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