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 theGenius 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 theGeniusceased, 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 whenFrederick 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 Streetwith 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 enteredthe 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 himviciously. 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 hehad 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 theFreedom’s Journal,published in New York, or a newer paper called theLiberator, 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 theAppealhas 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 inthis 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.”
“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 evenbuyhis 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 blackpouch. 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 havebrought 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 thefirst 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!