GOOD ARISING OUT OF UNPROPITIOUS EVENTS—DENIED CABIN
PASSAGE—PROSCRIPTION TURNED TO GOOD ACCOUNT—THE HUTCHINSON FAMILY—THE
MOB ON BOARD THE “CAMBRIA”—HAPPY INTRODUCTION TO THE BRITISH
PUBLIC—LETTER ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON—TIME AND LABORS WHILE
ABROAD—FREEDOM PURCHASED—MRS. HENRY RICHARDSON—FREE
PAPERS—ABOLITIONISTS DISPLEASED WITH THE RANSOM—HOW MY ENERGIES WERE
DIRECTED—RECEPTION SPEECH IN LONDON—CHARACTER OF THE SPEECH
DEFENDED—CIRCUMSTANCES EXPLAINED—CAUSES CONTRIBUTING TO THE SUCCESS OF
MY MISSION—FREE CHURCH OF SCOTLAND—TESTIMONIAL.
The allotments of Providence, when coupled with trouble and anxiety,
often conceal from finite vision the wisdom and goodness in which they
are sent; and, frequently, what seemed a harsh and invidious
dispensation, is converted by after experience into a happy and
beneficial arrangement. Thus, the painful liability to be returned
again to slavery, which haunted me by day, and troubled my dreams by
night, proved to be a necessary step in the path of knowledge and
usefulness. The writing of my pamphlet, in the spring of 1845,
endangered my liberty, and led me to seek a refuge from republican
slavery in monarchical England. A rude, uncultivated fugitive slave was
driven, by stern necessity, to that country to which young American
gentlemen go to increase their stock of knowledge, to seek pleasure, to
have their rough, democratic manners softened by contact with English
aristocratic refinement. On applying for a passage to England, on board
the “Cambria”, of the Cunard line, my friend, James N. Buffum, of Lynn,
Massachusetts, was informed that I could not be received on board as a
cabin passenger. American prejudice against color triumphed over
British liberality and civilization, and erected a color test and
condition for crossing the sea in the cabin of a British vessel. The
insult was keenly felt by my white friends, but to me, it was common,
expected, and therefore, a thing of no great consequence, whether I
went in the cabin or in the steerage. Moreover, I felt that if I could
not go into the first cabin, first-cabin passengers could come into the
second cabin, and the result justified my anticipations to the fullest
extent. Indeed, I soon found myself an object of more general interest
than I wished to be; and so far from being degraded by being placed in
the second cabin, that part of the ship became the scene of as much
pleasure and refinement, during the voyage, as the cabin itself. The
Hutchinson Family, celebrated vocalists—fellow-passengers—often came to
my rude forecastle deck, and sung their sweetest songs, enlivening the
place with eloquent music, as well as spirited conversation, during the
voyage. In two days after leaving Boston, one part of the ship was
about as free to me as another. My fellow-passengers not only visited
me, but invited me to visit them, on the saloon deck. My visits there,
however, were but seldom. I preferred to live within my privileges, and
keep upon my own premises. I found this quite as much in accordance
with good policy, as with my own feelings. The effect was, that with
the majority of the passengers, all color distinctions were flung to
the winds, and I found myself treated with every mark of respect, from
the beginning to the end of the voyage, except in a single instance;
and in that, I came near being mobbed, for complying with an invitation
given me by the passengers, and the captain of the “Cambria,” to
deliver a lecture on slavery. Our New Orleans and Georgia passengers
were pleased to regard my lecture as an insult offered to them, and
swore I should not speak. They went so far as to threaten to throw me
overboard, and but for the firmness of Captain Judkins, probably would
have (under the inspiration of _slavery_ and _brandy_) attempted to put
their threats into execution. I have no space to describe this scene,
although its tragic and comic peculiarities are well worth describing.
An end was put to the _melee_, by the captain’s calling the ship’s
company to put the salt water mobocrats in irons. At this determined
order, the gentlemen of the lash scampered, and for the rest of the
voyage conducted themselves very decorously.
This incident of the voyage, in two days after landing at Liverpool,
brought me at once before the British public, and that by no act of my
own. The gentlemen so promptly snubbed in their meditated violence,
flew to the press to justify their conduct, and to denounce me as a
worthless and insolent Negro. This course was even less wise than the
conduct it was intended to sustain; for, besides awakening something
like a national interest in me, and securing me an audience, it brought
out counter statements, and threw the blame upon themselves, which they
had sought to fasten upon me and the gallant captain of the ship.
Some notion may be formed of the difference in my feelings and
circumstances, while abroad, from the following extract from one of a
series of letters addressed by me to Mr. Garrison, and published in the
_Liberator_. It was written on the first day of January, 1846:
MY DEAR FRIEND GARRISON: Up to this time, I have given no direct
expression of the views, feelings, and opinions which I have formed,
respecting the character and condition of the people of this land. I
have refrained thus, purposely. I wish to speak advisedly, and in order
to do this, I have waited till, I trust, experience has brought my
opinions to an intelligent maturity. I have been thus careful, not
because I think what I say will have much effect in shaping the
opinions of the world, but because whatever of influence I may possess,
whether little or much, I wish it to go in the right direction, and
according to truth. I hardly need say that, in speaking of Ireland, I
shall be influenced by no prejudices in favor of America. I think my
circumstances all forbid that. I have no end to serve, no creed to
uphold, no government to defend; and as to nation, I belong to none. I
have no protection at home, or resting-place abroad. The land of my
birth welcomes me to her shores only as a slave, and spurns with
contempt the idea of treating me differently; so that I am an outcast
from the society of my childhood, and an outlaw in the land of my
birth. “I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers
were.” That men should be patriotic, is to me perfectly natural; and as
a philosophical fact, I am able to give it an _intellectual_
recognition. But no further can I go. If ever I had any patriotism, or
any capacity for the feeling, it was whipped out of me long since, by
the lash of the American soul-drivers.
In thinking of America, I sometimes find myself admiring her bright
blue sky, her grand old woods, her fertile fields, her beautiful
rivers, her mighty lakes, and star-crowned mountains. But my rapture is
soon checked, my joy is soon turned to mourning. When I remember that
all is cursed with the infernal spirit of slaveholding, robbery, and
wrong; when I remember that with the waters of her noblest rivers, the
tears of my brethren are borne to the ocean, disregarded and forgotten,
and that her most fertile fields drink daily of the warm blood of my
outraged sisters; I am filled with unutterable loathing, and led to
reproach myself that anything could fall from my lips in praise of such
a land. America will not allow her children to love her. She seems bent
on compelling those who would be her warmest friends, to be her worst
enemies. May God give her repentance, before it is too late, is the
ardent prayer of my heart. I will continue to pray, labor, and wait,
believing that she cannot always be insensible to the dictates of
justice, or deaf to the voice of humanity.
My opportunities for learning the character and condition of the people
of this land have been very great. I have traveled almost from the Hill
of Howth to the Giant’s Causeway, and from the Giant’s Causway, to Cape
Clear. During these travels, I have met with much in the chara@@ and
condition of the people to approve, and much to condemn; much that
@@thrilled me with pleasure, and very much that has filled me with
pain. I @@ @@t, in this letter, attempt to give any description of
those scenes which have given me pain. This I will do hereafter. I have
enough, and more than your subscribers will be disposed to read at one
time, of the bright side of the picture. I can truly say, I have spent
some of the happiest moments of my life since landing in this country.
I seem to have undergone a transformation. I live a new life. The warm
and generous cooperation extended to me by the friends of my despised
race; the prompt and liberal manner with which the press has rendered
me its aid; the glorious enthusiasm with which thousands have flocked
to hear the cruel wrongs of my down-trodden and long-enslaved
fellow-countrymen portrayed; the deep sympathy for the slave, and the
strong abhorrence of the slaveholder, everywhere evinced; the
cordiality with which members and ministers of various religious
bodies, and of various shades of religious opinion, have embraced me,
and lent me their aid; the kind of hospitality constantly proffered to
me by persons of the highest rank in society; the spirit of freedom
that seems to animate all with whom I come in contact, and the entire
absence of everything that looked like prejudice against me, on account
of the color of my skin—contrasted so strongly with my long and bitter
experience in the United States, that I look with wonder and amazement
on the transition. In the southern part of the United States, I was a
slave, thought of and spoken of as property; in the language of the
LAW, “_held, taken, reputed, and adjudged to be a chattel in the hands
of my owners and possessors, and their executors, administrators, and
assigns, to all intents, constructions, and purposes whatsoever_.”
(Brev. Digest, 224). In the northern states, a fugitive slave, liable
to be hunted at any moment, like a felon, and to be hurled into the
terrible jaws of slavery—doomed by an inveterate prejudice against
color to insult and outrage on every hand (Massachusetts out of the
question)—denied the privileges and courtesies common to others in the
use of the most humble means of conveyance—shut out from the cabins on
steamboats—refused admission to respectable hotels—caricatured,
scorned, scoffed, mocked, and maltreated with impunity by any one (no
matter how black his heart), so he has a white skin. But now behold the
change! Eleven days and a half gone, and I have crossed three thousand
miles of the perilous deep. Instead of a democratic government, I am
under a monarchical government. Instead of the bright, blue sky of
America, I am covered with the soft, grey fog of the Emerald Isle. I
breathe, and lo! the chattel becomes a man. I gaze around in vain for
one who will question my equal humanity, claim me as his slave, or
offer me an insult. I employ a cab—I am seated beside white people—I
reach the hotel—I enter the same door—I am shown into the same parlor—I
dine at the same table and no one is offended. No delicate nose grows
deformed in my presence. I find no difficulty here in obtaining
admission into any place of worship, instruction, or amusement, on
equal terms with people as white as any I ever saw in the United
States. I meet nothing to remind me of my complexion. I find myself
regarded and treated at every turn with the kindness and deference paid
to white people. When I go to church, I am met by no upturned nose and
scornful lip to tell me, “_We don’t allow niggers in here_!”
I remember, about two years ago, there was in Boston, near the
south-west corner of Boston Common, a menagerie. I had long desired to
see such a collection as I understood was being exhibited there. Never
having had an opportunity while a slave, I resolved to seize this, my
first, since my escape. I went, and as I approached the entrance to
gain admission, I was met and told by the door-keeper, in a harsh and
contemptuous tone, “_We don’t allow niggers in here_.” I also remember
attending a revival meeting in the Rev. Henry Jackson’s meeting-house,
at New Bedford, and going up the broad aisle to find a seat, I was met
by a good deacon, who told me, in a pious tone, “_We don’t allow
niggers in here_!” Soon after my arrival in New Bedford, from the
south, I had a strong desire to attend the Lyceum, but was told, “_They
don’t allow niggers in here_!” While passing from New York to Boston,
on the steamer Massachusetts, on the night of the 9th of December,
1843, when chilled almost through with the cold, I went into the cabin
to get a little warm. I was soon touched upon the shoulder, and told,
“_We don’t allow niggers in here_!” On arriving in Boston, from an
anti-slavery tour, hungry and tired, I went into an eating-house, near
my friend, Mr. Campbell’s to get some refreshments. I was met by a lad
in a white apron, “_We don’t allow niggers in here_!” A week or two
before leaving the United States, I had a meeting appointed at
Weymouth, the home of that glorious band of true abolitionists, the
Weston family, and others. On attempting to take a seat in the omnibus
to that place, I was told by the driver (and I never shall forget his
fiendish hate). “_I don’t allow niggers in here_!” Thank heaven for the
respite I now enjoy! I had been in Dublin but a few days, when a
gentleman of great respectability kindly offered to conduct me through
all the public buildings of that beautiful city; and a little
afterward, I found myself dining with the lord mayor of Dublin. What a
pity there was not some American democratic Christian at the door of
his splendid mansion, to bark out at my approach, “_They don’t allow
niggers in here_!” The truth is, the people here know nothing of the
republican Negro hate prevalent in our glorious land. They measure and
esteem men according to their moral and intellectual worth, and not
according to the color of their skin. Whatever may be said of the
aristocracies here, there is none based on the color of a man’s skin.
This species of aristocracy belongs preeminently to “the land of the
free, and the home of the brave.” I have never found it abroad, in any
but Americans. It sticks to them wherever they go. They find it almost
as hard to get rid of, as to get rid of their skins.
The second day after my arrival at Liverpool, in company with my
friend, Buffum, and several other friends, I went to Eaton Hall, the
residence of the Marquis of Westminster, one of the most splendid
buildings in England. On approaching the door, I found several of our
American passengers, who came out with us in the “Cambria,” waiting for
admission, as but one party was allowed in the house at a time. We all
had to wait till the company within came out. And of all the faces,
expressive of chagrin, those of the Americans were preeminent. They
looked as sour as vinegar, and as bitter as gall, when they found I was
to be admitted on equal terms with themselves. When the door was
opened, I walked in, on an equal footing with my white fellow-citizens,
and from all I could see, I had as much attention paid me by the
servants that showed us through the house, as any with a paler skin. As
I walked through the building, the statuary did not fall down, the
pictures did not leap from their places, the doors did not refuse to
open, and the servants did not say, “_We don’t allow niggers in here_!”
A happy new-year to you, and all the friends of freedom.
My time and labors, while abroad were divided between England, Ireland,
Scotland, and Wales. Upon this experience alone, I might write a book
twice the size of this, _My Bondage and My Freedom_. I visited and
lectured in nearly all the large towns and cities in the United
Kingdom, and enjoyed many favorable opportunities for observation and
information. But books on England are abundant, and the public may,
therefore, dismiss any fear that I am meditating another infliction in
that line; though, in truth, I should like much to write a book on
those countries, if for nothing else, to make grateful mention of the
many dear friends, whose benevolent actions toward me are ineffaceably
stamped upon my memory, and warmly treasured in my heart. To these
friends I owe my freedom in the United States. On their own motion,
without any solicitation from me (Mrs. Henry Richardson, a clever lady,
remarkable for her devotion to every good work, taking the lead), they
raised a fund sufficient to purchase my freedom, and actually paid it
over, and placed the papers 8 of my manumission in my hands, before
they would tolerate the idea of my returning to this, my native
country. To this commercial transaction I owe my exemption from the
democratic operation of the Fugitive Slave Bill of 1850. But for this,
I might at any time become a victim of this most cruel and scandalous
enactment, and be doomed to end my life, as I began it, a slave. The
sum paid for my freedom was one hundred and fifty pounds sterling.
Some of my uncompromising anti-slavery friends in this country failed
to see the wisdom of this arrangement, and were not pleased that I
consented to it, even by my silence. They thought it a violation of
anti-slavery principles—conceding a right of property in man—and a
wasteful expenditure of money. On the other hand, viewing it simply in
the light of a ransom, or as money extorted by a robber, and my liberty
of more value than one hundred and fifty pounds sterling, I could not
see either a violation of the laws of morality, or those of economy, in
the transaction.
It is true, I was not in the possession of my claimants, and could have
easily remained in England, for the same friends who had so generously
purchased my freedom, would have assisted me in establishing myself in
that country. To this, however, I could not consent. I felt that I had
a duty to perform—and that was, to labor and suffer with the oppressed
in my native land. Considering, therefore, all the circumstances—the
fugitive slave bill included—I think the very best thing was done in
letting Master Hugh have the hundred and fifty pounds sterling, and
leaving me free to return to my appropriate field of labor. Had I been
a private person, having no other relations or duties than those of a
personal and family nature, I should never have consented to the
payment of so large a sum for the privilege of living securely under
our glorious republican form of government. I could have remained in
England, or have gone to some other country; and perhaps I could even
have lived unobserved in this. But to this I could not consent. I had
already become somewhat notorious, and withal quite as unpopular as
notorious; and I was, therefore, much exposed to arrest and recapture.
The main object to which my labors in Great Britain were directed, was
the concentration of the moral and religious sentiment of its people
against American slavery. England is often charged with having
established slavery in the United States, and if there were no other
justification than this, for appealing to her people to lend their
moral aid for the abolition of slavery, I should be justified. My
speeches in Great Britain were wholly extemporaneous, and I may not
always have been so guarded in my expressions, as I otherwise should
have been. I was ten years younger then than now, and only seven years
from slavery. I cannot give the reader a better idea of the nature of
my discourses, than by republishing one of them, delivered in Finsbury
chapel, London, to an audience of about two thousand persons, and which
was published in the _London Universe_, at the time. 9
Those in the United States who may regard this speech as being harsh in
its spirit and unjust in its statements, because delivered before an
audience supposed to be anti-republican in their principles and
feelings, may view the matter differently, when they learn that the
case supposed did not exist. It so happened that the great mass of the
people in England who attended and patronized my anti-slavery meetings,
were, in truth, about as good republicans as the mass of Americans, and
with this decided advantage over the latter—they are lovers of
republicanism for all men, for black men as well as for white men. They
are the people who sympathize with Louis Kossuth and Mazzini, and with
the oppressed and enslaved, of every color and nation, the world over.
They constitute the democratic element in British politics, and are as
much opposed to the union of church and state as we, in America, are to
such an union. At the meeting where this speech was delivered, Joseph
Sturge—a world-wide philanthropist, and a member of the society of
Friends—presided, and addressed the meeting. George William Alexander,
another Friend, who has spent more than an Ameriacn(sic) fortune in
promoting the anti-slavery cause in different sections of the world,
was on the platform; and also Dr. Campbell (now of the _British
Banner_) who combines all the humane tenderness of Melanchthon, with
the directness and boldness of Luther. He is in the very front ranks of
non-conformists, and looks with no unfriendly eye upon America. George
Thompson, too, was there; and America will yet own that he did a true
man’s work in relighting the rapidly dying-out fire of true
republicanism in the American heart, and be ashamed of the treatment he
met at her hands. Coming generations in this country will applaud the
spirit of this much abused republican friend of freedom. There were
others of note seated on the platform, who would gladly ingraft upon
English institutions all that is purely republican in the institutions
of America. Nothing, therefore, must be set down against this speech on
the score that it was delivered in the presence of those who cannot
appreciate the many excellent things belonging to our system of
government, and with a view to stir up prejudice against republican
institutions.
Again, let it also be remembered—for it is the simple truth—that
neither in this speech, nor in any other which I delivered in England,
did I ever allow myself to address Englishmen as against Americans. I
took my stand on the high ground of human brotherhood, and spoke to
Englishmen as men, in behalf of men. Slavery is a crime, not against
Englishmen, but against God, and all the members of the human family;
and it belongs to the whole human family to seek its suppression. In a
letter to Mr. Greeley, of the New York Tribune, written while abroad, I
said:
I am, nevertheless aware that the wisdom of exposing the sins of one
nation in the ear of another, has been seriously questioned by good and
clear-sighted people, both on this and on your side of the Atlantic.
And the thought is not without weight on my own mind. I am satisfied
that there are many evils which can be best removed by confining our
efforts to the immediate locality where such evils exist. This,
however, is by no means the case with the system of slavery. It is such
a giant sin—such a monstrous aggregation of iniquity—so hardening to
the human heart—so destructive to the moral sense, and so well
calculated to beget a character, in every one around it, favorable to
its own continuance,—that I feel not only at liberty, but abundantly
justified, in appealing to the whole world to aid in its removal.
But, even if I had—as has been often charged—labored to bring American
institutions generally into disrepute, and had not confined my labors
strictly within the limits of humanity and morality, I should not have
been without illustrious examples to support me. Driven into semi-exile
by civil and barbarous laws, and by a system which cannot be thought of
without a shudder, I was fully justified in turning, if possible, the
tide of the moral universe against the heaven-daring outrage.
Four circumstances greatly assisted me in getting the question of
American slavery before the British public. First, the mob on board the
“Cambria,” already referred to, which was a sort of national
announcement of my arrival in England. Secondly, the highly
reprehensible course pursued by the Free Church of Scotland, in
soliciting, receiving, and retaining money in its sustentation fund for
supporting the gospel in Scotland, which was evidently the ill-gotten
gain of slaveholders and slave-traders. Third, the great Evangelical
Alliance—or rather the attempt to form such an alliance, which should
include slaveholders of a certain description—added immensely to the
interest felt in the slavery question. About the same time, there was
the World’s Temperance Convention, where I had the misfortune to come
in collision with sundry American doctors of divinity—Dr. Cox among the
number—with whom I had a small controversy.
It has happened to me—as it has happened to most other men engaged in a
good cause—often to be more indebted to my enemies than to my own skill
or to the assistance of my friends, for whatever success has attended
my labors. Great surprise was expressed by American newspapers, north
and south, during my stay in Great Britain, that a person so illiterate
and insignificant as myself could awaken an interest so marked in
England. These papers were not the only parties surprised. I was myself
not far behind them in surprise. But the very contempt and scorn, the
systematic and extravagant disparagement of which I was the object,
served, perhaps, to magnify my few merits, and to render me of some
account, whether deserving or not. A man is sometimes made great, by
the greatness of the abuse a portion of mankind may think proper to
heap upon him. Whether I was of as much consequence as the English
papers made me out to be, or not, it was easily seen, in England, that
I could not be the ignorant and worthless creature, some of the
American papers would have them believe I was. Men, in their senses, do
not take bowie-knives to kill mosquitoes, nor pistols to shoot flies;
and the American passengers who thought proper to get up a mob to
silence me, on board the “Cambria,” took the most effective method of
telling the British public that I had something to say.
But to the second circumstance, namely, the position of the Free Church
of Scotland, with the great Doctors Chalmers, Cunningham, and Candlish
at its head. That church, with its leaders, put it out of the power of
the Scotch people to ask the old question, which we in the north have
often most wickedly asked—“_What have we to do with slavery_?” That
church had taken the price of blood into its treasury, with which to
build _free_ churches, and to pay _free_ church ministers for preaching
the gospel; and, worse still, when honest John Murray, of Bowlien
Bay—now gone to his reward in heaven—with William Smeal, Andrew Paton,
Frederick Card, and other sterling anti-slavery men in Glasgow,
denounced the transaction as disgraceful and shocking to the religious
sentiment of Scotland, this church, through its leading divines,
instead of repenting and seeking to mend the mistake into which it had
fallen, made it a flagrant sin, by undertaking to defend, in the name
of God and the bible, the principle not only of taking the money of
slave-dealers to build churches, but of holding fellowship with the
holders and traffickers in human flesh. This, the reader will see,
brought up the whole question of slavery, and opened the way to its
full discussion, without any agency of mine. I have never seen a people
more deeply moved than were the people of Scotland, on this very
question. Public meeting succeeded public meeting. Speech after speech,
pamphlet after pamphlet, editorial after editorial, sermon after
sermon, soon lashed the conscientious Scotch people into a perfect
_furore_. “SEND BACK THE MONEY!” was indignantly cried out, from
Greenock to Edinburgh, and from Edinburgh to Aberdeen. George Thompson,
of London, Henry C. Wright, of the United States, James N. Buffum, of
Lynn, Massachusetts, and myself were on the anti-slavery side; and
Doctors Chalmers, Cunningham, and Candlish on the other. In a conflict
where the latter could have had even the show of right, the truth, in
our hands as against them, must have been driven to the wall; and while
I believe we were able to carry the conscience of the country against
the action of the Free Church, the battle, it must be confessed, was a
hard-fought one. Abler defenders of the doctrine of fellowshiping
slaveholders as christians, have not been met with. In defending this
doctrine, it was necessary to deny that slavery is a sin. If driven
from this position, they were compelled to deny that slaveholders were
responsible for the sin; and if driven from both these positions, they
must deny that it is a sin in such a sense, and that slaveholders are
sinners in such a sense, as to make it wrong, in the circumstances in
which they were placed, to recognize them as Christians. Dr. Cunningham
was the most powerful debater on the slavery side of the question; Mr.
Thompson was the ablest on the anti-slavery side. A scene occurred
between these two men, a parallel to which I think I never witnessed
before, and I know I never have since. The scene was caused by a single
exclamation on the part of Mr. Thompson.
The general assembly of the Free Church was in progress at Cannon
Mills, Edinburgh. The building would hold about twenty-five hundred
persons; and on this occasion it was densely packed, notice having been
given that Doctors Cunningham and Candlish would speak, that day, in
defense of the relations of the Free Church of Scotland to slavery in
America. Messrs. Thompson, Buffum, myself, and a few anti-slavery
friends, attended, but sat at such a distance, and in such a position,
that, perhaps we were not observed from the platform. The excitement
was intense, having been greatly increased by a series of meetings held
by Messrs. Thompson, Wright, Buffum, and myself, in the most splendid
hall in that most beautiful city, just previous to the meetings of the
general assembly. “SEND BACK THE MONEY!” stared at us from every street
corner; “SEND BACK THE MONEY!” in large capitals, adorned the broad
flags of the pavement; “SEND BACK THE MONEY!” was the chorus of the
popular street songs; “SEND BACK THE MONEY!” was the heading of leading
editorials in the daily newspapers. This day, at Cannon Mills, the
great doctors of the church were to give an answer to this loud and
stern demand. Men of all parties and all sects were most eager to hear.
Something great was expected. The occasion was great, the men great,
and great speeches were expected from them.
In addition to the outside pressure upon Doctors Cunningham and
Candlish, there was wavering in their own ranks. The conscience of the
church itself was not at ease. A dissatisfaction with the position of
the church touching slavery, was sensibly manifest among the members,
and something must be done to counteract this untoward influence. The
great Dr. Chalmers was in feeble health, at the time. His most potent
eloquence could not now be summoned to Cannon Mills, as formerly. He
whose voice was able to rend asunder and dash down the granite walls of
the established church of Scotland, and to lead a host in solemn
procession from it, as from a doomed city, was now old and enfeebled.
Besides, he had said his word on this very question; and his word had
not silenced the clamor without, nor stilled the anxious heavings
within. The occasion was momentous, and felt to be so. The church was
in a perilous condition. A change of some sort must take place in her
condition, or she must go to pieces. To stand where she did, was
impossible. The whole weight of the matter fell on Cunningham and
Candlish. No shoulders in the church were broader than theirs; and I
must say, badly as I detest the principles laid down and defended by
them, I was compelled to acknowledge the vast mental endowments of the
men. Cunningham rose; and his rising was the signal for almost
tumultous applause. You will say this was scarcely in keeping with the
solemnity of the occasion, but to me it served to increase its grandeur
and gravity. The applause, though tumultuous, was not joyous. It seemed
to me, as it thundered up from the vast audience, like the fall of an
immense shaft, flung from shoulders already galled by its crushing
weight. It was like saying, “Doctor, we have borne this burden long
enough, and willingly fling it upon you. Since it was you who brought
it upon us, take it now, and do what you will with it, for we are too
weary to bear it. [“no close”].
Doctor Cunningham proceeded with his speech, abounding in logic,
learning, and eloquence, and apparently bearing down all opposition;
but at the moment—the fatal moment—when he was just bringing all his
arguments to a point, and that point being, that neither Jesus Christ
nor his holy apostles regarded slaveholding as a sin, George Thompson,
in a clear, sonorous, but rebuking voice, broke the deep stillness of
the audience, exclaiming, HEAR! HEAR! HEAR! The effect of this simple
and common exclamation is almost incredible. It was as if a granite
wall had been suddenly flung up against the advancing current of a
mighty river. For a moment, speaker and audience were brought to a dead
silence. Both the doctor and his hearers seemed appalled by the
audacity, as well as the fitness of the rebuke. At length a shout went
up to the cry of “_Put him out_!” Happily, no one attempted to execute
this cowardly order, and the doctor proceeded with his discourse. Not,
however, as before, did the learned doctor proceed. The exclamation of
Thompson must have reechoed itself a thousand times in his memory,
during the remainder of his speech, for the doctor never recovered from
the blow.
The deed was done, however; the pillars of the church—_the proud, Free
Church of Scotland_—were committed and the humility of repentance was
absent. The Free Church held on to the blood-stained money, and
continued to justify itself in its position—and of course to apologize
for slavery—and does so till this day. She lost a glorious opportunity
for giving her voice, her vote, and her example to the cause of
humanity; and to-day she is staggering under the curse of the enslaved,
whose blood is in her skirts. The people of Scotland are, to this day,
deeply grieved at the course pursued by the Free Church, and would
hail, as a relief from a deep and blighting shame, the “sending back
the money” to the slaveholders from whom it was gathered.
One good result followed the conduct of the Free Church; it furnished
an occasion for making the people of Scotland thoroughly acquainted
with the character of slavery, and for arraying against the system the
moral and religious sentiment of that country. Therefore, while we did
not succeed in accomplishing the specific object of our mission,
namely—procure the sending back of the money—we were amply justified by
the good which really did result from our labors.
Next comes the Evangelical Alliance. This was an attempt to form a
union of all evangelical Christians throughout the world. Sixty or
seventy American divines attended, and some of them went there merely
to weave a world-wide garment with which to clothe evangelical
slaveholders. Foremost among these divines, was the Rev. Samuel Hanson
Cox, moderator of the New School Presbyterian General Assembly. He and
his friends spared no pains to secure a platform broad enough to hold
American slaveholders, and in this partly succeeded. But the question
of slavery is too large a question to be finally disposed of, even by
the Evangelical Alliance. We appealed from the judgment of the
Alliance, to the judgment of the people of Great Britain, and with the
happiest effect. This controversy with the Alliance might be made the
subject of extended remark, but I must forbear, except to say, that
this effort to shield the Christian character of slaveholders greatly
served to open a way to the British ear for anti-slavery discussion,
and that it was well improved.
The fourth and last circumstance that assisted me in getting before the
British public, was an attempt on the part of certain doctors of
divinity to silence me on the platform of the World’s Temperance
Convention. Here I was brought into point blank collison with Rev. Dr.
Cox, who made me the subject not only of bitter remark in the
convention, but also of a long denunciatory letter published in the New
York Evangelist and other American papers. I replied to the doctor as
well as I could, and was successful in getting a respectful hearing
before the British public, who are by nature and practice ardent lovers
of fair play, especially in a conflict between the weak and the strong.
Thus did circumstances favor me, and favor the cause of which I strove
to be the advocate. After such distinguished notice, the public in both
countries was compelled to attach some importance to my labors. By the
very ill usage I received at the hands of Dr. Cox and his party, by the
mob on board the “Cambria,” by the attacks made upon me in the American
newspapers, and by the aspersions cast upon me through the organs of
the Free Church of Scotland, I became one of that class of men, who,
for the moment, at least, “have greatness forced upon them.” People
became the more anxious to hear for themselves, and to judge for
themselves, of the truth which I had to unfold. While, therefore, it is
by no means easy for a stranger to get fairly before the British
public, it was my lot to accomplish it in the easiest manner possible.
Having continued in Great Britain and Ireland nearly two years, and
being about to return to America—not as I left it, a slave, but a
freeman—leading friends of the cause of emancipation in that country
intimated their intention to make me a testimonial, not only on grounds
of personal regard to myself, but also to the cause to which they were
so ardently devoted. How far any such thing could have succeeded, I do
not know; but many reasons led me to prefer that my friends should
simply give me the means of obtaining a printing press and printing
materials, to enable me to start a paper, devoted to the interests of
my enslaved and oppressed people. I told them that perhaps the greatest
hinderance to the adoption of abolition principles by the people of the
United States, was the low estimate, everywhere in that country, placed
upon the Negro, as a man; that because of his assumed natural
inferiority, people reconciled themselves to his enslavement and
oppression, as things inevitable, if not desirable. The grand thing to
be done, therefore, was to change the estimation in which the colored
people of the United States were held; to remove the prejudice which
depreciated and depressed them; to prove them worthy of a higher
consideration; to disprove their alleged inferiority, and demonstrate
their capacity for a more exalted civilization than slavery and
prejudice had assigned to them. I further stated, that, in my judgment,
a tolerably well conducted press, in the hands of persons of the
despised race, by calling out the mental energies of the race itself;
by making them acquainted with their own latent powers; by enkindling
among them the hope that for them there is a future; by developing
their moral power; by combining and reflecting their talents—would
prove a most powerful means of removing prejudice, and of awakening an
interest in them. I further informed them—and at that time the
statement was true—that there was not, in the United States, a single
newspaper regularly published by the colored people; that many attempts
had been made to establish such papers; but that, up to that time, they
had all failed. These views I laid before my friends. The result was,
nearly two thousand five hundred dollars were speedily raised toward
starting my paper. For this prompt and generous assistance, rendered
upon my bare suggestion, without any personal efforts on my part, I
shall never cease to feel deeply grateful; and the thought of
fulfilling the noble expectations of the dear friends who gave me this
evidence of their confidence, will never cease to be a motive for
persevering exertion.
Proposing to leave England, and turning my face toward America, in the
spring of 1847, I was met, on the threshold, with something which
painfully reminded me of the kind of life which awaited me in my native
land. For the first time in the many months spent abroad, I was met
with proscription on account of my color. A few weeks before departing
from England, while in London, I was careful to purchase a ticket, and
secure a berth for returning home, in the “Cambria”—the steamer in
which I left the United States—paying therefor the round sum of forty
pounds and nineteen shillings sterling. This was first cabin fare. But
on going aboard the Cambria, I found that the Liverpool agent had
ordered my berth to be given to another, and had forbidden my entering
the saloon! This contemptible conduct met with stern rebuke from the
British press. For, upon the point of leaving England, I took occasion
to expose the disgusting tyranny, in the columns of the London _Times_.
That journal, and other leading journals throughout the United Kingdom,
held up the outrage to unmitigated condemnation. So good an opportunity
for calling out a full expression of British sentiment on the subject,
had not before occurred, and it was most fully embraced. The result
was, that Mr. Cunard came out in a letter to the public journals,
assuring them of his regret at the outrage, and promising that the like
should never occur again on board his steamers; and the like, we
believe, has never since occurred on board the steamships of the Cunard
line.
It is not very pleasant to be made the subject of such insults; but if
all such necessarily resulted as this one did, I should be very happy
to bear, patiently, many more than I have borne, of the same sort.
Albeit, the lash of proscription, to a man accustomed to equal social
position, even for a time, as I was, has a sting for the soul hardly
less severe than that which bites the flesh and draws the blood from
the back of the plantation slave. It was rather hard, after having
enjoyed nearly two years of equal social privileges in England, often
dining with gentlemen of great literary, social, political, and
religious eminence never, during the whole time, having met with a
single word, look, or gesture, which gave me the slightest reason to
think my color was an offense to anybody—now to be cooped up in the
stern of the “Cambria,” and denied the right to enter the saloon, lest
my dark presence should be deemed an offense to some of my democratic
fellow-passengers. The reader will easily imagine what must have been
my feelings.