In the winter of 1808, several Virginia planters went to Philadelphia to
search for eleven slaves, who had absconded. Most of these colored
people had been there several years, and some of them had acquired a
little property. Their masters had ascertained where they lived, and one
evening, when they returned from their accustomed labors, unconscious of
danger impending over them, they were pounced upon suddenly and conveyed
to prison. It was late at night when this took place, and Friend Hopper
did not hear of it till the next morning.
He had risen very early, according to his usual custom, and upon opening
his front door he found a letter slipped under it, addressed to him.
This anonymous epistle informed him that eleven slaves had been
arrested, and were to be tried before Alderman Douglass that morning;
that the owners were gentlemen of wealth and high standing, and could
produce the most satisfactory evidence that the persons arrested were
their slaves; consequently Friend Hopper's attendance could be of no
possible benefit to them. It went on to say that the magistrate
understood his business, and could do justice without his assistance;
but if, notwithstanding this warning, he did attend at the magistrate's
office, for the purpose of wresting from these gentlemen their property,
his house would be burned while himself and family were asleep in it,
and his life would certainly be taken. The writer invoked the most awful
imprecations upon himself if he did not carry these threats into
execution.
Friend Hopper was too much accustomed to such epistles to be disturbed
by them. He put it in his pocket, and said nothing about it, lest his
wife should be alarmed. A few minutes afterward, he received a message
from some colored people begging him to go to the assistance of the
fugitives; and when the trial came on, he was at the alderman's office,
of course. Richard Rush was counsel for the claimants. The colored
prisoners had no lawyer. This examination was carried on with much
earnestness and excitement. One of the Virginians failed in proof as to
the identity of the person he claimed. In the case of several others,
the power of attorney was pronounced informal by the magistrate. After a
long protracted controversy, during which Friend Hopper threw as many
difficulties in the way as possible, it was decided that four of the
persons in custody were proved to be slaves, and the other seven were
discharged. This decision greatly exasperated the Southerners, and they
vented their anger in very violent expressions. The constables employed
were unprincipled men, ready for any low business, provided it were
profitable. The man-hunters had engaged to give them fifty dollars for
each slave they were enabled to take back to Virginia; but they were to
receive nothing for those who were discharged. Hence, their extreme
anxiety to avoid Friend Hopper's interference. When they found that more
than half of their destined prey had slipped through their fingers, they
were furious. One of them especially raved like a madman. He had written
the anonymous letter, and was truly "a lewd fellow of the baser sort."
Friend Hopper's feelings were too much interested for those who had been
decreed slaves, to think anything of the abuse bestowed on himself. All
of them, three men and one woman, were married to free persons; and it
was heart-breaking to hear their lamentations at the prospect of being
separated forever. There was a general manifestation of sympathy, and
even the slaveholders were moved to compassion. Friend Hopper opened a
negotiation with them in behalf of the Abolition Society, and they
finally consented to manumit them all for seven hundred dollars. The
money was advanced by a Friend named Thomas Phipps, and the poor slaves
returned to their humble homes rejoicing. They repaid every farthing of
the money, and ever after manifested the liveliest gratitude to their
benefactors.
When the anger of the Southerners had somewhat cooled, Friend Hopper
invited them to come and see him. They called, and spent the evening in
discussing the subject of slavery. When they parted from the veteran
abolitionist, it was with mutual courtesy and kindliness. They said they
respected him for acting so consistently with his own principles; and if
they held the same opinions, they should doubtless pursue the same
course.
This was a polite concession, but it was based on a false foundation;
for it assumed that it was a mere matter of _opinion_ whether slavery
were right or wrong; whereas it is a palpable violation of immutable
principles of justice. They might as well have made the same remark
about murder or robbery, if they had lived where a selfish majority were
strong enough to get those crimes sanctioned by law and custom. The
Bedouin considers himself no robber because he forcibly takes as much
toll as he pleases from all who pass through the desert. His ancestors
established the custom, and he is not one whit the less an Arab
gentleman, because he perpetuates their peculiar institution. Perhaps he
also would say that if he held the same opinions as more honest
Mahometans, he would do as they do. In former days, custom made it
honorable to steal a neighbor's cattle, on the Scottish border; as many
Americans now deem it respectable to take children from poor defenceless
neighbors, and sell them like sheep in the market. Sir Walter Scott says
playfully, "I have my quarters and emblazonments free of all stain but
Border Theft and High Treason, which I hope are _gentlemanlike crimes_"
Yet the stealing of cattle does not now seem a very noble achievement in
the eyes of honorable Scotchmen How will the stealing of children,
within bounds prescribed by law and custom, appear to future generations
of Americans?