Strange contrasts occur in human society, even where there is such
a strong tendency toward equality as there is in New England. A few
hours before Queen Fashion held her splendid court in Beacon Street, a
vessel from New Orleans called "The King Cotton" approached Long Wharf
in Boston. Before she touched the pier, a young man jumped on board
from another vessel close by. He went directly up to the captain, and
said, in a low, hurried tone: "Let nobody land. You have slaves on
board. Mr. Bell is in a carriage on the wharf waiting to speak to
you."
Having delivered this message, he disappeared in the same direction
that he came.
This brief interview was uneasily watched by one of the passengers, a
young man apparently nineteen or twenty years old. He whispered to
a yellow lad, who was his servant, and both attempted to land by
crossing the adjoining vessel. But the captain intercepted them,
saying, "All must remain on board till we draw up to the wharf."
With desperate leaps, they sprang past him. He tried to seize them,
calling aloud, "Stop thief! Stop thief!" Some of his sailors rushed
after them. As they ran up State Street, lads and boys, always ready
to hunt anything, joined in the pursuit. A young black man, who was
passing down the street as the crowd rushed up, saw the yellow lad
race by him, panting for breath, and heard him cry, "Help me!"
The crowd soon turned backward, having caught the fugitives. The black
man hurried after, and as they were putting them on board the vessel
he pushed his way close to the yellow lad, and again heard him say,
"Help me! I am a slave."
The black man paused only to look at the name of the vessel, and then
hastened with all speed to the house of Mr. Willard Percival. Almost
out of breath with his hurry, he said to that gentleman: "A vessel
from New Orleans, named 'The King Cotton,' has come up to Long Wharf.
They've got two slaves aboard. They was chasing 'em up State Street,
calling out, 'Stop thief!' and I heard a mulatto lad cry, 'Help me!'
I run after 'em; and just as they was going to put the mulatto lad
aboard the vessel, I pushed my way close up to him, and he said, 'Help
me! I'm a slave.' So I run fast as I could to tell you."
"Wait a moment till I write a note to Francis Jackson, which you must
carry as quick as you can," said Mr. Percival. "I will go to Mr.
Sewall for a writ of _habeas corpus_"
While this was going on, the captain had locked the fugitives in the
hold of his vessel, and hastened to the carriage, which had been
waiting for him at a short distance from the wharf.
"Good evening, Mr. Bell," said he, raising his hat as he approached
the carriage door.
"Good evening, Captain Kane," replied the gentleman inside. "You've
kept me waiting so long, I was nearly out of patience."
"I sent you word they'd escaped, sir," rejoined the captain. "They
gave us a run; but we've got 'em fast enough in the hold. One of 'em
seems to be a white man. Perhaps he's an Abolitionist, that's been
helping the nigger off. It's good enough for him to be sent back to
the South. If they get hold of him there, he'll never have a chance to
meddle with gentlemen's property again."
"They're both slaves," replied Mr. Bell. "The telegram I received
informed me that one would pass himself for a white man. But, captain,
you must take 'em directly to Castle Island. One of the officers there
will lock 'em up, if you tell them I sent you. And you can't be off
too quick; for as likely as not the Abolitionists will get wind of it,
and be raising a row before morning. There's no safety for property
now-a-days."
Having given these orders, the wealthy merchant bade the captain good
evening, and his carriage rolled away.
The unhappy fugitives were immediately taken from the hold of the
vessel, pinioned fast, and hustled on board a boat, which urged its
swift way through the waters to Castle Island, where they were safely
locked up till further orders.
"O George, they'll send us back," said the younger one. "I wish we war
dead."
George answered, with a deep groan: "O how I have watched the North
Star! thinking always it pointed to a land of freedom. O my God, is
there _no_ place of refuge for the slave?"
"_You_ are so white, you could have got off, if you hadn't brought
_me_ with you," sobbed the other.
"And what good would freedom do me without you, Henny?" responded the
young man, drawing his companion closer to his breast. "Cheer up,
honey! I'll try again; and perhaps we'll make out better next time."
He tried to talk hopefully; but when yellow Henny, in her boy's dress,
cried herself to sleep on his shoulder, his tears dropped slowly on
her head, while he sat there gazing at the glittering stars, with a
feeling of utter discouragement and desolation.
That same evening, the merchant who was sending them back to bondage,
without the slightest inquiry into their case, was smoking his
amber-lipped meerschaum, in an embroidered dressing-gown, on a
luxurious lounge; his daughter, Mrs. Fitzgerald, in azure satin
and pearls, was meandering through the mazes of the dance; and his
exquisitely dressed grandson, Gerald, was paying nearly equal homage
to Mrs. King's lambent eyes and the sparkle of her diamonds.
When young Fitzgerald descended to a late breakfast, the morning after
the great party, his grandfather was lolling back in his arm-chair,
his feet ensconced in embroidered slippers, and resting on the
register, while he read the Boston Courier.
"Good morning, Gerald," said he, "if it be not past that time of day.
If you are sufficiently rested from last night's dissipation, I should
like to have you attend to a little business for me."
"I hope it won't take very long, grandfather," replied Gerald; "for I
want to call on Mrs. King early, before her rooms are thronged with
visitors."
"That opera-singer seems to have turned your head, though she is old
enough to be your mother," rejoined Mr. Bell.
"I don't know that my head was any more turned than others," answered
the young man, in a slightly offended tone. "If you call to see her,
sir, as mother says you intend to do, perhaps she will make _you_ feel
as if you had a young head on your shoulders."
"Likely as not, likely as not," responded the old gentleman, smiling
complacently at the idea of re-enacting the beau. "But I wish you
to do an errand for me this morning, which I had rather not put in
writing, for fear of accidents, and which I cannot trust verbally to a
servant. I got somewhat chilled waiting in a carriage near the wharf,
last evening, and I feel some rheumatic twinges in consequence. Under
these circumstances, I trust you will excuse me if I ask the use of
your young limbs to save my own."
"Certainly, sir," replied Gerald, with thinly disguised impatience.
"What is it you want me to do?"
"Two slaves belonging to Mr. Bruteman of New Orleans, formerly a
friend of your father, have escaped in my ship, 'The King Cotton,' The
oldest, it seems, is a head carpenter, and would bring a high price,
Bruteman values them at twenty-five hundred dollars. He is my debtor
to a considerable amount, and those negroes are mortgaged to me. But
independently of that circumstance, it would be very poor policy,
dealing with the South as I do, to allow negroes to be brought away in
my vessels with impunity. Besides, there is a heavy penalty in all the
Southern States, if the thing is proved. You see, Gerald, it is every
way for my interest to make sure of returning those negroes; and
your interest is somewhat connected with mine, seeing that the small
pittance saved from the wreck of your father's property is quite
insufficient to supply your rather expensive wants."
"I think I have been reminded of that often enough, sir, to be in no
danger of forgetting it," retorted the youth, reddening as he spoke.
"Then you will perhaps think it no great hardship to transact a little
business for me now and then," coolly rejoined the grandfather. "I
shall send orders to have these negroes sold as soon as they arrive,
and the money transmitted to me; for when they once begin to run away,
the disease is apt to become chronic."
"Have you seen them, sir," inquired Gerald.
"No," replied the merchant. "That would have been unpleasant, without
being of any use. When a disagreeable duty is to be done, the quicker
it is done the better. Captain Kane took 'em down to Castle Island
last night; but it won't do for them to stay there. The Abolitionists
will ferret 'em out, and be down there with their devilish _habeas
corpus_. I want you to go on board 'The King Cotton,' take the captain
aside, and tell him, from me, to remove them forthwith from Castle
Island, keep them under strong guard, and skulk round with them in the
best hiding-places he can find, until a ship passes that will take
them to New Orleans. Of course, I need not caution you to be silent
about this affair, especially concerning the slaves being mortgaged to
me. If that is whispered abroad, it will soon get into the
Abolition papers that I am a man-stealer, as those rascals call the
slaveholders."
The young man obeyed his instructions to the letter; and having had
some difficulty in finding Captain Kane, he was unable to dress for
quite so early a call at the Revere House as he had intended. "How
much trouble these niggers give us!" thought he, as he adjusted his
embroidered cravat, and took his fresh kid gloves from the box.
* * * * *
When Mr. Blumenthal went home to dine that day, the ladies of the
household noticed that he was unusually serious. As he sat after
dinner, absently playing a silent tune on the table-cloth, his wife
touched his hand with her napkin, and said, "_What_ was it so long
ago, Florimond?"
He turned and smiled upon her, as he answered: "So my fingers were
moving to the tune of 'Long, long ago,' were they? I was not conscious
of it, but my thoughts were with the long ago. Yesterday afternoon, as
I was passing across State Street, I heard a cry of 'Stop thief!' and
I saw them seize a young man, who looked like an Italian. I gave no
further thought to the matter, and pursued the business I had in hand.
But to-day I have learned that he was a slave, who escaped in 'The
King Cotton' from New Orleans. I seem to see the poor fellow's
terrified look now; and it brings vividly to mind something dreadful
that came very near happening, long ago, to a person whose complexion
is similar to his. I was thinking how willingly I would then have
given the services of my whole life for a portion of the money which
our best friend here has enabled me to acquire."
"What _was_ the dreadful thing that was going to happen, papa?"
inquired Rosa.
"That is a secret between mamma and I," he replied. "It is something
not exactly suitable to talk with little girls about, Rosy Posy." He
took her hand, as it lay on the table, and pressed it affectionately,
by way of apology for refusing his confidence.
Then, looking at Mrs. Delano, he said: "If I had only known the poor
fellow was a slave, I might, perhaps, have done something to rescue
him. But the Abolitionists are doing what can be done. They procured a
writ of _habeas corpus_, and went on board 'The King Cotton'; but they
could neither find the slaves nor obtain any information from the
captain. They are keeping watch on all vessels bound South, in which
Mr. Goldwin and I are assisting them. There are at least twenty spies
out on the wharves."
"I heartily wish you as much success as I have had in that kind of
business," replied Mrs. Delano with a smile.
"O, I do hope they'll be rescued," exclaimed Flora. "How shameful it
is to have such laws, while we keep singing, in the face of the world,
about 'the land of the free, and the home of the brave.' I don't mean
to sing that again; for it's false."
"There'll come an end to this some time or other, as surely as God
reigns in the heavens," rejoined Blumenthal.
* * * * *
Two days passed, and the unremitting efforts of Mr. Percival and Mr.
Jackson proved unavailing to obtain any clew to the fugitives. After
an anxious consultation with Samuel E. Sewall, the wisest and kindest
legal adviser in such cases, they reluctantly came to the conclusion
that nothing more could be done without further information. As a last
resort, Mr. Percival suggested a personal appeal to Mr. Bell.
"Rather a forlorn hope that," replied Francis Jackson. "He has named
his ship for the king that rules over us all, trampling on freedom of
petition, freedom of debate, and even on freedom of locomotion."
"We will try," said Mr. Percival. "It is barely possible we may obtain
some light on the subject."
Early in the evening they accordingly waited upon the merchant at his
residence. When the servant informed him that two gentlemen wished to
see him on business, he laid aside his meerschaum and the Courier, and
said, "Show them in."
Captain Kane had informed him that the Abolitionists were "trying to
get up a row"; but he had not anticipated that they would call upon
him, and it was an unpleasant surprise when he saw who his visitors
were. He bowed stiffly, and waited in silence for them to explain
their business.
"We have called," said Mr. Percival, "to make some inquiries
concerning two fugitives from slavery, who, it is said, were found on
board your ship, 'The King Cotton.'"
"I know nothing about it," replied Mr. Bell. "My captains understand
the laws of the ports they sail from; and it is their business to see
that those laws are respected."
"But," urged Mr. Percival "that a man is _claimed_ as a slave by no
means proves that he _is_ a slave. The law presumes that every man
has a right to personal liberty, until it is proved otherwise; and
in order to secure a fair trial of the question, the writ of _habeas
corpus_ has been provided."
"It's a great disgrace to Massachusetts, sir, that she puts so many
obstacles in the way of enforcing the laws of the United States,"
replied Mr. Bell.
"If your grandson should be claimed as a slave, I rather think you
would consider the writ of _habeas corpus_ a wise and just provision,"
said the plain-speaking Francis Jackson. "It is said that this young
stranger, whom they chased as a thief, and carried off as a slave, had
a complexion no darker than his."
"I take it for granted," added Mr. Percival, "that you do not wish for
a state of things that would make every man and woman in Massachusetts
liable to be carried off as slaves, without a chance to prove their
right to freedom."
Mr. Bell answered, in tones of suppressed anger, his face all ablaze
with excitement, "If I could choose _who_ should be thus carried off,
I would do the Commonwealth a service by ridding her of a swarm of
malignant fanatics."
"If you were to try that game," quietly rejoined Francis Jackson, "I
apprehend you would find some of the fire of '76 still alive under the
ashes."
"A man is strongly tempted to argue," said Mr. Percival, "when he
knows that all the laws of truth and justice and freedom are on his
side; but we did not come here to discuss the subject of slavery, Mr.
Bell. We came to appeal to your own good sense, whether it is right
or safe that men should be forcibly carried from the city of Boston
without any process of law."
"I stand by the Constitution," answered Mr. Bell, doggedly. "I don't
presume to be wiser than the framers of that venerable document."
"That is evading the question," responded Mr. Percival. "There is no
question before us concerning the framers of the Constitution. The
simple proposition is, whether it is right or safe for men to be
forcibly carried from Boston without process of law. Two strangers
_have_ been thus abducted; and you say it is your captain's business.
You know perfectly well that a single line from you would induce your
captain to give those men a chance for a fair trial. Is it not your
duty so to instruct him?"
A little thrown off his guard, Mr. Bell exclaimed: "And give an
Abolition mob a chance to rescue them? I shall do no such thing."
"It is not the Abolitionists who get up mobs," rejoined Francis
Jackson. "Garrison was dragged through the streets for writing against
slavery; but when Yancey of Alabama had the use of Faneuil Hall, for
the purpose of defending slavery, no Abolitionist attempted to disturb
his speaking."
A slight smile hovered about Mr. Percival's lips; for it was well
known that State Street and Ann Street clasped hands when mobs were
wanted, and that money changed palms on such occasions; and the common
rumor was that Mr. Bell's purse had been freely used.
The merchant probably considered it an offensive insinuation, for his
face, usually rubicund from the effects of champagne and oysters,
became redder, and his lips were tightly compressed; but he merely
reiterated, "I stand by the Constitution, sir."
"Mr. Bell, I must again urge it upon your conscience," said Mr.
Percival, "that you are more responsible than the captain in this
matter. Your captains, of course, act under your orders, and would
do nothing contrary to your expressed wishes. Captain Kane has,
doubtless, consulted you in this business."
"That's none of your concern, sir," retorted the irascible merchant.
"My captains know that I think Southern gentlemen ought to be
protected in their property; and that is sufficient. I stand by the
Constitution, sir. I honor the reverend gentleman who said he was
ready to send his mother or his brother into slavery, if the laws
required it. That's the proper spirit, sir. You fanatics, with your
useless abstractions about human rights, are injuring trade, and
endangering the peace of the country. You are doing all you can to
incite the slaves to insurrection. I don't pretend, to be wiser than
the framers of the Constitution, sir. I don't pretend to be wiser than
Daniel Webster, sir, who said in Congress that he; would support, to
the fullest extent, any law Southern gentlemen chose to frame for the
recovery of fugitive slaves."
"I wish you a better conscience-keeper," rejoined Francis Jackson,
rising as he spoke. "I don't see, my friend, that there's any use in
staying here to talk any longer. There's none so deaf as those that
_won't_ hear."
Mr. Percival rose at this suggestion, and "Good evening" was
exchanged, with formal bows on both sides. But sturdy Francis Jackson
made no bow, and uttered no "Good evening." When they were in the
street, and the subject was alluded to by his companion, he simply
replied: "I've pretty much done with saying or doing what I don't
mean. It's a pity that dark-complexioned grandson of his couldn't be
carried off as a slave. That might, perhaps, bring him to a realizing
sense of the state of things."