clearing now. “I’ve been +shot.”</p> + +<p>He heard a gasp and both men looked up. The little girl in her trailing +white nightgown was leaning over the banister just above them, her blue +eyes wide with excitement.</p> + +<p>“Helen,” her father spoke sharply. “I told you to go back to bed!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, father, can’t I help? The poor man is hurt!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry, honey,” Douglass smiled up at her.</p> + +<p>Now Mrs. Pitts was back with bowl and towels. She wiped away the blood, +and Gideon Pitts declared that Douglass’ head had only been grazed. +Douglass told what had happened, while they bandaged and fussed over +him. Then Mrs. Pitts hurried away to get the guest-room ready.</p> + +<p>“We’ll be honored if you’d stay the night!” Pitts said. There was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span> +nothing else to do. “I’ll drive you in town first thing in the +morning,” his host assured him, helping him upstairs and into a great +four-poster bed.</p> + +<p>Everybody got up to see him off. Mrs. Pitts insisted that he have a +“bite of breakfast.” The hired man had rubbed down and fed his horse.</p> + +<p>Holding the bridle reins in his hand Douglass climbed into the buggy +with Mr. Pitts.</p> + +<p>“Better that I go in with you,” said his host. “Those ruffians might be +lingering somewhere along the road.”</p> + +<p>It was a fresh, sweet morning in May. The Pitts’ orchard was in bloom. +Everywhere was peace and growing things. Douglass smiled at the little +girl standing on the wide porch, and Helen Pitts waved her hand.</p> + +<p>“Goodbye, Mr. Douglass. Do come back again!”</p> + +<p>She felt important, waving at the great Frederick Douglass.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>So it happened that the next day John Brown found Douglass with a +bandage fastened about his head.</p> + +<p>“It’s Captain John Brown!” called Charles, ushering the visitor in. +Anna Douglass came in from the kitchen and greeted him warmly.</p> + +<p>“We’re just sitting down to breakfast, Captain Brown. You are just in +time.”</p> + +<p>Little Annie set another plate, smiling shyly at the old man. His hand +smoothed her soft hair.</p> + +<p>“We’ll take a ride,” he promised and Annie’s eyes shone.</p> + +<p>“They’ve attacked you!” John Brown exclaimed when Douglass came in with +the bandage on his head.</p> + +<p>“It was nothing, a mere scratch.” Douglass shrugged away the incident. +“And how are you, my good friend? Something important brings you here.”</p> + +<p>“Let him eat his breakfast first,” begged the wife.</p> + +<p>Afterward Douglass read the letter from Kansas.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps God directs me to Kansas,” said Brown earnestly. “Perhaps my +path to Virginia lies through Kansas. What do you think?” Douglass +shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I do not know.” He was silent a moment, then his eyes lighted. “I’m +leaving tomorrow for our convention in Syracuse. Come with me. Lay this +letter from Kansas before all the Abolitionists. You’ll need money. +Kansas is our concern.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span></p> + +<p>A few days later John Brown wrote his wife:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear wife and children</span>:</p> +<p>I reached here on the first day of +the convention, and I have reason to bless God that I came; for I have +met with a most warm reception from all, so far as I know, and—except +by a few sincere, honest, peace Friends—a most hearty approval of my +intention of arming my sons and other friends in Kansas. I received +today donations amounting to a little over sixty dollars—twenty +from Gerrit Smith, five from an old British officer; others giving +smaller sums with such earnest and affectionate expression of their +good wishes as did me more good than money even. John’s two letters +were introduced, and read with such effect by Gerrit Smith as to draw +tears from numerous eyes in the great collection of people present. +The convention has been one of the most interesting meetings I ever +attended in my life; and I made a great addition to the number of +warm-hearted and honest friends.</p> +</div> + +<p>The die was cast: John Brown left for Kansas. Instead of sending the +money and arms, says his son John, “he came on with them himself, +accompanied by his brother-in-law, Henry Thompson, and my brother +Oliver. In Iowa he bought a horse and covered wagon; concealing the +arms in this and conspicuously displaying his surveying implements, he +crossed into Missouri near Waverly, and at that place disinterred the +body of his grandson, and brought all safely through to our settlement, +arriving there about the 6th of October, 1855.<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a>”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Twelve"><span class="smcap">Chapter Twelve</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>An Avenging Angel brings the fury of the storm</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>“Did you go out under the auspices of the Emigrant Aid Society?” they +asked John Brown at the trial four years after.</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” he answered grimly, “I went out under the auspices of John +Brown, directed by God.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The settlement was a romantic place. Red men gliding by in their swift +canoes had seen stately birds in the reedy lowlands of eastern Kansas +and called the marsh the “swamp of the swan.” Here, on the good lands +that rose up from the dark sluggish rivers, John Brown and his youngest +son, Oliver, drove into the Brown colony.</p> + +<p>“We found our folks in a most uncomfortable situation, with no houses +to shelter one of them, no hay or corn fodder of any account secured, +shivering over their little fires, all exposed to the dreadful cutting +winds, morning, evening and stormy days.”</p> + +<p>On November 23, 1855, Brown wrote to his wife:</p> + +<p>“We have got both families so sheltered that they need not suffer +hereafter; have got part of the hay secured, made some progress in +preparation to build a house for John and Owen; and Salmon has caught a +prairie wolf in a steel trap. We continue to have a good deal of stormy +weather—rains with severe winds, and forming into ice as they fall, +together with cold nights that freeze the ground considerably. Still +God has not forsaken us.”<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> He did not tell her he had been down with +fever.</p> + +<p>Thus it was that John Brown came to Kansas and stood ready to fight for +freedom. But no sooner had he arrived than it was plain to him that +the cause for which he was fighting was far different from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span> that for +which most of the settlers were willing to risk life and property. John +Brown publicly protested the resolution already drawn up, excluding all +Negroes—slave or free! His words were coldly received.</p> + +<p>From Frederick Douglass came more money and a letter.</p> + +<p>“We are directing the eyes of the country toward Kansas,” Douglass +wrote. “Charles Sumner in the Senate is speaking as no man ever spoke +there before; Henry Ward Beecher has turned his pulpit into an auction +block from which he sells slaves to freedom; Gerrit Smith and George L. +Sterns have pledged their money; Lewis Tappan and Garrison have laid +aside all former differences. Garrison is no longer bitter about my +politics. He can see that we are accomplishing something. Free Soilers, +Whigs, Liberals and antislavery Democrats are uniting. The state-wide +party which we initiated some time ago has grown into a national +movement.... We have adopted the name Republican, which was, you may +recall, the original name of Thomas Jefferson’s party. Our candidate +is John C. Frémont. His enemies say he is a dreamer who knows nothing +of politics. If the people gather round in full strength we will show +them.”</p> + +<p>John Brown folded the letter. There was an unusual flush on his seared +face.</p> + +<p>“What is it, father?” Owen asked.</p> + +<p>“From Douglass,” Brown replied. “God moves in mysterious ways!” That +was all he said, but the sound of prairie winds was in his voice.</p> + +<p>It was in December when rumor that the governor and his pro-slavery +followers planned to surround Lawrence came to the Browns. On getting +this news, they at once agreed to break camp and go to Lawrence. The +band, approaching the town at sunset, loomed strangely on the horizon: +an old horse, a homely wagon, and seven stalwart men armed with pikes, +swords, pistols and guns. John Brown was immediately put in command of +a company. Negotiations had commenced between Governor Shannon and the +principal leaders of the free-state men. They had a force of some five +hundred men to defend Lawrence. Night and day they were busy fortifying +the town with embankments and circular earthworks. On Sunday Governor +Shannon entered the town, and after some parley a treaty was announced. +The terms of the treaty were kept secret, but Brown wrote jubilantly to +New York that the Kansas invasion was over. The Missourians had been +sent home without fighting any battles, burning any infant towns, or +smashing a single Abolitionist press. “Free-state<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span> men,” he said, “have +only hereafter to retain the footing they have gained, and Kansas is +free.”</p> + +<p>Developments in Kansas did not please the powerful slavocracy. Furious +representatives hurried to Washington. And President Pierce, who +had once sent a battleship to Boston to bring back one trembling, +manacled slave, denounced the free-state men of Kansas as lawless +revolutionists, deprived them of all support from the Federal +government, and threatened them with the penalty for “treasonable +insurrection.” Regular troops were put into the hands of the Kansas +slave power, and armed bands from the South appeared, one from Georgia +encamping on the “swamp of the swan” near the Brown settlement.</p> + +<p>Surveying instruments in hand and followed by his “helpers”—chain +carriers, axman and marker—John Brown sauntered into their camp one +May morning. He was taken for a government surveyor and consequently +“sound.” The Georgians talked freely.</p> + +<p>“We’ve come to stay,” they said. “We won’t make no war on them as minds +their own business. But all the Abolitionists, such as them damned +Browns over there, we’re going to whip, drive out, or kill—any way to +get shut of them, by God!”<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></p> + +<p>They mentioned their intended victims by name, and John Brown calmly +wrote down every word they said in his surveyor’s book.</p> + +<p>On May 21 the pro-slavery forces swooped down on Lawrence, burned +and sacked it. Its citizens stood by trembling and raised no hand in +defense.</p> + +<p>The gutted, burning town sent a wave of anger across the country. It +struck the Senate with full force. Only an aisle separated men whose +eyes blazed with hate. Charles Sumner lifted his huge frame and in a +voice that resounded like thunder denounced “a crime without example in +the history of the past.” He did not hesitate to name names—calling +Stephen Douglas, Senator from Illinois, and Matthew Butler from South +Carolina murderers of the men of Lawrence. The next day, while Sumner +sat writing at his seat, young Preston Brooks, representative from +South Carolina, came up behind the Massachusetts legislator and beat +him over the head with a heavy walking stick. Charles Sumner, lying +bleeding and unconscious in the aisle, reduced the whole vast struggle +to simple terms.</p> + +<p>Out West, John Brown hurried to Lawrence. He sat down by the smoldering +ashes in tight-lipped anger. He was indignant that there had been no +resistance.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span></p> + +<p>“What were they doing?” he raged.</p> + +<p>Someone mentioned the word “caution.”</p> + +<p>“Caution, caution, sir!” he sneered. “I am eternally tired of hearing +the word caution. It is nothing but the word of cowardice.”</p> + +<p>Yet there seemed to be nothing to do now; and he was about to leave, +when a boy came riding up. The gang at Dutch Henry’s, he said, had told +the women in Brown settlement that all free-state folks must get out +by Saturday or Sunday, else they would be driven out. Two houses and a +store in the nearby German settlement had been burned.</p> + +<p>Then John Brown arose.</p> + +<p>“I will attend to those fellows.” He spoke quietly. Here was something +to do. He called four of his sons—Watson, Frederick, Owen and +Oliver—and a neighbor with a wagon and horses offered to carry the +band. They began carefully sharpening cutlasses. An uneasy feeling +crept over the onlookers. They all knew that John Brown was going to +strike a blow for freedom in Kansas, but they did not understand just +what that blow would be. As the wagon moved off, a cheer arose from the +company left behind.</p> + +<p>He loosed a civil war. Everything that came after was only powder for +the hungry cannon. Freedom is a hard-bought thing! John Brown knew. He +already knew on that terrible night when he rode down with his sons +into “the shadows of the Swamp of the Swan—that long, low-winding +and somber stream fringed everywhere with woods and dark with bloody +memory. Forty-eight hours they lingered there, and then of a pale May +morning rode up to the world again. Behind them lay five twisted, red +and mangled corpses. Behind them rose the stifled wailing of widows and +little children. Behind them the fearful driver gazed and shuddered. +But before them rode a man, tall, dark, grim-faced and awful. His hands +were red and his name was John Brown. Such was the cost of freedom.”<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a></p> + +<p>John Brown became a hunted outlaw.</p> + +<p>They burned his house, destroyed everything he and his sons had +garnered. But he had only begun his war upon the slavers. Out of the +night he came, time after time, and always he left death behind.</p> + +<p>“He’s mad! Mad!” they said, but pro-slavery men began to leave Kansas.</p> + +<p>“Da freedom’s comin’!” Black men lifted their hands in silent ecstasy. +They slipped across the borders and looked for John Brown.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span> Tabor, a +tiny prairie Iowa town of thirty homesteads, became the most important +Underground Railroad station on the western frontier. For here John +Brown set up camp, and began to organize for his “march.” Strength had +come up in the old man, charging his whole being with power.</p> + +<p>“We should not have given him money!” the folks back East were saying.</p> + +<p>Douglass, moving back and forth from Rochester to Boston—to New York, +Syracuse and Cleveland—grew thin and haggard. He had stood like a +bulwark of strength, even when the Supreme Court had handed down +its Dred Scott decision. People found clarion words in the <cite>North +Star</cite>.</p> + +<p>“The Supreme Court of the United States is not the only power in this +world,” Douglass wrote. “We, the Abolitionists and colored people, +should meet this decision, unlooked for and monstrous as it appears, +in a cheerful spirit. This very attempt to blot out forever the hopes +of an enslaved people may be one necessary link in the chain of events +preparatory to the complete overthrow of the whole slave system.”</p> + +<p>Months passed, and all he heard from Kansas were the awful reports of +John Brown’s riding abroad. He could not argue the right or wrong of +this thing. Condemnation of John Brown left him cold. But was John +Brown destroying all they had built up? This was war! Was John Brown’s +way the only way? They had lost the election. The new party’s fine +words fell back upon them like chilling drops of rain. Then out in +Kansas the Governor declared the state free! There was peace in Kansas.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>One night in January, 1858, Douglass was working late in the shop. +The house was still, locked in the hard fastness of a winter night. +Outside, great slow white flakes were falling, erasing the contours of +the street beneath a blanket that rounded every eave, leveled fences +and walks, and muffled every sound. But he heard the light tapping on +the window pane and instantly put out the light. There must be no light +to throw shadows when he opened the door upon one of his fugitives. But +even without a light he recognized the muffled figure.</p> + +<p>“John Brown!” Douglass’ low voice sang a welcome.</p> + +<p>He drew him in and brushed the snowflakes off. He lit the lamp with +hands that trembled. Then he turned and looked at this man who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span> had +proved that he hated slavery more than he loved his life, his good +name, or his sons. Even the little flesh he used to have was burned +away. Yet one could see that all his bones were granite, and bright +within the chalice of his mortal frame his spirit shone, unquenchable.</p> + +<p>“You’re safe, John Brown!” It was a ridiculous thing to say, and John +Brown rewarded him with one of his rare smiles—the smile few people +knew he had, with which he always won a child.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Douglass, now I am free to carry out my mission.”</p> + +<p>Douglass’ heart missed a beat. John Brown had not sought him out as a +fugitive, he had not come to his house to hide away—not John Brown!</p> + +<p>“Frederick is dead.”</p> + +<p>The words came with blunt finality, but a spasm of pain distorted the +old man’s face.</p> + +<p>“Oh, John! John!”</p> + +<p>Douglass gently pushed him into the armchair, knelt at his feet, pulled +off the heavy boots, then hurried away to bring him food. He ate as one +does whose body is starving, gulping down unchewed mouthfuls with the +warm milk.</p> + +<p>“I come direct from the National Kansas Committee in Chicago. They +will perhaps equip a company. I have letters from Governor Chase and +Governor Robinson. They endorse my plan.”</p> + +<p>Douglass expressed his pleased surprise. Brown wiped his shaggy beard. +Something like a grin flickered on his face.</p> + +<p>“Kansas is free and the good people are glad to be rid of me,” he said +dryly.</p> + +<p>Douglass understood: they dared not jail the man.</p> + +<p>Brown’s plan was now complete. He spread out maps and papers and, as he +talked, traced the lines of his march with a blunt pencil.</p> + +<p>“God has established the Allegheny Mountains from the foundation of +the world that they might one day be a refuge for the slaves. We march +into these mountains, set up our stations about five miles apart, send +out our call; and, as the slaves flock to us, we sustain them in this +natural fortress.”</p> + +<p>Douglass followed the line of his pencil.</p> + +<p>“Each group will be well armed,” the old man continued, “but will avoid +violence except in self-defense. In that case, they will make it as +costly as possible to the assailing parties—whether they be citizens +or soldiers. We will break the backbone of slavery by rendering slave +property insecure. Men will not invest their money in a species<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span> of +property likely to take legs and walk off with itself!” His eyes were +shining.</p> + +<p>“I do not grudge the money or energy I have spent in Kansas,” he went +on, “but now my funds are gone. We must have arms, ammunition, food and +clothing. Later we will subsist upon the country roundabout. I now have +the nucleus of my band.” Shadows crossed his face. “Already they have +gone to hell and back with me.”</p> + +<p>He talked on—three military schools to be set up, one in Iowa, one in +northern Ohio and one in Canada. It would be a permanent community in +Canada. “Finally the escaped slaves will pass on to Canada, each doing +his share to strengthen the route,” he explained.</p> + +<p>“But won’t it take years to free the slaves this way?” his friend asked.</p> + +<p>“Indeed not! Each month our line of fortresses will extend farther +south.” His pencil moved across Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, to +Mississippi. “To the delta itself! The slaves will free themselves.”</p> + +<p>Pale dawn showed in the sky before they went upstairs.</p> + +<p>“You must sleep now, John Brown.”</p> + +<p>But before lying down, the old man looked hard into the broad, dark +face. Douglass nodded his head.</p> + +<p>“I’m with you, John Brown. Rest a little. Then we’ll talk,” Douglass +said and tiptoed from the room.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>When John Brown left the house in Alexander Street several days later, +he was expected in many quarters. He went first to Boston, George L. +Sterns, the Massachusetts antislavery leader, paying his expenses. +Sterns, who had never met “Osawatomie Brown,” had written to Rochester +offering to introduce him to friends of freedom in Boston. They met on +the street outside the committee rooms in Nilis’ Block, with a Kansas +man doing the honors; and Brown went along to Sterns’ home.</p> + +<p>Coming into the parlor to greet the man who had become a household +word during the summer of 1856, Mrs. Sterns heard her guest saying, +“Gentlemen, I consider the Golden Rule and the Declaration of +Independence one and inseparable.”</p> + +<p>“I felt,” she said later, writing about the profound impression of +moral magnetism Brown made on everybody who saw him in those days, +“that some old Cromwellian hero had dropped down among us.”</p> + +<p>Emerson, she remembered, called him “the most ideal of men, for he +wanted to put all his ideas into action.” Yet Mrs. Sterns was struck<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span> +by his modest estimate of the work he had in hand. After several +efforts to bring together their friends to meet Captain Brown in his +home, Sterns found that Sunday was the only day that would serve +everybody’s convenience. Being a little uncertain how this might +strike their guest’s ideas of religious propriety, Sterns prefaced his +invitation with something like an apology.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Sterns,” came the prompt reply, “I have a little ewe-lamb that I +want to pull out of the ditch, and the Sabbath will be as good a day as +any to do it.”</p> + +<p>Over in Concord he went to see Henry David Thoreau. They sat at a +table covered with lichens, ferns, birds’ nests and arrowheads. They +dipped their fingers into a large trencher of nuts, cracked the shells +between their teeth, and talked as kindred souls. Thoreau, lean +and narrow-chested, thrust his big ugly nose forward and, with his +searching gray eyes, probed the twisted steel of John Brown. The hermit +believed then what he said afterward, when he served his term in jail:</p> + +<p>“When one-sixth of a people who are come to the land of liberty are +enslaved, it is time for free men to rebel.”</p> + +<p>The secretary of the Massachusetts State Kansas Committee received +Captain Brown with cautious respect. Half an hour later he was saying, +“By God, I’ll <i>make</i> them give him money!” But the Committee +warned, “We must know how he will use the money.”</p> + +<p>Kind-hearted, genial Gerrit Smith was glad to have his old friend with +him for a few days.</p> + +<p>“Be sure of your men,” he advised.</p> + +<p>“My men need not be questioned, sir.” John Brown spoke a little stiffly.</p> + +<p>Gerrit Smith stifled a sigh. <i>His faith in God and man is +sublime!</i> he thought a little sadly.</p> + +<p>Swarthy, bearded Thomas W. Higginson, young Unitarian minister, set out +immediately to raise funds on his own. He was hissed at Harvard, his +Alma Mater, but he was not swayed from his course.</p> + +<p>At a meeting at the Astor House in New York the National Kansas +Committee voted “in aid of Captain Brown ... 12 boxes of clothing, +sufficient for 60 persons, 25 Colt revolvers, five thousand dollars to +be used in any defense measures that may become necessary.” But only +five hundred dollars was paid out.</p> + +<p>John Brown was disappointed. He had hoped to obtain the means of arming +and thoroughly equipping a regular outfit of minutemen.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span> He had left +his men suffering hunger, cold, nakedness, and some of them sickness +and wounds. He had engaged the services of one Hugh Forbes, who claimed +to have been a lieutenant of Garibaldi. Forbes was to take over the +military tactics. He had demanded six hundred dollars for his expenses. +John Brown had given it to him.</p> + +<p>“I am going back,” Brown said to Douglass, when he stopped overnight +in Rochester. “You must keep up the work here—solicit funds, keep the +issue before them. I have no baggage wagons, tents, camp equipage, +tools ... or a sufficient supply of ammunition. I have left my family +poorly supplied with common necessaries.”</p> + +<p>“I do not like what you tell me about this Hugh Forbes,” said Douglass.</p> + +<p>Brown was a little impatient.</p> + +<p>“He is a trained man in military affairs. I know nothing about +maneuvers. We need him!”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It was John Brown’s intention to leave the actual training of his men +to Forbes, so that he might be free for larger matters. Nor did he want +to spend time raising funds. He wanted to organize Negroes for the job +ahead.</p> + +<p>Perhaps better than any other white man of his time John Brown knew +what Negroes in every part of North America were doing. He knew their +newspapers, their churches and their schools. To most Americans of the +time all black men were slaves or fugitives. But from the beginning +John Brown sought to know Negroes personally and individually. He went +into their homes, sought them out in business, talked to them, listened +to the stories of their trials, harkened to their dreams, advised, and +took advice from them. He set out to enlist the boldest and most daring +spirits for his plan.</p> + +<p>In March, Brown and his eldest son met with Henry Highland Garnet +and William Still, Negro Secretary of the Philadelphia Anti-Slavery +Society, in the home of Stephen Smith, a Philadelphia Negro lumber +merchant. Brown remained in Philadelphia a week or ten days, holding +long conferences in Negro churches.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, his black lieutenant, Kagi, ragged, stooped, +insignificant-looking, shrewd and cunning, was traveling over the +Allegheny Mountains, surveying the land, marking sites and making +useful contacts. Kagi had some schooling and, when he desired, could +speak clearly and to the point. He knew in detail the vast extent of +Brown’s plan. He lived and breathed it. He had been wounded with John<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span> +Brown in Kansas, and unswerving he walked to his death with him. For +Kagi believed that John Brown was making a mistake to attack Harper’s +Ferry when he did, but the little black man held the bridge until his +riddled body plunged into the icy waters below.</p> + +<p>In the spring of 1858 Brown went to Canada to set up personal contacts +with the nearly fifty thousand Negroes there. Chatham, chief town of +Kent County, had a large Negro population with several churches, a +newspaper and a private school. Here on May 10 the Captain addressed +a convention called together on the pretext of organizing a Masonic +lodge. And at this convention they drew up and adopted the constitution +of forty-eight articles that stunned the authorities when they found it +in the hide-away farmhouse near Harper’s Ferry.</p> + +<p>Up to this time Frederick Douglass was fully cognizant of all John +Brown’s plans. The Douglass home in Rochester was his headquarters. (He +had insisted that he pay board, and Douglass charged him three dollars +a week.)</p> + +<p>“While here, he spent most of his time in correspondence,” Douglass +wrote later. “When he was not writing letters, he was writing and +revising a constitution which he meant to put in operation by means of +the men who should go with him into the mountains. He said that, to +avoid anarchy and confusion, there should be a regularly-constituted +government, which each man who came with him should be sworn to honor +and support. I have a copy of this constitution in Captain Brown’s own +handwriting, as prepared by himself at my house.</p> + +<p>“He called his friends from Chatham to come together, that he might lay +his constitution before them for their approval and adoption. His whole +time and thought were given to this subject. It was the first thing in +the morning and the last thing at night. Once in a while he would say +he could, with a few resolute men, capture Harper’s Ferry, and supply +himself with arms belonging to the government at that place; but he +never announced his intention to do so. It was, however ... in his mind +as a thing he might do. I paid little attention to such remarks, though +I never doubted that he thought just what he said. Soon after his +coming to me, he asked me to get for him two smoothly planed boards, +upon which he could illustrate, with a pair of dividers, by a drawing, +the plan of fortification which he meant to adopt in the mountains.</p> + +<p>“These forts were to be so arranged as to connect one with the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span> other, +by secret passages, so that if one was carried another could easily +be fallen back upon, and be the means of dealing death to the enemy +at the very moment when he might think himself victorious. I was less +interested in these drawings than my children were, but they showed +that the old man had an eye to the means as to the end, and was giving +his best thought to the work he was about to take in hand.”<a id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The month of May, 1859, John Brown spent in Boston collecting +funds, and in New York consulting his Negro friends, with a trip +to Connecticut to hurry the making of his thousand pikes. Sickness +intervened, but at last on June 20, the advance guard of five—Brown +and two of his sons, Jerry Anderson and Kagi—started southward.</p> + +<p>Many times during these months Frederick Douglass wondered whether or +not John Brown did not have the only possible plan for freeing the +black man. The antislavery fight had worn very thin. The North knew +of the moral and physical horror of slavery. The South knew also, +but cotton prices continued to rise. Logic would not separate cotton +growers from their slaves. Many of the old, staunch Abolitionists were +gone. Theodore Parker had burned himself out in the cause. Down with +tuberculosis, he was on a ship bound for southern Italy where, in spite +of the warm sunshine, he was to die.</p> + +<p>Daily the South grew more defiant. When the doctrine of popular +sovereignty failed to make Kansas a slave state, Southern statesmen +abandoned it for firmer ground. They had lost faith in the rights, +powers and wisdom of the people and took refuge in the Constitution. +Henceforth the favorite doctrine of the South was that the people of a +territory had no voice in the matter of slavery. The Constitution of +the United States, they claimed, of its own force and effect, carried +slavery safely into any territory of the United States and protected +the system there until it should cease to be a territory and became +a state. In practical operation, this doctrine would make all future +new states slaveholding states; for slavery, once planted and nursed +for years, could easily strengthen itself against the evil day of +eradication.</p> + +<p>In a rage, Garrison publicly burned a copy of the Constitution +denouncing it as a “covenant with Satan.” Douglass went away heartsick.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span></p> + +<p>In the heart of the Alleghenies, halfway between Maine and Florida, +opens a mighty gateway. From the south comes the Shenandoah, a restless +silver thread gleaming in the sun; from the west the Potomac moves +placidly between wide banks. But at their junction they are cramped. +The two rivers rush together against the mountains, rend it asunder and +tear a passage to the sea. And here is Harper’s Ferry.</p> + +<p>Why did John Brown choose this particular point for his attack upon +American slavery? Was it the act of a madman? A visionary fool? What +was his crime?</p> + +<p>John Brown did not tell them at the trial. His lieutenant, Kagi, was +dead. Green, Coppoc, Stevens, Copeland, Cook and Hazlett followed their +captain to the gallows without a word. Perhaps only one man went on +living who knew the full answers. His name was Frederick Douglass.</p> + +<p>Douglass has been attacked because he did not go with John Brown to +Harper’s Ferry, because he did not testify in Brown’s defense, because +he put himself outside the reach of pursuers who would drag him to the +trial. He could not have saved John Brown and his brave followers. +Every word of the truth would have drawn the noose tighter about their +necks. It would have hanged Douglass!</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It was on a pleasant day in September when the letter came from John +Brown. It was very short.</p> + +<p>“I am forced to move sooner than I had planned. Before going forward I +want to see you.”</p> + +<p>Brown, under the guise of a farmer interested only in developing a +recently purchased piece of land, was living under an assumed name with +his two “daughters”—actually a daughter and young Oliver’s wife. His +men were keeping under cover. They made every effort to keep the farm +normal-looking. Brown asked Douglass to come to Chambersburg. There he +would find a Negro barber named Watson, who would conduct him to the +place of meeting. A last line was added: “Bring along the Emperor. Tell +him the time has come.”</p> + +<p>Douglass knew that he referred to Shields Green, a fugitive slave, whom +the old man had met in his house. Green, a powerful black, had escaped +from South Carolina. He was nicknamed “the Emperor” because of his size +and majestic carriage. Brown had seized upon him immediately, confiding +to him his plan, and Green had promised to go with him when Brown was +ready to move.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span></p> + +<p>They set out together, stopping over in New York City with a Reverend +James Glocester. Upon hearing where they were going, Mrs. Glocester +pressed ten dollars into Douglass’ hand.</p> + +<p>“Give it to Captain Brown, with my best wishes,” she said.</p> + +<p>They sped southward past the waving, green fields and big, white +farms of prosperous Dutch farmers. Douglass sat by the window with +his massive head sunk forward, not looking out. Then the train curved +into the Blue Ridge Mountains where the pine-covered hills begin, and +stopped at Chambersburg, Pennsylvania. The first man at the depot whom +they asked directed them to Watson, the barber.</p> + +<p>He stood looking after the two Negroes as they strode down the platform.</p> + +<p>“Damned if they don’t walk like they own the earth!” he grunted.</p> + +<p>Watson called to his boy when they stepped into his shop. He took them +to his house, where his wife greeted the great Frederick Douglass and +his friend with much fluttering.</p> + +<p>“Make yourselves at home,” said the barber. “As soon as it is dark I +will drive you out to the old stone quarry. That’s the place, but we +must wait until dark.”</p> + +<p>They left the wagon and its driver on the road and climbed up to the +quarry. All about them the rocks loomed like great stone faces in the +moonlight. And when John Brown stepped out of the shadows, it was as +if a rock had moved toward them. His old clothes, covered with dust; +his white hair and hard-cut face, like granite in the moonlight; his +strained, worn face with the two burning coals that were his eyes. +Douglass’ heart missed a beat. Something was very wrong.</p> + +<p>“What is it, John Brown? What has happened?”</p> + +<p>The old man looked at him without speaking. He studied the brown face +almost as if he had not seen it before. Then he spoke briefly.</p> + +<p>“Come!”</p> + +<p>He led them between the rocks and stooped to enter a cave. Inside +was Kagi and in a niche in the wall was a lighted torch. There were +boulders about, and at a sign from the old man they sat down—John +Brown, Kagi, Shields Green and Frederick Douglass. They waited for +Brown to speak. He did so, leaning forward and putting a thin, gnarled +hand on Douglass’ knee.</p> + +<p>“Douglass, we can wait no longer. Our move now must be a decisive one.”</p> + +<p>Douglass was bitterly chiding himself. He should have come<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span> sooner. +These last months had drained the old man’s strength. He needed help +here. The dark man spoke gently.</p> + +<p>“But you said the time to begin calling in the slaves would come after +the crops are gathered, as the Christmas approaches. Then many can get +away without being missed right away. Is your ammunition distributed? +Are your stations ready to receive and defend the fugitives?”</p> + +<p>John Brown shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No. We are not ready with all that.” He drew a long breath, and it was +obvious it caused him pain. “You were right about Hugh Forbes,” he said +then. “He has deserted us and,” Brown hesitated, hating to say it, “I +fear he has talked.”</p> + +<p>Douglass’ face expressed his shock. Why had he not strangled the +tinseled fool with his own hands?</p> + +<p>“We are being watched: my men are certain of it. At any moment we may +be arrested. Don’t forget, I’m still an outlaw in Kansas.” He added the +last dryly, almost indifferently. Then suddenly the flame flared. John +Brown was on his feet, his head lifted. He shook back his white hair.</p> + +<p>“But God is with us! He has delivered the gates into our hands! We hold +the key to the Allegheny Mountains. They stand here, our sure and safe +defense!”</p> + +<p>Douglass stared at him. Was it the torchlight that so transfigured his +old friend? He stood like an avenging angel, illumined by the force +that rose up in him. It charged his whole being with power—his eyes, +his frame, the leashed, metallic voice.</p> + +<p>“I am ready!”</p> + +<p>Douglass looked at Kagi. Kagi’s eyes fixed on the lifted face. He +turned and looked at Green, and on that black giant’s countenance he +saw the same imprint. He wet his trembling lips. An icy hand had closed +about his heart. He was afraid.</p> + +<p>“The map, Kagi!” John Brown spoke sharply.</p> + +<p>Kagi was ready. Brown knelt on the ground, and Kagi spread a wide sheet +in front of him. He brought the torch near and knelt holding it, while +Brown traced the lines with his finger.</p> + +<p>“Here is the long line of our mountain fortress,” he said tersely. +“Right here east of the Shenandoah, the mountains rise to a height +of two thousand feet or more. This natural defense is right at the +entrance to the mountain passage. See! An hour’s climb from this point +and a hundred men could be inside an inaccessible fastness.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span> Here +attacks could be repelled with little difficulty. Here are Loudon +Heights—then beyond the passage plunges straight into the heart of the +thickest slave districts. The slaves can get to us without difficulty, +after we have made our way through here.”</p> + +<p>His finger had stopped. Douglass leaned forward. He was holding his +breath. He could feel Brown’s eyes upon him.</p> + +<p>“But that—that is Harper’s Ferry!” Douglass said, and his voice +faltered.</p> + +<p>He could feel the surge of strength in the other man.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, “Harper’s Ferry is the safest natural entrance to our +mountain passage. We shall go through Harper’s Ferry, and there we’ll +take whatever arms we need.”</p> + +<p>So little children speak, and fools, and gods!</p> + +<p>For a moment there was silence in the cave. Then Douglass got up, +striking his head against the low wall. He did not heed the blow, but +took John Brown by the arm.</p> + +<p>“Come outside, Captain Brown,” he said. “Let’s talk outside. I—I can’t +breathe in here!”</p> + +<p>And so they faced each other in the open. Night in the mountains, stars +over their heads, and stark, jagged rocks white in the shadows.</p> + +<p>“You can’t do it, John Brown!” Douglass’ voice was strained. “You would +be attacking an arsenal of the United States—This is war against the +federal government. The whole country would be arrayed against us!”</p> + +<p>“You do not understand, Douglass. We’re not going to kill anybody. +There are only a handful of soldiers guarding that ferry. We’ll merely +make them prisoners, hold them until we take the arms and get up +into the mountains. Of course, there’ll be a great outcry. But all +the better. The slaves will hear of it. They’ll know we’re in the +mountains, and they’ll flock to us.”</p> + +<p>“Do you really believe this, John Brown? Do you really believe you can +take a fort so easily?”</p> + +<p>A hard note had come again into the old man’s voice.</p> + +<p>“Am I concerned with ease, Frederick Douglass? What is this you are +saying? Our mission is to free the slaves! This is the plan!”</p> + +<p>“There was no such plan,” Douglass interposed hotly. “You said that +fighting would only be in self-defense. This is an attack!”</p> + +<p>John Brown’s passion matched his.</p> + +<p>“And when I rode down into the marshes of Kansas it was an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span> attack! You +did not condemn then! Here we merely force our way through a passage!”</p> + +<p>“This is treason! This is insurrection! This is war! I am not with you!”</p> + +<p>The old man’s voice cut like a whip.</p> + +<p>“So! You have escaped so far from slavery that you do not care! You +have carried the scars upon your back into high places, so you have +forgotten. You prate of treason! You are afraid to face a gun!”</p> + +<p>Douglass cried out in anguish. “John! John! For God’s sake, stop!”</p> + +<p>He stumbled away, sank down on a rock and buried his face in his hands. +Some time later he felt a hand upon his shoulder, and Brown’s voice, +softened and subdued, came to him.</p> + +<p>“Forgive an old man, son.”</p> + +<p>Douglass took the hand in his and pressed it against his face. The old +man’s hand was rough and knotty, but it was very firm.</p> + +<p>“This is no time for soft words or for oratory,” he said. “We have +a job to do. Years ago I swore it—that I would do my part. God has +called me to lift his crushed and suffering dark children. Twenty-five +years have gone by making plans. Now unless I move quickly all of these +years will have been spent in vain. I will take this fort. I will hold +this pass. I will free the slaves!”</p> + +<p>The stars faded and went out one by one, the gray sky blended through +purple and rose to blue, and still they talked. Kagi brought them food.</p> + +<p>At last Douglass lay down inside the cave. His eyes were closed, but +his mind feverishly leaped from one possibility to another.</p> + +<p>Then Brown was laying other maps before him. He had gone over it +all so carefully. Now he showed each step of the way—where the men +would stand, how they would hold the bridge, where they would cut the +telegraph wires, how the engine-house in the arsenal would be occupied.</p> + +<p>“Without a shot being fired, Douglass. I tell you we can take it +without a shot!”</p> + +<p>Douglass brought all the pressure of his persuasive power against him. +He threw reason, logic, common sense at the old man.</p> + +<p>“You’ll destroy all we’ve done!”</p> + +<p>John Brown looked at him and his voice and face were cold.</p> + +<p>“<i>What</i> have you done?” The question bit like steel.</p> + +<p>Another day passed. That night a storm came up. They sat huddled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span> in +the cave, while outside the rain beat down upon the rocks and tore up +twisted roots. The mountains groaned and rumbled and the winds howled. +During the storm the old man slept serenely.</p> + +<p>When the rain stopped Douglass went out into the dripping morning. +Puddles of water splashed beneath his feet, shreds of clouds lingered +in the pine tops and broke against the side of the hills; the sky was +clearing and soon the sun would come through. The fresh-washed earth +gave off a clean, new smell. The morning mocked him with its promise of +a bright, new day.</p> + +<p>He heard John Brown behind him and stopped. He knew that strong, +elastic step. He heard the voice—full, clear and renewed with rest.</p> + +<p>“Douglass,” Brown asked, “have you reached your decision?”</p> + +<p>Without turning, Douglass answered. And his voice was weary and beaten.</p> + +<p>“I am going back.”</p> + +<p>The old man made no sound. Douglass turned and saw him standing +straight and slender in the morning light, a gentle breeze lifting his +soft white hair, his wrinkled face carved against the sky. With a cry +of utter woe Douglass threw himself upon the ground, encircling the +slight frame in his arms.</p> + +<p>“Oh, John—John Brown—don’t go! You’ll be killed! It’s a trap! You’ll +never get out alive—I beg you, don’t go! Don’t go!”</p> + +<p>Terrible sobs shook him; he could not stop.</p> + +<p>“Douglass! Douglass!”</p> + +<p>Brown took him by the shoulders, pressed his face against him, spoke as +to a child.</p> + +<p>“For shame, Douglass! Everything will be all right.” Then, when he saw +the big man was still, he added, “Come and go with me. You shall see +that everything will be all right.”</p> + +<p>Douglass shook his head. He clung to the rough, gnarled hands.</p> + +<p>“This is the hardest part of all. I cannot throw my life away with you! +Years ago in Maryland I knew I had to live. That’s <i>my</i> task, +John—that I live.”</p> + +<p>“You shall have a trusted bodyguard!” The old man looked down at him +with a twisted smile. Douglass made a gesture of resignation. He raised +his eyes once more.</p> + +<p>“Will nothing change you from this course?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” answered John Brown. He gently pulled himself away and +walked to the edge of the cliff, looking out into the morning. Douglass +sagged upon the ground.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span></p> + +<p>“You may be right, Frederick Douglass.” His words came slowly now. +“Perhaps I’ll not succeed at Harper’s Ferry. Maybe—I’ll never leave +there alive. Yet I must go! Until this moment I had never faced that +possibility, and I could not give you up. Now that I do, I see that +only through your living can my dying be made clear. So, let us have an +end of all this talk. Perhaps this is God’s way.”</p> + +<p>Douglass pulled himself up. He was very tired.</p> + +<p>“I must tell Green,” he said.</p> + +<p>John Brown turned. His face was untroubled, his voice alert.</p> + +<p>“Yes. I had forgotten. Get him.”</p> + +<p>They came upon Shields Green and Kagi leaving the cave. Over their +shoulders were fishing poles. Douglass spoke.</p> + +<p>“Shields, I am leaving. Are you going back with me?”</p> + +<p>John Brown spoke, the words coming easily, a simple explanation.</p> + +<p>“Both of you know that Douglass disagrees with my plan. He says we’ll +fail at Harper’s Ferry—that none of us will come out alive.” He paused +a moment and then said, “Maybe he is right.”</p> + +<p>Douglass waited, but still Shields Green only looked at him. At last he +asked, “Well, Shields?”</p> + +<p>“The Emperor” shifted the fishing rod in his hand. Then his eyes turned +toward John Brown. Douglass knew even before he spoke. Shields looked +him full in the face and said, “Ah t’ink Ah goes wid tha old man!”</p> + +<p>And he and Kagi turned away and went off down to the stream.</p> + +<p>Brown held his hand a moment before speaking.</p> + +<p>“Go quickly now, and go without regrets. You have your job to do and I +have mine.”</p> + +<p>Douglass did not look back as he stumbled over the wet, slippery rocks. +Never in his life had he felt so desolate, never had a day seemed so +bleak and empty, as alone he went down the mountain <i>to live</i> for +freedom. He had left John Brown and Shields Green to die for freedom. +Whose was the better part?</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Thirteen"><span class="smcap">Chapter Thirteen</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +“<i>Give them arms, Mr. Lincoln!</i>”<br> +</p> + + +<p>The news of Harper’s Ferry stunned Washington. “<i>A United States +arsenal attacked—Slaves stampeding!</i>” “<i>The madman from Kansas +run amuck!</i>” “<i>The slaves are armed!</i>” Panic seized the South, +and Capitol Hill rocked and reeled with the shock.</p> + +<p>Jack brought home copies of the <cite>New York Herald</cite>, and Amelia read +how the old man lay bleeding on a pallet with his two sons cold and +still at his side. Governor Wise, leaning over to condemn, had drawn +back before a courage, fortitude and simple faith which silenced him.</p> + +<p>“There is an eternity behind and an eternity before,” John Brown +had said, and his voice did not falter. “This little speck in the +center, however long, is comparatively but a minute. The difference +between your tenure and mine is trifling, and I therefore tell you +to be prepared. I am prepared. You have a heavy responsibility, and +it behooves you to meet it. You may dispose of me easily, but this +question is still to be settled ... the end is not yet.”</p> + +<p>“Why did he let the train through?” people asked. “<i>Is</i> he crazy?”</p> + +<p>“I came here to liberate slaves.” All his explanations were so simple. +“I have acted from a sense of duty, and am content to await my fate; +but I think the crowd have treated me badly.... Yesterday I could have +killed whom I chose; but I had no desire to kill any person, and would +not have killed a man had they not tried to kill me and my men. I +could have sacked and burned the town, but did not; I have treated the +persons whom I took as hostages kindly. If I had succeeded in running +off slaves this time, I could have raised twenty times as many men as I +have now, for a similar expedition. But I have failed.”</p> + +<p>An old man had been stopped—a crazy old man, whose equally<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span> crazy +followers were killed or captured. It was over and very little harm +done. An unpleasant incident to be soon forgotten.</p> + +<p>But no one would have done with it. Papers throughout the country sowed +John Brown’s words into every town and hamlet; preachers repeated them +in their pulpits; people gathered in small knots on the roadside and +shouted them defiantly or whispered them cautiously; black men and +women everywhere bowed their heads and wept hot, scalding tears. And +William Lloyd Garrison, the man of peace, the “non-resister,” said, +“How marvelous has been the change in public opinion during thirty +years of moral agitation. Ten years ago there were thousands who could +not endure the slightest word of rebuke of the South; now they can +swallow John Brown whole and his rifle in the bargain.”</p> + +<p>The old man never lost his calm. Frenzy shook every slave state in the +Union. Rumors spread and multiplied. Black and white men were seized, +beaten, and killed. Slaves disappeared. A hue and cry arose.</p> + +<p>“The Abolitionists! Get the Abolitionists! They are behind John Brown!”</p> + +<p>Amelia read of letters and papers found in the farmhouse near Harper’s +Ferry. “<i>Many people are implicated! Indictments being drawn up!</i>” +She looked at Jack, her face white.</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose—could it be—would <i>he</i> be among them?” She bit +her trembling lips.</p> + +<p>Jack Haley frowned. He had heard talk at the office. He knew they were +looking for Frederick Douglass. He knew they would hang this Negro whom +they hated and feared more than a dozen white men—<i>if</i> they got +him. He patted Amelia on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t worry,” he comforted her. “Your Frederick is a smart man.”</p> + +<p>“He might be needed to testify—he may have something to say.” Amelia +was certain Frederick Douglass would not turn aside from his duty.</p> + +<p>“He is not a fool,” Jack said, shaking his head. “The Dred Scott +decision renders his word useless. No word of his can help John Brown.”</p> + +<p>Amelia heard the bitterness in Jack’s voice and she sighed. Time had +dealt kindly with Amelia. At sixty her step was more elastic, her skin +smoother and her shoulders straighter than the day, fifteen years +before, when she had walked away from Covey’s place. Mrs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span> Royall, +intrepid journalist, was dead. Amelia had stayed on in the house, +assumed the mortgage, and took in as roomers a score of clerks and +secretaries who labored in the government buildings a few blocks away. +“Miss Amelia’s” house was popular, and her rooms were in demand.</p> + +<p>Jack had married and talked of going away, of starting his own paper, +of becoming a power in one of the new publishing houses—Then suddenly, +during a sleeting winter, an epidemic had struck Washington. Afterward, +there had been quite a stir about “cleaning up the city.” Certain +sections had got new sewers and rubbish was collected. But Jack’s wife +was dead. So a grim-faced, older Jack had moved in with Amelia. He +had stayed on with the paper, contemptuous of much he saw and heard. +For Jack Haley, as for many people in the United States the fall of +1859, John Brown cleared the air. <i>Somebody’s doing something, thank +God!</i></p> + +<p>Amelia continued to scan the papers, dreading to see Frederick +Douglass’ name. And one day she did, but as she read farther a smile +lit up her face. The story was an angry denunciation of “this Frederick +Douglass” by Governor Wise of Virginia. Douglass, he announced, had +slipped through their fingers. He was known to have boarded a British +steamer bound for England. “Could I overtake that vessel,” the Governor +was quoted as saying, “I would take him from her deck at any cost.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Off the coast of Labrador, in weather four degrees below zero, the +<i>Scotia</i> strained and groaned. There was something fiercely +satisfying to one passenger in the struggle with the elements. +Frederick Douglass, pacing the icy deck or tossing in his cabin, felt +that the sky <i>should</i> be black. The waters <i>should</i> foam and +dash, the winds <i>should</i> howl; for John Brown lay in prison and +his brave sons were dead!</p> + +<p>Back in Concord, the gentle Thoreau was ringing the town bell and +crying in the streets, “Old John Brown is dead—John Brown the immortal +lives!”</p> + +<p>By the time Douglass docked at Liverpool, England was as much alive to +what had happened at Harper’s Ferry as the United States. Once more +Douglass was called to Scotland and Ireland—this time to give an +account of the men who had thus flung away their lives in a desperate +effort to free the slaves.</p> + +<p>Having accepted an invitation to speak in Paris, he wrote for a +passport. A suspicion current at the time, that a conspiracy against<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span> +the life of Napoleon III was afoot in England, had stiffened the French +passport system. Douglass, wishing to avoid any delay, wrote directly +to the Honorable George Dallas, United States Minister in London. That +gentleman refused to grant the passport at all on the ground that +Frederick Douglass was not a citizen of the United States. Douglass’ +English friends gaped at the Ministry letter. The “man without a +country,” however, merely shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“I forget too easily,” he said. “Now I’ll write to the French minister.”</p> + +<p>Within a few days he had his answer—a “special permit” for Frederick +Douglass to visit “indefinitely” in any part of France. He was packed +to go when a cable from home arrived.</p> + +<p>Little Annie was dead. The sudden loss of his baby daughter seemed to +climax all the pain and heartbreak of these months.</p> + +<p>Heedless now of peril to himself, he took the first outgoing steamer +for Portland, Maine.</p> + +<p>During the seventeen dragging days of his voyage, Douglass resolved +to make one stop even before going home. He had two graves now to +visit—Annie’s and John Brown’s. Annie too had loved the old man. +She would not mind if her father went directly to the house in the +Adirondacks.</p> + +<p>No one was expecting the haggard dark man who descended from the train +at North Elba. He could not find a driver to take him up to John +Brown’s house. But from the livery stable he secured a horse. And so +he rode up through the Indian Pass gorge, between two overhanging +black walls, and came out under tall, white clouds above wine-colored +mountains rising in a blue mist. And there beside a still, green pool, +reflecting a white summit in its depths, he saw the house, with its +abandoned sawmill.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown exhibited no surprise when he stood before her. Her +husband’s strength sustained her now. John Brown and the sons that she +had borne were no longer hers. They belonged to all the peoples of the +world. She greeted Frederick Douglass with a smile.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been expecting you. Come in, my friend.” She talked quietly, +transmitting to him John Brown’s final words and admonitions. Then she +rose. “He left something for you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh—John!” Until that moment he had listened without interrupting, his +eyes on the woman’s expressive face. The words broke from him unbidden.</p> + +<p>At her gesture, he followed her up the bare stairs and into the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span> +bedroom that had been hers and John Brown’s. The roof sloped down; he +had to stoop a little, standing beside her before the faded, furled +flag and rusty musket in the corner. She nodded her head, but could not +speak.</p> + +<p>“For me?” Douglass’ words came in a whisper.</p> + +<p>“He wanted you to have them.” She had turned to the chest of drawers +and handed him an envelope.</p> + +<p>“He sent this in one of my letters. I was to give it to you when you +came.”</p> + +<p>His hands were trembling as he drew forth the single white sheet on +which were written two lines.</p> + +<p>“I know I have not failed because you live. Go forward, and some +day unfurl my flag in the land of the free. Farewell.” And then was +sprawled, “John Brown.”</p> + +<p>He left the farmhouse with the musket in his hands. They had wrapped +the flag carefully, and he laid it across his shoulders. So many times +she had stood in the narrow doorway and watched John Brown ride away. +He had never looked back. But on this evening the rider paused when he +came to the top of the hill. He paused and looked back down into the +valley. His eyes found the spot where John Brown lay beside his sons. +She could not see his lips move, nor could she hear his words—words +the winds of the Adirondacks carried away:</p> + +<p>“I promise you, John Brown. As I live, I promise you.”</p> + +<p>Then he waved his hand to John Brown’s widow and was gone.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Douglass’ homecoming was weighted with sorrow. But in the mountains of +North Elba he had drawn strength. He was able to comfort the grieving +mother and the older children. For the first time in years he sat +quietly with his three fine sons. He told Rosetta how pretty she +was—like her mother in the days of the plum-colored wedding dress. The +family closed its ranks, coming very close together. Douglass managed +to remain in his house nearly a month before knowledge got around that +he was back in the country. Then a letter from William Lloyd Garrison +summoned him:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>The investigating committee appointed by Congress is being called off. +The net thrown out over the country yielded very little. As you know, +Captain Brown implicated nobody. To the end he insisted that he and he +alone was responsible for all that happened, that he had many friends, +but no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span> instigators. In their efforts this committee has signally +failed. Now they have asked to be discharged. It is my opinion that +the men engaged in this investigation expect soon to be in rebellion +themselves, and not a rebellion for liberty, like that of John Brown, +but a rebellion for slavery. It is possible that they see that by +using their Senatorial power in search of rebels they may be whetting +a knife for their own throats. At any rate the country will soon be +relieved of the Congressional drag-net, so your liberty is no longer +threatened. We are planning a memorial to the grand old man here at +Tremont Temple and want you to speak. I know you’ll come.</p> +</div> + +<p>Douglass hastened to Boston. The great mass meeting was more than +a memorial. It was a political and social conclave. Arguments and +differences of opinions were laid aside. They had a line of action. +Douglass saw that he had returned to the United States in time for +vital service.</p> + +<p>“It enabled me to participate in the most important and memorable +presidential canvass ever witnesses in the United States,” he wrote, +looking back on it later, “and to labor for the election of a man who +in the order of events was destined to do a greater service to his +country and to mankind than any man who had gone before him in the +presidential office. It was a great thing to me to be permitted to bear +some humble part in this. It was a great thing to achieve American +independence when we numbered three millions, but it was a greater +thing to save this country from dismemberment and ruin when it numbered +thirty millions. He alone of all our presidents was to have the +opportunity to destroy slavery, and to lift into manhood millions of +his countrymen hitherto held as chattels and numbered with the beasts +of the field.”<a id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></p> + +<p>Not for nearly a hundred years was the country to see such a +presidential campaign as the one waged in 1860.</p> + +<p>Garrison was drawn into the fray early. He mocked the Democrats when +they tore themselves apart at their convention in Charleston and +cheered “an independent Southern republic.” With the Democrats divided, +the Republicans would win; and into the Republican party now came the +Abolitionists—including William Lloyd Garrison. Douglass was very +happy.</p> + +<p>A few weeks before the Republicans met in convention at Chicago, +Frederick Douglass at his home in Rochester had a caller. The man +identified himself as a tradesman from Springfield, Illinois.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span></p> + +<p>“I’m here, lookin’ over the shippin’ of some goods, and I took the +liberty to come see you, Mr. Douglass,” he said, resting his hands on +his knotty knees.</p> + +<p>“I’m very glad you did, sir.” Douglass waited for the man to reveal his +errand. He leaned forward.</p> + +<p>“I ain’t a talkin’ man, Mr. Douglass. I’m much more for doin’.” +Douglass smiled his approval. The man lowered his tone. “More than once +I took on goods for Reverend Rankin.”</p> + +<p>Douglass knew instantly what he meant. John Rankin was one of Ohio’s +most daring Underground Railroad agents. Douglass’ face lit up, and for +the second time he grasped his visitor’s rough hand.</p> + +<p>“Any Rankin man is a hundredfold welcome in my house! What can I do for +you?”</p> + +<p>“Jus’ listen and think on what I’m sayin’. We got a man out our way +we’re namin’ for president!”</p> + +<p>The unexpected announcement caught Douglass up short.</p> + +<p>“But I thought—” The man waved him to silence.</p> + +<p>“Yep! I know. You Easterners got your man all picked out. I ain’t +sayin’ nothin’ ’bout Mr. Seward. I donno him. But the boys out West +<i>do</i> know Abe Lincoln—and we’re gonna back him!”</p> + +<p>“Abe Lincoln?” Douglass was puzzled. “I never heard of him.”</p> + +<p>“Nope? Well, it don’t matter. You will!”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>He was gone then, leaving Frederick Douglass very thoughtful. The +Westerner was right. Senator William Seward, a tried and true +antislavery man, had been picked. The only question had been whether or +not the entire party would accept such a known radical.</p> + +<p>Douglass reached Chicago the evening before the nominations were taken +up. He found the city decked out with fence rails which they said +“Honest Abe” had split. Evidently the people in the streets knew him, +the cab drivers and farmers in from the surrounding country. They stood +on street corners, buttonholed workmen hurrying home from work, and +they talked about “our man.”</p> + +<p>Something was in the air. The convention was a bedlam. Even while the +thunder of applause that had greeted the nomination of William Seward +still hung in the far corners of the hall, Norman B. Judd, standing on +a high chair, nominated the man who habitually referred to himself as +a “jackleg lawyer.” The roar that greeted Lincoln’s name spread to the +packed street outside and kept up until the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span> Seward men were silenced. +The cheering died away in the hall, as they began taking the third +ballot; but the steady roar in the street found an echo in the chamber, +when it was found that Lincoln had received two hundred thirty-one and +a half votes, lacking just one and a half votes for nomination. Then +Ohio gave its four votes to the “rail-splitter,” and Abraham Lincoln +became the Republican candidate for President of the United States.</p> + +<p>Three candidates were in the field. Stephen A. Douglas, absolute leader +of the Democratic party in the West, had been nominated at Baltimore +after a bitter and barren fight at Charleston. The “seceding” Southern +wing of the party had nominated John C. Breckinridge. Three candidates +and one issue, <i>slavery</i>.</p> + +<p>Stephen Douglas’ position was: Slavery or no slavery in any territory +is entirely the affair of the white inhabitants of such territory. If +they choose to have it, it is their right; if they choose not to have +it, they have a right to exclude or prohibit it. Neither Congress nor +the people of the Union, outside of said territory, have any right to +meddle with or trouble themselves about the matter.</p> + +<p>The Democrats of Illinois laughed at the others for hailing forth the +Kentuckian. But Breckinridge represented the powerful slavocracy which +said: The citizen of any state has a right to migrate to any territory, +taking with him anything which is property by the law of his own +sure, and hold, enjoy, and be protected in the use of, such property +in said territory. And Congress is bound to furnish him protection +wherever necessary, with or without the co-operation of the territorial +legislature.</p> + +<p>Abraham Lincoln’s voice had never been heard by the nation. Easterners +waited with misgivings to hear what the gangling backwoods lawyer +would say. He did not mince words: Slavery can exist only by virtue of +municipal law; and there is no law for it in the territories and no +power to enact one. Congress can establish or legalize slavery nowhere +but is bound to prohibit it in, or exclude it from, any and every +Federal territory, whenever and wherever there shall be necessity for +such exclusion or prohibition.</p> + +<p>Frederick Douglass was convinced not only by his words but by the +fact that Abraham Lincoln was so clearly the choice of the people who +knew him. He threw his pen and voice into the contest. Many of the +Abolitionists hung back; many an “old guard” politician sulked. Wendell +Phillips dug up evidence that Lincoln had supported enforcement of the +hated Fugitive Slave Law in Illinois.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span></p> + +<p>But Douglass shook his leonine mane and campaigned throughout New York +State and in Boston, Philadelphia, Cleveland, Chicago—wherever Negroes +could vote.</p> + +<p>“Here is a man who knows your weariness,” he told them. “This is your +opportunity to make your voice heard. Send Lincoln to the White House! +Strengthen his hand that he may fight for you!”</p> + +<p>Fear gripped the South. They called Lincoln the “Black Republican.” +No longer was the North divided. Young Republicans organized marching +clubs and tramped through the city streets; torchlight processions +turned night into day: <i>John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in the +grave</i>.... A new singing could be heard in the remotest pine woods +of the South:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Oh, freedom</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh, freedom!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh, freedom ovah me—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">An’ befo’ I’d be a slave</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I’d be buried in mah grave</div> + <div class="verse indent0">An’ go home to my Lawd</div> + <div class="verse indent0">An’ be free.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>On November 6, Wendell Phillips congratulated Frederick Douglass: “For +the first time in our history, the slave has chosen a President of the +United States.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Garrison and Douglass decided to attend the inauguration together.</p> + +<p>“I want to show you the White House, Douglass. You must see the Capitol +to which you have sent Lincoln.”</p> + +<p>Douglass smiled. He had never been in Washington, and he was glad they +were together again.</p> + +<p>Garrison was far from well. The winter months had tried his failing +strength. After electing Lincoln, the North drew back, in large part +disclaiming all participation in the “insult” to their “sister states” +in the South. The press took on a conciliatory tone toward slavery +and a corresponding bitterness toward antislavery men and measures. +From Massachusetts to Missouri, antislavery meetings were ruthlessly +stoned. The second John Brown Memorial at Tremont Temple was broken +up by a mob, some of the wealthiest citizens of Boston taking part in +the assault on Douglass and the other speakers. Howling gangs followed +Wendell Phillips for three days wherever he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span> appeared on the pavements +of his native city, and hoodlums broke the windowpanes in Douglass’ +Rochester printing shop.</p> + +<p>These things weighed heavily on Garrison’s spirits. For a while he had +been uplifted by the belief that moral persuasion was winning over +large sections of the country. Now he saw them fearfully grasping their +possessions—repudiating everything except their “God-given” right to +pile up dollars.</p> + +<p>But across the country stalked one more grim man. His face was turned +to the east—to the rising sun; his lanky, bony body rose endless on a +prop of worn, out-size shoes.</p> + +<p>And deep in the hollows of the South, behind the lonesome pine trees +draped with moss, down in the corners of the cotton fields, in the +middle of the night—the slaves were whispering. And their words +rumbled like drums along the ground: “<i>Mistah Linkum is a-comin’! +Praise da Lawd!</i>”</p> + +<p>Washington was an armed city. “The new President of the United States +will be inaugurated—” General Scott was as good as his word. But the +crowds did not cheer when Abraham Lincoln appeared. There was a hush, +as if all the world knew it was a solemn moment.</p> + +<p>Douglass looked on the gaunt, strange beauty of that thin face—the +resemblance to John Brown was startling—and as he bared his head, +Douglass whispered, “He’s our man, John Brown. He’s our man!”</p> + +<p>Amelia saw Frederick Douglass in the crowd. She tugged frantically at +Jack Haley’s arm.</p> + +<p>“Look! Look!” she said. “It’s him!”</p> + +<p>Jack, turning his head, recognized the man he had heard speak years ago +in Providence, Rhode Island. Older, yes, broader and grown in stature, +but undoubtedly it was the same head, the same wild, sweeping mane.</p> + +<p>As the crowd began to disperse and Douglass turned, he felt a light +pull on his sleeve and looked down on a slight, white-haired woman +whose piquant upturned face and bright blue eyes were vaguely familiar.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Douglass?” Her voice fluttered in her throat.</p> + +<p>“At your service, ma’am.” Douglass managed to make a little bow, though +the crowd pressed upon them. Her eyes widened.</p> + +<p>“Still the same lovely manners!” she said. At this the tall man at her +elbow spoke.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span></p> + +<p>“Mr. Douglass, you will pardon us. I am Jack Haley, and this is Mrs. +Amelia Kemp.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you remember me—Frederick?” She smiled wistfully as she said +his name, and the years dissolved. He remembered the dahlias.</p> + +<p>“Miss Amelia!” He took her hand, and his somber face lit up with +delight.</p> + +<p>“Could you come with us? Have you a little time?” Her words were +bubbling over.</p> + +<p>Douglass turned to Garrison, who was regarding the scene with some +misgiving. They two were far from safe in Washington.</p> + +<p>“I think we’d better leave at once,” he said with a frown.</p> + +<p>Douglass’ face showed his disappointment. He said, and it was clear he +meant it, “I’m terribly sorry, Miss Amelia.”</p> + +<p>Jack Haley turned to Garrison. His voice was low.</p> + +<p>“I understand the situation, sir. But if I drove you directly to our +house, I assure you we shall encounter no difficulties. We would be +honored.”</p> + +<p>Once more Douglass looked hopefully at Garrison. The older man shrugged +his shoulders.</p> + +<p>The fringed-top carryall stood at the curb. Garrison helped Amelia into +the back seat and sat down beside her. Douglass climbed into the front +seat with Jack. As Jack picked up the reins, Douglass grinned and said, +“I could drive, you know.”</p> + +<p>Jack gave a short laugh. “I realize, Mr. Douglass, that we’re +uncivilized down here. But stranger things than this are seen on +Pennsylvania Avenue. Relax, we’ll get home all right.”</p> + +<p>So they drove down the avenue past soldiers and visitors and +legislators, all intent upon their own affairs. Louisiana Avenue with +its wide greensward and early violets was loveliest of all.</p> + +<p>For two days in the short period before the guns opened fire at Fort +Sumter, Frederick Douglass and William Lloyd Garrison rested from their +labors on a shaded side-street off Louisiana Avenue.</p> + +<p>Up North the countryside was still locked in the hard rigors of winter, +but here spring was in the air. He walked out in the yard, and told +Miss Amelia about his big sons who kept the paper going during his many +absences.</p> + +<p>Succulent odors rose like incense from Amelia’s kitchen—Maryland +fried chicken, served with snowy mounds of rice, popovers and cherry +pie—their fragrance hung in the air and brought her lodgers tumbling +down from their rooms to inquire, “What’s going on here?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span></p> + +<p>Amelia told them about her guests, swearing them to secrecy. They +tiptoed out into the hall and peeped into the living room. On the +second evening Miss Amelia gave in to their urgent requests.</p> + +<p>“A few of my young friends to meet you, Frederick. You won’t mind?” +After supper they gathered round. Far into the night they asked +questions and talked together, the ex-slave and young Americans who +sorted mail, ran errands and wrote the letters of the legislators on +Capitol Hill.</p> + +<p>They were the boys who would have to drag their broken bodies across +stubble fields, who would lie like filthy, grotesque rag dolls in the +mud. They were the girls who would be childless or widowed or old +before their lives had bloomed.</p> + +<p>“It’s been wonderful here, Miss Amelia.” Douglas held her hand in +parting.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been proud to have you, Frederick.” Her blue eyes looked up into +his, and Douglass saw her tears.</p> + +<p>He stooped and kissed her on the soft, withered cheek.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>They said the war was inevitable. Madmen cannot hear words of reason. +On only one thing was Lincoln unswerving—to preserve the Union. As +concession after concession was made, it became more and more evident +that this was what the slaveholders did not want. They were sick to +death of the Union! In Georgia, Tennessee, North Carolina and Virginia +white men struggled against the octopus of slavery. They did all they +could to prevent the break. But the slavers had control—they had the +power, they had the money, and they had the slaves.</p> + +<p>So there was war, and slaves were set to digging ditches and building +barricades.</p> + +<p>From the beginning Frederick Douglass saw in the war the end of +slavery. Much happened the first two years to shake his faith. +Secretary of State William Seward instructed United States ministers +to say to the governments where they were stationed that “terminate +however it might, the status of no class of the people of the United +States would be changed by the rebellion; slaves will be slaves still, +and masters will be masters still.” General McClellan and General +Butler warned the slaves in advance that “if any attempt was made by +them to gain their freedom it would be suppressed with an iron hand.” +Douglass grew sick with despair when President Lincoln quickly withdrew +the emancipation proclamation made by General John C. Frémont in +Missouri. Union soldiers were even stationed about the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span> farmhouses of +Virginia to guard the masters and help them hold their slaves.</p> + +<p>The war was not going well. In the <cite>North Star</cite> and from the +platform, Douglass reminded the North that it was fighting with one +hand only, when it might strike effectually with two. The Northern +states fought with their soft white hand, while they kept their black +iron hand chained and helpless behind them. They fought the effect +while they protected the cause. The Union would never prosper in the +war until the Negro was enlisted, Douglass said.</p> + +<p>On every side they howled him down.</p> + +<p>“Give the blacks arms, and loyal men of the North will throw down their +guns and go home!”</p> + +<p>“This is the white man’s country and the white man’s war!”</p> + +<p>“It would inflict an intolerable wound upon the pride and spirit of +white soldiers to see niggers in the United States uniform.”</p> + +<p>“Anyhow, niggers won’t fight—the crack of his old master’s whip will +send him scampering in terror from the field.”</p> + +<p>They made jokes about it.</p> + +<p>White men died at Bull Run, Ball’s Bluff, Big Bethel, and +Fredericksburg. The Union Army needed more soldiers. They began +drafting men—white men. In blind rage the whites turned on the +helpless blacks.</p> + +<p>“Why should we fight for you?” they screamed. On the streets of New +York, black men and women were beaten, their workshops and stores +destroyed, their homes burned. They burned the Colored Orphan Asylum +in New York. Not all the children could be dragged from the blazing +building.</p> + +<p>Douglass wrote letters to Congress and got up petitions. “Let us +fight!” he pleaded. “Give us arms!”</p> + +<p>He pointed out that the South was sustaining itself and its army with +Negro labor. At last General Butler at Fort Monroe announced the policy +of treating the slaves as “contrabands” to be made useful to the Union +cause. General Phelps, in command at Carrollton, Louisiana, advocated +the same plan. The story of how the slaves flocked into these camps, +how they worked, how they were glad to sustain their half-starved +bodies on scraps left over by the soldiers, how they endured any and +all hardships for this opportunity to do something to “hep Massa Linkum +win da war” cannot be told here. But it convinced the administration +that the Negro could be useful.</p> + +<p>The second step was to give Negroes a peculiar costume which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span> should +distinguish them from soldiers and yet mark them as part of the loyal +force. Finally so many Negroes presented themselves that it was +proposed to give the laborers something better than spades and shovels +with which to defend themselves in case of emergency.</p> + +<p>“Still later it was proposed to make them soldiers,” Douglass wrote, +“but soldiers without blue uniform, soldiers with a mark upon them to +show that they were inferior to other soldiers; soldiers with a badge +of degradation upon them. However, once in the army as a laborer, once +there with a red shirt on his back and a pistol in his belt, the Negro +was not long in appearing on the field as a soldier. But still, he was +not to be a soldier in the sense, and on an equal footing, with white +soldiers. It was given out that he was not to be employed in the open +field with white troops ... doing battle and winning victories for the +Union cause ... in the teeth of his old masters; but that he should +be made to garrison forts in yellow-fever and otherwise unhealthy +localities of the South, to save the health of the white soldiers; +and, in order to keep up the distinction further, the black soldiers +were to have only half the wages of the white soldiers, and were to be +commanded entirely by white commissioned officers.”</p> + +<p>Negroes all over the North looked at each other with drawn faces.</p> + +<p>Almost the cup was too bitter. But up from the South came stories of +how black fugitives were offering themselves as slaves to the Union +armies—of the terrible retaliation meted out to them if caught—of how +the Northern armies were falling back.</p> + +<p>Then President Lincoln gave Governor Andrew of Massachusetts permission +to raise two colored regiments. The day the news broke, Douglass came +home waving his paper in the air. Anna’s face blanched. Up from the +table rose her two sons, Lewis and Charles.</p> + +<p>“We’ll be the first!” They dashed off to sign up. Young Frederic was in +Buffalo that morning. When he got back, he heard where they had gone, +and turned to follow them.</p> + +<p>“Wait! Wait!” The mother’s cry was heartbroken.</p> + +<p>His father too said, “Wait.” Then Douglass explained.</p> + +<p>“This is only the first, my son. We’ll have other regiments. There will +be many regiments before the war is won. We must recruit black men from +every state in our country—South as well as North.” He looked at his +tall son and sighed. “Unfortunately, I am known. I would be stopped +before I could reach them in the South. Here is a job for some brave +man.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span></p> + +<p>They faced each other calmly, father and son, and neither was afraid.</p> + +<p>“I understand, sir. I will go!”</p> + +<p>A few evenings later, before an overflow audience at Corinthian Hall +in Rochester, Frederick Douglass delivered an address which may be +placed beside Patrick Henry’s in Virginia. It appeared later in leading +journals throughout the North and West under the caption “Men of Color, +to Arms!”</p> + +<p>“Action! Action, not criticism, is the plain duty of this hour. Words +are now useful only as they stimulate to blows. The office of speech +now is only to point out when, where, and how to strike to the best +advantage.” This was Douglass the spellbinder, Douglass, who had lifted +thousands cheering to their feet in England, Ireland, and Scotland. +“From East to West, from North to South, the sky is written all over +‘Now or Never.’ Liberty won by white men alone would lose half its +luster.... Who would be free themselves must strike the blow.”</p> + +<p>The applause swept across the country. White men read these words and +were shamed in their prejudices; poor men read them and thanked God +for Frederick Douglass; black men read them and hurried to recruiting +offices.</p> + +<p>They were in the crowd on Boston Common the morning the Fifty-fourth +Massachusetts marched away—a father and a mother come to see their two +sons off to war. Douglass was not thinking of the credit due him for +the formation of the first Negro regiment. He was remembering how Lewis +had always wanted a pony and the way Charlie always left his shoes in +the middle of the floor, to be stumbled over. He tried to stay the +trembling in Anna’s arm by pressing it close to his side. He wished he +had somehow managed to get that pony.</p> + +<p>The soldiers were standing at ease in the street when Charlie saw her. +He waved his hand, and though he did not yell, she saw his lips form +the words, “Hi, Mom!” She saw him nudge his brother and then—</p> + +<p>They were marching, holding their colors high, the sun glinting on +polished bayonets and reflected in their eyes. They marched away behind +their gallant Captain Shaw, and as they went they sang a song:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in the grave</div> + <div class="verse indent4">But his soul goes marching on.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span></p> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Fourteen"><span class="smcap">Chapter Fourteen</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Came January 1, 1863</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>The tall man’s footsteps made no sound upon the thick rug. Muffled and +hushed, his weary pacing left no mark upon the warp and woof underneath +his feet. No sign at all of all the hours he had been walking back and +forth, no sound.</p> + +<p>To save the Union—this was the aim and purpose of everything he did. +He had offered concession after concession—he had sent men out to die +to hold the Union together and he had seen the horror of their dying. +And yet no end in sight. Could it be that God had turned his face away? +Was He revolted by the stench of slavery? Was this the measure He +required?</p> + +<p>The President had sought to reason with them. In his last annual +message to Congress he had proposed a constitutional amendment by which +any state abolishing slavery by or before the year 1900 should be +entitled to full compensation from the Federal government. So far he +had postponed the day when a slave owner must take a loss. Nothing had +come of the proposal—nothing.</p> + +<p>To save the Union! Would emancipation drive the border states into +revolt? Would it let loose a terror in the night that would destroy and +rape and pillage all the land? He had been amply warned. Or were the +Abolitionists right? George Thompson, the Englishman, had been very +convincing; the President had talked with William Lloyd Garrison, who +all these years had never wavered from his stand; and in this very room +he had received the Negro, Frederick Douglass.</p> + +<p>Douglass had stated his case so well, so completely, so wrapped in +logic that the President had found himself defending his position to +the ex-slave. He had sat quietly, listened patiently, and then spoken.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span></p> + +<p>“It is the only way, Mr. Lincoln, the only way to save the Union,” +Douglass said.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Outside, the day was dark and lowering. The sun hid behind banks of +muddy clouds; dirty snow lay heaped against the Capitol. The tall +man dropped to his knees and buried his haggard face in his hands. +“Thy will be done, oh God, Thy will!” He, Abraham Lincoln, fourteenth +president of the United States, would stake his honor, his good name, +all that he had to give, to preserve the Union. And down through the +ages men would judge him by one day’s deed. He rose from his knees, +turned and pulled the cord that summoned his secretary.</p> + +<p>In Boston they were waiting. This was the day when the government +was to set its face against slavery. Though the conditions on which +the President had promised to withhold the proclamation had not been +complied with, there was room for doubt and fear. Mr. Lincoln was a +man of tender heart and boundless patience; no man could tell to what +lengths he might go for peace and reconciliation. An emancipation +proclamation would end all compromises with slavery, change the entire +conduct of the war, give it a new aim.</p> + +<p>They held watch-meetings in all the colored churches on New Year’s Eve +and went on to a great mass meeting in Tremont Temple, which extended +through the day and evening. A grand jubilee concert in Music Hall was +scheduled for the afternoon. They expected the President’s proclamation +to reach the city by noon. But the day wore on, and fears arose that it +might not, after all, be forthcoming.</p> + +<p>The orchestra played Beethoven’s <cite>Fifth Symphony</cite>, the chorus +sang Handel’s <cite>Hallelujah Chorus</cite>, Ralph Waldo Emerson read his +“<cite>Boston Hymn</cite>,” written for the occasion—but still no word. A line of +messengers was set up between the telegraph office and the platform of +Tremont Temple. William Wells Brown, the Reverend Mr. Grimes, Miss Anna +Dickinson, Frederick Douglass—all had said their lines. But speaking +or listening to speeches was not the thing for which people had come +together today. They were waiting.</p> + +<p>Eight, nine, ten o’clock came and went, and still no word. Frederick +Douglass walked to the edge of the platform. He stood there without +saying a word, and before the awful stillness of his helplessness the +stirrings of the crowd quieted. His voice was hoarse.</p> + +<p>“Ladies and gentlemen—I know the time for argument has passed. Our +ears are not attuned to logic or the sound of many words. It is the +trumpet of jubilee which we await.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span></p> + +<p>“Amen, God of our fathers, hear!” The fervent prayer had come from a +black man who had dropped to his knees on the platform behind Douglass. +There was a responding murmur from the crowd. Douglass stood a moment +with his head bowed. Then he continued:</p> + +<p>“We are watching for the dawn of a new day. We are waiting for the +answer to the agonizing prayers of centuries. We—” His eyes were +caught by a movement in the crowd packed around the doors. He held his +breath. A man ran down the aisle.</p> + +<p>“It’s coming—It’s coming over the wires! Now!” he shouted.</p> + +<p>The shout that went up from the crowd carried the glad tidings to +the streets. Men and women screamed—they tossed their hats into the +air—strangers embraced one another, weeping. Garrison, standing in +the gallery, was cheered madly; Harriet Beecher Stowe, her bonnet +awry, tears streaming down her cheeks, was lifted to a bench. After a +while they quieted down to hear the reading of the text ... “are, and +henceforward shall be, free.” Then the Reverend Charles Rue, the black +man behind Douglass, lifted his magnificent voice and led them as they +sang,</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Jehovah hath triumphed, his people are free.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Cables carried the news across the Atlantic. Crowds thronged the +streets of London and Liverpool. Three thousand workmen of Manchester, +many of them present sufferers from the cotton famine, adopted by +acclamation an address to President Lincoln congratulating him on the +Proclamation. George Thompson led a similar meeting in Lancashire, and +in Exeter Hall a great demonstration meeting was addressed by John +Stuart Mill.</p> + +<p>But it was from the deep, deep South that the sweetest music came. +It was an old song—old as the first man, lifting himself from the +mire and slime of some dark river bed and feeling the warm sun upon +his face, old as the song they sang crossing the Red Sea, old as the +throbbing of drums deep in the jungles, old as the song of all men +everywhere who would be free. It was a new song, the loveliest thing +born this side of the seas, fresh and verdant and young, full as the +promise of this new America—the Delta’s rich, black earth; the tall, +thick trees upon a thousand hills; the fairy, jeweled beauty of the +bayous; the rolling plains of the Mississippi. Black folks made a song +that day.</p> + +<p>They crouched in their cabins, hushed and still. Old men and women +who had prayed so long—broken, close to the end, they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span> waited for +this glorious thing. Young men and women, leashed in their strength, +twisted in bondage—they waited. Mothers grasped their babies in their +arms—waiting.</p> + +<p>Some of them listened for a clap of thunder that would rend the world +apart. Some strained their eyes toward the sky, waiting for God upon +a cloud to bring them freedom. Anything was possible, they whispered, +waiting.</p> + +<p>They recognized His shining angels when they came: a tired and dirty +soldier, in a torn and tattered uniform; a grizzled old man hobbling +out from town; a breathless woman, finding her way through the swamp to +tell them; a gaunt, white “cracker” risking his life to let them know; +a fleet-footed black boy, running, running down the road. These were +the messengers who brought them word.</p> + +<p>And the song of joy went up. Free! Free! Free! Black men and women +lifted their quivering hands and shouted across the fields. The rocks +and trees, the rivers and the mountains echoed their voices—the +universe was glad the morning freedom’s song rang in the South.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Part_IV">Part IV</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>TOWARD MORNING</i><br> +<br> +The seeds of the Declaration of Independence are slowly ripening.<br> +</p> +<p class="right"> +—<span class="smcap">John Quincy Adams</span><br> +</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Fifteen"><span class="smcap">Chapter Fifteen</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>When lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>“When the Hebrews were emancipated they were told to take spoil from +the Egyptians. When the serfs of Russia were emancipated, they were +given three acres of ground upon which they could live and make a +living. But not so when our slaves were emancipated. They were sent +away empty-handed, without money, without friends, and without a foot +of land to stand upon. Old and young, sick and well were turned loose +to the open sky, naked to their enemies.”</p> + +<p>Fifteen years later Douglass was to say this to a tense audience, their +large eyes, so bright that “freedom morning,” veiled again with pain. +If only Lincoln had been spared! How many times in the months and years +had they harked back to that towering figure and asked, “<i>Why?</i>”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It is true that Lincoln’s freeing of the slaves was a war measure, but +with the enactment of that measure the President steered the Ship of +State into uncharted waters. To whom could he turn for counsel? Not to +a Cabinet dolefully prophesying disaster; not to a Secretary of War who +had considered the occupation of Sumter by United States soldiers a +deadly insult to the Southern states; not to a General who vacillated, +delayed, quarreled and called his own men “a confused mob, entirely +demoralized.”</p> + +<p>Lincoln sent for Frederick Douglass. It was proof of how far and how +fast he was traveling. He had no precedent. Everything the President +read or heard in his day treated all colored peoples as less than +human. He was born and nurtured in the church which said fervent +prayers of thanks that slavers “tore the savage from the wilds of +Africa and brought him to Christianity.” The unquestioned inferiority<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span> +of a black man was in the very air that Lincoln breathed. And yet he +turned to Douglass.</p> + +<p>He did not receive the dark man in the office of the Executive Mansion, +but out on the back porch. There were times when the tinted walls, +drapes and heavy rugs of the imposing house stifled this “common man” +from the West. At such times he chose the porch, with its vista of +green.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, Mr. Douglass,” he said, motioning to a wide, easy chair. “I +want to talk to you.”</p> + +<p>Mainly he wished to confer that afternoon about the best means, outside +the Army, to induce slaves in the rebel states to come within Federal +lines.</p> + +<p>“I fear that a peace might be forced upon me which would leave the +former slaves in a kind of bondage worse even than that they have +known.” Then he added, his voice heavy with disappointment, “They are +not coming to us as rapidly and in as large numbers as I had hoped.”</p> + +<p>Douglass replied that probably many obstacles were being placed in +their path.</p> + +<p>The President nodded his head. He was troubled in heart and mind. He +said he was being accused of protracting the war beyond its legitimate +object and of failing to make peace when he might have done so to +advantage. He saw the dangers of premature peace, but mainly he wanted +to prepare for what lay ahead when peace did come, early or late.</p> + +<p>“Four millions suddenly added to the country’s population!” Lincoln +said earnestly. “What can we do, Douglass?” Before Douglass could +reply, the President leaned forward, his eyes intent. “I understand you +oppose every suggestion for colonization.”</p> + +<p>“That is true, Mr. Lincoln. Colonization is not the answer.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“These people are not Africans. They know nothing about +Africa—whatever roots they had have been destroyed. We were born here, +in America.”</p> + +<p>The President sighed.</p> + +<p>“I realize our responsibility, Douglass. We cannot set back the clock. +We brought your people here, we made them work for us. We owe them for +all these years of labor. But the fact remains that they are alien and +apart. Can they ever fit into the life of this country?”</p> + +<p>Douglass spoke very gently.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span></p> + +<p>“This is the only land we know, Mr. Lincoln. We have tilled its fields, +we have cleared its forests, we have built roads and bridges. This +is our home. We are alien and apart only because we have been forced +apart.” Then he began to tell the President of Negroes who had been +living and working in free states. He told of artisans and skilled +craftsmen, of bakers, shoemakers and clockmakers; he told about +schoolteachers, doctors, Negroes who, after being educated in Europe, +had chosen to return.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lincoln listened with growing amazement. Perhaps he thought to +himself, <i>If only all of them were like this man Douglass!</i> But +being the simple, honest soul he was, it is certain another thought +came after, <i>Few men are like this Douglass!</i></p> + +<p>They sat together through the long summer afternoon, and worked out a +plan. Other callers were turned away. “The President can see no one,” +they were told.</p> + +<p>They decided that Douglass would organize a band of colored scouts who +would go into the South, beyond the Union Army lines, and bring the +slaves together as free workers.</p> + +<p>“They will be paid something. I can’t say what.”</p> + +<p>“They will come, sir!”</p> + +<p>From time to time Douglass scribbled a note of instruction for the +President’s aides. Neither noticed the time. They were only concerned +in mapping out a clear course of action. At last the President leaned +back and the visitor gathered up his papers.</p> + +<p>“From here,” Lincoln said, “we’ll move as we must. You will have to—”</p> + +<p>His secretary came out on the porch. “Sir!” Lincoln nodded his head. +“A courier has just arrived. He brings a communication from General +Stephenson.”</p> + +<p>Lincoln jerked himself erect.</p> + +<p>“Show him out here!”</p> + +<p>There was despair in the way the President pressed his hand against his +forehead.</p> + +<p>“It is bad news,” he explained. “Otherwise they would have wired.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go, sir!” Douglass rose to his feet. Lincoln’s tall form lifted +itself. He looked out across the lawn without seeing it.</p> + +<p>“Navy guns have been bombarding Fort Wagner for several days. We were +planning an attack. Surely—” He stopped as the two men came out on the +porch.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span></p> + +<p>The courier was only a boy. His eyes were bloodshot, and his uniform +was streaked and spattered. He swayed a little as he bowed and extended +a letter.</p> + +<p>“General Stephenson sends his greetings, sir.”</p> + +<p>Lincoln’s eyes were on the boy as his shaking fingers tore at the +envelope.</p> + +<p>“Why do you not come from General Strong?”</p> + +<p>“General Stephenson is now in command of the two brigades.” He stopped, +but the President’s eyes still questioned him and he added, “General +Strong and Colonel Putnam have been killed.”</p> + +<p>Then Lincoln looked down at the single sprawled sheet. His lips began +to move, and some of his words were distinct enough for Douglass to +hear.</p> + +<p>“On the night of July 18 we moved on Fort Wagner ... the Sixth +Connecticut, Forty-eighth Infantry New York, Third New Hampshire, +Seventy-sixth Pennsylvania, Ninth Maine....” He read on, then cried +out, “Douglass! Listen to this!”</p> + +<p>“The honor of leading the charge was given to the Fifty-fourth +Massachusetts. I must report, sir, that these black soldiers advanced +without flinching and held their ground in the face of blasting fire +which mowed them down cruelly. Only a remnant of the thousand men can +be accounted for. Their commander, Colonel Robert Shaw, is missing. We +had counted on aid from the guns of the fleet—troops in the rear could +not—” The President stopped.</p> + +<p>Douglass’ breath had escaped from his tense body in a groan. Now he +gasped.</p> + +<p>“I must go—Forgive me. I must go to my wife!”</p> + +<p>The President took a step toward him, understanding and concern in his +face. “You mean—?”</p> + +<p>“Our sons—Lewis and Charles—in the Fifty-fourth.”</p> + +<p>Lincoln laid his hand on Douglass’ arm, then spoke quickly to his +secretary.</p> + +<p>“See that the courier has food and rest. Wire General Stephenson for +the list.”</p> + +<p>Then he was walking to the door with Douglass, his arm through his.</p> + +<p>“Extend to your wife my deepest sympathy. I commend you both to God, +who alone can give you strength. Keep me informed. You will hear from +me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span></p> + +<p>The news of the defeat ran on ahead of him. Anna was standing in the +hall, waiting. He took her in his arms, and for a few moments neither +spoke. Then she said, “There is no word—yet.”</p> + +<p>Days passed, and they told themselves that no news was good news. +Gradually names were made public. Horace Greeley hailed the +Fifty-fourth Massachusetts as the “black phalanx.” Newspapers +throughout the North said that the Negro soldier had “proven himself.” +Southern papers used different words to tell the story, but they +verified the fact that it was black bodies which filled the hastily dug +trenches all around Fort Wagner. They had come upon a white body which +was identified as the commander. It was said the order had been given +to “dump him among his niggers!”</p> + +<p>Anna Douglass wrote a letter to Robert Shaw’s mother, who lived in +Boston.</p> + +<p>“The struggle is now over for your brave son. Take comfort in the +thought that he died as he lived, that he lies with those who loved him +so devotedly.”</p> + +<p>And still no word of Charles and Lewis.</p> + +<p>Douglass did not tell Anna about a letter he had written to Abraham +Lincoln. But when the reply came, he showed her the enclosed note, +which read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><span class="smcap">To whom it may concern</span>:</p> + +<p>The bearer of this, Frederick Douglass, is known to us as a loyal, +free man, and is hence entitled to travel unmolested.</p> + +<p>We trust he will be recognized everywhere as a free man and a +gentleman.</p> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +Respectfully,<br> +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">A. Lincoln</span>, <span class="smcap">President</span><br> +<span style="margin-right: 5.5em;"><i>I. K. Usha, Secretary</i></span><br> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>August 10, 1863</p> +</div> + +<p>Anna lifted her eyes in a question.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to South Carolina.”</p> + +<p>She pressed her hand against her shaking lips.</p> + +<p>“They’ll kill you—too!” she said. He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Our troops are encamped on the islands in and about Charleston harbor. +The regiments are mixed up. There are so many wounded that I can be a +real help by straightening out the record. Many homes do not know.” And +he kissed her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span></p> + +<p>She watched him shave off his beard. She gave him a large box of food.</p> + +<p>“I’ll find the boys!” His assurance cheered her.</p> + +<p>He did find them—each on a different island—among the wounded. +Charles thought him simply another figment of his feverish dreams. +Lewis had been trying to get word out.</p> + +<p>The news ran along the cots and out into the swamps:</p> + +<p>“Frederick Douglass is here!”</p> + +<p>Their cause was not lost.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>There were times that fall when strong hearts quailed. Criticism +against Abraham Lincoln mounted. Finally it became clear that Lincoln +would not be re-elected by the politicians, the bankers, big business, +or the press. The campaign of 1864 was, therefore, waged in country +stores, at crossroads, from the backs of carts driving along city +streets, in public squares and on church steps.</p> + +<p>The young Republican party now had to face a completely united +Democratic party which came forward with the story that the war was a +failure. They chose the dismissed General George B. McClellan as their +candidate and wrapped him in the ambiguous mist of an abused hero. But +they reckoned without the inspired tactics of his successor, Ulysses S. +Grant. The tide turned. “Lincoln’s man” was doing the job. Now Sherman +was “marching to the sea,” and the backbone of the Confederacy was +broken.</p> + +<p>The people returned Abraham Lincoln to the White House.</p> + +<p>With Lincoln safe, Douglass took the stump for the strengthening of the +Emancipation Proclamation. The next step was to pass the Thirteenth +Amendment, abolishing slavery by law.</p> + +<p>In October, Douglass and John Langston called a National Convention of +Colored Men for a four-day session in Syracuse. People still could not +believe that the war would end in complete emancipation of all slaves. +Douglass called upon this convention of free artisans, craftsmen and +laborers in the free Northern states to take their place inside the +governmental framework.</p> + +<p>“Events more mighty than men—eternal Providence, all-wide and +all-controlling,” he told them, “have placed us in new relations to +the government and the government to us. What that government is to +us today, and what it will be tomorrow, is made evident by a very few +facts. Look at them, colored men. Slavery in the District of Columbia +is abolished forever; slavery in all the territories of the United +States is abolished forever; the foreign slave trade, with its ten +thousand<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span> revolting abominations, is rendered impossible; slavery in +ten states of the Union is abolished forever; slavery in the five +remaining states is as certain to follow the same fate as the night +is to follow the day. The independence of Haiti is recognized; her +minister sits beside our “Prime Minister,” Mr. Seward, and dines at +his table in Washington, while colored men are excluded from the cars +in Philadelphia ... a black man’s complexion in Washington, in the +presence of the Federal government, is less offensive than in the +City of Brotherly Love. Citizenship is no longer denied us under this +government.”</p> + +<p>The minutes of the convention were sent to President Lincoln. In +December Lincoln laid the Thirteenth Amendment before Congress, and +in January, 1865, slavery was forever abolished from any part of the +United States “or any place subject to their jurisdiction.”</p> + +<p>Tirelessly, ceaselessly, Lincoln weighed every move he made. No harsh +words, no condemnation—he recognized human weakness. “<i>Our</i> +responsibility,” he said. Not the South’s alone, not merely the +slaveholder’s. He did not cant of “sins” and “virtues.”</p> + +<p>He read the appeal addressed to Governor Shepley by the “free men of +color” in New Orleans, asking to be allowed to “register and vote.” +They reminded him of their defense of New Orleans against the British +under General Jackson, and declared their present loyalty to the Union. +In March he wrote the following letter to the newly elected Governor +Hahn:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Executive Mansion</span>, <span class="smcap">Washington</span><br> +<br> +March 13, 1864<br> +</p> + +<p><i>Honorable Michael Hahn</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>: In congratulating you on having fixed your name +in history as the first Free State Governor of Louisiana, now you are +about to have a convention which, among other things, will probably +define the elective franchise, I barely suggest, for your private +consideration, whether some of the colored people may not be let on, +as for instance, the very intelligent, and especially those who have +fought gallantly in our ranks. They would probably help in some trying +time in the future to keep the jewel of Liberty in the family of +freedom. But this is only suggestion, not to the public, but to you +alone.</p> + +<p class="center"> +Truly yours, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">A. Lincoln</span><a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a><br> +</p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span></p> +<p>Long afterward Douglass wondered if it was some awful presentiment +that made his heart so heavy on the second Inauguration Day. Abraham +Lincoln’s voice lacked the resonance and liquid sweetness with which +men stirred vast audiences. He spoke slowly, carefully, as if each word +were a gift of himself to them—his last words to his people.</p> + +<p>“With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the +right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive to finish the +work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who +shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and his orphans, to +do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among +ourselves and with all nations.”</p> + +<p>A blackness engulfed Douglass for a time. He was unconscious of having +pushed forward. The ceremonies over, there was jostling and movement +all around him. Then over the heads of all the crowd, he saw President +Lincoln looking at him—he saw his face light up with a smile of +welcome. Douglass started toward him when he was stopped by something +else. Andrew Johnson, the Vice-President, stood beside Lincoln.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Lincoln touched Mr. Johnson and pointed me out to him,” Douglass +wrote, describing the incident. “The first expression which came to his +face, and which I think was the true index of his heart, was one of +bitter contempt and aversion. Seeing that I observed him, he tried to +assume a more friendly appearance, but it was too late; it is useless +to close the door when all within has been seen. His first glance was +the frown of the man; the second was the bland and sickly smile of the +demagogue.”<a id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a></p> + +<p>He turned aside, again engulfed in gloom. “Whatever Andrew Johnson may +be,” he thought, “he certainly is no friend of my race.”</p> + +<p>The same evening in the spacious East Room, at such an affair as he had +never in his own country been privileged to attend before, he tried to +put aside his misgivings. He simply ignored the startled glances turned +in his direction. His card of admission was beyond question.</p> + +<p>Even in this most brilliant of gatherings, Frederick Douglass was an +impressive figure. He was faultlessly groomed. His magnificent head +towered over any crowd, and he moved with poise and dignity. It is no +wonder that the President saw him standing in line among the others.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span></p> + +<p>“Ah! Here comes my friend Douglass,” Lincoln said playfully.</p> + +<p>Taking Douglass by the hand he said, “I saw you in the crowd today, +listening to my speech. Did you like it?”</p> + +<p>Douglass smiled, a little embarrassed. He had no desire to hold up the +line.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Lincoln, I mustn’t detain you with my opinions,” he almost +whispered. “There are a thousand people waiting to shake hands with +you.”</p> + +<p>Lincoln was in an almost jovial mood that evening. He laughed softly.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense,” he said, “stop a little, Douglass. There’s no man in the +country whose opinion I value more than yours. I really want to know +what you thought of it.”</p> + +<p>Douglass tried to tell him. In the years to come he wished he had found +better words.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Lincoln, your words today were sacred,” he said. “They will never +die.”</p> + +<p>Lincoln seemed satisfied. His face lit up.</p> + +<p>“I’m glad you liked it.”</p> + +<p>Douglass rejoiced that Lincoln had his hour—an hour when he was bathed +in joyful tears of gratitude. It happened on a soft, spring day in +Richmond. General Weitzel had taken the city a few days before, with +the Twenty-ninth Connecticut Colored Regiment at his back. Now on this +April morning, the battered city was very still. White people who could +leave had fled. The others shut themselves inside, behind closed doors +and drawn shades. But lilacs were blooming in their yards.</p> + +<p>It was a Negro soldier who saw the little rowboat pull up at the dock +and a tall gaunt man, leading a little boy, step out. He waved back the +sailors, who moved to follow him.</p> + +<p>“We’ll go alone,” he said. Taking the little boy by the hand, he +started up the embankment to the street.</p> + +<p>“Which way to our headquarters?” he asked the soldier. The soldier had +never seen Abraham Lincoln, but he recognized him. He saluted smartly.</p> + +<p>“I’ll direct you, sir,” he offered. He was trembling. The President +smiled and shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Just tell me.”</p> + +<p>It was straight ahead up the street—Jefferson Davis’ mansion. He +couldn’t miss it. The soldier watched him go. He wanted to shout.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span> He +wanted to run—to spread the news—but he could not leave his post.</p> + +<p>No conquering hero he—just a tired man, walking down the street, his +deeply lined, sad face lifted to the few trees showing their spring +leaves. All around him lay the ravages of war. Suddenly a black boy +turned into the way and stared.</p> + +<p>“Glory! Hit’s Mistah Lincoln!” he yelled.</p> + +<p>And then they came from all the by-streets and the lanes. They came +shouting his name, flinging their hats into the air, waving their +hands. The empty streets thronged with black folks. They stretched +their hands and called out:</p> + +<p>“Gawd bless yo’, Mistah Lincolm!”</p> + +<p>“T’ank yo’ kin’ly, Mistah Lincolm!”</p> + +<p>“T’ank yo’! Praise de Lawd!”</p> + +<p>An old man dropped upon his knees and kissed his hand.</p> + +<p>They saw the tears streaming down Lincoln’s face, and a hush fell over +those nearest him as he laid his hand upon the bowed white head, then +stooped and helped the old man to his feet.</p> + +<p>“God bless you—God keep you all!” Lincoln could say no more at the +moment. They allowed him to move along his way, but by the time he had +reached his destination as far as he could see the streets were black.</p> + +<p>They waited while he went inside—waiting, cheering, and singing at +intervals. When he came out he stood on the high steps and lifted +his hands for silence. Many of them dropped on their knees and all +listened, their faces turned to him as to the sun. He spoke simply, +sharing their joy. He accepted their devotion, but he said, “God has +made you free.” They knew he had come from God.</p> + +<p>“Although you have been deprived of your God-given rights by your +so-called masters, you are now as free as I am; and if those that claim +to be your superiors do not know that you are free, take the sword and +bayonet and teach them that you are—for God created all men free, +giving to each the same rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of +happiness.”</p> + +<p>He went away with their voices in his ears. A few days later came +Appomattox; and Lincoln, his face flushed, his eyes bright, his +strength renewed by secret wells of energy, covered his desk with plans +for reconstruction. Not a day to lose, not a moment. The wounds must be +healed, a better, stronger nation rise.</p> + +<p>The President called his Cabinet together for April 14, then sent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span> a +wire off to William Lloyd Garrison asking him to go to Fort Sumter for +the raising of the Stars and Stripes there. Garrison joyfully obeyed. +With him were Henry Ward Beecher and George Thompson, antislavery men +who could now rejoice.</p> + +<p>The flag was raised, and singing filled the air; the waters were +covered with flowers, and the guns fired their triumphant salute. They +were on the steamer headed farther south when, at Beaufort, they were +handed a telegram.</p> + +<p>Abraham Lincoln was dead!</p> + +<p>“<i>I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.</i>”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Sixteen"><span class="smcap">Chapter Sixteen</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Moving forward</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>The American Anti-Slavery Society disbanded and its agents were +withdrawn from the fields. The last number of the <cite>Liberator</cite> came +out.</p> + +<p>“The object for which the <cite>liberator</cite> was commenced thirty-five +years ago having been gloriously consummated—” wrote the white-haired +editor. He could now close his office. The slaves were free—his job +was finished. Garrison sailed for England and the Continent.</p> + +<p>Frederick Douglass, dragging himself through the weeks, hardly heeded +what was being done. He caught some words of Wendell Phillips’ +passionate plea: the Thirteenth Amendment had not yet become law; +even after ratification it had to be carried out. But he had taken no +part in the discussions. His occupation was gone and his salary—the +Anti-Slavery Society had paid him about five hundred dollars a +year—cut off. Lewis came home. Frederic was working with the +Freedman’s Bureau in Mississippi. Douglass made sporadic attempts to +think of how he would earn a living. The newspaper hung heavy on his +hands. An idea occurred to him. With the few thousand dollars Anna had +saved from the sales of his book, <cite>My Bondage and My Freedom</cite>, he +had best buy a farm, settle down and earn an honest living by tilling +the soil.</p> + +<p>But nothing seemed of any real importance.</p> + +<p>“John Brown and Abraham Lincoln!” He lay awake at night linking the two +names. Time seemed endless.</p> + +<p>Yet it was only the latter part of June when President Johnson made +Benjamin F. Perry, former member of the Confederate legislature, the +Provisional Governor of South Carolina. Perry promptly put things back +the way they had been “before Lincoln.” He conferred<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span> suffrage upon all +citizens who had been legal voters prior to Secession. He called for an +election by these people of delegates to a Constitutional Convention to +be held in September. In his opening address as Provisional Governor, +the Honorable Mr. Perry stated his platform very clearly. “This is a +white man’s government, and intended for white men only.”</p> + +<p>Horace Greeley reported the facts in the <cite>Tribune</cite> together with a +grim editorial.</p> + +<p>Douglass shook with rage. His anger was directed not at the Southern +Provisional Governor but at the man who now sat in Abraham Lincoln’s +place. For a moment his hate for Andrew Johnson consumed every rational +thought. Then his mind began to clear—to race, to leap forward. The +moment broke his lethargy.</p> + +<p>“John Brown and Lincoln—yes!” He spoke aloud. “But I’m living. +<i>I</i> am still here!” He struck the desk with his fist. “And by God +we’ll fight!”</p> + +<p>Then, seizing his pen, he swept aside the papers that had been +gathering dust, and on a clean white page he began to write.</p> + +<p>“The liberties of the American people are dependent upon the +ballot-box, the jury box and the cartridge box.... Freedmen must have +the ballot if they would retain their freedom!”</p> + +<p>His words sounded across the country. In many instances they filled +people, already worn out and war-weary, with dismay. The ballot was +such a vast advance beyond the former objects proclaimed by the friends +of the colored race that it struck men as preposterous and wholly +inadmissible. Antislavery men were far from united as to the wisdom of +Douglass’ stand. At first William Lloyd Garrison was not ready to join +in the idea, but he was soon found on the right side. As Douglass said +of him, “A man’s head will not long remain wrong, when his heart is +right.”</p> + +<p>But if at first Garrison thought it was too much to ask, Wendell +Phillips saw not only the justice, but the wisdom and necessity, of the +measure.</p> + +<p>“I shall never leave the Negro until, so far as God gives me the power, +I achieve [absolute equality before the law—absolute civil equality],” +he thundered from his pulpit.</p> + +<p>Enfranchisement of the freedmen was resisted on two main grounds: +first, the tendency of the measure to bring the freedmen into conflict +with the old master-class and the white people of the South generally; +second, their unfitness, by reason of their ignorance,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span> servility and +degradation, to exercise over the destinies of the nation so great a +power as the ballot.</p> + +<p>“We’ve set them free! By Heaven, that’s enough! Let them go to work and +prove themselves!” So spake the North, anxious to get back to “business +as usual.”</p> + +<p>But deep down in the land there was a mighty stirring. Words had been +said that could not be recalled—<i>henceforth, and forever free</i>.</p> + +<p>There were no stories of killings, massacre or rape by the freed +blacks. Whitelaw Reid, touring the South, reported: “The Negroes +everywhere are quiet, respectful and peaceful; they are the only group +at work.” And the Alexandria <cite>Gazette</cite> said “the Negroes generally +behave themselves respectfully toward the whites.”</p> + +<p>At first there was much roaming about. Husbands set out to find +wives; and wives, idle, sat on the flat ground, believing they would +come. Mothers who had never set foot off the plantation, struck +out across the country to find their children; and children—like +dirty, scared, brown animals—swarmed aimlessly. There was sickness +and death. Freedman’s Aid Societies floundered around in a vacuum, +well-intentioned, doling out relief here and there; but what the black +man needed was a place where he could stand—a tiny, little part of the +great earth and a tool in his right hand.</p> + +<p>William Freeland, master of Freelands, sat on his high-pillared +porch staring at the unkempt, tangled yard. Weeds and briers choking +everything—shrubbery, close-fisted, intricately branched, suffocating +the rambler. In the fields beyond, nothing was growing save long grass, +thistles and fierce suckers; and over the pond a scum had gathered, +frothing and buoyed with its own gases.</p> + +<p>Though past sixty when the war began, William Freeland, ashamed that +Maryland was undecided, had gone to Richmond and volunteered. He had +cut a fine figure riding away on his horse—his well-tailored gray +uniform setting off the iron gray of his hair. The ladies of Richmond +had leaned from their windows, fluttering lace handkerchiefs. They +would not have recognized him when he came back to Freelands. His hair +was thinned and white, his uniform a tattered, filthy rag; the bony nag +he rode could scarcely make it to the old sycamore.</p> + +<p>But the house still stood. It had not been pillaged or burned. His land +had not been plowed with cannon; it was not soaked with blood. Suddenly +the spring evening was cold, and he shuddered. Involuntarily<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span> his hand +reached toward the bell. Then it fell back. No one would answer. Old +Sue was in the kitchen, but she was too deaf to hear.</p> + +<p>He would have to get some help on the place. The thought of paying +wages to the ungrateful blacks filled him with rage. The cause of all +the suffering and woe, they had turned on their masters, running after +Yankees. Some of them had even shot white men! Gall bit into his soul +as he remembered the strutting colored soldiers in Richmond.</p> + +<p>The sound of a cart coming up the drive broke into his gloomy +meditation. The master frowned. A side road led around to the back. +Peddlers’ carts had no place on the drive. Then he remembered. This was +probably the man he was expecting—impudent upstart! His hand shook, +but he braced himself. He had promised to listen to him.</p> + +<p>“He’s likely a damn Yankee, though he claims he’s from Georgia,” +Freeland’s friend, the Colonel, had said. “But he’s got a scheme for +getting the niggers back in their place. He says they’re dying like +flies on the roads, they’ll be glad to get back to work. Just bide your +time, old man, we’ll have all our niggers back. Where can they go?”</p> + +<p>The master did not rise to greet his guest. He hated the sniveling oaf. +But before the cart went rumbling back along the drive the owner of +Freelands had parted with precious dollars.</p> + +<p>Similar transactions were being carried on all over the South that +spring.</p> + +<p>“Were the planters willing to bestow the same amount of money upon +the laborers as additional wages, as they pay to runners and waste in +dishonest means of compulsion, they would have drawn as many voluntary +and faithful laborers as they now obtain reluctant ones. But there +are harpies, who, most of them, were in the slave trade, and who +persuade planters to use them as brokers to supply the plantations +with hands, at the same time using all means to deceive the simple and +unsophisticated laborer.”<a id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a></p> + +<p>But things were stirring in the land. Frederick Douglass in Rochester +sending out his paper—sending it South! The handsome, popular Francis +L. Cardoza, charming young Negro Presbyterian minister in New Haven, +Connecticut, resigning his Church and saying, “I’m going South!”</p> + +<p>“What!” his parishioners exclaimed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span></p> + +<p>“Going to Charleston, <i>South</i> Carolina.” And he grinned almost +impishly while they stared at him, wondering if they had heard right. +Francis Cardoza had been in school in Europe while the Anti-Slavery +Societies were lighting their fires. Having finished his work at the +University of Glasgow, he had accepted a call from New Haven. But now +he heard another call—more urgent. He packed up his books. He would +need them in South Carolina—land of his fathers.</p> + +<p>Three colored refugees from Santo Domingo pooled their assets and +started a paper in New Orleans. They called it the <cite>New Orleans +Tribune</cite>, and published it as a daily during 1865. After that year +it continued as a weekly until sometime in 1869. It was published in +French and English, and copies were sent to members of Congress. Its +editor, Paul Trevigne, whose father had fought in the War of 1812, +wanted to bring Louisiana “under a truly democratic system of labor.” +He cited a new plan of credit for the people being tried in Europe. +“We, too, need credit for the laborers,” he wrote. “We cannot expect +complete and perfect freedom for the workingmen, as long as they remain +the tools of capital and are deprived of the legitimate product of the +sweat of their brow.”<a id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a></p> + +<p>It was in September that a friend in South Carolina sent Douglass a +clipping from the <cite>Columbia Daily Phoenix</cite>, certainly <i>not</i> +an Abolitionist sheet. It was dated September 23, 1865, and as Douglass +read his face lighted up with joy. Here was the right and proper +challenge to Provisional Governor Perry—a challenge from within his +own state! “A large meeting of freedmen, held on St. Helena Island on +the 4th instant” had adopted a set of resolutions—five clearly stated, +well-written paragraphs. Douglass reprinted the entire account in his +own paper, crediting its source. People read and could scarcely believe +what they read—coming as it did from the “ignorant, servile blacks” in +the lowlands.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>1. <i>Resolved</i>, That we, the colored residents of St. Helena +Island, do most respectfully petition the Convention about to be +assembled at Columbia, on the 13th instant, to so alter and amend the +present Constitution of this state as to give the right of suffrage to +every man of twenty-one years, without other qualifications than that +required for the white citizens of the states.</p> + +<p>2. <i>Resolved</i>, That, by the Declaration of Independence, we +believe these are rights which cannot justly be denied us, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span> we +hope the Convention will do us full justice by recognizing them.</p> + +<p>3. <i>Resolved</i>, That we will never cease our efforts to obtain, by +all just and legal means, a full recognition of our rights as citizens +of the United States and this Commonwealth.</p> + +<p>4. <i>Resolved</i>, That, having heretofore shown our devotion to the +Government, as well as our willingness to defend its Constitution and +laws, therefore we trust that the members of the Convention will see +the justice of allowing us a voice in the election of our rulers.</p> + +<p>5. <i>Resolved</i>, That we believe the future peace and welfare +of this state depends very materially upon the protection of the +interests of the colored men and can only be secured by the adoption +of the sentiments embodied in the foregoing resolutions.</p> +</div> + +<p>The week of the thirteenth came and went. Douglass scanned the papers +in vain for any mention of the petition or of anything concerning the +“new citizens” of South Carolina. In October came a letter from Francis +Cardoza, whom Douglass had met but did not know very well. He said, “I +wish to thank you for giving publicity to the petition sent in by our +people on St. Helena. Your co-operation strengthened their hearts. As +you know, as yet nothing has come of it, nor of the longer document +drawn up and presented by 103 Negroes assembled in Charleston. I have a +copy of the Charleston petition. Should you be in Washington any time +soon I’ll gladly meet you there with it. These men are neither to be +pitied nor scorned. They know that they are only at the beginning. With +the ballot they will become useful, responsible, functioning citizens +of the state. Without the ballot—sooner or later, there will be war.”</p> + +<p>Douglass immediately got in touch with certain influential men. “I +propose,” he said, “that a committee go to Washington and lay the +matter of the freedmen’s enfranchisement squarely before President +Johnson.” His face darkened for a moment. “Perhaps I misjudge the man,” +he added. “He is faced with a gigantic task. It is our duty to give him +every assistance.”</p> + +<p>They rallied round, and a delegation of colored people from Illinois, +Wisconsin, Alabama, Mississippi, Florida, South Carolina, North +Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, the New England +states and the District of Columbia was called together. George +Downing, of Rhode Island, and Frederick Douglass were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span> named spokesmen. +A letter was dispatched to the White House requesting an interview with +the President.</p> + +<p>After several weeks, the answer came. The President would receive the +delegation February 7. Douglass sent off a note to Cardoza saying when +he would be in Washington and suggesting the home of “my dear friend, +Mrs. Amelia Kemp” as the place of meeting.</p> + +<p>An account of Johnson’s interview with the “Negro delegation” has gone +into the historical archives of Washington. It received nationwide +publicity both because of what was said and because of Frederick +Douglass’ gift for rebuttal.</p> + +<p>“Until that interview,” Douglass wrote in his <cite>Life and Times</cite>, +“the country was not fully aware of the intentions and policy of +President Johnson on the subject of reconstruction, especially in +respect of the newly emancipated class of the South. After having heard +the brief addresses made to him by Mr. Downing and myself, he occupied +at least three-quarters of an hour in what seemed a set speech, and +refused to listen to any reply on our part, although solicited to grant +a few moments for that purpose. Seeing the advantage that Mr. Johnson +would have over us in getting his speech paraded before the country in +the morning papers, the members of the delegation met on the evening +of that day, and instructed me to prepare a brief reply, which should +go out to the country simultaneously with the President’s speech to +us. Since this reply indicates the points of difference between the +President and ourselves, I produce it here as a part of the history of +the times, it being concurred in by all the members of the delegation.”</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>1. The first point to which we feel especially bound to take +exception, is your attempt to found a policy opposed to our +enfranchisement, upon the alleged ground of an existing hostility on +the part of the former slaves toward the poor white people of the +South. We admit the existence of this hostility, and hold that it is +entirely reciprocal. But you obviously commit an error by drawing an +argument from an incident of slavery, and making it a basis for a +policy adapted to a state of freedom. The hostility between the whites +and blacks of the South is easily explained. It has its root and sap +in the relation of slavery, and was incited on both sides by the +cunning of the slave masters. Those masters secured their ascendancy +over both the poor whites and blacks by putting enmity between them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span></p> + +<p>They divided both to conquer each. There was no earthly reason why the +blacks should not hate and dread the poor whites when in a state of +slavery, for it was from this class that their masters received their +slave-catchers, slave-drivers, and overseers. They were the men called +in upon all occasions by the masters whenever any fiendish outrage +was to be committed upon the slave. Now, sir, you cannot but perceive +that, the cause of this hatred removed, the effect must be removed +also. Slavery is abolished.... You must see that it is altogether +illogical to legislate from slaveholding premises for a people whom +you have repeatedly declared it your purpose to maintain in freedom.</p> + +<p>2. Besides, even if it were true, as you allege, that the hostility of +the blacks toward the poor whites must necessarily project itself into +a state of freedom, and that this enmity between the two races is even +more intense in a state of freedom than in a state of slavery, in the +name of heaven, we ask how can you, in view of your professed desire +to promote the welfare of the black man, deprive him of all means of +defense, and clothe him whom you regard as his enemy in the panoply +of political power? Can it be that you recommend a policy which would +arm the strong and cast down the defenseless?... Peace between races +is not to be secured by degrading one race and exalting another; by +giving power to one race and withholding it from another; but by +maintaining a state of equal justice between all classes.</p> + +<p>3. On the colonization theory you were pleased to broach, very much +could be said. It is impossible to suppose, in view of the usefulness +of the black man in time of peace as a laborer in the South, and in +time of war as a soldier in the North ... that there can ever come a +time when he can be removed from this country without a terrible shock +to its prosperity and peace. Besides, the worst enemy of the nation +could not cast upon its fair name a greater infamy than to admit that +Negroes could be tolerated among them in a state of the most degrading +slavery and oppression, and must be cast away, driven into exile, for +no other cause than having been freed from their chains.<a id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a></p> +</div> + +<p>The open letter written, one of the delegation hurried away with it to +the press. They had repaired to the home of John F. Cook, Washington +member of the delegation. He invited Douglass to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span> remain for the night, +but Douglass explained that he had yet another appointment and that he +was expected at the home of an old friend. Douglass now stood up and, +shaking his shoulders, made ready to leave.</p> + +<p>The weather outside was nasty. A wet, driving snow had turned the +streets into muddy slush; the wooden sidewalks were slippery and the +crossings were ditches of black water. Douglass fastened his boots +securely and turned up the collar of his coat.</p> + +<p>“Can you find your way, Douglass?” asked Dr. Cook. “The streets are so +poorly lighted, and on a night like this a stranger could easily get +lost. If you’ll wait a little I’ll be glad to—”</p> + +<p>Douglass interrupted. “No, indeed, Doctor. I know the way very well. +It’s not far.”</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, “Miss Amelia” was finding Francis Cardoza good company. He +was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen. The little lady’s eyes +twinkled, and her cheeks were flushed.</p> + +<p>Tom’s widow was not as spry as she once was. Days and nights of nursing +in the Soldiers’ Home had brought weights heavier than years upon her +valiant frame. Now she was old. But she could take things easy. Jack +Haley was head of the house. The boarders could not be prevailed upon +to move, and the dark woman in the kitchen would have served just as +faithfully without wages. Frederick’s supper was being kept warm on +the back of the stove and his room was ready. She lifted the shade and +peered anxiously out into the dark night.</p> + +<p>“I do hope he gets a cab. This is a bad night for him to be out on +these streets alone.” Her guest smiled.</p> + +<p>“Frederick Douglass can take care of himself, madam,” he said. “You +should not worry about him.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but I <i>do</i>!” And Amelia’s blue eyes opened wide. Francis +Cardoza, his eyes on the white hands and pulsing, crinkled throat, +marveled anew at the children of God.</p> + +<p>When Douglass came he was deeply apologetic, but they waved aside his +concern.</p> + +<p>“It is nothing,” they said. “We knew you were busy.”</p> + +<p>Amelia would not let them talk until he had eaten, and when he shook +his head, saying he could not keep Mr. Cardoza waiting any longer, +Cardoza laughed.</p> + +<p>“Might as well give in, Mr. Douglass.”</p> + +<p>So they all went to the dining room, and Amelia insisted that the young +man join her Frederick in his late supper.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p> + +<p>Here in the friendly room, beside the roaring fire, the happenings of +the day no longer seemed so crushing. He told them everything, and they +listened, feeling his disappointment. Then Amelia spoke their thought +aloud.</p> + +<p>“If only Mr. Lincoln had lived!”</p> + +<p>She left them then after explaining to Douglass, “I invited Mr. Cardoza +to spend the night, but he has relatives here in Washington.”</p> + +<p>They were both on their feet, bowing as she left. Amelia smiled and +thought, “Always such lovely manners.”</p> + +<p>The two men settled down before the fire for serious talk. Francis +Cardoza was well informed. He might easily be taken for a white man, +and so had heard much not intended for his ears.</p> + +<p>“I talked today with Thaddeus Stevens,” he told Douglass. “I told him +what I had seen of the black codes, and he told me of Senator Sumner’s +magnificent speech in the Senate two days ago. He swears they’ll get +the Civil Rights Bill through in spite of Johnson.”</p> + +<p>“And I believe they will!” Douglass agreed. He leaned forward eagerly. +“You have brought the petition?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.” Cardoza was unfolding a manuscript. “Here is an exact +copy of the document presented by us to the Convention assembled at +Columbia. These words of the freedmen of South Carolina are our best +argument. Read!” He handed the sheets to Douglass.</p> + +<p>It was a long document and Douglass read slowly. This then came from +“those savage blacks”!</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p> ... Our interests and affections are inseparably interwoven with the +welfare and prosperity of the state.... We assure your honorable body +that such recognition of our manhood as this petition asks for, is all +that is needed to convince the colored people of this state that the +white men of the state are prepared to do them justice.</p> + +<p>Let us also assure your honorable body that nothing short of this, +our respectful demand, will satisfy our people. If our prayer is not +granted, there will doubtless be the same quiet and seemingly patient +submission to wrong that there has been in the past. The day for which +we watched and prayed came as we expected it; the day of our complete +enfranchisement will also come; and in that faith we will work and +wait.<a id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a></p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span></p> +<p>Douglass sat staring at the last sheet a long time. The simple majesty +of the words rendered him speechless. His voice was husky.</p> + +<p>“I wish I could have read this to President Johnson today. No words of +mine can equal it.”</p> + +<p>“President Johnson was already incensed by Senator Sumner’s words,” +Cardoza reminded him.</p> + +<p>Douglass was silent for a moment. Then he spoke slowly.</p> + +<p>“I want to be fair to President Johnson. In criticizing our friend +Charles Sumner he said, ‘I do not like to be arraigned by someone who +can get up handsomely-rounded periods and deal in rhetoric and talk +about abstract ideas of liberty, who never periled life, liberty, or +property.’” Douglass tapped the closely written sheets. “Well, here are +men who even now are imperiling life, liberty and property. Perhaps he +would have listened.”</p> + +<p>“When he spoke to the Negroes of Nashville before his election, Johnson +expressed his eagerness to be another Moses who would lead the black +peoples from bondage to freedom.” Cardoza had been in Nashville a short +time before.</p> + +<p>“Notice that even then he said he would do the leading.” There was +bitterness in Douglass’ voice. “Apparently he’s not willing for the +black man to stand up and walk to freedom on his two feet.”</p> + +<p>Washington was emerging from the enveloping darkness when Francis +Cardoza took his leave.</p> + +<p>As he walked through the silent, gray street past the Representatives +Office Building he saw a light faintly showing through one of the +windows. He murmured his thought aloud.</p> + +<p>“We’re beating a nation out upon the anvil of time. The fires must be +kept hot!”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Inside the building a tired, thin man with deeply furrowed face pushed +back his chair and for a moment covered his eyes with his hand. Then +he glanced toward the window, and his mouth crooked into a smile. He’d +have to explain at home. Again he had stayed out all night. His desk +was covered with papers. He would go home now, drink some coffee. That +morning he proposed to demand the floor. He had something to say. He +paused a moment and re-read one scribbled paragraph:</p> + +<p>“This is not a white man’s Government, in the exclusive sense in +which it is said. To say so is political blasphemy, for it violates +the fundamental principles of our gospel of liberty. This is Man’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span> +Government, the Government of all men alike; not that all men will have +equal power and sway within it. Accidental circumstances, natural and +acquired endowment and ability, will vary their fortunes. But equal +rights to all the privileges of the Government is innate in every +immortal being, no matter what the shape or color of the tabernacle +which it inhabits. Our fathers repudiated the whole doctrine of the +legal superiority of families or races, and proclaimed the equality of +men before the law. Upon that they created a revolution and built the +Republic.”<a id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a></p> + +<p>Thaddeus Stevens arranged the papers in a neat pile, straightened his +wig and stood up. Then he took down his overcoat from the rack and put +it on. His feet echoed in the dim, empty corridor. A Negro attendant +in the lobby saw him coming. The dark face lit up with a smile and his +greeting sang like a tiny hymn.</p> + +<p>“Good mawnin’, Mistah Stevens—<i>Good</i> mawnin’ to you, sah!”</p> + +<p>And Thaddeus Stevens did not feel the chill in the air as he walked +down the steps and out into the wet, gray dawn.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“The war is not over!” Douglass said grimly to his son Lewis. “The +battle is far from won. Not yet can I unfurl John Brown’s flag in a +land of the free!”</p> + +<p>On the other hand, he knew the battle was not lost. But the +Abolitionists’ fundamental tenet of “moral persuasion” would have to +have a firm structure of legislation—or the house would come tumbling +down.</p> + +<p>Stout girders for this structure were being lifted all over the land, +in the least expected places.</p> + +<p>On January 1, 1867, the African Baptist Church of Richmond, Virginia, +was packed for an Emancipation Celebration. In the midst of the singing +and praying and shouting a young white man rose in the audience and, +going forward, asked if he might say a word.</p> + +<p>“My name’s James Hunnicut and I’m from South Carolina,” he said. A +mother hushed her child with a sharp hiss. The dark faces were suddenly +cautious. The young man went on.</p> + +<p>“This is a happy birthday for you—a day to be remembered with great +joy.” He waited until the fervent “Amens” and “Hallelujahs” had died +away. He took a step forward and his voice grew taut.</p> + +<p>“But now each time you come together I urge you to look into the +future.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span></p> + +<p>Then in simple words that all could understand he talked to them +of what it meant to be a citizen. He explained the machinery of +government. He told them they must register and vote in the fall +elections. Some of the men grew tense. They had discussed plans. To +others it was new, and all leaned forward eagerly.</p> + +<p>“When you are organized,” he said, “help to elect a loyal governor and +loyal congressmen. Do not vote for men who opposed your liberty—no +matter what they say now. Keep your eyes and ears open and your mouths +shut. Educate yourselves—and go to the ballot boxes with your votes +tight in your hands!”</p> + +<p>The young folks cheered him with a kind of madness. But some of the +older ones shook their heads.</p> + +<p>A week after this happened, Frederick Douglass, on his way to +Chicago, found that he could stop off at Galesburg, Illinois, in time +for a local emancipation mass meeting. Galesburg was known as an +Abolitionists’ town. In the town’s old Dunn Hall they had hauled up the +biggest guns of the 1860 campaign. The county had gone almost solid +for Abraham Lincoln, though the Hall had given its greatest ovation to +one of the stoutest advocates of Stephen A. Douglas. The speaker had +been Robert Ingersoll, a young man from Peoria. Now seven years later, +when they planned to celebrate emancipation, the Negroes asked Robert +Ingersoll to deliver the main address. Douglass had been wanting to +hear Ingersoll for a year.</p> + +<p>“On one of the frostiest and coldest nights I ever experienced,” +Douglass wrote, “I delivered a lecture in the town of Elmwood, +Illinois, twenty miles from Peoria. It was one of those bleak and +flinty nights, when prairie winds pierce like needles, and a step +on the snow sounds like a file on the steel teeth of a saw. My next +appointment after Elmwood was on Monday night, and in order to reach it +in time, it was necessary to go to Peoria the night previous, so as to +take an early morning train. I could only accomplish this by leaving +Elmwood after my lecture at midnight, for there was no Sunday train. +So a little before the hour at which my train was expected at Elmwood, +I started for the station with my friend Mr. Brown. On the way I said +to him, ‘I’m going to Peoria with something like a real dread of the +place. I expect to be compelled to walk the streets of that city all +night to keep from freezing.’ I told him that the last time I was there +I could obtain no shelter at any hotel and I knew no one in the city. +Mr. Brown was visibly affected by the statement and for some time was +silent. At last, as if suddenly discovering a way out of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span> a painful +situation, he said, ‘I know a man in Peoria, should the hotels be +closed against you there, who would gladly open his doors to you—a man +who will receive you at any hour of the night, and in any weather, and +that man is Robert G. Ingersoll.’ ‘Why,’ said I, ‘it would not do to +disturb a family at such a time as I shall arrive there, on a night so +cold as this.’ ‘No matter about the hour,’ he said; ‘neither he nor his +family would be happy if they thought you were shelterless on such a +night. I know Mr. Ingersoll, and that he will be glad to welcome you at +midnight or at cockcrow.’ I became much interested by this description +of Mr. Ingersoll. Fortunately I had no occasion for disturbing him or +his family that night. I did find quarters for the night at the best +hotel in the city.”<a id="FNanchor_27" href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a></p> + +<p>He had left Peoria the next morning. But his desire to meet the Peoria +lawyer had increased with the passing months—not the least because he +usually heard him referred to as “the infidel.”</p> + +<p>The train was late pulling into Galesburg. Douglass took a cab at the +station and was driven directly to Dunn’s Hall. The place was jammed +with people, and the meeting well under way. Douglass saw that the +crowd was largely colored. That meant a lot of them had come a long +distance. Among so many strangers he hoped to get in without attracting +attention.</p> + +<p>He succeeded, but it was because the attention of the throng was +riveted on the speaker who faced them on the platform far up front. +Only those persons whom he pushed against even saw the big man with the +upturned coat collar.</p> + +<p>Douglass later described Robert G. Ingersoll as a man “with real living +human sunshine in his face.” It was this quality of dynamic light +about the man up front which made him stare on that January night. He +had come prepared to be impressed, but he was amazed at the almost +childlike freshness of the fair, smooth face with its wide-set eyes. +Ingersoll was of fine height and breadth, his mouth as gentle as a +woman’s, but, as Douglass began taking in what the man was saying, his +wonder grew.</p> + +<p>“Slavery has destroyed every nation that has gone down to death. It +caused the last vestige of Grecian civilization to disappear forever, +and it caused Rome to fall with a crash that shook the world. After +the disappearance of slavery in its grossest forms in Europe, Gonzales +pointed out to his countrymen, the Portuguese, the immense profits that +they could make by stealing Africans, and thus commenced the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span> modern +slave trade—that aggregation of all horror—infinite of all cruelty, +prosecuted only by demons, and defended only by fiends.</p> + +<p>“And yet the slave trade has been defended and sustained by every +civilized nation, and by each and all has been baptized ‘legitimate +commerce’ in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.”</p> + +<p>Douglass felt a chill descend his spine.</p> + +<p>He told them that every great movement must be led by heroic, +self-sacrificing pioneers. Then his voice took on another quality.</p> + +<p>“In Santo Domingo the pioneers were Oge and Chevannes; they headed +a revolt, they were unsuccessful, but they roused the slaves to +resistance. They were captured, tried, condemned and executed. They +were made to ask forgiveness of God and of the King, for having +attempted to give freedom to their own flesh and blood. They were +broken alive on the wheel and left to die of hunger and pain. The blood +of those martyrs became the seed of liberty; and afterward in the +midnight assault, in the massacre and pillage, the infuriated slaves +shouted their names as their battle cry, until Toussaint, the greatest +of the blacks, gave freedom to them all.”</p> + +<p>He quoted Thomas Paine: <i>No man can be happy surrounded by those +whose happiness he has destroyed</i>. And Thomas Jefferson: <i>When +the measure of their tears shall be full—when their groans shall have +involved heaven itself in darkness—doubtless a God of justice will +awaken to their distress and, by diffusing light and liberality among +the oppressors or at length by his exterminating thunder, manifest his +attention to the things of this world and that they are not left to the +guidance of a blind fatality</i>.</p> + +<p>He named Garrison, who was “for liberty as a principle and not from +mere necessity.”</p> + +<p>A cheer went up from the crowd. Douglass’ heart was glad as he heard +it. Ingersoll then talked of Wendell Phillips, and of Charles Sumner, +who at that moment was battling for the freedmen in Congress. His voice +deepened, his great eyes became soft pools of light.</p> + +<p>“But the real pioneer in America was old John Brown,” he said. There +was no cheer this time. They bowed their head and the golden voice was +like a prayer.</p> + +<p>“He struck the sublimest blow of the age for freedom. It was said of +him that he stepped from the gallows to the throne of God. It was said +that he had made the scaffold to Liberty what Christ had made the cross +to Christianity.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span></p> + +<p>They wept softly. Douglass, his hands clenched, lost himself in +memories. When he heard the voice again it was ringing.</p> + +<p>“In reconstructing the Southern states ... we prefer loyal blacks to +disloyal whites.... Today I am in favor of giving the Negro every right +that I claim for myself.</p> + +<p>“We must be for freedom everywhere. Freedom is progress—slavery is +desolation and want; freedom invents, slavery forgets. Freedom believes +in education; the salvation of slavery is ignorance.</p> + +<p>“The South has always dreaded the alphabet. They looked upon each +letter as an Abolitionist, and well they might.” There was laughter.</p> + +<p>“If, in the future, the wheel of fortune should take a turn, and you +should in any country have white men in your power, I pray you not +to execute the villainy we have taught you.” The old Hall was still. +Ingersoll was drawing to a close. “... Stand for each other and above +all stand for liberty the world over—for all men.”<a id="FNanchor_28" href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a></p> + +<p>Douglass slipped out. He heard the thunder of applause. It filled the +winter night as he hurried away. He walked for a long time down the +unfamiliar streets, the snow crunching under his feet, but he did not +feel the cold. His blood raced through his veins, his brain was on +fire, his heart sang.</p> + +<p>He had seen a shining angel brandishing his sword.</p> + +<p>He had also found a friend. He would clasp Ingersoll’s hand in his +maturity, as the young Douglass had clasped the hands of William Lloyd +Garrison and John Brown.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Seventeen"><span class="smcap">Chapter Seventeen</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Fourscore years ago in Washington</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>“The future of the freedmen is linked with the destiny of Labor in +America. Negroes, thank God, are workers.”</p> + +<p>New words being added to the song of freedom. In 1867, in the District +of Columbia, colored workers came together in a mass meeting. They +asked Congress to secure equal apportionment of employment to white and +colored labor. Their petition was printed, and a committee of fifteen +was appointed to circulate it. Similar meetings were held in Kentucky, +Indiana and in Pennsylvania.</p> + +<p>A year and a half later, in January, 1869, they called a national +convention in Washington. Among the one hundred and thirty delegates +from all parts of the country came Henry M. Turner, black political +leader of Georgia. Resolutions were passed in favor of universal +suffrage, the opening of public lands in the South for Negroes, +the Freedman’s Bureau, a national tax for Negro schools, and the +reconstruction policy of Congress. They opposed any plan for +colonization.</p> + +<p>Frederick Douglass was elected permanent president. Resolutions +were passed advocating industrious habits, the learning of trades +and professions, distribution of government lands, suffrage for +all—including women—and “free school systems, with no distinction on +account of race, color, sex or creed.”</p> + +<p>The January convention, though not primarily a labor group, backed +industrial emancipation. Eleven months later a distinctly labor +convention met and stayed in session a full week at Union League Hall +in Washington.</p> + +<p>In February, 1870, the Bureau of Labor ran an article on the need of +organized Negro labor. Shortly afterward, the Colored National<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span> Labor +Union came into being, with the <cite>New Era</cite>, a weekly paper, its +national organ. Frederick Douglass was asked to become editor-in-chief.</p> + +<p>People wanted Douglass to go into politics. Rochester, with a +population of over sixty thousand white citizens and only about two +hundred colored, had sent him as delegate to a national political +convention in the fall of 1866. The National Loyalists’ Convention held +in Philadelphia was composed of delegates from the South, North and +West. Its object was to lay down the principles to be observed in the +reconstruction of society in the Southern states.</p> + +<p>Though he had been sent by a “white vote,” all was not clear sailing +for Douglass. His troubles started on the delegates’ special train +headed for Philadelphia. At Harrisburg it was coupled to another +special from the southwest—and the train began to rock! After a +hurried consultation it was decided that the “Jonah” in their midst +had better be tossed overboard. The spokesman chosen to convey this +decision to the victim was a gentleman from New Orleans, of low voice +and charming manners. “I credit him with a high degree of politeness +and the gift of eloquence,” said Douglass.</p> + +<p>He began by exhibiting his knowledge of Douglass’ history and of his +works, and said that he entertained toward him a very high respect. +He assured the delegate from Rochester that the gentlemen who sent +him, as well as those who accompanied him, regarded the Honorable Mr. +Douglass with admiration and that there was not among them the remotest +objection to sitting in convention with so distinguished a gentleman. +Then he paused, daintily wiping his hands on a spotless handkerchief. +Having tucked the linen back into his pocket, he spread his hands +expressively and leaned forward. Was it, he asked, not necessary to +set aside personal wishes for the common cause? Before Douglass could +answer, he shrugged his shoulders and went on. After all, it was purely +a question of party expediency. He must know that there was strong +and bitter prejudice against his race in the North as well as in the +South. They would raise the cry of social as well as political equality +against the Republicans, if the famous Douglass attended this loyal +national convention.</p> + +<p>There were tears in the gentleman’s voice as he deplored the sacrifices +which one must make for the good of the Republican cause. But, he +pointed out, there were a couple of districts in the state of Indiana +so evenly balanced that a little thing was likely to turn the scale +against them, defeat their candidates, and thus leave Congress<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span> without +the necessary two-thirds vote for carrying through the so-badly needed +legislation.</p> + +<p>“It is,” he ended, lifting his eyes piously, “only the good God who +gives us strength for such sacrifice.”</p> + +<p>Douglass had listened attentively to this address, uttering no word +during its delivery. The spokesman leaned back in his seat. The three +delegates who had accompanied him and who had remained standing in the +aisle, turned to leave. They stopped in their tracks, however, at the +sound of Douglass’ voice. It was a resonant voice, with rich overtones, +and his words were heard distinctly by everyone in the car.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,” he said, “with all due respect, you might as well ask me +to put a loaded pistol to my head and blow my brains out as to ask me +to keep out of this convention, to which I have been duly elected!”</p> + +<p>The Louisianian’s face froze. One of the men in the aisle swore—none +too swiftly. Douglass reasoned with them.</p> + +<p>“What, gentlemen, would you gain by this exclusion? Would not the +charge of cowardice, certain to be brought against you, prove more +damaging than that of amalgamation? Would you not be branded all over +the land as dastardly hypocrites, professing principles which you +have no wish or intention of carrying out? As a matter of policy or +expediency, you will be wise to let me in. Everybody knows that I have +been fairly elected by the city of Rochester as a delegate. The fact +has been broadly announced and commented upon all over the country. +If I am not admitted, the public will ask, ‘Where is Douglass? Why is +he not seen in the convention?’ And you would find that enquiry more +difficult to answer than any charge brought against you for favoring +political or social equality.” He paused. No one moved. Their faces +remained hard and unconvinced. Douglass sighed. Then his face also +hardened. He stood up.</p> + +<p>“Well, ignoring the question of policy altogether, I am bound to go +into that convention. Not to do so would contradict the principle and +practice of my life.”</p> + +<p>They left then. The charming gentleman from New Orleans did not bother +to bow.</p> + +<p>No more was said about the matter. Frederick Douglass was not excluded, +but throughout the first morning session it was evident that he was to +be ignored.</p> + +<p>That afternoon a procession had been planned to start from Independence +Hall. Flags and banners lined the way and crowds filled the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span> streets. +Douglass reached the starting point in good time. “Almost everybody +on the ground whom I met seemed to be ashamed or afraid of me. I had +been warned that I should not be allowed to walk through the city in +the procession; fears had been expressed that my presence in it would +so shock the prejudices of the people of Philadelphia as to cause the +procession to be mobbed.”</p> + +<p>The delegates were to walk two abreast. Douglass stood waiting, grimly +determined to march alone. But shortly before the signal to start +Theodore Tilton, young poet-editor of the <cite>New York Independent</cite> +and the <cite>Brooklyn Worker</cite>, came hurrying in his direction. His +straw-colored hair was rumpled and his face flushed.</p> + +<p>“This way, Mr. Douglass! I’ve been looking for you.”</p> + +<p>He grinned as he seized Douglass’ arm and with him pushed well up +toward the head of the procession. There they took a place in the line. +Tilton gayly ignored the sour faces around them.</p> + +<p>“All set, captain, we’re ready to march!” he called.</p> + +<p>Douglass tried to murmur something to express his appreciation, but the +writer winked at him.</p> + +<p>“Watch and see what happens!” he chuckled.</p> + +<p>The band struck up and the line began to move. Someone on the sidewalk +pointed to the sweeping mane of Douglass’ head and shouted, “Douglass! +There’s Frederick Douglass!”</p> + +<p>They began to cheer. The cheering was heard by those farther down the +street, and heads craned forward. People leaned out of windows overhead +to see. They waved their flags and shouted, hailing the delegates of +the convention.</p> + +<p>And Douglass was the most conspicuous figure in the line. The shout +most often heard all along the way was:</p> + +<p>“Douglass! Douglass! There is Frederick Douglass!”</p> + +<p>After that there was no further question of ignoring Douglass at the +convention. But any ambitions which he might have had for a political +career cooled. He realized that a thorough-going “politician” might +well have acceded to the delegates’ politely expressed wish “for the +good of the party,” but he knew that he would never place the good of +the party above the good of the people as a whole. After the adoption +of the Fourteenth and Fifteen Amendments, both white and colored people +urged him to move to one of the many districts of the South where +there was a large colored vote and get himself a seat in Congress. No +man in the country had a larger following. But the thought of going +to live among people simply to gain their votes was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span> repugnant to his +self-respect. The idea did not square with his better judgment or sense +of propriety.</p> + +<p>When he was called to Washington to edit the <cite>New Era</cite> he began +to turn the thought over in his mind. The problem of what to do with +himself after the Anti-Slavery Society disbanded had been taken care +of. He was in demand as a lecturer in colleges, on lyceum circuits +and before literary societies. Where before he had considered himself +well-off with his four-hundred-fifty- to five-hundred-dollar-a-year +salary, he now received one hundred, one hundred fifty, or two hundred +dollars for a single lecture. His children were grown. Lewis was a +successful printer, Rosetta was married, and the youngest son was +teaching school on the Eastern Shore of Maryland not far from St. +Michaels.</p> + +<p>Douglass had campaigned for Ulysses S. Grant because he was fond of, +and believed in, Grant. There had been scarcely any contest. The people +were sick to death of the constant wrangling which had been going on +in Congress. President Johnson’s impeachment had fizzled like a bad +firecracker. The kindest thing they said about Johnson was that he was +weak. Everybody agreed that what was needed now was a strong hand. So +by an overwhelming majority they chose a war hero.</p> + +<p>Undoubtedly, Washington would be interesting, reasoned Douglass. It was +the center of the hub, the Capital of all the States. He would also +be nearer the great masses of his own people. But Anna Douglass—for +the first time in thirty years neither overworked nor burdened with +cares—was reluctant to leave Rochester.</p> + +<p>Douglass provided for his family, but making money had never been his +chief concern. Anna had always stretched dollars. The babies were all +little together, so Anna could not go out and work. But while they were +little, she often brought work home, sometimes without her husband’s +knowledge. During the years when runaway slaves hid in their attic, +Anna was always there at any hour of the day or night with food, clean +clothing, warm blankets; and it was Anna who kept her husband’s shirts +carefully laundered, his bag neatly packed. No one knew better than +Douglass how Anna carried the countless, minute burdens of the days and +nights. He loved her and depended upon her. But, like Anna Brown, she +was the wife of a man who belonged to history. So now, though she would +have preferred to relax under the big shade tree he had planted years +before, enjoy the cool spaciousness of the home which they had made +very comfortable,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span> gossip a bit with her neighbors and relish the many +friendly contacts she had made in Rochester, she nodded her head.</p> + +<p>“If Washington is the place for you, of course we’ll go.” And she +smiled at her husband, who was growing more handsome and more famous +every day.</p> + +<p>Douglass was in his prime. He cut an imposing figure. He knew it and +was glad. For he regarded himself as ambassador of all the freedmen +in America. He was always on guard—his speech, his manners, his +appearance. Now that he could, he dressed meticulously, stopped off at +New York on his way to Washington and ordered several suits, saw to it +that he was well supplied with stiff white shirts. He intended that +when he walked down Pennsylvania Avenue, across Lafayette Square, or +through the Capital grounds, men would ask, “Who is he? What embassy +is he from?” Sooner or later they would learn that he was “Frederick +Douglass, ex-slave!”</p> + +<p>Yes, he was proud. And this same naïve pride almost tripped him.</p> + +<p>Since the paper needed him at once, it was decided Douglass would go on +ahead, find a house, and later they would move their things and Anna +would follow him.</p> + +<p>He plunged into his work and almost immediately into difficulties. The +<cite>New Era</cite> was not his own paper. It was the national organ of the +Colored National Labor Union, and Douglass soon found he was not in +step with the union leaders. The only one he knew personally was George +Downing of Rhode Island. Even Downing seemed to have developed strange, +new ideas.</p> + +<p>James H. Morris was an astute and courageous reconstruction leader of +North Carolina who saw politics and labor in clear alliance.</p> + +<p>“What the South needs is a thorough reconstruction of its classes,” he +argued, “and that’s a long way from being a sharp division of white +and black.”</p> + +<p>“With the ballot the Negro has full citizenship. He can make his way.” +Douglass did not grasp the significance of organized labor.</p> + +<p>“The unions have been shutting out the black man’s labor all these +years.”</p> + +<p>“White workers had to learn.”</p> + +<p>It must be remembered that by adoption Douglass was New England and +Upper New York. Puritan individualism with all its good and bad +qualities had sunk deep. He had himself fought for Irish<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span> cottiers and +British labor, but could not at this time envision black and white +workers uniting against a common enemy in the United States.</p> + +<p>After a series of what he called “bewildering circumstances,” he +purchased the paper and turned it over to Lewis and Frederic, his two +printer sons. After a few years they discontinued its publication. The +“misadventure” cost him from nine to ten thousand dollars.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, in another world—a world of international intrigue and +power politics that took little account of Frederick Douglass—events +were shaping themselves “according to plan.” United States +expansionists waited until President Grant took office and renewed +their efforts to strengthen our hand in the Caribbeans.</p> + +<p>The islands of the Caribbean Sea were heavy with potential wealth. +Fortunes lay in the rich, black soil; cheap labor was there in the +poor, black peoples who had been brought from Africa to work the +islands. The key was Santo Domingo—the old Saint Domingue at which +Spain, France and Great Britain had clutched desperately.</p> + +<p>Since Columbus first landed there December 6, 1492, the history of the +island had been written in blood. On one side had been born the second +republic in the Western Hemisphere, called Haiti. When U. S. Grant +became President of the United States, Haiti had stood for sixty-six +years—in spite of the fact that it was looked upon as an anomaly +among nations. On the other side of the island was the weaker Santo +Domingo. After declaring its independence in 1845, it had been annexed +by Spain while the Civil War was keeping the United States busy. When +this happened, the “Black Republic” of Haiti sought with more zeal +than power to take the place of the United States as defender against +aggression by a European power. Santo Domingo did manage to wrench +herself from Spain in 1865, but she was far from secure. The need for +military bases and coaling stations in the Caribbean was obvious to a +President skilled in military tactics. Admirals and generals of many +nations had looked with longing eyes on Haiti’s Môle St. Nicolas, +finest harbor in the Western world. But the Haitians were in a position +to hold their harbor, and meanwhile Santo Domingo’s Samoná Bay was not +bad. So President Grant offered the “protection” of the powerful United +States to a “weak and defenseless people, torn and rent by internal +feuds and unable to maintain order at home or command respect abroad.”</p> + +<p>But the ever-watchful Charles Sumner rose in the Senate, and for six +hours his voice resounded through the chamber like the wrath of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span> God. +He set off a series of repercussions against this annexation which +reverberated across the country.</p> + +<p>Douglass, in the midst of his own perplexities, heard the echoes and +defended President Grant. Men working with him, particularly labor men, +stared at him in amazement.</p> + +<p>“How can you, Douglass!” they exclaimed. “Don’t you see what this +means? And how can you side against Sumner? He’s the most courageous +friend the black man has in Congress!”</p> + +<p>“I’m not against Charles Sumner. Our Senator sees this proposed +annexation as a measure to extinguish a colored nation and therefore +bitterly opposes it. But even a great and good man can be wrong.”</p> + +<p>George Downing, his eyes on Douglass’ earnest, troubled face, thought +to himself, <i>How right you are!</i></p> + +<p>Charles Sumner, lying on a couch in the library of his big house facing +Lafayette Square, listened with closed eyes while Douglass gently +remonstrated. His strength was ebbing. Every one of these supreme +efforts drained him of life. Sumner was one of the few men of his day +who saw that the Union could yet lose the war. He had been very close +to Lincoln in the last days. He was trying to carry out the wishes of +his beloved Commander in Chief. He listened to Douglass, who he knew +also loved Lincoln, with a frown. He sat up impatiently, tossing aside +the light shawl with a snort.</p> + +<p>“You’re caught up in a rosy cloud, Douglass. The lovely song of +emancipation still rings in your ears drowning all other sounds. You’re +due for a rude awakening.” His large eyes darkened. “And I’m afraid it +won’t be long in coming!”</p> + +<p>It was several days later when Douglass, responding to an invitation +from the White House, felt a chill of apprehension. The President +greeted him with a blunt question.</p> + +<p>“Now, what do you think of your friend, Sumner?” he asked bitterly.</p> + +<p>“I think, Mr. President,” said Douglass, choosing his words carefully, +“that Senator Sumner is an honest and a valiant statesman. In opposing +the annexation of Santo Domingo he believes he is defending the cause +of the colored race as he has always done.” Douglass saw the slow flush +creeping above the President’s beard. He continued evenly. “But I also +think that in this he is mistaken.”</p> + +<p>“You do?” There was surprise in the voice.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, I do. I see no more dishonor to Santo Domingo in making her +a state of the American Union than in making Kansas,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span> Nebraska, or any +other territory such a state. It is giving to a part the strength of +the whole.”</p> + +<p>The President relaxed in his chair, a slight smile on his lips. +Douglass leaned forward.</p> + +<p>“What do you, Mr. President, think of Senator Sumner?”</p> + +<p>President Grant’s answer was concise.</p> + +<p>“I think he’s mad!”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The Commission which President Grant sent to the Caribbean was one +of many. Secretary Seward himself had gone to Haiti in the winter of +1865. And in 1867 Seward had sent his son, then Assistant Secretary of +State. But the appointment of Frederick Douglass on Grant’s Commission +was a pretty gesture. A naval vessel manned by one hundred marines +and five hundred sailors, with the Stars and Stripes floating in the +breeze, steaming into Samoná Bay bringing Frederick Douglass and a +“confidential reconnaissance commission” of investigation! A reporter +from the <cite>New York World</cite> went along, and much was made of +Douglass’ “cordial relations” with the other members and of the fact +that he was given the seat of honor at the captain’s table. It was a +delightful cruise.</p> + +<p>After thirty-six hours in port, they were ready to leave with the +report that the people were “unanimously” in favor of annexation by the +United States. Douglass heard nothing of the insurrection going on in +the hills, nor of the rival factions bidding for American support, nor +of the dollars from New York.</p> + +<p>In spite of the commission, however, Horace Greeley and Charles Sumner +defeated the bill—a bitter disappointment to certain interests, but +far from a knockout blow.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The “old settlers” of Rochester tendered a farewell reception to +Frederick Douglass and his family when he took formal leave of the +city which had been his home for thirty years. All the old-time +Abolitionists who had weathered the long and bitter storm were invited. +Gerrit Smith, shrunken and feeble, was there. Joy and sadness sat down +together at that board. But everyone was proud of the dark man whom +Rochester now acclaimed as her “most distinguished son.”</p> + +<p>Gideon Pitts’s father, old Captain Peter Pitts, had been the first +settler in the township of Richmond, so Gideon Pitts and his wife were +among the sponsors of the affair.</p> + +<p>“Those were trying days even in our quiet valley,” Pitts’s eyes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span> +twinkled. Douglass was trying to recall the grizzled face. “But we +licked ’em!”</p> + +<p>It was the chuckle that brought it all back—the house offering +shelter from pursuers, his pounding on the door and the old man in his +nightshirt and bare feet!</p> + +<p>“Mr. Pitts!” He seized his hand. “Of course, it’s Mr. Pitts!” He turned +to his wife, “My dear, these are the folks who took me in that night on +Ridge Road. You remember?”</p> + +<p>“Of course, I remember.” Anna smiled. “I’ve always intended to ride out +some afternoon and thank you, but—” She made a little rueful gesture, +and she and Mrs. Pitts began to chat. They spoke of their children, and +Douglass remembered something else.</p> + +<p>“You had a little girl—How is she?”</p> + +<p>The father laughed proudly. “My little girl’s quite a young lady now. +She’s one that knows her own mind, too—belongs to Miss Anthony’s +voting society. She says that’s the next thing—votes for women!”</p> + +<p>Douglass nodded his head. “She’s right. We’re hoping the <i>next</i> +amendment will make women citizens. Remember me to her, won’t you?”</p> + +<p>“We sure will, Mr. Douglass!”</p> + +<p>Then they were gone and Douglass said, “Good sound Americans, +Anna—people of the land.”</p> + +<p>And Anna said a little wistfully, “We’ll miss them.” Deep in her heart, +Anna was afraid of Washington.</p> + +<p>The house Douglass had taken at 316 A Street, N.E., was not ready, but +he wanted Anna close by to supervise repairs and redecorations. They +took Lewis with them, leaving Rosetta and her husband in the Rochester +home until everything was moved.</p> + +<p>Douglass planned to send his twelve bound volumes of the <cite>North +Star</cite> and <cite>Frederick Douglass’ Paper</cite>, covering the period from +1848 to 1860, to Harvard University Library. The curator had requested +them for Harvard’s historical files. But first he had to dash off to +New Orleans to preside over the Southern States Convention.</p> + +<p>P. B. S. Pinchback, Lieutenant-Governor of Louisiana, had invited +Douglass to be his guest at the Governor’s Mansion. Indistinguishable +from a white man, Pinchback had been educated in the North and had +served as a captain in the Union Army. In appearance and actions he was +an educated, well-to-do, genial Louisianian—intelligent and capable, +but he was a practical politician and he played the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span> politician’s game. +He might have left New Orleans, gone to France as so many of them did, +or even to some other section of the country. He might easily have +shrugged off the harness of the <i>cordon bleu</i>, but New Orleans was +in his blood. He lived always on the sharp edge, dangerously, while +around him swirled a colorful and kaleidoscopic drama. He was by no +means a charlatan.</p> + +<p>It was April when Douglass came to New Orleans. He was greeted most +cordially. “I shall show you my New Orleans and you will not want to +leave,” Pinchback promised.</p> + +<p>And Douglass was captivated by New Orleans—captivated and blinded. +Camellias were in bloom, their loveliness reflected in stagnant waters. +Soft, trailing beauty of mosses on damp walls in which stood high, +heavy gates. The streets were filled with multicolored throngs—whites +and blacks and all the colors in between, old women with piercing +bright eyes under flaming <i>tignons</i>, hawkers crying out their +wares, extending great trays piled high with figs, brown cakes and +steaming jars—the liquid French accents—the smells!</p> + +<p>They stepped over the carcass of a dog, which had evidently been +floating in the street gutter for some time. “This is the old section,” +Pinchback explained. “When we cross Canal Street, you’ll think you’re +in New York.”</p> + +<p>But there was nothing in New York like any part of New Orleans. The +celebrated visitor found himself in gardens where fountains played and +tiny, golden birds sipped honeysuckle, where flowering oleanders grew +in huge jars and lovely ladies with sparkling eyes trailed black lace.</p> + +<p>Into the Governor’s courtyard, with its glistening flagstones, came men +for a talk with the great Douglass: Antoine Dubuclet, State Treasurer, +a quiet, dark man, who had lived many years in Paris; tall and cultured +P. G. Deslone, Secretary of State; Paul Trevigne, who published the +<cite>New Orleans Tribune</cite>.</p> + +<p>Trevigne was not on the best of terms with the Lieutenant-Governor. He +bowed stiffly from the waist and hoped that the host would leave him +and Douglass alone together. But Pinchback ordered coffee served beside +the fountain, and over the thin, painted cup his eyes laughed.</p> + +<p>“M. Trevigne does not approve of me,” he explained, turning to +Douglass. “He thinks I should take life more vigorously—by the throat. +I use other methods.”</p> + +<p>Douglass, observing them, realized that here were two men of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span> very +different caliber. He marveled anew that Pinchback had been able to +gain the confidence of the black people of New Orleans.</p> + +<p>“Undoubtedly, sir,” Trevigne was saying frankly, “I understand better +the more direct methods of our first Lieutenant-Governor.” He turned +to Douglass. “His name was Oscar Dunn, and he was the only one of the +seven colored men in the Senate two years ago who had been a slave. He +was by far the most able.”</p> + +<p>Pinchback had been in the Senate then. He studied the tray beside him +and finally chose a heart-shaped pastry. He did not look up, but he +said, “Oscar J. Dunn died—<i>very suddenly</i>.” His smile flashed. “I +prefer to live.”</p> + +<p>Trevigne frowned. He continued almost as if the Governor had not spoken.</p> + +<p>“Oscar Dunn was responsible for opening public schools to blacks and +poor whites alike.”</p> + +<p>Douglass roused himself with a start. He looked at his watch.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry—but I’m going to be late. We must go. Let’s continue our +visit on the way.” Trevigne welcomed the interruption.</p> + +<p>“I’ll send you over in the carriage. And do not worry,” Pinchback +lifted himself from the easy chair with languid grace. “The session +will not begin on time.”</p> + +<p>But the session of the convention had begun when Douglass reached the +hall. The efficient secretary was calling the roll.</p> + +<p>The convention was not going very well. Division in the Republican +ranks grew deeper and broader every day. Douglass blamed Charles Sumner +and Horace Greeley who “on account of their long and earnest advocacy +of justice and liberty to the blacks, had powerful attractions for the +newly-enfranchised class.” He ignored the persistent influence of the +National Labor Union and its economic struggle. Douglass pointed to +what the Republican party had done in Louisiana—to the legislators he +had met. Six years later he was to hear all of them labeled “apes,” +“buffoons,” and “clowns.” He was to see the schools Dunn had labored so +hard to erect burned to the ground; the painstaking, neat accounts of +Dubuclet blotted and falsified; the studied, skilful tacts of Pinchback +labeled “mongrel trickery.”</p> + +<p>There were those in New Orleans who saw it coming.</p> + +<p>“Warmoth,” they warned him, “is the real master of Louisiana. And +he represents capital, whose business it is to manipulate the labor +vote—white and black.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span></p> + +<p>“The Republican party is the true workingmen’s party of the country!” +thundered Douglass. And what he did was to steer the convention away +from unionism to politics—not seeing their interrelation.</p> + +<p>And so, as white labor in the North moved toward stronger and stronger +union organization, it lost interest in, and vital touch with, the +millions of laborers in the South. When the black night came, there was +no help.</p> + +<p>But all this was later. Douglass returned to Washington singing the +praises of Louisiana—its rich beauties and the amazing progress the +people were making. He congratulated himself that he had succeeded “in +holding back the convention from a fatal political blunder.” His story +was carried by the <cite>New York Herald</cite>—and pointedly omitted from +the columns of the <cite>Tribune</cite>.</p> + +<p>He found a letter awaiting him from Harvard: when was he sending on his +newspaper files? There was some question of getting them catalogued +before summer. Yes, he must attend to that—soon. And he laid the +letter to one side.</p> + +<p>On June 2, 1872, his house in Rochester burned to the ground. His +papers were gone, and Douglass cursed the folly of his procrastination. +Rosetta and her husband had managed to get out with a few personal +possessions. Household furniture could be replaced, but Anna wept for a +hundred precious mementos of the days gone by—little Annie’s cape, the +children’s school books, the plum-colored wedding dress and Frederick’s +first silk hat.</p> + +<p>But Douglass thought only of his newspaper files and how he ought to +have sent them to Harvard.</p> + +<p>The gods were not yet finished with Frederick Douglass. It was as if +they conspired to strip him of the last small vestige of his pride, as +if to make sure that henceforth and forevermore he should “walk humble.”</p> + +<p>“It is not without a feeling of humiliation that I must narrate my +connection with the Freedmen’s Saving and Trust Company,” he wrote, +when, later on, he felt he had to put down the whole unfortunate story.</p> + +<p>The pathetically naïve account which follows is amazing on many counts. +How could this little group of “church members” have expected to find +their way within the intricate maze of national banking in the United +States? From the start they were doomed to failure. Yet here stands an +eternal monument to the fact that the newly emancipated men and women +“put their money in banks,” were thrifty and frugal beyond our most +rigid demands. For these banks were in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span> South among the masses of +people who had just come out of slavery. The one Northern branch was in +Philadelphia. Frederick Douglass did not see the reasons for the bank’s +failure. He blamed himself and the handful of black men who tried to +scale the barricades of big business, only to have themselves broken +and left with a corpse on their hands.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>This was an institution designed to furnish a place of security and +profit for the hard earnings of the colored people, especially in the +South. There was something missionary in its composition, and it dealt +largely in exhortations as well as promises. The men connected with +its management were generally church members, and reputed eminent for +their piety. Their aim was to instil into the minds of the untutored +Africans lessons of sobriety, wisdom, and economy, and to show them +how to rise in the world. Like snowflakes in winter, circulars, tracts +and other papers were, by this benevolent institution, scattered among +the millions, and they were told to “look” to the Freedmen’s Bank and +“live.” Branches were established in all the Southern States, and as a +result, money to the amount of millions flowed into its vaults.</p> + +<p>With the usual effect of sudden wealth, the managers felt like making +a little display of their prosperity. They accordingly erected, on one +of the most desirable and expensive sites in the national capital, one +of the most costly and splendid buildings of the time, finished on the +inside with black walnut and furnished with marble counters and all +the modern improvements.... In passing it on the street I often peeped +into its spacious windows, and looked down the row of its gentlemanly +colored clerks, with their pens behind their ears, and felt my very +eyes enriched. It was a sight I had never expected to see....</p> + +<p>After settling myself down in Washington, I could and did occasionally +attend the meetings of the Board of Trustees, and had the pleasure of +listening to the rapid reports of the condition of the institution, +which were generally of a most encouraging character.... At one time I +had entrusted to its vaults about twelve thousand dollars. It seemed +fitting to me to cast in my lot with my brother freedmen and to help +build up an institution which represented their thrift and economy +to so striking advantage; for the more millions accumulated there, +I thought, the more consideration and respect would be shown to the +colored people of the whole country.</p> + +<p>About four months before this splendid institution was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span> compelled to +close its doors in the starved and deluded faces of its depositors, +and while I was assured by its President and its actuary of its sound +condition, I was solicited by some of the trustees to allow them to +use my name in the board as a candidate for its presidency.</p> + +<p>So I waked up one morning to find myself seated in a comfortable +armchair, with gold spectacles on my nose, and to hear myself +addressed as president of the Freedmen’s Bank. I could not help +reflecting on the contrast between Frederick the slave boy, +running about with only a tow linen shirt to cover him, and +Frederick—President of a bank counting its assets by millions. I had +heard of golden dreams, but such dreams had no comparison with this +reality.</p> + +<p>My term of service on this golden height covered only the brief space +of three months, and was divided into two parts. At first I was +quietly employed in an effort to find out the real condition of the +bank and its numerous branches. This was no easy task. On paper, and +from the representations of its management, its assets amounted to +three millions of dollars, and its liabilities were about equal to +its assets. With such a showing I was encouraged in the belief that +by curtailing the expenses, and doing away with non-paying branches, +we could be carried safely through the financial distress then upon +the country. So confident was I of this, that, in order to meet what +was said to be a temporary emergency, I loaned the bank ten thousand +dollars of my own money, to be held by it until it could realize on a +part of its abundant securities.<a id="FNanchor_29" href="#Footnote_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a></p> +</div> + +<p>One wonders how the trustees ever managed to pay back that loan before +the final crash. But they did pay it.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Gradually I discovered that the bank had, through dishonest agents, +sustained heavy losses in the South.... I was, six weeks after my +election as president, convinced that the bank was no longer a safe +custodian of the hard earnings of my confiding people.</p> +</div> + +<p>Douglass’ next move probably made bad matters worse. He reported to the +Chairman of the Senate Committee on Finance that the federal assets of +the bank were gone. A commission was appointed to take over the bank, +and its doors were closed. Not wishing to take any<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span> advantage of the +other depositors, Douglass left his money to be divided with the assets +among the creditors of the bank.</p> + +<p>In time—a long time—the larger part of the depositors received +most of their money. But it was upon the head of the great Frederick +Douglass that the wrath and the condemnation descended.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Eighteen"><span class="smcap">Chapter Eighteen</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +“<i>If slavery could not kill us, liberty won’t</i>”<br> +</p> + + +<p>Seneca Falls’ Union Woman’s Suffrage Society hated to lose one of its +most faithful and ardent members, but the manner of her leaving was +cause for much rejoicing. <i>A Civil Service position in Washington! My +goodness, what a break!</i></p> + +<p>“It’s not a break.” Miss Dean, secretary of the society, spoke +indignantly. “Helen Pitts has passed the examination, and she is taking +her well-earned place in the ranks of government workers.”</p> + +<p>“Sure,” Matilda Hooker teased, “but isn’t Susan B. Anthony wearing +herself out all over the place just so women can have such rights? This +is a significant step, and I say we women in Seneca can be proud of +Helen Pitts.”</p> + +<p>“Hear! Hear!” they said. Then Helen Pitts came in, her face flushed, +and after a little excited chatter the meeting was called to order.</p> + +<p>It was true that Helen had taken the fall Civil Service examination by +way of a “declaration of independence.” When she presented herself at +the post-office they had eyed her with disapproval.</p> + +<p>“What’s the schoolmarm here for?” they asked. And Sid Green remarked +sourly that he’d heard tell she was one of those “advanced women.” His +wife rebuked him sharply.</p> + +<p>“Miss Pitts is one of the nicest and most ladylike teachers we’ve ever +had. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Sid Green!”</p> + +<p>But Sid hadn’t taken it back. The School Board hadn’t liked their +teacher’s marching in the suffrage parade last fall—and Sid knew it, +no matter what his wife said. Anyhow, <i>he</i> wore the pants in +<i>his</i> house. He hitched them up now with a jerk and went outside.</p> + +<p>There was no question about the teacher’s popularity with her pupils. +The morning she mailed her resignation (to take effect at the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span> end +of the month) she decided not to tell the children until after the +Christmas party. That wasn’t going to be easy.</p> + +<p>The teacher’s mind was jerked back to the present by hearing her name.</p> + +<p>“I move that Helen Pitts be our delegate,” Lucy Payne said.</p> + +<p>Helen blinked her eyes.</p> + +<p>“I second the motion.” Mrs. Huggins was nodding her head emphatically.</p> + +<p>Helen nudged the girl next to her and whispered, “I didn’t hear—What’s +going on?”</p> + +<p>“Delegates to the National Convention,” came the low answer.</p> + +<p>“But—”</p> + +<p>“Sh-sh! You’re on your way to fame and fortune.” The girl grinned as +the chairman rapped for order. She was ready to put the motion.</p> + +<p>“It has been moved and seconded that Miss Helen Pitts be our delegate +in Washington next month. All those in favor say ‘Aye’.”</p> + +<p>The “Ayes” had it, and everybody beamed at Helen.</p> + +<p>“Get up! You’re supposed to thank them!” Her friend nudged her.</p> + +<p>It was silly to be nervous—they were all her friends. But the hazel +eyes were dangerously bright and the neat, folded kerchief at her +throat fluttered.</p> + +<p>“Ladies, you do me great honor,” she said. “I—I’ll try to be a good +representative.” She swallowed and then spoke resolutely. “We know why +we want votes for women—not for any of the silly reasons some men say. +We must be very sure and as courageous as our leaders. They are taking +the fight right to the Capital, and I promise you we’ll fling it into +the very teeth of Congress, disturbing their peaceful complacency until +they will be forced to action.”</p> + +<p>They did not have enough funds in the treasury to send a delegate from +Seneca Falls. Helen would go down to Washington a week before her job +started.</p> + +<p>Helen Pitts spent most of her Christmas holiday at home packing and +harking to parental admonitions. Gideon Pitts regarded his daughter +both with pride and apprehension. Schoolteaching had been a nice, quiet +occupation, but he knew something about the “wiles” and “pitfalls” of +big cities. He thought he ought to go down with her and see that she +found a respectable place to live in. His wife held him back.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span></p> + +<p>“That’s silly, Pa. Helen’s got plenty mother wit, for all she’s so +small and frail-looking.” Her mother sighed. “I was hoping she’d be +settling near home—that she might accept Brad.”</p> + +<p>Aunt Julia was a little more direct.</p> + +<p>“I’d get this nonsense out of Helen’s head if I was her mother.” She +spoke firmly. “Old maids soon fade, and all these new-fangled ideas +ain’t a-gonna keep her warm winter nights.”</p> + +<p>“Helen’s no old maid yet,” defended her mother.</p> + +<p>“’Pears like to me she’ll be thirty come this spring. And if that ain’t +an old maid my mind’s failing me,” was the acid comment.</p> + +<p>In due time Helen Pitts took her seat in the Fourth National Suffrage +Convention, meeting in Washington the first week in January, 1874.</p> + +<p>The air crackled with excitement. Now that the Fourteenth Amendment +had gone to some length to define “citizenship” within the United +States, “manhood suffrage” was being substituted by the politicians +for the recent vanguard cry “universal suffrage.” Susan B. Anthony was +calling upon the women of America to have their say. The leaders of +the movement were ridiculed, mocked and libeled, but they had come to +Washington in full armor.</p> + +<p>Her face aglow, eyes sparkling with indignation, Miss Anthony told +the opening session that a petition against woman’s suffrage had been +presented in the Senate by a Mr. Edmunds. Mrs. General Sherman, Mrs. +Admiral Dahlgren and other Washington wives had signed it.</p> + +<p>“These are the women,” she said, “who never knew a want, whose children +are well fed and warmly clad. Yet they would deny these same comforts +to other women even though they are earned by the toil of their hands. +Such women are traitors not only to their best instincts, but to all +mothers of men!”</p> + +<p>Helen tried to applaud louder than anybody else. She would have liked +to stand and tell them that her home was in Rochester, that she had +been one of the youngest members of Susan B. Anthony’s own club. But +the women did not spend their time exchanging compliments. Helen voted +for or against resolution after resolution; she was placed on one +committee.</p> + +<p>Lincoln Hall was packed for the big open session on Saturday afternoon. +Many came just to hear the big speakers, but the women were happy +because they were creating a real stir in Washington. They devoutly +hoped it would be felt throughout the country.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span></p> + +<p>A shiver of anticipation went through the crowd at the appearance of +Robert Ingersoll.</p> + +<p>“He’s like a Greek god,” a woman seated beside Helen moaned. “Any man +as handsome as that is bound to be wicked!”</p> + +<p>An outstanding editor had written at great length on how laws in the +United States favored women. Word by word and line by line Ingersoll, +the lawyer, cut the ground from underneath the editor’s feet. Skilfully +he analyzed the many laws upon the statute books which bound women and +their children to the petty whims and humors of men.</p> + +<p>“But these laws will not change until <i>you</i> change them,” he told +them. “Justice and freedom do not rain like manna from heaven upon +outstretched hands. We men will not <i>give</i> you the ballot. You +must <i>take</i> it!”</p> + +<p>The secretaries rustled papers nervously. The chairman glanced at her +watch. There was a hitch in the program, but the audience did not mind +a little breathing spell. The side door up front opened, and Frederick +Douglass entered as quietly as possible. He looked like a huge bear. He +was covered with snow which clung even to his beard and hair. With some +assistance he hurriedly removed this overcoat and rubbers. After wiping +his face and hair with his big handkerchief, he mounted the steps to +the platform.</p> + +<p>Instantly the crowd burst into applause which continued while Susan +B. Anthony took his hand and Mr. Ingersoll, leaning forward in his +seat, greeted him warmly. When Douglass sat down facing the audience +his broad shoulders sagged a little, and Helen fancied he closed his +eyes for a moment as he rested his hands on his knees. She had not +heard him since the close of the war. The touch of gray in his hair +heightened his air of distinction, but she had not before noticed how +his cheekbones showed above the beard. Perhaps his face was thinner.</p> + +<p>To this convention Douglass was the very symbol of their strivings. He +was one of the first to see that woman’s suffrage and Negro citizenship +were the same fight. He had appeared with Susan B. Anthony in her early +meetings at Syracuse and Rochester. Now slavery was abolished and here +he was still standing at her side.</p> + +<p>Few in the big hall heard the effort in Frederick Douglass’ voice that +afternoon. They heard his words. But behind him Robert Ingersoll’s +mouth tightened and a little frown came on his face. <i>What can I do +to help?</i> he wondered.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span></p> + +<p>Afterward, Helen Pitts tried to speak to Mr. Douglass. He would not +remember her, but it would be something to write to the folks at home. +But the press of the crowd was too great, and her committee was called +for a short caucus.</p> + +<p>In front of the hall some time later she was surprised to see him just +leaving the building. With him was Mr. Ingersoll. Helen was struck +again by the somber shadows in Douglass’ face, but Ingersoll was +smiling, his face animated.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, Douglass!” she heard Ingersoll say. “What you’ve needed for +a long time is a good lawyer.” He laughed buoyantly. “Well, here he is!”</p> + +<p>Douglass’ voice was heavy.</p> + +<p>“But, Mr. Ingersoll, I can’t—”</p> + +<p>Ingersoll had stepped to the curb and, lifting his cane, was hailing a +passing cab.</p> + +<p>“But you can. Come along, Douglass! First, we eat. Then I shall tell +you something about banking. What a spot for <i>you</i> to be in!”</p> + +<p>They climbed into the cab, and it rolled away through the gathering +dusk. Helen walked to her room, wondering what on earth they had been +talking about.</p> + +<p>The next time Helen Pitts heard Douglass speak was on the occasion +of the unveiling of the Freedmen’s Monument in Lincoln Park. Negroes +throughout the United States had raised the money for this monument to +Lincoln; and on a spring day, when once more the lilacs were in bloom, +they called together the great ones of the country to pause and think. +Helen had never before witnessed such an array of dignitaries—the +President of the United States, his Cabinet, judges of the Supreme +Court, members of the Senate and House of Representatives.</p> + +<p>“Few facts could better illustrate the vast and wonderful change which +has taken place in our condition as a people,” Douglass, the ex-slave, +told the hushed crowd, “than our assembling here today.... It is the +first time that, in this form and manner, we have sought to do honor +to an American great man, however deserving and illustrious. I commend +the fact to notice. Let it be told in every part of the Republic. Let +men of all parties and opinions hear it. Let those who despise us, +not less than those who respect us, know it and that now and here, in +the spirit of liberty, loyalty and gratitude, we unite in this act of +reverent homage. Let it be known everywhere, and by everybody who takes +an interest in human progress and in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span> amelioration of the condition +of mankind, that ... we, the colored people, newly emancipated and +rejoicing in our blood-bought freedom, near the close of the first +century in the life of this Republic, have now and here unveiled, set +apart, and dedicated a monument of enduring granite and bronze, in +every line, feature, and figure of which men may read ... something of +the exalted character and great works of Abraham Lincoln, the first +martyr-President of the United States.”</p> + +<p>Douglass spoke as one who loved and mourned a friend. And when the last +word was said, men turned and walked away in silence.</p> + +<p>“He is the noblest of them all!” Helen Pitts said to herself.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Douglass sat that night at home in his study, his head bowed in his +hands. Lincoln had been struck down, his face turned toward the future; +he had been struck down as he walked in the road. And they had not +carried on. The nation had failed Lincoln and new chaos was upon them. +“<i>You are caught up in a rosy cloud, Douglass.</i>”</p> + +<p>He had been with the Senator from Massachusetts when he died. With his +last breath Charles Sumner had pleaded for the Civil Rights Bill—his +bill. He had died fighting for it.</p> + +<p>Douglass had pinned his faith on the ballot. He shuddered. Armed men +were now riding through the night, marking their course by whipping, +shooting, maiming and mutilating men, women and children. They were +entering houses by force, shooting the inmates as they fled, destroying +lives and property. All because the blacks were trying to use their +ballot.</p> + +<p>The summer saw a hesitating, weak old man pleading with Congress for +assistance. Congress refused, and so the soldier had no other recourse +but to call out troops to enforce the Reconstruction laws. Three times +the soldiers restored to power candidates who had been ousted from +office by force and fraudulent elections. In retaliation, the planters +in Louisiana killed Negroes and whites in cold blood. Pitched battles +raged in the streets of New Orleans.</p> + +<p>The lowest ebb of degradation was reached with the election of 1876. +School histories touch that month lightly and move quickly on. The deal +was made, and Rutherford B. Hayes became President of the United States.</p> + +<p>The calm was ominous. From several sections of the dead-still South +groups of grim-faced men journeyed to Washington and gathered at +Frederick Douglass’ house.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span></p> + +<p>“They say he will remove the soldiers. That means the end of everything +for us. Only the Federal troops have held them back!”</p> + +<p>“Is there nothing? Nothing you can cling to?” Douglass sought for one +hope.</p> + +<p>“There might have been had we cemented ties with Northern labor. They +are just as intent on crushing the white worker.” The black man’s eyes +on Douglass’ face accused him. He had been a delegate to the Louisiana +convention. And that was where the Negro labor union died!</p> + +<p>“How bitter knowledge is that comes too late!” Douglass acknowledged +his mistake with these words. The man from South Carolina spoke.</p> + +<p>“They’ll say we lost the ballot because we did not know how to use it.”</p> + +<p>“It is a lie—we could not do the things we knew to do!”</p> + +<p>“The measures you have passed? Reforms?” Douglass searched the drawn +faces.</p> + +<p>“They’ll all be swept away—”</p> + +<p>“Like so much trash!”</p> + +<p>“Go to the new President,” they urged. “You cannot be accused of +seeking favors. Go and tell him the truth. Plead with him to leave us +this protection a little longer.”</p> + +<p>“A little longer, they ask a little more time, Mr. Hayes.” Douglass was +in the White House, begging understanding for his people’s need. He +leaned forward, trying to read the face of the man who held so much of +their destiny in his hands.</p> + +<p>President Hayes spoke calmly.</p> + +<p>“You are excited, Douglass. You have fought a good fight—and your case +is won. There is no cause for further alarm. Your people are free. Now +we must work for the prosperity of all the South. How can the Negro be +deprived of his political or civil rights? The Fourteenth and Fifteenth +Amendments are part of the Constitution. Douglass, do you lose faith in +your government?”</p> + +<p>Douglass rose slowly to his feet. There was logic and reason in the +President’s words.</p> + +<p>“I covet the best for my country—the true grandeur of justice for +all,” he said. “Humbly I do pray that this United States will not lose +so great a prize.”</p> + +<p>He bowed and took his leave.</p> + +<p>All restrictions were lifted from the South. Little by little, on one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span> +pretext or another, blacks and poor whites were disfranchised; and the +North covered the ugliness with gossamer robes of nostalgic romance. +The Black Codes were invoked; homeless men and women were picked up for +vagrancy, chain gangs formed, and the long, long night set in.</p> + +<p>Not all at once, of course. And that afternoon as Douglass walked away +through the White House grounds, he could not be sure. The air was +clean and sweet after a cleansing shower, and he decided to walk.</p> + +<p>He swung along, hardly heeding his direction. Then he saw that he was +on I Street, N.W., and, as he approached a certain building, his steps +slowed. The Haitians had opened their Legation with such pomp and +pride! At last the valiant little Republic had been recognized, and +President Lincoln had invited them to send their ambassador. He had +come, a quiet, cultured gentleman who spoke English and French with +equal charm and grace. But almost immediately the Haitian Legation on +I Street had closed, and Ernest Roumain moved to New York City. He had +said very little, but everybody knew that Washington would not tolerate +the Legation of Haiti.</p> + +<p>Douglass sighed. He hesitated a moment. Then his face brightened. He +would go and see Miss Amelia. Yes, it would do him good to talk to Miss +Amelia a little while.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Over on Pennsylvania Avenue at Fifteenth Street government clerks and +secretaries were leaving the Treasury Building. They glanced up at the +clearing skies and set off in their several directions. Helen Pitts +paused a moment at the top of the steps. She and Elsie Baker usually +walked home together; but Elsie did not come, so Helen started walking +rather slowly down the street.</p> + +<p>It was nice to stroll along like this after the busy day. Her work had +settled into a regular routine. Life in the civil service was by no +means dull. There was always the possibility of being let in on some +“important secret.” Anything could and often did happen in Washington.</p> + +<p>And now there was not even the slightest chance of her getting +homesick. Her first lodging place had been respectable enough, but +she used to look forward to times when she could go home. Now she was +thinking about having her mother come down and spend a week with her. +She’d love it.</p> + +<p>Her good luck had come on a particularly cold night when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span> Elsie, whom +she knew then only as the Senior Clerk, had spoken to her.</p> + +<p>“You have an awfully long ways to go, don’t you, Miss Pitts?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is far. But it’s only in weather like this that I really mind +it.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Baker—she was a war widow—regarded her for a few minutes and +then murmured, “I wonder!”</p> + +<p>“You wonder what?” asked Helen pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“I was just wondering if <i>maybe</i> Miss Amelia wouldn’t let you have +Jessie Payne’s room.”</p> + +<p>“And why should I have Jessie Payne’s room? I don’t know the lady.”</p> + +<p>The Senior Clerk laughed.</p> + +<p>“You probably won’t because she went home Christmas to be married. And +her room <i>is</i> empty.”</p> + +<p>“Is it a nice room?”</p> + +<p>“Miss Amelia’s house is special.” Elsie smiled. “All of us have been +there for ages. John and I both lived there when we—Naturally, +afterward, when I came back I went straight to Miss Amelia. But she +doesn’t take new people. She isn’t able to get about much any more. Mr. +Haley’s really the boss, and she doesn’t have to do anything. So you +see, it isn’t a lodging house at all. You’d love it.”</p> + +<p>“It sounds wonderful!”</p> + +<p>“Why not come home with me tonight for supper? We could sound Miss +Amelia out.”</p> + +<p>They sat around the big table in the dining room—eight of them when +a chair was placed for Helen—with the nicest little blue-eyed lady +smiling at them from behind a tall teapot. Helen knew that the call, +stoop-shouldered Mr. Haley was city editor of one of the daily papers. +He didn’t talk much, but he was a pleasant host.</p> + +<p>“Where are you from, Miss Pitts?”</p> + +<p>Her reply brought Miss Amelia’s full attention.</p> + +<p>“Rochester!” Miss Amelia exclaimed. “We have a very distinguished +friend who lives—or rather used to live—in Rochester. He’s in +Washington now. You’ve heard of Frederick Douglass?” She leaned +forward, her eyes bright.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, ma’am.” Helen’s enthusiasm was quite genuine. “Everybody in +Rochester knows Frederick Douglass.”</p> + +<p>The little lady sat back, a smile on her face.</p> + +<p>“I knew him when he was a boy.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span></p> + +<p>Jack Haley chuckled. He turned to Helen, and his tired eyes smiled.</p> + +<p>“Hold on to your hat, Miss Pitts. You’re going to hear a story.”</p> + +<p>Everybody laughed. They all knew Miss Amelia’s favorite story.</p> + +<p>“You’ll get the room!” whispered Elsie.</p> + +<p>She was right, of course. The next day Helen Pitts moved into Jessie +Payne’s room.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>They met just outside the gate. He saw that the lady was about to turn +in and so, lifting his hat, he stepped back. She smiled and said, “How +do you do, Mr. Douglass?”</p> + +<p>“Good evening, ma’am.” She walked up the path, and he cursed his +inability to remember names. He was sure her face was familiar. It was +dusk. When he saw her inside surely he would remember. At the door she +turned.</p> + +<p>“Stop cudgeling your brains,” she said. “I’ve never been introduced to +you.”</p> + +<p>“Then it’s not really my fault if I don’t know your name.” He gave a +sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>They both laughed then, and Miss Amelia was calling, “Come in! Come in, +both of you! Well, so at last you two have met again.”</p> + +<p>“Why no, Miss Amelia, the lady doesn’t—”</p> + +<p>“We haven’t been introduced,” Helen interrupted.</p> + +<p>“Tck! Tck! You told me that—”</p> + +<p>“But that was years ago, Miss Amelia.”</p> + +<p>Douglass was holding both Miss Amelia’s hands in his.</p> + +<p>“Please, ladies! This isn’t fair. Now, please, won’t you present me?”</p> + +<p>Amelia was severe.</p> + +<p>“After the length of time you’ve stayed away, Fred, I shouldn’t.”</p> + +<p>Douglass bowed gravely when at last she complied with his request, +his eyes still somewhat puzzled. Then Helen said, “I’m Gideon Pitts’s +daughter, from Rochester.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>A few weeks later—to the horror of Washington—President Hayes +appointed Frederick Douglass United States Marshal of the District of +Columbia. It might almost seem that, having recalled the troops from +the South, the President went out of his way to administer a rebuke +where it would hurt most.</p> + +<p>Fear was expressed that Douglass would pack the courts and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span> jury-boxes +with Negroes. Of even more concern was the time-honored custom that +the Marshal presented all guests to the President at state functions! +Immediately efforts were made by members of the bar to defeat Douglass’ +confirmation for office. But a one-time slaveholder, Columbus +Alexander, of an old and wealthy Washington family, joined with George +Hill, influential Republican, in presenting the necessary bond; and +when the confirmation came up before the Senate the gentleman from +New York, Senator Roscoe Conkling, won them over with a masterly and +eloquent address on “Manhood.”</p> + +<p>So Frederick Douglass in “white kid gloves, sparrow-tailed coat, +patent-leather boots and alabaster cravat” was at the President’s side +at the next White House reception. Nothing could be done now but wait +for some overt act on his part to justify his removal. The opposition +thought they had him a couple of months after he took office.</p> + +<p>The Marshal had been invited to Baltimore to deliver a lecture in +Douglass Hall—named in his honor and used for community educational +purposes. He spoke on “Our National Capital.” Everybody seemed to enjoy +a pleasant evening. But the next morning Douglass awoke to find that he +was being quoted and attacked by the press. Within a few days some of +the newspapers had worked themselves into a frenzy, and committees were +appointed to procure names to a petition demanding his removal from +office.</p> + +<p>It is said that the President laughed about the matter, and it is +certain that after a statement made by Douglass was printed in the +<cite>Washington Evening Star</cite> the hostility kindled against him +vanished as quickly as it had come.</p> + +<p>Douglass could be very witty, and he had made some humorous reflections +on the great city. “But,” he wrote the editor, “it is the easiest thing +in the world, as you know, sir, to pervert the meaning and give a +one-sided impression of a whole speech.... I am not such a fool as to +decry a city in which I have invested my money and made my permanent +residence.”</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, Douglass had spoken in the most glowing terms of +“our national center.... Elsewhere we may belong to individual States, +but here we belong to the whole United States....”</p> + +<p>Douglass did love Washington. With his children and their families +he occupied the double house at 316 and 318 A Street, N.E. But he +wanted to buy some place on the outskirts of the city where Anna could +have peace and rest. His house was only a few minutes’ walk from the +Capitol, and visitors were always knocking on their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span> door. Besides, +Anna missed her trees and flowers. She shrank from what she termed the +“frivolities” of Washington and would seldom go anywhere with him. When +he spoke of moving “out into the country” he saw her face brighten. He +began looking for a place.</p> + +<p>Marshal Douglass was on hand to welcome President James A. Garfield to +the White House. According to long-established usage, the United States +Marshal had the honor of escorting both the outgoing and the incoming +presidents from the imposing ceremonies in the Senate Chamber to the +east front of the Capitol where, on a platform erected for the purpose, +the presidential oath was administered to the President-elect.</p> + +<p>Hopes throughout the country ran high at the time of Garfield’s +inauguration. As Senator from Ohio, Garfield had been a reform advocate +for several years.</p> + +<p>There was no question about the serious state of affairs. “Under the +guise of meekly accepting the results and decisions of war,” Douglass +noted, “Southern states were coming back to Congress with the pride of +conquerors rather than with any trace of repentant humility. It was not +the South, but loyal Union men, who had been at fault.... The object +which through violence and bloodshed they had accomplished in the +several states, they were already aiming to accomplish in the United +States by address and political strategy.”</p> + +<p>In Douglass’ mind was lodged a vivid and unpleasant memory which he +thought of as “Senator Garfield’s retreat.”</p> + +<p>In a speech on the floor the Ohio Senator had used the phrase “perjured +traitors,” describing men who had been trained by the government, were +sworn to support and defend its Constitution, and then had taken to +the battlefield and fought to destroy it. One Randolph Tucker rose +to resent the phrase. “The only defense Mr. Garfield made to this +brazen insolence,” Douglass remembered, “was that he did not make the +dictionary. This was perhaps the soft answer that turneth away wrath, +but it is not the answer Charles Sumner, Benjamin Wade or Owen Lovejoy +would have given. None of these men would have in such a case sheltered +himself behind a dictionary.”</p> + +<p>Yet no one in the country felt the shock of President Garfield’s +assassination more deeply than Douglass. Not only had a good man been +cruelly slain in the morning of his highest usefulness, but his sudden +death came as a killing blow to Douglass’ newly awakened hopes for +further recognition of his people.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span></p> + +<p>Only a few weeks before, Garfield had asked Douglass to the White House +for a talk.<a id="FNanchor_30" href="#Footnote_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> The President said he had wondered why his Republican +predecessors had never sent a colored man as minister or ambassador +to a white nation: He planned to depart from this usage. Did Douglass +think one of his race would be acceptable in the capitals of Europe?</p> + +<p>Douglass told President Garfield to take the step. Other nations did +not share the American prejudice. Best of all, it would give the +colored citizen new spirit. It would be a sign that the government was +in earnest when it clothed him with American citizenship.</p> + +<p>Again the country was in gloom. People in their sorrow came together; +legislators and earnest men and women shook their heads and marveled at +the struggles which seemed necessary for welding a nation of free men. +The people as a whole were finding that freedom is a hard-bought thing.</p> + +<p>Douglass rose before a huge audience in New York City. He was older. He +had suffered because of failure to see, he had stumbled a little on the +way—but he had never left the road. The lines in his face were lines +of strength, the fire in his eyes was the light of knowledge, the sweet +song of emancipation no longer filled his ears to the exclusion of +everything else. He saw the scarred and blackened stumps that blocked +his path, he saw the rocks and muddy pitfalls on the way, he knew that +there were hidden snipers further up the road, but he went on—walking +with dignity. The crowd listening to him was very still.</p> + +<p>“How stands the case with the recently emancipated millions of colored +people in our country?” he began. “By law, by the Constitution of the +United States, slavery has no existence in our country. The legal form +has been abolished. By law and the Constitution the Negro is a man and +a citizen, and has all the rights and liberties guaranteed to any other +variety of the human family residing in the United States.”</p> + +<p>Men who had recently come to these shores from other lands heard him. +New York—melting pot of the world! They had come from Italy and +Germany, from Poland and Ireland and Russia to the country of freedom.</p> + +<p>“It is a great thing to have the supreme law of the land on the side +of right and liberty,” he said. “Only,” he went on, “they gave the +freedmen the machinery of liberty, but denied them the steam<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span> with +which to put it in motion. They gave them the uniforms of soldiers but +no arms; they called them citizens and left them subjects; they called +them free and almost left them slaves. They did not deprive the old +master-class of the power of life and death. Today the masters cannot +sell them, but they retain the power to starve them to death!</p> + +<p>“Greatness,” the black orator reminded the citizens of New York, “does +not come to any people on flowery beds of ease. We must fight to win +the prize. No people to whom liberty is given can hold it as firmly or +wear it as grandly as those who wrench their liberty from the iron hand +of the tyrant.”</p> + +<p>He could take the cheers of the crowd with a quiet smile. He knew that +some of them would remember and in their own way would act.</p> + +<p>Anna joined her husband on the New York trip. And for a short while +they relived the time more than forty years before, when, after the +anxious days and nights, they were first free together. This trip, +their youngest son Charles was marrying Laura Haley, whose home was in +New York.</p> + +<p>They had banks of flowers, organ music, smart ushers and lovely +bridesmaids. The marriage of Charles, son of Frederick Douglass, was +a very different affair from that wedding so long ago when Frederick, +fugitive from slavery, took Anna Murray, freewoman, to be his wife. As +the bride all in white came floating down the aisle, Douglass turned +and smiled into Anna’s clear, good eyes.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>With his appointment as Recorder of Deeds for the District of Columbia, +Douglass knew that he could safely buy the house he coveted. It was for +sale, but until now he had only gazed with longing. It was on Anacostia +Heights overlooking Washington across the Potomac—a fine old house +with spacious grounds, servants’ quarters and stables. As soon as he +took office, and without saying anything to Anna, he set about buying +the property.</p> + +<p>For many reasons Douglass’ present appointment was far more desirable +than the post of Marshal. The Recorder’s job was a local office; though +held at the pleasure of the President, it was in no sense a federal or +political post.</p> + +<p>Douglass felt freer and more on his own. At that time the salary was +not fixed. The office was supported solely by fees paid for work done +by its employees. Since every transfer of property, every deed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span> of +trust and every mortgage had to be recorded, the income was at times +larger than that of any office of the national government except that +of the President. Also, Douglass had that winter brought out the third +of his autobiographies, <cite>The Life and Times of Frederick Douglass</cite>.</p> + +<p>June promised to be a hot month, and everybody was talking about +getting away from the city. Anna thought her husband seemed +increasingly busy and preoccupied.</p> + +<p>“Come along, dear,” he said one Sunday. “We’re going for a drive.”</p> + +<p>“Me too, Grandma!” Their grandchild, Rosetta’s little girl, came +running up.</p> + +<p>“Not this time, honey,” Douglass said. “Grandpa’ll take you riding, but +not right now.” And he added for Anna’s ears alone, “Today I only want +your grandmother.”</p> + +<p>He was in a talkative mood that afternoon.</p> + +<p>“Remember the morning the boat pulled into New Bedford?” he asked as +they crossed the bridge over the Potomac River. “Remember the big house +sitting up on the hill?”</p> + +<p>He turned in the buggy seat and looked at her. And in that moment he +was no longer the great Frederick Douglass—he was the slender, eager +boy, just escaped from slavery, leaning on the rail of the boat, +devouring with his young eyes every detail of their wonderful free +home. The big white house far up on the hill had caught their eyes. +“<i>Look! Some day we’ll have a house like that! Look, Anna!</i>”</p> + +<p>So now, when he asked, “Do you remember?” she only nodded her head. The +smart little buggy was rolling along on land once more.</p> + +<p>“Now we’re in Anacostia,” he said. “Close your eyes and keep them +closed till I say!” She heard him chuckle like a boy, and then he said, +“Now—Look!” He pointed with his whip.</p> + +<p>It was the big white house high on a hill!</p> + +<p>“There’s our house, Anna, the house I promised you!”</p> + +<p>She could only stare. Then the meaning of his words made her gasp.</p> + +<p>“Frederick! You don’t really mean—You haven’t—?”</p> + +<p>He laughed as she had not heard him laugh in a long time. They were +winding up the hill now—toward the house.</p> + +<p>That afternoon they planned and dreamed. The owners had let the house +run down, but it would be perfect.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span></p> + +<p>“We’ll try to have it ready in time to escape the August heat. This is +why I’ve been deaf to your talk about a vacation.”</p> + +<p>The afternoon almost exhausted Anna.</p> + +<p>“Mamma’s all fagged out,” Rosetta told her father the next day.</p> + +<p>June was very hot, and Douglass began to worry about his wife.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you’d better go away for a few days.” She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“The house will be ready soon. When we get on our hill—” Her eyes were +happy with anticipation.</p> + +<p>When the doctor ordered her to bed, she was planning the moving.</p> + +<p>“I’ll just take it easy for a few days—then we’ll start packing,” she +said.</p> + +<p>Anna Murray Douglass died on August 4th, 1882.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Nineteen"><span class="smcap">Chapter Nineteen</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Indian summer and a fair harvest</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>They moved him out to the house in November.</p> + +<p>“It must be settled before winter,” Rosetta said, and his sons agreed.</p> + +<p>“Pipes will freeze up unless someone is in the house.”</p> + +<p>So they packed the furniture—the piano—his books. It was a +twelve-room house. They looked at each other in dismay. What were his +plans? What to put in all those rooms?</p> + +<p>“Buy what is needed.” His voice was tired. He went into his room, +closing the door softly behind him.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Robert Ingersoll had moved to Washington. In spite of the +many demands of his meteoric career he sought out Douglass, invited him +to his home, sent him books.</p> + +<p>“She was so happy, Douglass.” Ingersoll laid his hand on the older +man’s arm. “Think of that. I wish—” He stopped and for a moment a +shadow crossed his face. He was thinking of his brother. Then he said +softly, “Blessed is the man who knows that through his own living he +has brought some happiness into life.”</p> + +<p>Gradually Douglass’ work reclaimed him. Nothing had been neglected at +the office. Helen Pitts was now a Senior Clerk there. Everyone had +cooperated in seeing that the work went on. His unfailing courtesy had +endeared him to the whole staff.</p> + +<p>He stopped in several times during winter for tea with Miss Amelia. The +little old lady, grown very frail, kept a special biscuit “put by” for +him. Jack Haley came in once and joined them. He kept Douglass talking +quite late, for even after all these years Jack recalled the first long +nights of his own loneliness.</p> + +<p>Then the Supreme Court declared the Civil Rights Act of 1875 +unconstitutional, and Frederick Douglass leaped into the fray.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span></p> + +<p>He called a protest mass meeting at Lincoln Hall.</p> + +<p>“If it is a bill for social equality,” Douglass said, opening the +meeting, “so is the Declaration of Independence, which declares that +all men have equal rights; so is the Sermon on the Mount; so is the +golden rule that commands us to do to others as we would that others +should do to us; so is the teaching of the Apostle that of one blood +God has made all nations to dwell on the face of the earth; so is the +Constitution of the United States, and so are the laws and the customs +of every civilized country in the world; for nowhere, outside of the +United States, is any man denied civil rights on account of his color.”</p> + +<p>He stood silent until the applause had died away, and introduced “the +defender of the rights of men.” The speech Robert Ingersoll made comes +down to us as one of the great legal defenses of all time.</p> + +<p>The voice was the voice of Robert Ingersoll, but as Douglass listened +he heard the clear call of Daniel O’Connell, the fervent passion of +Theodore Parker, the dauntless courage of William Lloyd Garrison. +Sparks “flashing from each to each!”</p> + +<p>So Frederick Douglass spoke the following winter when Wendell Phillips +died. All Boston tried to crowd into Faneuil Hall for the memorial to +this great “friend of man.” Douglass was chosen to deliver the address.</p> + +<p>“He is not dead as long as one man lives who loves his fellow-men, who +strives for justice, and whose heart beats to the tread of marching +feet.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>In the spring the women, gathered in their Sixteenth National Suffrage +Convention, paid tribute to Wendell Phillips, and Douglass heard Miss +Helen Pitts speak briefly. When he rose he made his “co-worker and +former townswoman” a pretty compliment. The women on the platform +smiled their approval at Helen.</p> + +<p>In the summer Douglass went out on a speaking tour. The 1884 election +was approaching, and throughout the country voices were questioning +the party in power. Bloody crimes and outrages in the South, betrayal +of all the principles and ideals of Abraham Lincoln, had not won over +the Southern white vote. Negroes in the North—in some doubtful states +their votes were important—began to leave “Lincoln’s Party.”</p> + +<p>Douglass was steadfastly opposed to this trend. No possible good, he +said, could come out of the Negro’s lining up with the “Party of the +South.” It had been faithful to the slaveholding class during<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span> slavery, +all through the war, and was today faithful to the same ideals.</p> + +<p>“I hope and believe,” he told friends, “that Abraham Lincoln’s party +will prove itself equally faithful to its friends ... friends with +black faces who during the war were eyes to your blind, shelter to your +shelterless, when flying from the lines of the enemy.... Leave these +men no longer compelled to wade to the ballot-box through blood.... A +government that can give liberty in its constitution ought to have the +power in its administration to protect and defend that liberty.”</p> + +<p>By midsummer it was clear that the campaign would be a hard one. James +G. Blaine, the Republican candidate, was a popular figure. Grover +Cleveland, Democratic candidate, was hardly known outside his own +state. But the issues were not fought around two personalities.</p> + +<p>When Douglass returned to Washington in August he heard about Miss +Amelia.</p> + +<p>“She wasn’t sick at all,” Helen told him.</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you let me know? I would have come.” Douglass was deeply +distressed.</p> + +<p>“There was no time. She wouldn’t have wanted us to call you from your +work when there was nothing you could do.” She spoke gently as to an +unhappy child, but her eyes were filled with tears.</p> + +<p>And Douglass, beholding the understanding and compassion that lay in +her blue eyes, could not look away. A minute or an hour—time did not +matter, for the meaning of many years was compressed in that instant. +No word was said, their hands did not touch, but in that moment the +course of their lives changed.</p> + +<p>Helen spoke first, a little breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Haley is breaking up the house. I’d—I’d like to take my vacation, +now that you’re back. I’ll—I’ll go home for a little while.”</p> + +<p>He had turned away, his hand shifting the papers on his desk. He did +not look at her.</p> + +<p>“Miss Pitts, may I—May I call to see you this evening?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mr. Douglass,” Helen Pitts answered simply. “I’ll be at home.”</p> + +<p>The next morning Douglass called on a minister who was also his close +friend. He told him that he was going to be married.</p> + +<p>“I’d like for you to perform the ceremony.”</p> + +<p>The minister was all smiling congratulation. The announcement took +him wholly by surprise. He had heard no whisper of romance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span> involving +the great Frederick Douglass who, for all his sixty odd years, was a +handsome figure of a man. The minister beamed.</p> + +<p>“You’re very wise. A man needs a good wife! And who is the fortunate +lady?”</p> + +<p>He repeated the name, trying to place it. Douglass’ next words brought +him to his feet.</p> + +<p>“Douglass!” Real alarm sounded in his voice. “You can’t! It’s suicide!”</p> + +<p>Douglass smiled quietly. A warm peace filled his heart. He knew that +all the years of his living had not been barren. All the time he had +been growing into understanding.</p> + +<p>“I should be false to all the purposes and principles of my life,” he +said, “if I did not marry this noble lady who has done me the honor to +consent to be my wife. I am a free man.” He stood up, balancing his +cane in his hands. He regarded his distraught friend with something +like pity. “I am free even of making appearances just to impress. Would +it not be ridiculous if, after having denounced from the housetops all +those who discriminate because of the accident of skin color, I myself +should practice the same folly?”</p> + +<p>They said nothing about their plans to anyone, not even to Douglass’ +children, but were married three days later in the minister’s home. +Then Douglass drove his bride across the Potomac River and out to +Anacostia. Within the next few days every paper in the country carried +accounts of this marriage. Most of what they said was untrue. They were +almost unanimous in condemnation.</p> + +<p>When Grover Cleveland was elected President, white and black alike sat +back complacently, jubilantly waiting for the Democratic President +to “kick out” the Recorder of Deeds. Douglass himself did not expect +anything else. His adherence to the Republican party was well known. He +was a “staunch Republican” who had made no secret of his abhorrence of +a Democratic administration. With his wife he paid his formal respects +at the inauguration reception, but they did not linger in the parlors. +He was surprised when, upon returning home a few evenings later, he was +handed a large engraved card inviting Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Douglass +to the Executive Mansion.</p> + +<p>“He was a robust, manly man,” Douglass said of Cleveland, “one who +had the courage to act upon his convictions.... He never failed, +while I held office under him, to invite myself and wife to his +grand receptions, and we never failed to attend them. Surrounded by +distinguished men and women from all parts of the country and by +diplomatic representatives from all parts of the world, and under +the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span> gaze of late slaveholders, there was nothing in the bearing of +Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland toward Mrs. Douglass and myself less cordial +and courteous than that extended to the other ladies and gentlemen +present.”<a id="FNanchor_31" href="#Footnote_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a></p> + +<p>Within the course of the next two years Washington and the country +recovered some equanimity so far as Douglass was concerned. But it is +doubtful if anybody forgot.</p> + +<p>Now Douglass decided on the fulfillment of a long-cherished desire. +They sailed for Europe.</p> + +<p>“Don’t come back until you’ve really seen the world,” Ingersoll urged +them. “Take plenty of time. You’ll be richly repaid.”</p> + +<p>They stayed away nearly two years. Douglass revisited England and +Ireland and Scotland. He missed the people with whom he had worked in +the old days, but their children received him royally. The two sisters, +Anna and Ellen Richardson, who forty-five years before had written to +Thomas Auld offering to buy his “runaway slave,” were still living. +Helen kissed their withered cheeks and breathed her thanks. They set +up housekeeping in Paris, watched the ships sail from Marseilles, and +climbed the old amphitheater in Arles. In Genoa Douglass was drawn, +more than to anything else, to Paganini’s violin exhibited in the +museum. This was Douglass’ favorite instrument. He had even learned to +play it a little.</p> + +<p>“We’ll buy a violin while we’re here,” Helen promised. “It won’t be +Paganini’s, but we’ll get an instrument.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it won’t sound like Paganini’s, either!” Under the Italian +sunshine that was enough to make them laugh. Pisa and then Rome, Naples +and Pompeii, Sicily.</p> + +<p>Then eagerly they turned toward the rising sun—Egypt, the Suez Canal, +Libyan deserts, the Nile flowing through Africa.</p> + +<p>Douglass’ heart beat fast. Sandy’s face came before him—Sandy and +the bit of African dust he had held in his hand so long ago. Perhaps +strength had flowed into him from that dust.</p> + +<p>They made the voyage from Naples to Port Said in four days. The weather +was perfect, and at dawn they found themselves face to face with old +Stromboli, whose cone-shaped summit rises almost perpendicularly from +the sea.</p> + +<p>“Nothing in my American experience,” Douglass claimed, “ever gave me +such a deep sense of unearthly silence, such a sense of fast, profound, +unbroken sameness and solitude, as did this passage through the Suez +Canal, moving smoothly and noiselessly between two<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span> spade-built +banks of yellow sand, watched over by the jealous care of England +and France. We find here, too, the motive and mainspring of English +Egyptian occupation and of English policy. On either side stretches +a sandy desert, to which the eye, even with the aid of the strongest +field-glass, can find no limit but the horizon; land where neither +tree, shrub nor vegetation of any kind, nor human habitation breaks +the view. All is flat, broad, silent and unending solitude. There +appears occasionally, away in the distance, a white line of life which +only makes the silence and solitude more pronounced. It is a line of +flamingoes, the only bird to be seen in the desert, making us wonder +what they find upon which to subsist.</p> + +<p>“But here, too, is another sign of life, wholly unlooked for, and for +which it is hard to account. It is the half-naked, hungry form of a +human being, a young Arab, who seems to have started up out of the +yellow sand under his feet, for no town, village, house or shelter is +seen from which he could have emerged. But here he is, running by the +ship’s side up and down the sandy banks for miles and for hours with +the speed of a horse and the endurance of a hound, plaintively shouting +as he runs: ‘Backsheesh! Backsheesh! Backsheesh!’ and only stopping in +the race to pick up the pieces of bread and meat thrown to him from the +ship. Far away in the distance, through the quivering air and sunlight, +a mirage appears. Now it is a splendid forest and now a refreshing +lake. The illusion is perfect.”<a id="FNanchor_32" href="#Footnote_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a></p> + +<p>The memory of this half-naked, lean young Arab with the mirage behind +him made an indelible impression.</p> + +<p>After a week in Cairo, Douglass wrote, “Rome has its unwashed monks, +Cairo its howling and dancing dervishes. Both seem equally deaf to the +dictates of reason.”</p> + +<p>When they returned to Washington and to their home on Anacostia Heights +they knew that they had savored the full meaning of abundant living. +They had walked together in many lands and among many nationalities and +races; they had been received together by peoples of all shades, who +greeted them in many different languages; their hands had touched many +hands. They had so much they could afford to be tolerant.</p> + +<p>Arrows of ignorance, jealousy or petty prejudice could not reach them.</p> + +<p>In June, 1889, Frederick Douglass was appointed Minister to Haiti.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Twenty"><span class="smcap">Chapter Twenty</span></h3> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<i>The Môle St. Nicolas</i><br> +</p> + + +<p>Secretary of State Blaine was disturbed. All morning bells had been +ringing and secretaries scurrying around like mad. With the arrival of +the New York shipowner, even the clerks in the outer offices knew that +something was “in the wind.”</p> + +<p>The “problem of the West Indies” was perhaps the most important +unfinished business left over from the former Secretary of State. +Blaine had seen himself succeeding where William Seward had failed. +Circumstances were propitious and favorably disposed; the Môle St. +Nicolas, most coveted prize in the Caribbean, was practically within +his grasp—or had been.</p> + +<p>Haiti, after seventy-five years of maintaining itself as firm and +invulnerable as its own Citadel, was now torn and weakened by civil +war. Six years before, a provisional government had been set up under +a General Légitime. Gradually Légitime assumed control, and two years +later France recognized his government as official. But for reasons of +their own, business interests in the United States preferred dealing +with General Hyppolite’s opposing forces, who termed the present +régime that of “the usurpers of Port-au-Prince.” President Cleveland +had listened to their advice and not recognized any government in +Haiti. That left everything wide open. The U.S.-West Indies Line and +the Charleston & Florida Steamship Line tackled shutting out the rival +British Atlas Steamship Company, and the dire need for coaling stations +was stressed in certain circles. At long last the United States had +high hopes of locking up the narrow Windward Passage, one of the +strategic routes on the world’s highway system of commerce.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Stephen Preston, Haitian Minister, was in the United States +pleading for his country’s recognition. Blaine played a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span> cat-and-mouse +game, putting the anxious Preston off from week to week, yet according +him every ceremonial privilege as a minister and assuring him that the +matter of official recognition only awaited its turn before the new +President—Benjamin Harrison.</p> + +<p>So matters stood in the latter part of May, 1889. Then Secretary Blaine +made two moves. He told Preston his terms for recognition: a naval +station in Haiti and representation of Haiti in European capitals by +the American ambassador to those countries! The Haitian’s olive face +paled. He murmured a few words, bowed and departed. The Secretary then +sent to President Harrison the names of an “investigating commission” +to go to Haiti. It was to be headed by Colonel Beverley Tucker of +Virginia.</p> + +<p>Out of a clear sky, with no word of warning, Blaine’s papers still +lying unsigned on his desk, President Harrison recognized the Légitime +government in Haiti. At the same time he appointed the most widely +known Negro in America “Minister Resident and Consul-General to the +Republic of Haiti and chargé d’affaires to Santo Domingo.”</p> + +<p>“A pretty kettle of fish!” stormed the shipowner.</p> + +<p>Secretary Blaine struggled to maintain his dignity.</p> + +<p>“A little premature, perhaps,” he temporized. “But our President has +gone on record as favoring the development of commerce with Latin +America, and we have no reason to believe that Frederick Douglass will +not co-operate in carrying forward the clearly expressed policies of +his government.”</p> + +<p>“You are a fool!” snapped the shipowner.</p> + +<p>The Secretary’s face flushed, and a vein throbbed at his temple.</p> + +<p>“You forget,” he said evenly after a moment, “or perhaps you do not +know, that Frederick Douglass was Secretary of President Grant’s Santo +Domingo Commission; and Douglass had no part in its failure.”</p> + +<p>“Whatever the reasons, what interests me is that the United States +didn’t get Samoná Bay.” The shipowner’s voice rasped. “I never trust +those—those <i>people</i>. It’s bad enough to have to do business with +them in the islands. Well”—he made a gesture of resignation—“I didn’t +come here to quarrel. You’ll simply have to handle this fellow.”</p> + +<p>The Secretary picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. He was +wondering how well he or anybody else could “handle” Frederick Douglass.</p> + +<p>“I’ve already dictated a letter to him in which I express the hope that +he will accept President Harrison’s appointment—”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span></p> + +<p>The shipowner interrupted with something like a sneer.</p> + +<p>“You’re certainly going out of your way to be cordial.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Ignorant calf!</i>” was the Secretary’s unspoken thought. Aloud +he continued as if he had not heard. “—because his influence as +minister,” he said steadily, “is the most potent force we can send to +the Caribbean for the peace, welfare and prosperity of those weary and +unhappy people.”</p> + +<p>“Um—um.” The idea was penetrating. “Not bad, not bad at all.”</p> + +<p>“It can be late fall before he arrives.” They regarded each other +across the flat-topped desk. “Meanwhile—”</p> + +<p>“Meanwhile,” the shipowner was getting to his feet, “much can happen.”</p> + +<p>“I was thinking that.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps the usurper, Légitime, will not be on hand to greet our new +Ambassador.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps!”</p> + +<p>The gentlemen bowed and separated.</p> + +<p>That evening Stephen Preston sent a joyful letter home. “A miracle has +taken place, truly a miracle!”</p> + +<p>And on Cedar Hill the Douglasses sat on their porch and re-read the +letter which a messenger had brought from Secretary of State Blaine.</p> + +<p>“You deserve it, my dear. You deserve every bit of it!” She smiled at +her husband, her eyes shining with happiness. Douglass’ voice was a +little husky. The letter trembled in his hand.</p> + +<p>“Secretary Blaine is right. This is important to every freedman in the +United States. It’s important to that valiant small nation which owes +its independence to a successful slave revolt. This recognition is +important to dark peoples everywhere. I am so grateful that I’m here to +do my part.”</p> + +<p>And Helen Douglass reached out and took his hand. She was proud, so +very proud of him.</p> + +<p>Telegrams and letters of congratulation came in, not only from all over +the United States, but from Mexico, South America, Africa. A clockmaker +in Zurich sent Douglass a great clock carved from a huge block of wood.</p> + +<p>Newspapers in the United States only mentioned an unexpected +“turn-over” in Haiti “because it might affect the recent appointment.” +But when on October 7, 1889, Légitime was thrown out of office and +Hyppolite became president, the Administration declared it a purely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span> +domestic matter, and the United States representative was instructed +to proceed to his post. Unexplained “troubles” had delayed Douglass’ +departure, but now the reasons for keeping him in Washington rapidly +exhausted themselves. The first week in November, Douglass, accompanied +by his wife, sailed for Port-au-Prince.</p> + +<p>Nature is lavish with her gifts in the Caribbean. They thought they had +seen her finest habiliments along the Riviera, but even world travelers +hold their breath or speak in awed whispers as out of the violet +distance emerges the loveliest jewel of the Antilles.</p> + +<p>Across a bay of deepest blue, the purple of the mountains of La Gonaïve +loomed against the western sky as if tossed from the cerulean depths of +the gulf. Fanning up from the great bay rise the hills, wrinkled masses +of green and blue and gray and orange, their dim wave of color relieved +by crimson splotches of luxuriant gardens or by the pointed spires of +trees.</p> + +<p>The city of Port-au-Prince spilled over into the water with its crowded +harbor, large and small boats and white sails skimming over the +surface. In the center of the city rose the great Gothic cathedral, to +one side the white palace occupied by Haiti’s President.</p> + +<p>Two smart, attentive officials were on the dock to meet Frederick +Douglass. Behind sleek, glistening horses they drove the new Minister +and his wife to the spacious villa which was to be their home. The +house was already staffed with servants, who gathered, European +fashion, to greet the new tenants. The maids smiled shyly at Mrs. +Douglass, then whisked her away to her rooms. The officials took their +leave, saying that the President would be happy to receive Mr. Douglass +at his pleasure.</p> + +<p>That afternoon, accompanied by his secretary, who would also act as +interpreter, Douglass drove to the palace to present his credentials. +He was cordially received by a uniformed adjutant. In a short while +they were being ushered up a wide, sweeping staircase and into a +frescoed hall. They paused here.</p> + +<p>“There is the anchor of the <i>Santa Maria</i>,” the secretary +whispered, “the anchor Columbus lowered in the Môle St. Nicolas.”</p> + +<p>Douglass walked closer. He was so deeply absorbed that he did not see +the huge doors swing open. The secretary had to touch his arm. The +President of Haiti was coming to greet the representative from the +United States, his hand extended. They went in to his study.</p> + +<p>President Hyppolite was large and dark. He knew he was in a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span> dangerous +game. He knew that he was only a pawn. Wary and watchful, he listened +more than he talked. For underneath everything else—far deeper than +personal ambitions—was his determination to keep Haiti out of the +scheming hands that clutched at her so greedily.</p> + +<p>He hated all Spaniards, Frenchmen, Englishmen and Americans with equal +intensity. He studied this brown American, this ex-slave, who carried +himself with such dignity and who spoke with such assurance. Hyppolite +wondered how much the other man knew. He attended his visitor’s words +carefully, listening to catch any additional meanings in his voice. He +understood English, but he remained silent, his large head slightly +cocked to one side until the interpreter translated Douglass’ words +into French.</p> + +<p>He answered in French. Choosing his words carefully, he expressed his +approval of “growing commercial intercommunications,” his hope for +closer and “mutually helpful” relations with the United States. Then he +touched upon Haiti’s long and independent existence and said that each +nation has the right to be proud of its autonomy.</p> + +<p>“For a long time Haiti was an outcast among the nations of the world. +But Haiti remembers that the victory of Toussaint L’Ouverture was as +important to the United States as it was to Britain. By exterminating +the armies of Leclerc, we at the same time destroyed Napoleon’s dream +of an empire in the Mississippi valley. He was glad to sell Louisiana +at any price.”</p> + +<p>The President was satisfied with the expression which lighted Douglass’ +face when the interpreter had translated these words. His rather grim +face broke into a smile.</p> + +<p>“I speak a little English,” he said in English.</p> + +<p>Douglass grinned and returned with:</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr">J’ai étudié le francais—un—une peu—mais ma femme—</i>” he +stopped, spreading his hands hopelessly.</p> + +<p>They laughed together then, and the rest of the visit Hyppolite spoke +English.</p> + +<p>“Here you will learn the French—but quick,” he said. “Altogether we +will help you.”</p> + +<p>Douglass expressed his own and his wife’s appreciation of the +preparations for their comfort, and President Hyppolite said that +without doubt Mrs. Douglass would be very busy receiving the ladies of +Port-au-Prince.</p> + +<p>After Douglass had bowed out, the President stood for a few minutes +drumming on his desk. Then he pulled a cord which summoned a certain +gentleman of state.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span></p> + +<p>“Your Excellency!” The man waited. President Hyppolite spoke rather +slowly, in concise French.</p> + +<p>“The Frederick Douglass is an honorable man. He intends to discharge +his duties in a manner which will bring credit and distinction to his +people and to his nation. It is to be remembered at all times that Mr. +Douglass is, first of all, Ambassador of the United States.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Your Excellency!”</p> + +<p>The President dismissed him with a nod. Then he walked to the window +and stood looking at the Square. From this window he could not see +the middle of the Champs de Mars, but he was thinking of the statue +there—the statue of a black soldier thrusting his sword toward the +sky. This statue of Dessalines is Haiti’s symbol of her struggle for +freedom. Hyppolite sighed as he turned away from the window.</p> + +<p>He wondered if there might be a better way.</p> + +<p>Back in Washington activities had been bent upon getting John Durham +sent as special consul to Port-au-Prince because of his “special +fitness for the job.” Once more President Harrison’s action proved +disappointing. He sent John Durham to Santo Domingo City. It began to +be whispered about in Washington and New York that the Haitians had +snubbed Frederick Douglass and his wife. Stephen Preston heard the +rumors just before he sailed for home. He suspected their origin, but +he decided to hold his peace until he reached Port-au-Prince.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“Frederick,” Helen Douglass said, “this place will be my undoing! Such +ease is positively shameful. My only exercise is changing clothes for +another reception or dinner party. And the food!” Her voice became a +wail of despair. “I’m getting fat!”</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>“Well, madam, I might suggest horseback riding. I’m feeling fine!”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“You? I can’t go galloping around these mountains the way you do.”</p> + +<p>It was true. Frederick Douglass estimated his age to be over seventy. +Yet he was spending hours every day in the saddle.</p> + +<p>“It’s the only way one can see Haiti!”</p> + +<p>They took the boat to Cap Haitien, and while Helen was entertained +in one of the big white houses set on the slopes and surrounded by a +tropical garden, Douglass, accompanied by other horsemen, rode<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span> up to +the summit of Bonne-à-l’Evêque. Gradually the earth fell away until +the rocky edges of the mountain showed like snarling teeth, and the +foothills below seemed like jungle forest. An earthquake in 1842 was +said to have shaken the Citadel to the danger point; but Douglass, +viewing this mightiest fortress in the Western world, doubted whether +any human army with all its modern equipment could take it. Christophe +had built his Citadel at a height of twenty-six hundred feet—an +amazing feat of engineering so harmoniously constructed through and +through that, though thousands and thousands of natives must have died +during the course of its construction, one could almost believe it the +work of one man.</p> + +<p>Douglass stood at the massive pile which is now the tomb of the most +dominant black man in history.</p> + +<p>“If a nation’s greatness can at all be measured by its great soldiers,” +he thought, “then little Haiti, with its Toussaint L’Ouverture, Jean +Jacques Dessalines and Henri Christophe, must surely be listed among +the first!”</p> + +<p>Another day they took him up a high cliff overlooking the Môle St. +Nicolas.</p> + +<p>“You have perhaps heard that Abbé Raynal called it the Gibraltar of the +West Indies,” the Haitian commented, watching Douglass’ face.</p> + +<p>“See,” the second companion pointed with his riding crop, “the harbor +is practically landlocked. The entrance is only four miles wide and +deep enough on both sides to permit the largest vessels to pass close +to shore. At two hundred yards from land bottom is not touched with an +eighty-fathom line.”</p> + +<p>Douglass gazed in wonder. The waters of the bay spread out, smooth and +unruffled as a great lake. The land on which they stood at the right of +the entrance rose sharply. Opposite, a wooded plain extended. At the +end of the bay clustered a group of buildings with the clear sheen of +water right in the middle of them.</p> + +<p>“Man could not have designed anything so perfect,” Douglass murmured.</p> + +<p>The first Haitian spoke again.</p> + +<p>“They say all the fleets in Europe could lie here secure from every +wind. And the largest vessels in fifty fathoms of water could have +cables on land.”</p> + +<p>“It is incredible!”</p> + +<p>The Haitian turned as if to mount his horse. He spoke carelessly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span></p> + +<p>“A powerful nation holding this harbor might easily control not only +the Caribbeans but South America as well.”</p> + +<p>“But a friendly nation,” Douglass reasoned with great sincerity, “with +the means at hand might use this harbor to bring prosperity to all the +Caribbean.”</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr">Ce soit possible!</i>”</p> + +<p>Douglass did not know French well enough to catch the slight sarcasm in +the Haitian’s words.</p> + +<p>As they rode down the trail they spoke only of the scenery.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>In November the United States warship <i>Yantic</i> steamed into the +Môle, and Douglass reported that frequent references in the American +press to alleged desires on the part of his country to obtain bases +there were arousing fears among the Haitian people. Strangely enough, +Douglass now found himself the point of attack by the press. They said +he was not the man for the post.</p> + +<p>“The fault of my character,” Douglass wrote later, “was that upon it +there could be predicated no well-grounded hope that I would allow +myself to be used, or allow my office to be used, to further selfish +schemes of any sort for the benefit of individuals, either at the +expense of Haiti or at the expense of the character of the United +States.”<a id="FNanchor_33" href="#Footnote_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p> + +<p>Events moved rapidly. Certain facts became apparent to Douglass, and +in March, 1890, he wrote to Secretary Blaine that certain American +business interests were bringing pressure upon Haiti. Douglass had +not at this time seen a report recorded by the Bureau of Navigation, +received January 22, 1890, which read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>The strategical value of this Island from a naval point of view is +invaluable, and this increases in direct proportion to the millions +which American citizens are investing in the Nicaragua Canal. The +United States cannot afford to allow any doubt to rest in the minds of +any Haitian as to our fixed determination to allow no one to gain a +foothold on, or establish a protectorate over this Island.</p> +</div> + +<p>Home on leave for a few weeks in August, Douglass spoke on Haiti to a +large audience in Baltimore. He noted he had recently been under attack +by the press of the country.</p> + +<p>“I believe the press has become reconciled to my presence in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span> +office except those that have a candidate for it,” he said, “and they +give out that I am going to resign. At them I fling the old adage ‘Few +die, and none resign.’ I am going back to Haiti.”</p> + +<p>Let us take Douglass’ own account of what happened the following +winter. It appeared in the <cite>North American Review</cite>, September, +1891.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>On January 26, 1891, Rear Admiral Gherardi, having arrived at +Port-au-Prince, sent one of his under-officers on shore to the +United States Legation, to invite me on board his flagship, the +<i>Philadelphia</i>.... I went on board as requested, and there for +the first time I learned that I was to have some connection with +negotiations for a United States coaling-station at the Môle St. +Nicolas; and this information was imparted to me by Rear Admiral +Gherardi. He told me in his peculiarly emphatic manner that he had +been duly appointed a United Sates special commissioner; that his +mission was to obtain a naval station at the Môle St. Nicolas; and +that it was the wish of Mr. Blaine and Mr. Tracy, and also of the +President of the United States, that I should earnestly co-operate +with him in accomplishing this object. He further made me acquainted +with the dignity of his position, and I was not slow in recognizing it.</p> + +<p>In reality, some time before the arrival of Admiral Gherardi on +this diplomatic scene, I was made acquainted with the fact of his +appointment. There was at Port-au-Prince an individual, acting as +agent of a distinguished firm in New York, who appeared to be more +fully initiated into the secrets of the State Department at Washington +than I was, and who knew, or said he knew, all about the appointment +of Admiral Gherardi, whose arrival he diligently heralded in advance, +and carefully made public in all the political and business circles to +which he had access. He stated that I was discredited at Washington, +had, in fact, been suspended and recalled, and that Admiral Gherardi +had been duly commissioned to take my place. It is unnecessary to say +that it placed me in an unenviable position, both before the community +of Port-au-Prince and before the government of Haiti.</p> +</div> + +<p>Anyone may read a carefully documented account of the negotiations +which followed in Rayford Logan’s <cite>Diplomatic Relations of the +United States with Haiti</cite>. There can be no question that Douglass +strove to carry out the wishes of his government while at the same<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span> +time “maintaining the good character of the United States.” He clearly +regretted certain features of the negotiations.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Not the least, perhaps, among the collateral causes of our non-success +was the minatory attitude assumed by us while conducting the +negotiation. What wisdom was there in confronting Haiti at such a +moment with a squadron of large ships of war with a hundred cannon and +two thousand men? This was done, and it was naturally construed into a +hint to Haiti that if we could not, by appeals to reason and friendly +feeling, obtain what we wanted, we could obtain it by a show of force. +We appeared before the Haitians, and before the world, with the pen +in one hand and the sword in the other. This was not a friendly and +considerate attitude for a great government like ours to assume when +asking a concession from a small and weak nation like Haiti. It was +ill-timed and out of all proportion to the demands of the occasion. It +was also done under a total misapprehension of the character of the +people with whom we had to deal. We should have known that, whatever +else the Haitian people may be, they are not cowards, and hence are +not easily scared.</p> +</div> + +<p>Frederick Douglass was blamed for the failure of the negotiations. He +did resign the summer of 1891.</p> + +<p>Logan says, “My own belief is that Douglass was sincerely desirous of +protecting the interests of a country of the same race as his, while at +the same time carrying out the wishes of his government and upholding +the integrity of that government. His failure was due rather to the +fact that there was no real public demand for the Môle, that Harrison +was not prepared to use force.... After all, the Panama Canal had not +been built; the United States had not even obtained her release from +the Clayton-Bulwer Treaty so that she could construct a canal under +her own control. The use of force against Haiti had to wait until the +canal had been constructed, until the United States had become a world +power, until a new period of recurrent revolutions had increased the +impatience in the State Department, and until the attention fixed +upon the World War permitted the military occupation of Haiti without +arousing too much protest in the United Sates.”<a id="FNanchor_34" href="#Footnote_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>In 1893 the Haitian government appointed Douglass Haiti’s Commissioner +to the World Columbian Exposition at Chicago; and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span> in 1899 Haiti +contributed the first thousand dollars toward the bronze statue +of Frederick Douglass now standing in one of the public parks of +Rochester. Speaking in 1932, Dantes Bellegarde, Haitian Minister to +the United States, expressed the belief that were Frederick Douglass +still living he “would be among those who most ardently approved the +doctrine of international morality.... A policy respectful of the +rights of small nations such as had been exemplified in the activities +of Douglass while United States Minister in Haiti, is the only policy +capable of assuring to a powerful nation like the United States the +real and profound sympathy of the states of Latin America.”</p> + +<p>Frederick Douglass was now nearly eighty years old. He had not retired +from public life. His snow-white bushy hair, topping the straight, +well-set figure was a familiar sight wherever people gathered to plan +a stronger, nobler nation, to build a more understanding world. His +faith in his country and in its ultimate destiny rendered him tolerant; +his ready wit was gentle. Little knots of people gathered round him +wherever he went and found themselves repeating his stories and +remembering best of all his rare good humor. The villagers in Anacostia +were proud of him. They told of the visitors who came from far and near +seeking his home.</p> + +<p>On the morning of February 15, 1895, Susan B. Anthony arrived in +Washington to open the second triennial meeting of the National Woman’s +Council. This was her seventy-fifth birthday, and that afternoon Mr. +and Mrs. Frederick Douglass called to express their good wishes and +congratulations.</p> + +<p>The big open meeting of the session was to be February 20. During the +morning Frederick Douglass appeared and, amid resounding applause, was +invited to the platform by the president, Mrs. Sewall. He accepted, but +declined to speak, acknowledging the applause only by a bow.</p> + +<p>It was one of those bitterly cold days, and Douglass reached home just +in time for supper. He was in high good spirits. Even while he shook +off the snow and removed his boots in the hall he was recounting the +happenings of the day.</p> + +<p>“Miss Anthony was at her best!” he said as he stood before the big open +fire, warming his hands.</p> + +<p>“I’m a little tired,” he said after supper. He had started up the +stairs and stopped, apparently to look at the picture of John Brown +which hung there on the wall. His wife, in the living room, turned +quickly. The phrase was unlike him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span></p> + +<p>And then he fell. He was dead before they could get him to his room.</p> + +<p>All the great ones spoke at his funeral. Susan B. Anthony read +Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s memorial to the only man who had sustained her +demand for the enfranchisement of women at the first convention back in +1848.</p> + +<p>There have been many memorials to him—in marble and bronze, in song +and poetry. But stone and wood are dead, and only we can make words +come alive. Frederick Douglass’ words reach us across the years:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Though I am more closely connected and identified with one class +of outraged, oppressed and enslaved people, I cannot allow myself +to be insensible to the wrongs and suffering of any part of the +great family of man. I am not only an American slave, but a man, +and as such, am bound to use my powers for the welfare of the whole +human brotherhood.... I believe that the sooner the wrongs of the +whole human family are made known, the sooner those wrongs will be +reached.<a id="FNanchor_35" href="#Footnote_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span></p> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Epilogue"><i>Epilogue</i></h3> +</div> + + +<p>Any portion of the story of man’s struggle for freedom is marvelously +strange. This is a true story, and therefore some footnotes are +necessary. In many instances I have quoted directly from Frederick +Douglass’ autobiographies. His own words, with their simple, forthright +quality, form a clear picture of the man.</p> + +<p>This book attempts to bring together many factors. I am therefore +deeply indebted to all who have labored long and faithfully in +compiling this story. Special mention must be made of W. E. B. Du +Bois’ <cite>Black Reconstruction</cite> and <cite>John Brown</cite>, W. P. and F. +J. Garrison’s <cite>William Lloyd Garrison</cite>, Ida Harper’s <cite>Susan B. +Anthony</cite>, Rayford Logan’s <cite>Diplomatic Relations of the United +States with Haiti</cite>, A. A. W. Ramsay’s <cite>Sir Robert Peel</cite>, J. +T. Wilson’s <cite>The Black Phalanx</cite> and <cite>The Journal of Negro +History</cite>, edited by Carter G. Woodson.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It was on a Sunday afternoon in April that I first climbed Anacostia +Heights to Cedar Hill.</p> + +<p>“Here are the terrace stairs,” they told me.</p> + +<p>But I knew of the winding path that he had used, and I chose that. It +is tangled and overgrown in places now, but up I went until I reached +the sloping gardens and yes, there it was, just as I had expected, a +lilac bush blooming where the path met the graveled walk!</p> + +<p>A typical Virginia homestead, with veranda, carriage house and +servants’ quarters, the house and grounds are preserved by the Douglass +Memorial Association of Negro Women’s Clubs. I stood beside the sundial +and tried to read its shadow, looked down into the well, and sat for a +while on a stone seat beneath a flowering trellis.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span></p> + +<p>It was so easy to see them on the porch or in the sunny living rooms +with wide window-seats and fireplaces. Pictures looked down at me from +every side—Susan B. Anthony, William Lloyd Garrison, the young and +handsome Charles Sumner, Wendell Phillips and Abraham Lincoln.</p> + +<p>I sat dreaming at his desk a long time, fingering his notebooks and +the yellowing accounting sheets upon which he had tried to balance +that pitiful bank record. On three sides of the study books rose from +floor to ceiling—worn and penciled books. Books about people were +undoubtedly his favorites.</p> + +<p>In the rooms upstairs were pictures and intimate small objects of +family life, and in his room in a locked case I saw a rusty musket and +a flag.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>They opened the case for me, and I laid my face against the folds of +John Brown’s flag. There it was in this year of 1946, still furled and +standing in the corner of Frederick Douglass’ room.</p> + +<p>I must have stayed in those rooms for some time, because suddenly I +realized it was growing dark and that I was alone. A glass door stood +ajar and I stepped through and out upon a little balcony, a tiny +balcony where one could sit alone and think. Surely many times on just +such spring evenings Douglass had stepped out on his balcony. Looking +far over the group of houses clustered at the foot of the hill, he +must have caught the gleam of the Potomac as I did, and beyond that +all Washington spread out like a bit of magic. Washington Monument +was not pointing to the sky in his day, but there was the beautiful +rounded dome of the Capitol. He could see that Capitol of which he +was so proud—he could contemplate all the intriguing pattern of the +city which he loved so much, capital of the nation which he served so +faithfully.</p> + +<p>Then, all at once, as I stood there on the balcony, I knew why it +was that in the evening of his life Frederick Douglass’ eyes were so +serene. Not because he was lost in illusions of grandeur, not because +he thought the goal attained, not because he thought all the people +were marching forward. But as he stood there on his little balcony +he could lift his eyes and, looking straight ahead, could see over +the dome of the Capitol, steadfastly shedding its rays of hope and +guidance, the north star.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span></p> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Bibliography"><i>Bibliography</i></h3> +</div> + + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Austin, George Lowell, <cite>The Life and Times of Wendell Phillips</cite>. +Boston. Lee & Shepard, 1888.</p> + +<p>Buckmaster, Henrietta, <cite>Let My People Go</cite>. New York. Harper & +Brothers, 1941.</p> + +<p>Douglass, Frederick, <cite>Narration of Frederick Douglass</cite>. Boston. +The American Anti-Slavery Society, 1845.</p> + +<p>——, <cite>My Bondage and My Freedom</cite>. New York. Miller, Orton & +Mulligan, 1855.</p> + +<p>——, <cite>Life and Times of Frederick Douglass</cite>. Boston. De Wolfe, +Fiske & Co., 1893.</p> + +<p>Du Bois, W. E. Burghardt, <cite>Black Reconstruction</cite>. New York. +Harcourt Brace & Co., 1935.</p> + +<p>——, <cite>John Brown</cite>. Philadelphia. George W. Jacobs, 1909.</p> + +<p>Garrison, W. P. and F. J., <cite>William Lloyd Garrison</cite>. Boston. +Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1894.</p> + +<p>Greeley, Horace, <cite>The American Conflict</cite>. Hartford. A. D. Case & +Co., 1864.</p> + +<p>Harper, Ida, <cite>Life and Work of Susan B. Anthony</cite>. Indianapolis. +The Bowen-Merrill Co., 1899.</p> + +<p>Hart, Albert B., <cite>Slavery and Abolition</cite>. New York Harper & +Brothers, 1906.</p> + +<p>Ingersoll, Robert, <cite>Political Speeches</cite>. New York. C. P. Farrell +(editor), 1914.</p> + +<p>Logan, Rayford W., <cite>Diplomatic Relations of United States with +Haiti</cite>. University of North Carolina Press, 1941.</p> + +<p>May, Samuel J., <cite>Recollections of the Anti-Slavery Conflict</cite>. +Boston. Fields, Osgood & Co., 1869.</p> + +<p>Mansergh, Nicholas, <cite>Ireland in the Age of Reform and +Revolution</cite>. London. G. Allen & Unwin, Ltd., 1940.</p> + +<p>Ramsey, A. A. W., <cite>Sir Robert Peel</cite>. London. Constable & Co., +Ltd., 1928.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span></p> + +<p>Wilson, Joseph Thomas, <cite>The Black Phalanx: History of the Negro +Soldiers of the United States</cite>. Hartford. The American Publishing +Co., 1897.</p> + +<p>Woodson, Carter G. (editor), <cite>Journal of Negro History</cite>. +Washington, 1935-46.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Footnotes"><i>Footnotes</i></h3> + + + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Douglass, <cite>My Bondage and My Freedom</cite>, chap. xxii, +pp. 345-46.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Douglass, <cite>My Bondage and My Freedom</cite>, chap. xxii, +pp. 351-53.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> <cite>Liberator</cite>, Dec. 15, 1840.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> Douglass, <cite>Life and Times of Frederick Douglass</cite>, +chap. v, p. 288.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> Douglass, <cite>Life and Times of Frederick Douglass</cite>, +chap. vi, p. 249.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> Douglass, <cite>My Bondage and My Freedom</cite>, chap. xxiv, p. +385.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> <i>Ibid., loc. cit.</i></p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> Douglass, <cite>My Bondage and My Freedom</cite>, chap. xxiv, p. +373.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> Nephews of Garrison’s old detractor.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> Letter dated August 28, 1847. Garrison, <cite>William Lloyd +Garrison</cite>, Vol. III, chap. vii, p. 202.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> Du Bois, <cite>John Brown</cite>, chap. iv, p. 55. (Origin: +<cite>Records of the Board of Trustees</cite>, Oberlin College, Aug. 28, +1840.)</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> Douglass, <cite>Life and Times of Frederick Douglass</cite>, +chap. vii, pp. 337-39.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a> Du Bois, <cite>John Brown</cite>, chap. vi, p. 126.</p> + + +<p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a> Du Bois, <cite>John Brown</cite>, chap. vi, p. 133.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">[15]</a> Du Bois, <cite>John Brown</cite>, chap. vii, p. 147.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">[16]</a> Du Bois, <cite>John Brown</cite>, chap. vii, p. 153.</p> + + +<p><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">[17]</a> Du Bois, <cite>John Brown</cite>, chap. iv, p. 144.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="label">[18]</a> Douglass, <cite>Life and Times of Frederick Douglass</cite>, +chap. x, p. 385.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="label">[19]</a> Douglass, <cite>Life and Times of Frederick Douglass</cite>, +chap. ix, p. 397.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="label">[20]</a> Du Bois, <cite>Black Reconstruction</cite>, chap. vi, p. 157.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21" class="label">[21]</a> Douglass, <cite>Life and Times of Frederick Douglass</cite>, +chap. xii, p. 442.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22" class="label">[22]</a> Du Bois, <cite>Black Reconstruction</cite>, chap. xi, p. 464.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23" class="label">[23]</a> <cite>New Orleans Tribune</cite>, Jan. 17, 1865.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24" class="label">[24]</a> Douglass, <cite>Life and Times of Frederick Douglass</cite>, +chap. viii, pp. 467-68.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25" class="label">[25]</a> The original of this petition was recently unearthed in +the Historical Archives of South Carolina. On the back of the document was a notation: “This petition was not read in the Convention.” +<i>Signed</i>; John T. Sloa, Clerk of Convention. Printed in article by Herbert Aptaker, <cite>Journal of Negro History</cite>, January, 1946.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_26" href="#FNanchor_26" class="label">[26]</a> Congressional Globe, “39th Congress,” I, p. 74.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_27" href="#FNanchor_27" class="label">[27]</a> Douglass, <cite>Life and Times of Frederick Douglass</cite>, +chap. xvii, p. 561.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_28" href="#FNanchor_28" class="label">[28]</a> C. P. Farrell (Editor), <cite>The Political Speeches of +Robert Ingersoll</cite>, Dresden edition.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_29" href="#FNanchor_29" class="label">[29]</a> Douglass, <cite>Life and Times of Frederick Douglass</cite>, +chap. xiv, pp. 486-88.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_30" href="#FNanchor_30" class="label">[30]</a> Douglass, <cite>Life and Times of Frederick Douglass</cite> +(appendix), chap. ii, p. 631.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_31" href="#FNanchor_31" class="label">[31]</a> Douglass, <cite>Life and Times of Frederick Douglass</cite>, +III, chap. v, p. 647.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_32" href="#FNanchor_32" class="label">[32]</a> <i>Ibid.</i>, III, chap. ix, p. 707.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_33" href="#FNanchor_33" class="label">[33]</a> Douglass, <cite>Life and Times of Frederick Douglass</cite>, +III, chap. ix, p. 723.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_34" href="#FNanchor_34" class="label">[34]</a> Logan, <cite>Diplomatic Relations of United States with +Haiti</cite>, chap. xv, p. 457.</p> + +<p><a id="Footnote_35" href="#FNanchor_35" class="label">[35]</a> <cite>The Liberator</cite>, March 27, 1846.</p> + + +</div> + +<div class="transnote"> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber’s Notes</h3> + +<p>Perceived typographical errors have been silently corrected.</p> + +<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> + +<p>Colloquial spelling in dialog has been retained as in the original.</p> + +<p>Footnote 9 has two anchors in the text.</p> + +<p>Footnotes have been moved to the end of the text.</p> +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75237 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75237-h/images/cover.jpg b/75237-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3d090f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/75237-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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