If the enslaved millions of our countrymen had been white, the task
of emancipating them would have been a light one. But as only colored
persons were to be seen in that condition, and they were ignorant
and degraded, and as all of that complexion, with rare exceptions,
even in the free States, were poor, uneducated, and held in servile
relations, or engaged in only menial employments, it had come to be
taken for granted that they were fitted only for such things. It
was confidently assumed that they belonged to an _inferior race_ of
beings, somewhere between monkey and man; that they were made by the
Creator for our service, to be hewers of wood and drawers of water; and
pious ministers, and some who were reputed to be wise in the sacred
Scriptures, gave their sanction to the arrogant assumption by proving
(to those who were anxious to believe) that negroes were descendants
from the impious son of Noah, whom that patriarch cursed, and in his
wrath decreed that his posterity should be the lowest of servants.
Our opponents gave no heed to the glaring facts, that the colored
people were not permitted to rise from their low estate, were _held
down_ by our laws, customs, and contemptuous treatment. Not only were
they prevented from engaging in any of the lucrative occupations, but
they were denied the privileges of education, and hardly admitted to
the houses dedicated to the worship of the impartial Father of all men.
I have given in early numbers of this series a full account of the
fight we had in defence of the Canterbury School in Connecticut. More
than a year before that, a number of well-qualified young men having
been refused admission into Yale College and the Wesleyan Seminary at
Middletown, _because of their complexion_, the Rev. Simeon S. Jocelyn,
one of the best of men, generously assisted by Arthur Tappan and his
brother Lewis Tappan, and others, endeavored to establish in New Haven
an institution for the collegiate education of colored young men. The
benevolent project was so violently opposed by “the most respectable
citizens” of the place, Hon. Judge Daggett among them, that it was
abandoned. A year or two afterwards the trustees of “Noyes Academy,” in
Plymouth, New Hampshire, after due consideration, consented to allow
colored pupils to be admitted into the academy. The respectable people
of the town were so incensed, enraged by this encroachment upon the
prerogative of white children, that, readily helped by the rougher
but not baser sort of folks, they razed the building in which the
school was kept from its foundation and carted it off into a meadow
or swamp. In none of our cities, that I was acquainted with before
the antislavery reform commenced, were colored children admitted into
the “common schools” with white children. Hon. Horace Mann and his
fellow-laborers in the cause of humanity, as well as education, put
this injustice to shame in Massachusetts, if not elsewhere, and the
doors of all public schools were opened to the young, without regard to
complexion.
But this was not the utmost of the contempt with which colored
people were treated. They were not permitted to ride in any public
conveyances, stage-coaches, omnibuses, or railroad-cars, nor to take
passage on any steamboats or sail-packets, excepting in the steerage
or on deck. Many instances of extreme suffering, as well as great
inconvenience and expense, to which worthy, excellent colored persons
were subjected came to the knowledge of Abolitionists, and were pressed
upon the public consideration, until the crying iniquity was abated.
And still there was a deeper depth to the wrong we did to these
innocent victims of prejudice. In all our churches they were set
apart from the white brethren, often in pews or pens, built high up
against the ceiling in the corners back of the congregation, so that
the favored ones who came to worship the “_impartial_ Father” of
all men might not be offended at the sight of those to whom in his
_inscrutable_ wisdom he had given a dark complexion.
There was quite an excitement caused in the Federal Street Church in
1822 or 1823, because one of the very wealthy merchants of Boston
introduced into his pew in the broad aisle, one Sunday, a black
gentleman. To be sure he was richly dressed, and had a handsome person,
but he was black,--very black.
“That Sunday’s sermon all was lost,
The very text forgot by most.”
The refined and sensitive were much disturbed, offended, felt that
their sacred rights had been invaded. They upbraided their neighbor
for having so egregiously violated the propriety of the sacred place,
and given their feelings such a shock. “Why,” said the merchant, “what
else could I do? That man, though black, is, as you must have seen,
a gentleman. He is well educated, of polished manners. He comes from
a foreign country a visitor to our city. He has long been a business
correspondent of mine.” “Then he is very rich.” “Why, bless you, he is
worth a million. How could I send such a gentleman up into the negro
pew?”
In 1835, if I remember correctly, a wealthy and pious colored man
bought a pew on the floor of Park Street Church. It caused great
disturbance. Some of his neighbors nailed up the door of his pew; and
so many of “the aggrieved brethren” threatened to leave the society, if
they could not be relieved of such an offence, that the trustees were
obliged to eject the colored purchaser. Another of the churches[N] of
Boston, admonished by the above-mentioned occurrence, inserted in their
_pew-deeds_ a clause, providing that they should “_be held by none but
respectable white persons_.”
Belonging to the society to which I ministered in Connecticut was a
very worthy colored family. They were condemned to sit only in the
negro pew, which was as far back from the rest of the congregation
as it could be placed. Being blessed with a numerous family, as the
children grew up they were uncomfortably crowded in that pew. Our
church occupied the old meeting-house, which was somewhat larger than
we needed, so that the congregation were easily accommodated on the
lower floor. Only the choir sat in the gallery, except on extraordinary
occasions. I therefore invited my colored parishioners to occupy one of
the large, front pews in the side-gallery. They hesitated some time,
lest their doing so should give offence. But I insisted that none
would have any right to be offended, and at length persuaded them to
do as I requested. But one man, a political partisan of the leader of
Miss Crandall’s persecutors, was or pretended to be much offended. He
said with great warmth, “How came that nigger family to come down into
that front pew?” “Because,” I replied, “it was unoccupied; they were
uncomfortably crowded in the pew assigned them, and I requested them to
remove.” “Well,” said he, “there are many in the society besides myself
who will not consent to their sitting there.” “Why?” I asked. “They are
always well dressed, well behaved, and good-looking withal.” “But,”
said he, “they are niggers, and niggers should be kept to their place.”
I argued the matter with him till I saw he could not be moved, and he
repeated the declaration that they should be driven back. I then said,
with great earnestness: “Mr. A. B., if you do anything or say anything
to hurt the feelings of that worthy family, and induce them to return
to the pew which you know is not large enough for them, so sure as your
name is A. B. and my name is S. J. M., the first time you afterwards
appear in the congregation, I will state the facts of the case exactly
as they are, and administer to you as severe a reproof as I may be able
to frame in words.” This had the desired effect. My colored friends
retained their new seat.
To counteract as much as possible the effect of this cruel prejudice,
of which I have given a few specimens, we Abolitionists gathered up and
gave to the public the numerous evidences that were easily obtained
of the intellectual and moral equality of the colored with the white
races of mankind. Mrs. Child, in her admirable “Appeal,” devoted two
excellent chapters to this purpose. The Hon. Alexander H. Everett
also, in 1835, delivered in Boston a lecture on “African Mind,” in
which he showed, on the authority of the fathers of history, that
the colored races of men were the leaders in civilization. He said:
“While Greece and Rome were yet barbarous, we find the ‘_light of
learning and improvement_ emanating from them,’ the inhabitants of the
degraded and accursed continent of Africa,--out of the very midst of
this woolly-haired, flat-nosed, thick-lipped, coal-black race which
some persons are tempted to station at a pretty low intermediate point
between men and monkeys.” Again he said: “The high estimation in which
the Africans were held for wisdom and virtue is strikingly shown by the
mythological fable, current among the ancient Greeks, and repeatedly
alluded to by Homer, which represented the Gods as going annually in
a body to make a long visit to the Ethiopians.” Referring my readers
to Mrs. Child’s chapters, and Mr. Everett’s oration on this subject, I
will give a few of my own recollections of facts going to establish the
natural equality of our colored brethren.
Since the admission of their children to the public schools, a fair
proportion of them have shown themselves to be fully equal to white
children in their aptness to learn. And surely no one who is acquainted
with them will presume to speak of the inferiority of such men as
Frederick Douglass, Henry H. Garnett, Samuel R. Ward, Charles L.
Remond, William Wells Brown, J. W. Loguen, and many more men and women
who have been our faithful and able fellow-laborers in the antislavery
cause.[O]
But I have, recorded in my memory, many touching evidences of the
_moral_ equality, if not superiority, of the colored race. Let
me premise these recollections by stating the general fact that,
notwithstanding the serious disadvantages to which our prejudices have
subjected them, the colored population of our country have nowhere
imposed upon the public their proportion of paupers or of criminals. In
this respect they are excelled only by the Quakers and the Jews.
I shall always remember with great pleasure once meeting the Rev.
Dr. Tuckerman in Tremont Street, in 1835. He hurried towards me, his
countenance beaming with a delight which only such a benevolent heart
as his could give to the human countenance, saying: “O Brother May, I
have a precious fact for you Abolitionists. Never in all my intercourse
with the poor, or indeed with any class of my fellow-beings, have
I met with a brighter instance of true, self-sacrificing Christian
benevolence than lately in the case of a poor _colored_ woman. Two
colored women, not related, have been living for several years on the
same floor in a tenement-house, each having only a common room and a
small bedroom. Each of them was getting a living for herself and a
young child by washing and day-labor. They had managed to subsist,
earning about enough to meet current expenses. Several months ago one
of them was taken very sick with inflammatory rheumatism. All was
done for her relief that medical skill could do, but without avail.
She grew worse rather than better, until she became utterly helpless.
The overseers of the poor made the customary provision for her, and
benevolent individuals helped her privately. But it came to be a case
for an infirmary. The overseers and others thought best to remove her
to the almshouse. When this decision was made known to her she became
much distressed. The thought of going to the poorhouse--of becoming a
public pauper--was dreadful to her. We tried to reconcile her to what
seemed to us the best provision that could be made for her, not only
by assuring her that she would be kindly cared for, but by reminding
her that she had been brought to her condition, as we believed, by no
fault of her own, and by such considerations as our blessed religion
suggests. But she could not be comforted. We left her, trusting that
private reflection would in a few days bring her to acquiesce in what
seemed to be inevitable. In due time I called again to learn if she was
prepared for her removal to the almshouse. I found her not in her own
but in her generous-hearted neighbor’s room. Thither had been removed
all her little furniture. So deep was that neighbor’s sympathy with
her feeling of shame and humiliation at becoming a public pauper,--an
inmate of the almshouse,--that she had determined to take upon herself
the care and support of this sick, infirm, helpless woman, and had
subjected herself to all the inconvenience of an over-crowded room, as
well as the great additional labor and care which she had thus assumed.”
Whatever Dr. Tuckerman thought, or we may think, of the
unreasonableness of the poor helpless invalid’s dread of the almshouse,
or of the _imprudence_ of her poor friend in undertaking to support
and nurse her, we cannot help admiring, as he did, that ardor of
benevolence which impelled to such a labor of loving-kindness, and
pronounce it a very rare instance of self-sacrificing charity. Let it
redound as it should to the credit of that portion of the human race
which our nation has so wickedly dared to despise and oppress.
I have several more precious recollections of elevated moral sentiment
and principle evinced by black men and women whom I have known. Two of
these I will give.
It was my privilege to see much of Edward S. Abdy, Esq., of England,
during his visit to our country in 1833 and 1834. The first time I met
him was at the house of Mr. James Forten, of Philadelphia, in company
with two other English gentlemen, who had come to the United States
commissioned by the British Parliament to examine our systems of prison
and penitentiary discipline. Mr. Abdy was interested in whatsoever
affected the welfare of man, but he was more particularly devoted to
the investigation of slavery. He travelled extensively in our Southern
States and contemplated with his own eyes the manifold abominations
of our American despotism. He was too much exasperated by our tyranny
to be enamored of our democratic institutions; and on his return to
England he published two very sensible volumes, that were so little
complimentary to our nation that our booksellers thought it not worth
their while to republish them.
This warm-hearted philanthropist visited me several times at my home
in Connecticut. The last afternoon that he was there we were sitting
together at my study window, when our attention was arrested by a
very handsome carriage driving up to the hotel opposite my house. A
gentleman and lady occupied the back seat, and on the front were two
children tended by a black woman, who wore the turban that was then
usually worn by slave-women. We hastened over to the hotel, and soon
entered into conversation with the slaveholder. He was polite, but
somewhat nonchalant and defiant of our sympathy with his victim. He
readily acknowledged, as slaveholders of that day generally did, that,
abstractly considered, the enslavement of fellow-men was a great wrong.
But then he contended that it had become a necessary evil,--necessary
to the enslaved no less than to the enslavers, the former being unable
to do without masters as much as the latter were unable to do without
servants, and he added, in a very confident tone, “You are at liberty
to persuade our servant-woman to remain here if you can.”
Thus challenged, we of course sought an interview with the slave, and
informed her that, having been brought by her master into the free
States, she was, by the laws of the land, set at liberty. “No, I am
not, gentlemen,” was her prompt reply. We adduced cases and quoted
authorities to establish our assertion that she was free. But she
significantly shook her head, and still insisted that the examples
and the legal decisions did not reach her case. “For,” said she, “I
promised mistress that I would go back with her and the children.” Mr.
Abdy undertook to argue with her that such a promise was not binding.
He had been drilled in the moral philosophy of Dr. Paley, and in that
debate seemed to be possessed of its spirit. But he failed to make any
visible impression upon the woman. She had _bound_ herself by a promise
to her mistress that she would not leave her, and that promise had
fastened upon her conscience an obligation from which she could not be
persuaded that even her natural right to liberty could exonerate her.
Mr. Abdy at last was impatient with her, and said in his haste: “Is
it possible that you do not wish to be free?” She replied with solemn
earnestness: “Was there ever a slave that did not wish to be free? I
long for liberty. I will get out of slavery if I can the day after I
have returned, but go back I must because I _promised_ that I would.”
At this we desisted from our endeavor to induce her to take the boon
that was apparently within her reach. We could not but feel a profound
respect for that moral sensibility, which would not allow her to
embrace even her freedom at the expense of violating a promise.
The next morning at an early hour the slaveholder, with his wife and
children, drove off, leaving the slave-woman and their heaviest trunk
to be brought on after them in the stage-coach. We could not refrain
from again trying to persuade her to remain and be free. We told her
that her master had given us leave to persuade her, if we could. She
pointed to the trunk and to a very valuable gold watch and chain, which
her mistress had committed to her care, and insisted that fidelity to a
trust was of more consequence to her soul even than the attainment of
liberty. Mr. Abdy offered to take the trunk and watch into his charge,
follow her master, and deliver them into his hands. But she could not
be made to see that in this there would be no violation of her duty;
and then her own person, that too she had promised should be returned
to the home of her master. And much as she longed for liberty, she
longed for a clear conscience more.
Mr. Abdy was astonished, delighted, at this instance of heroic virtue
in a poor, ignorant slave. He packed his trunk, gave me a hearty adieu,
and when the coach drove up he took his seat on the outside with the
trunk and the slave-chattel of a Mississippi slaveholder, that he might
study for a few hours more the morality of that strong-hearted woman
who could not be bribed to violate her promise, even by the gift of
liberty. It was the last time I saw Mr. Abdy, and it was a sight to be
remembered,--he, an accomplished English gentleman, a Fellow of Oxford
or Cambridge University, riding on the driver’s box of a stage-coach
side by side with an American slave-woman, that he might learn more of
her history and character.
“Full many a gem, of purest ray serene,
The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”
In this connection I must be allowed to narrate an incident (though not
an antislavery one), because it may interest my readers generally, and,
should it come to the notice of any of my English friends, may lead to
the return of a valuable manuscript which I wish very much to recover.
I had been for several years in possession of a letter of seven pages
in the handwriting of General Washington, given me by a lady who
obtained it in Richmond, Va. It was a letter addressed to Mr. Custis
in 1794, while Washington was detained in Philadelphia in attendance
upon his duties as President. He had left Mr. Custis in charge of his
estates at Mount Vernon. The letter was one of particular instructions
as to the management of “the people” and the disposition of the crops.
It showed how exact were the business habits of that great man, and his
anxiety that his slaves should be properly cared for.
Mr. Abdy read it and reread it with the deepest interest, and seemed
to me to covet the possession of it. Just as he was about to take his
departure I longed to give him something that he would value as a
memento of his visit to me. There was nothing I could think of at the
moment but the letter, so I put it into his hand, saying, “Keep it as
my parting token of regard for you.” “What!” said he, seizing it with
surprise as well as delight, “will you give me this invaluable relic?”
“Yes,” I replied; “there are a great many of General Washington’s
letters in our country, but not many in England. Take it, and show your
countrymen that he was a man of method as well as of might.”
Some time after he had gone, and the fervor of feeling which impelled
me to the gift had subsided, I began to regret that I had parted with
the letter. There were in it, incidentally given, some traits of the
character of Washington that might not be found elsewhere. It came to
me that such a letter should not have been held or disposed of as my
private property. It belonged rather to the nation.
A few years afterwards Mr. Abdy died. I learned from an English paper
the fact of his demise and the name of the executor of his estate.
To that gentleman I wrote, described the letter of Washington, the
circumstances under which I had given it to Mr. Abdy, and requested
that, as he had departed this life, the letter might be returned to
me, with my reasons for wishing to possess it again. In due time I
received a very courteous reply from that gentleman, assuring me that
he sympathized with my feelings, and appreciated the propriety of my
reclaiming the letter. But he added that he had searched for it in
vain among Mr. Abdy’s papers, and presumed he had deposited it in the
library of some literary or historical institution, but had left no
intimation as to the disposal of it.
When in England, in 1859, I inquired for it of the librarian of the
British Museum, and of Dr. William’s Library in Red-cross Street, but
without success. If these lines should meet the eye of any friend in
England who may know, or be able to find, where the valuable autograph
is, I shall be very grateful for the information.[P]