In the gray twilight of a chill day of late November, forty years ago, a
dear friend of mine, residing in Boston, made his appearance at the old
farm-house in East Haverhill. He had been deputed by the abolitionists
of the city, William L. Garrison, Samuel E. Sewall, and others, to
inform me of my appointment as a delegate to the Convention about to be
held in Philadelphia for the formation of an American Anti-Slavery
Society, and to urge upon me the necessity of my attendance.
Few words of persuasion, however, were needed. I was unused to
travelling; my life had been spent on a secluded farm; and the journey,
mostly by stage-coach, at that time was really a formidable one.
Moreover, the few abolitionists were everywhere spoken against, their
persons threatened, and in some instances a price set on their heads by
Southern legislators. Pennsylvania was on the borders of slavery, and it
needed small effort of imagination to picture to one's self the breaking
up of the Convention and maltreatment of its members. This latter
consideration I do not think weighed much with me, although I was better
prepared for serious danger than for anything like personal indignity. I
had read Governor Trumbull's description of the tarring and feathering of
his hero MacFingal, when, after the application of the melted tar, the
feather-bed was ripped open and shaken over him, until
"Not Maia's son, with wings for ears,
Such plumes about his visage wears,
Nor Milton's six-winged angel gathers
Such superfluity of feathers,"
and I confess I was quite unwilling to undergo a martyrdom which my best
friends could scarcely refrain from laughing at. But a summons like that
of Garrison's bugle-blast could scarcely be unheeded by one who, from
birth and education, held fast the traditions of that earlier
abolitionism which, under the lead of Benezet and Woolman, had effaced
from the Society of Friends every vestige of slave-holding. I had thrown
myself, with a young man's fervid enthusiasm, into a movement which
commended itself to my reason and conscience, to my love of country, and
my sense of duty to God and my fellow-men. My first venture in
authorship was the publication, at my own expense, in the spring of 1833,
of a pamphlet entitled Justice and Expediency, on the moral and political
evils of slavery, and the duty of emancipation. Under such circumstances
I could not hesitate, but prepared at once for my journey. It was
necessary that I should start on the morrow, and the intervening time,
with a small allowance for sleep, was spent in providing for the care of
the farm and homestead during my absence.
So the next morning I took the stage for Boston, stopping at the ancient
hostelry known as the Eastern Stage Tavern; and on the day following, in
company with William Lloyd Garrison, I left for New York. At that city
we were joined by other delegates, among them David Thurston, a
Congregational minister from Maine. On our way to Philadelphia, we took,
as a matter of necessary economy, a second-class conveyance, and found
ourselves, in consequence, among rough and hilarious companions, whose
language was more noteworthy for strength than refinement. Our worthy
friend the clergyman bore it awhile in painful silence, but at last felt
it his duty to utter words of remonstrance and admonition. The leader of
the young roisterers listened with a ludicrous mock gravity, thanked him
for his exhortation, and, expressing fears that the extraordinary effort
had exhausted his strength, invited him to take a drink with him. Father
Thurston buried his grieved face in his cloak-collar, and wisely left the
young reprobates to their own devices.
On reaching Philadelphia, we at once betook, ourselves to the humble
dwelling on Fifth Street occupied by Evan Lewis, a plain, earnest man and
lifelong abolitionist, who had been largely interested in preparing the
way for the Convention. In one respect the time of our assembling seemed
unfavorable. The Society of Friends, upon whose cooperation we had
counted, had but recently been rent asunder by one of those unhappy
controversies which so often mark the decline of practical righteousness.
The martyr-age of the society had passed, wealth and luxury had taken the
place of the old simplicity, there was a growing conformity to the maxims
of the world in trade and fashion, and with it a corresponding
unwillingness to hazard respectability by the advocacy of unpopular
reforms. Unprofitable speculation and disputation on one hand, and a
vain attempt on the other to enforce uniformity of opinion, had
measurably lost sight of the fact that the end of the gospel is love, and
that charity is its crowning virtue. After a long and painful struggle
the disruption had taken place; the shattered fragments, under the name
of Orthodox and Hicksite, so like and yet so separate in feeling,
confronted each other as hostile sects, and
"Never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining;
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs that have been torn asunder
A dreary sea now flows between;
But neither rain, nor frost, nor thunder,
Can wholly do away, I ween,
The marks of that which once has been."
We found about forty members assembled in the parlors of our friend
Lewis, and, after some general conversation, Lewis Tappan was asked to
preside over an informal meeting, preparatory to the opening of the
Convention. A handsome, intellectual-looking man, in the prime of life,
responded to the invitation, and in a clear, well-modulated voice, the
firm tones of which inspired hope and confidence, stated the objects of
our preliminary council, and the purpose which had called us together, in
earnest and well-chosen words. In making arrangements for the
Convention, it was thought expedient to secure, if possible, the services
of some citizen of Philadelphia, of distinction and high social standing,
to preside over its deliberations. Looking round among ourselves in vain
for some titled civilian or doctor of divinity, we were fain to confess
that to outward seeming we were but "a feeble folk," sorely needing the
shield of a popular name. A committee, of which I was a member, was
appointed to go in search of a president of this description. We visited
two prominent gentlemen, known as friendly to emancipation and of high
social standing. They received us with the dignified courtesy of the old
school, declined our proposition in civil terms, and bowed us out with a
cool politeness equalled only by that of the senior Winkle towards the
unlucky deputation of Pickwick and his unprepossessing companions. As we
left their doors we could not refrain from smiling in each other's faces
at the thought of the small inducement our proffer of the presidency held
out to men of their class. Evidently our company was not one for
respectability to march through Coventry with.
On the following morning we repaired to the Adelphi Building, on Fifth
Street, below Walnut, which had been secured for our use. Sixty-two
delegates were found to be in attendance. Beriah Green, of the Oneida
(New York) Institute, was chosen president, a fresh-faced, sandy-haired,
rather common-looking man, but who had the reputation of an able and
eloquent speaker. He had already made himself known to us as a resolute
and self-sacrificing abolitionist. Lewis Tappan and myself took our
places at his side as secretaries, on the elevation at the west end of
the hall.
Looking over the assembly, I noticed that it was mainly composed of
comparatively young men, some in middle age, and a few beyond that
period. They were nearly all plainly dressed, with a view to comfort
rather than elegance. Many of the faces turned towards me wore a look of
expectancy and suppressed enthusiasm; all had the earnestness which might
be expected of men engaged in an enterprise beset with difficulty and
perhaps with peril. The fine, intellectual head of Garrison, prematurely
bald, was conspicuous; the sunny-faced young man at his side, in whom all
the beatitudes seemed to find expression, was Samuel J. May, mingling in
his veins the best blood of the Sewalls and Quincys,--a man so
exceptionally pure and large-hearted, so genial, tender, and loving, that
he could be faithful to truth and duty without making an enemy.
"The de'il wad look into his face,
And swear he couldna wrang him."
That tall, gaunt, swarthy man, erect, eagle-faced, upon whose somewhat
martial figure the Quaker coat seemed a little out of place, was Lindley
Coates, known in all eastern Pennsylvania as a stern enemy of slavery;
that slight, eager man, intensely alive in every feature and gesture, was
Thomas Shipley, who for thirty years had been the protector of the free
colored people of Philadelphia, and whose name was whispered reverently
in the slave cabins of Maryland as the friend of the black man, one of a
class peculiar to old Quakerism, who in doing what they felt to be duty,
and walking as the Light within guided them, knew no fear and shrank from
no sacrifice. Braver men the world has not known. Beside him, differing
in creed, but united with him in works of love and charity, sat Thomas
Whitson, of the Hicksite school of Friends, fresh from his farm in
Lancaster County, dressed in plainest homespun, his tall form surmounted
by a shock of unkempt hair, the odd obliquity of his vision contrasting
strongly with he clearness and directness of his spiritual insight.
Elizur Wright, the young professor of a Western college, who had lost his
place by his bold advocacy of freedom, with a look of sharp concentration
in keeping with an intellect keen as a Damascus blade, closely watched
the proceedings through his spectacles, opening his mouth only to speak
directly to the purpose. The portly form of Dr. Bartholomew Russell, the
beloved physician, from that beautiful land of plenty and peace which
Bayard Taylor has described in his Story of Kennett, was not to be
overlooked. Abolitionist in heart and soul, his house was known as the
shelter of runaway slaves, and no sportsman ever entered into the chase
with such zest as he did into the arduous and sometimes dangerous work of
aiding their escape and baffling their pursuers. The youngest man
present was, I believe, James Miller McKim, a Presbyterian minister from
Columbia, afterwards one of our most efficient workers. James Mott, E.
L. Capron, Arnold Buffum, and Nathan Winslow, men well known in the anti-
slavery agitation, were conspicuous members. Vermont sent down from her
mountains Orson S. Murray, a man terribly in earnest, with a zeal that
bordered on fanaticism, and who was none the more genial for the mob-
violence to which he had been subjected. In front of me, awakening
pleasant associations of the old homestead in Merrimac valley, sat my
first school-teacher, Joshua Coffin, the learned and worthy antiquarian
and historian of Newbury. A few spectators, mostly of the Hicksite
division of Friends, were present, in broad brims and plain bonnets,
among them Esther Moore and Lucretia Mott.
Committees were chosen to draft a constitution for a national Anti-
Slavery Society, nominate a list of officers, and prepare a declaration
of principles to be signed by the members. Dr. A. L. Cox of New York,
while these committees were absent, read something from my pen eulogistic
of William Lloyd Garrison; and Lewis Tappan and Amos A. Phelps, a
Congregational clergyman of Boston, afterwards one of the most devoted
laborers in the cause, followed in generous commendation of the zeal,
courage, and devotion of the young pioneer. The president, after calling
James McCrummell, one of the two or three colored members of the
Convention, to the chair, made some eloquent remarks upon those editors
who had ventured to advocate emancipation. At the close of his speech a
young man rose to speak, whose appearance at once arrested my attention.
I think I have never seen a finer face and figure, and his manner, words,
and bearing were in keeping. "Who is he?" I asked of one of the
Pennsylvania delegates. "Robert Purvis, of this city, a colored man,"
was the answer. He began by uttering his heart-felt thanks to the
delegates who had convened for the deliverance of his people. He spoke
of Garrison in terms of warmest eulogy, as one who had stirred the heart
of the nation, broken the tomblike slumber of the church, and compelled
it to listen to the story of the slave's wrongs. He closed by declaring
that the friends of colored Americans would not be forgotten. "Their
memories," he said, "will be cherished when pyramids and monuments shall
have crumbled in dust. The flood of time which is sweeping away the
refuge of lies is bearing on the advocates of our cause to a glorious
immortality."
The committee on the constitution made their report, which after
discussion was adopted. It disclaimed any right or intention of
interfering, otherwise than by persuasion and Christian expostulation,
with slavery as it existed in the states, but affirming the duty of
Congress to abolish it in the District of Columbia and territories, and
to put an end to the domestic slave-trade. A list of officers of the new
society was then chosen: Arthur Tappan of New York, president, and Elizur
Wright, Jr., William Lloyd Garrison, and A. L. Cox, secretaries. Among
the vice-presidents was Dr. Lord of Dartmouth College, then professedly
in favor of emancipation, but who afterwards turned a moral somersault, a
self-inversion which left him ever after on his head instead of his feet.
He became a querulous advocate of slavery as a divine institution, and
denounced woe upon the abolitionists for interfering with the will and
purpose of the Creator. As the cause of freedom gained ground, the poor
man's heart failed him, and his hope for church and state grew fainter
and fainter. A sad prophet of the evangel of slavery, he testified in
the unwilling ears of an unbelieving generation, and died at last
despairing of a world which seemed determined that Canaan should no
longer be cursed, nor Onesimus sent back to Philemon.
The committee on the declaration of principles, of which I was a member,
held a long session, discussing the proper scope and tenor of the
document. But little progress being made, it was finally decided to
entrust the matter to a sub-committee, consisting of William L.
Garrison, S. J. May, and myself; and after a brief consultation and
comparison of each other's views, the drafting of the important paper was
assigned to the former gentleman. We agreed to meet him at his lodgings
in the house of a colored friend early the next morning. It was still
dark when we climbed up to his room, and the lamp was still burning by
the light of which he was writing the last sentence of the declaration.
We read it carefully, made a few verbal changes, and submitted it to the
large committee, who unanimously agreed to report it to the Convention.
The paper was read to the Convention by Dr. Atlee, chairman of the
committee, and listened to with the profoundest interest.
Commencing with a reference to the time, fifty-seven years before, when,
in the same city of Philadelphia, our fathers announced to the world
their Declaration of Independence,--based on the self-evident truths of
human equality and rights,--and appealed to arms for its defence, it
spoke of the new enterprise as one "without which that of our fathers is
incomplete," and as transcending theirs in magnitude, solemnity, and
probable results as much "as moral truth does physical force." It spoke
of the difference of the two in the means and ends proposed, and of the
trifling grievances of our fathers compared with the wrongs and
sufferings of the slaves, which it forcibly characterized as unequalled
by any others on the face of the earth. It claimed that the nation was
bound to repent at once, to let the oppressed go free, and to admit them
to all the rights and privileges of others; because, it asserted, no man
has a right to enslave or imbrute his brother; because liberty is
inalienable; because there is no difference, in principle, between slave-
holding and man-stealing, which the law brands as piracy; and because no
length of bondage can invalidate man's claim to himself, or render slave
laws anything but "an audacious usurpation."
It maintained that no compensation should be given to planters
emancipating slaves, because that would be a surrender of fundamental
principles; "slavery is a crime, and is, therefore, not an article to be
sold;" because slave-holders are not just proprietors of what they claim;
because emancipation would destroy only nominal, not real property; and
because compensation, if given at all, should be given to the slaves.
It declared any "scheme of expatriation" to be "delusive, cruel, and
dangerous." It fully recognized the right of each state to legislate
exclusively on the subject of slavery within its limits, and conceded
that Congress, under the present national compact, had no right to
interfere; though still contending that it had the power, and should
exercise it, "to suppress the domestic slave-trade between the several
states," and "to abolish slavery in the District of Columbia, and in
those portions of our territory which the Constitution has placed under
its exclusive jurisdiction."
After clearly and emphatically avowing the principles underlying the
enterprise, and guarding with scrupulous care the rights of persons and
states under the Constitution, in prosecuting it, the declaration closed
with these eloquent words:--
We also maintain that there are, at the present time, the highest
obligations resting upon the people of the free states to remove slavery
by moral and political action, as prescribed in the Constitution of the
United States. They are now living under a pledge of their tremendous
physical force to fasten the galling fetters of tyranny upon the limbs of
millions in the Southern states; they are liable to be called at any
moment to suppress a general insurrection of the slaves; they authorize
the slave-owner to vote on three fifths of his slaves as property, and
thus enable him to perpetuate his oppression; they support a standing
army at the South for its protection; and they seize the slave who has
escaped into their territories, and send him back to be tortured by an
enraged master or a brutal driver. This relation to slavery is criminal
and full of danger. It must be broken up.
"These are our views and principles,--these our designs and measures.
With entire confidence in the overruling justice of God, we plant
ourselves upon the Declaration of Independence and the truths of divine
revelation as upon the everlasting rock.
"We shall organize anti-slavery societies, if possible, in every city,
town, and village in our land.
"We shall send forth agents to lift up the voice of remonstrance, of
warning, of entreaty and rebuke.
"We shall circulate unsparingly and extensively anti-slavery tracts and
periodicals.
"We shall enlist the pulpit and the press in the cause of the suffering
and the dumb.
"We shall aim at a purification of the churches from all participation in
the guilt of slavery.
"We shall encourage the labor of freemen over that of the slaves, by
giving a preference to their productions; and
"We shall spare no exertions nor means to bring the whole nation to
speedy repentance.
"Our trust for victory is solely in God. We may be personally defeated,
but our principles never. Truth, justice, reason, humanity, must and
will gloriously triumph. Already a host is coming up to the help of the
Lord against the mighty, and the prospect before us is full of
encouragement.
"Submitting this declaration to the candid examination of the people of
this country, and of the friends of liberty all over the world, we hereby
affix our signatures to it; pledging ourselves that, under the guidance
and by the help of Almighty God, we will do all that in us lies,
consistently with this declaration of our principles, to overthrow the
most execrable system of slavery that has ever been witnessed upon earth,
to deliver our land from its deadliest curse, to wipe out the foulest
stain which rests upon our national escutcheon, and to secure to the
colored population of the United States all the rights and privileges
which belong to them as men and as Americans, come what may to our
persons, our interests, or our reputations, whether we live to witness
the triumph of justice, liberty, and humanity, or perish untimely as
martyrs in this great, benevolent, and holy cause."
The reading of the paper was followed by a discussion which lasted
several hours. A member of the Society of Friends moved its immediate
adoption. "We have," he said, "all given it our assent: every heart here
responds to it. It is a doctrine of Friends that these strong and deep
impressions should be heeded." The Convention, nevertheless, deemed it
important to go over the declaration carefully, paragraph by paragraph.
During the discussion, one of the spectators asked leave to say a few
words. A beautiful and graceful woman, in the prime of life, with a face
beneath her plain cap as finely intellectual as that of Madame Roland,
offered some wise and valuable suggestions, in a clear, sweet voice, the
charm of which I have never forgotten. It was Lucretia Mott of
Philadelphia. The president courteously thanked her, and encouraged her
to take a part in the discussion. On the morning of the last day of our
session, the declaration, with its few verbal amendments, carefully
engrossed on parchment, was brought before the Convention. Samuel J. May
rose to read it for the last time. His sweet, persuasive voice faltered
with the intensity of his emotions as he repeated the solemn pledges of
the concluding paragraphs. After a season of silence, David Thurston of
Maine rose as his name was called by one of the secretaries, and affixed
his name to the document. One after another passed up to the platform,
signed, and retired in silence. All felt the deep responsibility of the
occasion the shadow and forecast of a life-long struggle rested upon
every countenance.
Our work as a Convention was now done. President Green arose to make the
concluding address. The circumstances under which it was uttered may
have lent it an impressiveness not its own; but as I now recall it, it
seems to me the most powerful and eloquent speech to which I have ever
listened. He passed in review the work that had been done, the
constitution of the new society, the declaration of sentiments, and the
union and earnestness which had marked the proceedings. His closing
words will never be forgotten by those who heard them:--
"Brethren, it has been good to be here. In this hallowed atmosphere I
have been revived and refreshed. This brief interview has more than
repaid me for all that I have ever suffered. I have here met congenial
minds; I have rejoiced in sympathies delightful to the soul. Heart has
beat responsive to heart, and the holy work of seeking to benefit the
outraged and despised has proved the most blessed employment.
"But now we must retire from these balmy influences and breathe another
atmosphere. The chill hoar-frost will be upon us. The storm and tempest
will rise, and the waves of persecution will dash against our souls. Let
us be prepared for the worst. Let us fasten ourselves to the throne of
God as with hooks of steel. If we cling not to Him, our names to that
document will be but as dust.
"Let us court no applause, indulge in no spirit of vain boasting. Let us
be assured that our only hope in grappling with the bony monster is in an
Arm that is stronger than ours. Let us fix our gaze on God, and walk in
the light of His countenance. If our cause be just--and we know it is--
His omnipotence is pledged to its triumph. Let this cause be entwined
around the very fibres of our hearts. Let our hearts grow to it, so that
nothing but death can sunder the bond."
He ceased, and then, amidst a silence broken only by the deep-drawn
breath of emotion in the assembly, lifted up his voice in a prayer to
Almighty God, full of fervor and feeling, imploring His blessing and
sanctification upon the Convention and its labors. And with the
solemnity of this supplication in our hearts we clasped hands in
farewell, and went forth each man to his place of duty, not knowing the
things that should befall us as individuals, but with a confidence, never
shaken by abuse and persecution, in the certain triumph of our cause.