While at the Convention in Philadelphia, in 1833, I became acquainted
with two colored gentlemen who interested me deeply,--Mr. James Forten
and Mr. Robert Purvis. The former, then nearly sixty years of age, was
evidently a man of commanding mind, and well informed. He had for many
years carried on the largest private sail-making establishment in that
city, having at times forty men in his employ, most, if not all of
them, white men. He was much respected by them, and by all with whom he
had any business transactions, among whom were many of the prominent
merchants of Philadelphia. He had acquired wealth, and he lived in as
handsome a style as any one should wish to live. I dined at his table
with several members of the Convention, and two English gentlemen who
had recently come to our country on some philanthropic mission. We
were entertained with as much ease and elegance as I could desire to
see. Of course, the conversation was, for the most part, on topics
relating to our antislavery conflict. The Colonization scheme came
up for consideration, and I shall never forget Mr. Forten’s scathing
satire. Among other things he said: “My great-grandfather was brought
to this country a slave from Africa. My grandfather obtained his own
freedom. My father never wore the yoke. He rendered valuable services
to his country in the war of our Revolution; and I, though then a boy,
was a drummer in that war. I was taken prisoner, and was made to suffer
not a little on board the Jersey prison-ship. I have since lived and
labored in a useful employment, have acquired property, and have paid
taxes in this city. Here I have dwelt until I am nearly sixty years of
age, and have brought up and educated a family, as you see, thus far.
Yet some ingenious gentlemen have recently discovered that I am still
an African; that a continent, three thousand miles, and more, from the
place where I was born, is my native country. And I am advised to go
home. Well, it may be so. Perhaps, if I should only be set on the shore
of that distant land, I should recognize all I might see there, and
run at once to the old hut where my forefathers lived a hundred years
ago.” His tone of voice, his whole manner, sharpened the edge of his
sarcasm. It was irresistible. And the laugh which it at first awakened
soon gave way to an expression, on every countenance, of that ineffable
contempt which he evidently felt for the pretence of the Colonization
Society. At the table sat his excellent, motherly wife, and his lovely,
accomplished daughters,--all with himself somewhat under the ban of
that accursed American prejudice, which is the offspring of slavery. I
learnt from him that their education, evidently of a superior kind, had
cost him very much more than it would have done, if they had not been
denied admission into the best schools of the city.
Soon after dinner we all left the house to attend a meeting of the
Philadelphia Female Antislavery Society. It was my privilege to escort
one of the Misses Forten to the place of meeting. What was my surprise,
when, on my return to Boston, I learnt that this action of mine had
been noticed and reported at home. “Is it true, Mr. May,” said a lady
to me, “that you walked in the streets of Philadelphia with a colored
girl?” “I did,” was my reply, “and should be happy to do it again.
And I wish that all the white young ladies of my acquaintance were as
sensible, well educated, refined, and handsome withal as Miss Forten.”
This was too bad, and I was set down as one of the incorrigibles.