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!