BEGIN:VCALENDAR VERSION:2.0 PRODID:-//InvisionCommunity Events 5.0.18//EN METHOD:PUBLISH CALSCALE:GREGORIAN REFRESH-INTERVAL:PT15M X-PUBLISHED-TTL:PT15M X-WR-CALNAME:RMCommunityCalendar NAME:RMCommunityCalendar BEGIN:VTIMEZONE TZID:Europe/London TZURL:https://tzurl.org/zoneinfo/Europe/London X-LIC-LOCATION:Europe/London BEGIN:DAYLIGHT TZOFFSETFROM:+0000 TZOFFSETTO:+0100 TZNAME:BST DTSTART:20260329T020000Z RRULE:FREQ=YEARLY;BYMONTH=3;BYDAY=-1SU END:DAYLIGHT BEGIN:STANDARD TZOFFSETFROM:+0100 TZOFFSETTO:+0000 TZNAME:GMT DTSTART:20261025T020000Z RRULE:FREQ=YEARLY;BYMONTH=10;BYDAY=-1SU END:STANDARD END:VTIMEZONE BEGIN:VEVENT SUMMARY:The Heroic Slave from Frederick Douglass DTSTAMP:20260623T023225Z SEQUENCE:0 UID:761-7-c3fe8195a3dde498d013e477e2142422@aalbc.com ORGANIZER;CN="richardmurray":noreply@aalbc.com DESCRIPTION:CONTENTINFO The Heroic SlaveFrederick Douglass wrote only on e work of fiction: this novella\, loosely based on a true incident\, about a slave who leads a rebellion on board a slave ship. Although it doesn't mention Stowe\, it can be read as Douglass' attempt to contest Uncle Tom's Cabin. The novella's description of Madison Washington's appearance close ly follows Stowe's first description of Tom. The story Douglass tells\, th ough\, allows him to reject her \"simple\" slave hero (Tom is probably the source for the pious \"old slave\" Madison encounters in Part II\, and wh ose eloquent praying is a temptation he must resist)\, and to put in his p lace a well-spoken black man who fights and kills for his freedom.Douglass does not\, however\, dismiss Stowe's audience. He published the story twi ce in 1853 -- serially in his newspaper\, and as his contribution to an An ti-Slavery anthology Stowe's publisher brought out (and that began with a poem by Stowe and the accompanying frontispiece at left). But he clearly d esigned the tale to reach the larger white reading public: one of the most interesting aspects of the novella is the strategic way it tries to lead genteel readers not only to active engagement in the abolitionist cause\, but also to grant black slaves the same right to rebel against tyranny tha t America enshrines in its founders. The novella\, however\, does not seem to have had many contemporary readers\, although it was reissued at least once\, in pamphlet form in 1863.\"The Heroic Slave\,\" by Frederick Dougl ass (published in Autographs for Freedom\, edited Julia Griffiths [Clevela nd: John P. Jewett &\; Company\, 1853])CONTENTPART 1PART I.Oh! child of grief\, why weepest thou?Why droops thy sad and mournful brow?Why is thy look so like despair ?What deep\, sad sorrow lingers there? The State of Virginia is famous in American annals for the multitudinous array of her s tatesmen and heroes. She has been dignified by some the mother of statesme n. History has not been sparing in recording their names\, or in blazoning their deeds. Her high position in this respect\, has given her an enviabl e distinction among her sister States. With Virginia for his birth-place\, even a man of ordinary parts\, on account of the general partiality for h er sons\, easily rises to eminent stations. Men\, not great enough to attr act special attention in their native States\, have\, like a certain disti nguished citizen in the State of New York\, sighed and repined that they w ere not born in Virginia. Yet not all the great ones of the Old175Dominion have\, by the fact of their birth-place\, escaped undeserved obscurity. B y some strange neglect\, one of the truest\, manliest\, and bravest of her children\,—one who\, in after years\, will\, I think\, command the pen of genius to set his merits forth\, holds now no higher place in the recor ds of that grand old Commonwealth than is held by a horse or an ox. Let th ose account for it who can\, but there stands the fact\, that a man who lo ved liberty as well as did Patrick Henry\,—who deserved it as much as Th omas Jefferson\,—and who fought for it with a valor as high\, an arm as strong\, and against odds as great\, as he who led all the armies of the A merican colonies through the great war for freedom and independence\, live s now only in the chattel records of his native State. Glimpses of this g reat character are all that can now be presented. He is brought to view on ly by a few transient incidents\, and these afford but partial satisfactio n. Like a guiding star on a stormy night\, he is seen through the parted c louds and the howling tempests\; or\, like the gray peak of a menacing roc k on a perilous coast\, he is seen by the quivering flash of angry lightni ng\, and he again disappears covered with mystery. Curiously\, earnestly\ , anxiously we peer into the dark\, and wish even for the blinding flash\, or the light of northern skies to reveal him. But alas! he is still envel oped in darkness\, and we return from the pursuit like a wearied and dishe artened mother\, (after a tedious and unsuccessful search for a lost176chi ld\,) who returns weighed down with disappointment and sorrow. Speaking of marks\, traces\, possibles\, and probabilities\, we come before our reade rs. In the spring of 1835\, on a Sabbath morning\, within hearing of the solemn peals of the church bells at a distant village\, a Northern travell er through the State of Virginia drew up his horse to drink at a sparkling brook\, near the edge of a dark pine forest. While his weary and thirsty steed drew in the grateful water\, the rider caught the sound of a human v oice\, apparently engaged in earnest conversation. Following the directio n of the sound\, he descried\, among the tall pines\, the man whose voice had arrested his attention. \"To whom can he be speaking?\" thought the tr aveller. \"He seems to be alone.\" The circumstance interested him much\, and he became intensely curious to know what thoughts and feelings\, or\, it might be\, high aspirations\, guided those rich and mellow accents. Tie ing his horse at a short distance from the brook\, he stealthily drew near the solitary speaker\; and\, concealing himself by the side of a huge fal len tree\, he distinctly heard the following soliloquy: — \"What\, then \, is life to me? it is aimless and worthless\, and worse than worthless. Those birds\, perched on yon swinging boughs\, in friendly conclave\, soun ding forth their merry notes in seeming worship of the rising sun\, though liable177to the sportsman's fowling-piece\, are still my superiors. They live free\, though they may die slaves. They fly where they list by day\, and retire in freedom at night. But what is freedom to me\, or I to it? I am a slave\,—born a slave\, an abject slave\,—even before I made part of this breathing world\, the scourge was platted for my back\; the fetter s were forged for my limbs. How mean a thing am I. That accursed and crawl ing snake\, that miserable reptile\, that has just glided into its slimy h ome\, is freer and better off than I. He escaped my blow\, and is safe. Bu t here am I\, a man\,—yes\, a man!—with thoughts and wishes\, with pow ers and faculties as far as angel's flight above that hated reptile\,—ye t he is my superior\, and scorns to own me as his master\, or to stop to t ake my blows. When he saw my uplifted arm\, he darted beyond my reach\, an d turned to give me battle. I dare not do as much as that. I neither run n or fight\, but do meanly stand\, answering each heavy blow of a cruel mast er with doleful wails and piteous cries. I am galled with irons\; but even these are more tolerable than the consciousness\, the galling consciousne ss of cowardice and indecision. Can it be that I dare not run away? Perish the thought\, I dare do any thing which may be done by another. When that young man struggled with the waves for life\, and others stood back appal led in helpless horror\, did I not plunge in\, forgetful of life\, to save his? The raging bull from whom all others fled\, pale with178fright\, did I not keep at bay with a single pitchfork? Could a coward do that? No\, —no\,—I wrong myself\,—I am no coward. Liberty I will have\, or die in the attempt to gain it. This working that others may live in idleness! This cringing submission to insolence and curses! This living under the co nstant dread and apprehension of being sold and transferred\, like a mere brute\, is too much for me. I will stand it no longer. What others have do ne\, I will do. These trusty legs\, or these sinewy arms shall place me am ong the free. Tom escaped\; so can I. The North Star will not be less kind to me than to him. I will follow it. I will at least make the trial. I ha ve nothing to lose. If I am caught\, I shall only be a slave. If I am shot \, I shall only lose a life which is a burden and a curse. If I get clear\ , (as something tells me I shall\,) liberty\, the inalienable birth-right of every man\, precious and priceless\, will be mine. My resolution is fix ed. I shall be free.\" At these words the traveller raised his head cauti ously and noiselessly\, and caught\, from his hiding-place\, a full view o f the unsuspecting speaker. Madison (for that was the name of our hero) wa s standing erect\, a smile of satisfaction rippled upon his expressive cou ntenance\, like that which plays upon the face of one who has but just sol ved a difficult problem\, or vanquished a malignant foe\; for at that mome nt he was free\, at least in spirit. The future gleamed brightly before hi m\, and his fetters lay broken at his feet. His air was triumphant.179 Ma dison was of manly form. Tall\, symmetrical\, round\, and strong. In his m ovements he seemed to combine\, with the strength of the lion\, a lion's e lasticity. His torn sleeves disclosed arms like polished iron. His face wa s \"black\, but comely.\" His eye\, lit with emotion\, kept guard under a brow as dark and as glossy as the raven's wing. His whole appearance betok ened Herculean strength: yet there was nothing savage or forbidding in his aspect. A child might play in his arms\, or dance on his shoulders. A gia nt's strength\, but not a giant's heart was in him. His broad mouth and no se spoke only of good nature and kindness. But his voice\, that unfailing index of the soul\, though full and melodious\, had that in it which could terrify as well as charm. He was just the man you would choose when hards hips were to be endured\, or danger to be encountered\,—intelligent and brave. He had the head to conceive\, and the hand to execute. In a word\, he was one to be sought as a friend\, but to be dreaded as an enemy. As o ur traveller gazed upon him\, he almost trembled at the thought of his dan gerous intrusion. Still he could not quit the place. He had long desired t o sound the mysterious depths of the thoughts and feelings of a slave. He was not\, therefore\, disposed to allow so providential an opportunity to pass unimproved. He resolved to hear more\; so he listened again for those mellow and mournful accents which\, he says\, made such an180impression u pon him as can never be erased. He did not have to wait long. There came a nother gush from the same full fountain\; now bitter\, and now sweet. Scat hing denunciations of the cruelty and injustice of slavery\; heart-touchin g narrations of his own personal suffering\, intermingled with prayers to the God of the oppressed for help and deliverance\, were followed by prese ntations of the dangers and difficulties of escape\, and formed the burden of his eloquent utterances\; but his high resolution clung to him\,—for he ended each speech by an emphatic declaration of his purpose to be free . It seemed that the very repetition of this\, imparted a glow to his coun tenance. The hope of freedom seemed to sweeten\, for a season\, the bitter cup of slavery\, and to make it\, for a time\, tolerable\; for when in th e very whirlwind of anguish\,—when his heart's cord seemed screwed up to snapping tension\, hope sprung up and soothed his troubled spirit. Fitful ly he would exclaim\, \"How can I leave her? Poor thing! what can she do w hen I am gone? Oh! oh! 'tis impossible that I can leave poor Susan!\" A b rief pause intervened. Our traveller raised his head\, and saw again the s orrow-smitten slave. His eye was fixed upon the ground. The strong man sta ggered under a heavy load. Recovering himself\, he argued thus aloud: \"Al l is uncertain here. To-morrow's sun may not rise before I am sold\, and s eparated from her I love. What\, then\, could I do for her? I should be in more hopeless181slavery\, and she no nearer to liberty\,—whereas if I w ere free\,—my arms my own\,—I might devise the means to rescue her.\" This said\, Madison cast around a searching glance\, as if the thought of being overheard had flashed across his mind. He said no more\, but\, with measured steps\, walked away\, and was lost to the eye of our traveller a midst the wildering woods. Long after Madison had left the ground\, Mr. L istwell (our traveller) remained in motionless silence\, meditating on the extraordinary revelations to which he had listened. He seemed fastened to the spot\, and stood half hoping\, half fearing the return of the sable p reacher to his solitary temple. The speech of Madison rung through the cha mbers of his soul\, and vibrated through his entire frame. \"Here is indee d a man\,\" thought he\, \"of rare endowments\,—a child of God\,—guilt y of no crime but the color of his skin\, hiding away from the face of hum anity\, and pouring out his thoughts and feelings\, his hopes and resoluti ons to the lonely woods\; to him those distant church bells have no gratef ul music. He shuns the church\, the altar\, and the great congregation of christian worshippers\, and wanders away to the gloomy forest\, to utter i n the vacant air complaints and griefs\, which the religion of his times a nd his country can neither console nor relieve. Goaded almost to madness b y the sense of the injustice done him\, he resorts hither to give182vent t o his pent up feelings\, and to debate with himself the feasibility of pla ns\, plans of his own invention\, for his own deliverance. From this hour I am an abolitionist. I have seen enough and heard enough\, and I shall go to my home in Ohio resolved to atone for my past indifference to this ill -starred race\, by making such exertions as I shall be able to do\, for th e speedy emancipation of every slave in the land. \"PART 2PART II.\"The ga udy\, blabbling and remorseful dayIs crept into the bosom of the sea\;And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jadesThat drag the tragic melancholy ni ght\;Who with their drowsy\, slow\, and flagging wingsClip dead men's grav es\, and from their misty jawsBreathe foul contagions\, darkness in the ai r.\"Shakspeare. Five years after the foregoing singular occurrence\, in t he winter of 1840\, Mr. and Mrs. Listwell sat together by the fireside of their own happy home in the State of Ohio. The children were all gone to b ed. A single lamp burnt brightly on the centre-table. All was still and co mfortable within\; but the night was cold and dark\; a heavy wind sighed18 3and moaned sorrowfully around the house and barn\, occasionally bringing against the clattering windows a stray leaf from the large oak trees that embowered their dwelling. It was a night for strange noises and for strang e fancies. A whole wilderness of thought might pass through one's mind dur ing such an evening. The smouldering embers\, partaking of the spirit of t he restless night\, became fruitful of varied and fantastic pictures\, and revived many bygone scenes and old impressions. The happy pair seemed to sit in silent fascination\, gazing on the fire. Suddenly this reverie was interrupted by a heavy growl. Ordinarily such an occurrence would have sca rcely provoked a single word\, or excited the least apprehension. But ther e are certain seasons when the slightest sound sends a jar through all the subtle chambers of the mind\; and such a season was this. The happy pair started up\, as if some sudden danger had come upon them. The growl was fr om their trusty watch-dog. \"What can it mean? certainly no one can be ou t on such a night as this\,\" said Mrs. Listwell. \"The wind has deceived the dog\, my dear\; he has mistaken the noise of falling branches\, broug ht down by the wind\, for that of the footsteps of persons coming to the h ouse. I have several times to-night thought that I heard the sound of foot steps. I am sure\, however\, that it was but the wind. Friends would not b e likely to come out at such an hour\, or such a night\; and thieves are18 4too lazy and self-indulgent to expose themselves to this biting frost\; b ut should there be any one about\, our brave old Monte\, who is on the loo kout\, will not be slow in sounding the alarm.\" Saying this they quietly left the window\, whither they had gone to learn the cause of the menacin g growl\, and re-seated themselves by the fire\, as if reluctant to leave the slowly expiring embers\, although the hour was late. A few minutes onl y intervened after resuming their seats\, when again their sober meditatio ns were disturbed. Their faithful dog now growled and barked furiously\, a s if assailed by an advancing foe. Simultaneously the good couple arose\, and stood in mute expectation. The contest without seemed fierce and viole nt. It was\, however\, soon over\,—the barking ceased\, for\, with true canine instinct\, Monte quickly discovered that a friend\, not an enemy of the family\, was coming to the house\, and instead of rushing to repel th e supposed intruder\, he was now at the door\, whimpering and dancing for the admission of himself and his newly made friend. Mr. Listwell knew by this movement that all was well\; he advanced and opened the door\, and sa w by the light that streamed out into the darkness\, a tall man advancing slowly towards the house\, with a stick in one hand\, and a small bundle i n the other. \"It is a traveller\,\" thought he\, \"who has missed his way \, and is coming to inquire the road. I am glad we did not go to185bed ear lier\,—I have felt all the evening as if somebody would be here to-night .\" The man had now halted a short distance from the door\, and looked pr epared alike for flight or battle. \"Come in\, sir\, don't be alarmed\, yo u have probably lost your way.\" Slightly hesitating\, the traveller walk ed in\; not\, however\, without regarding his host with a scrutinizing gla nce. \"No\, sir\,\" said he\; \"I have come to ask you a greater favor.\" Instantly Mr. Listwell exclaimed\, (as the recollection of the Virginia f orest scene flashed upon him\,) \"Oh\, sir\, I know not your name\, but I have seen your face\, and heard your voice before. I am glad to see you. I know all. You are flying for your liberty\,—be seated\,—be seated\, —banish all fear. You are safe under my roof.\" This recognition\, so u nexpected\, rather disconcerted and disquieted the noble fugitive. The tim idity and suspicion of persons escaping from slavery are easily awakened\, and often what is intended to dispel the one\, and to allay the other\, h as precisely the opposite effect. It was so in this case. Quickly observin g the unhappy impression made by his words and action\, Mr. Listwell assum ed a more quiet and inquiring aspect\, and finally succeeded in removing t he apprehensions which his very natural and generous salutation had arouse d. Thus assured\, the stranger said\, \"Sir\, you have rightly guessed\, I am\, indeed\, a fugitive from186slavery. My name is Madison\,—Madison Washington my mother used to call me. I am on my way to Canada\, where I l earn that persons of my color are protected in all the rights of men\; and my object in calling upon you was\, to beg the privilege of resting my we ary limbs for the night in your barn. It was my purpose to have continued my journey till morning\; but the piercing cold\, and the frowning darknes s compelled me to seek shelter\; and\, seeing a light through the lattice of your window\, I was encouraged to come here to beg the privilege named. You will do me a great favor by affording me shelter for the night.\" \" A resting-place\, indeed\, sir\, you shall have\; not\, however\, in my ba rn\, but in the best room of my house. Consider yourself\, if you please\, under the roof of a friend\; for such I am to you\, and to all your deepl y injured race.\" While this introductory conversation was going on\, the kind lady had revived the fire\, and was diligently preparing supper\; fo r she\, not less than her husband\, felt for the sorrows of the oppressed and hunted ones of earth\, and was always glad of an opportunity to do the m a service. A bountiful repast was quickly prepared\, and the hungry and toil-worn bondman was cordially invited to partake thereof. Gratefully he acknowledged the favor of his benevolent benefactress\; but appeared scarc ely to understand what such hospitality could mean. It was the first time in his life that he had187met so humane and friendly a greeting at the han ds of persons whose color was unlike his own\; yet it was impossible for h im to doubt the charitableness of his new friends\, or the genuineness of the welcome so freely given\; and he therefore\, with many thanks\, took h is seat at the table with Mr. and Mrs. Listwell\, who\, desirous to make h im feel at home\, took a cup of tea themselves\, while urging upon Madison the best that the house could afford. Supper over\, all doubts and appre hensions banished\, the three drew around the blazing fire\, and a convers ation commenced which lasted till long after midnight. \"Now\,\" said Mad ison to Mr. Listwell\, \"I was a little surprised and alarmed when I came in\, by what you said\; do tell me\, sir\, why you thought you had seen my face before\, and by what you knew me to be a fugitive from slavery\; for I am sure that I never was before in this neighborhood\, and I certainly sought to conceal what I supposed to be the manner of a fugitive slave.\" Mr. Listwell at once frankly disclosed the secret\; describing the place where he first saw him\; rehearsing the language which he (Madison) had us ed\; referring to the effect which his manner and speech had made upon him \; declaring the resolution he there formed to be an abolitionist\; tellin g how often he had spoken of the circumstance\, and the deep concern he ha d ever since felt to know what had become of him\; and whether he had carr ied188out the purpose to make his escape\, as in the woods he declared he would do. \"Ever since that morning\,\" said Mr. Listwell\, \"you have se ldom been absent from my mind\, and though now I did not dare to hope that I should ever see you again\, I have often wished that such might be my f ortune\; for\, from that hour\, your face seemed to be daguerreotyped on m y memory.\" Madison looked quite astonished\, and felt amazed at the narr ation to which he had listened. After recovering himself he said\, \"I wel l remember that morning\, and the bitter anguish that wrung my heart\; I w ill state the occasion of it. I had\, on the previous Saturday\, suffered a cruel lashing\; had been tied tip to the limb of a tree\, with my feet c hained together\, and a heavy iron bar placed between my ankles. Thus susp ended\, I received on my naked back forty stripes\, and was kept in this d istressing position three or four hours\, and was then let down\, only to have my torture increased\; for my bleeding back\, gashed by the cow-skin\ , was washed by the overseer with old brine\, partly to augment my sufferi ng\, and partly\, as he said\, to prevent inflammation. My crime was that I had stayed longer at the mill\, the day previous\, than it was thought I ought to have done\, which\, I assured my master and the overseer\, was n o fault of mine\; but no excuses were allowed. 'Hold your tongue\, you imp udent rascal\,' met my every explanation. Slave-holders are so imperious w hen their passions are excited\, as to189construe every word of the slave into insolence. I could do nothing but submit to the agonizing infliction. Smarting still from the wounds\, as well as from the consciousness of bei ng whipt for no cause\, I took advantage of the absence of my master\, who had gone to church\, to spend the time in the woods\, and brood over my w retched lot. Oh\, sir\, I remember it well\, and can never forget it.\" \ "But this was five years ago\; where have you been since?\" \"I will try to tell you\,\" said Madison. \"Just four weeks after that Sabbath morning \, I gathered up the few rags of clothing I had\, and started\, as I suppo sed\, for the North and for freedom. I must not stop to describe my feelin gs on taking this step. It seemed like taking a leap into the dark. The th ought of leaving my poor wife and two little children caused me indescriba ble anguish\; but consoling myself with the reflection that once free\, I could\, possibly\, devise ways and means to gain their freedom also\, I ne rved myself up to make the attempt. I started\, but ill-luck attended me\; for after being out a whole week\, strange to say\, I still found myself on my master's grounds\; the third night after being out\, a season of clo uds and rain set in\, wholly preventing me from seeing the North Star\, wh ich I had trusted as my guide\, not dreaming that clouds might intervene b etween us. \"This circumstance was fatal to my project\, for190in losing my star\, I lost my way\; so when I supposed I was far towards the North\, and had almost gained my freedom\, I discovered myself at the very point from which I had started. It was a severe trial\, for I arrived at home in great destitution\; my feet were sore\, and in travelling in the dark\, I had dashed my foot against a stump\, and started a nail\, and lamed mysel f. I was wet and cold\; one week had exhausted all my stores\; and when I landed on my master's plantation\, with all my work to do over again\,—h ungry\, tired\, lame\, and bewildered\,—I almost cursed the day that I w as born. In this extremity I approached the quarters. I did so stealthily\ , although in my desperation I hardly cared whether I was discovered or no t. Peeping through the rents of the quarters\, I saw my fellow-slaves seat ed by a warm fire\, merrily passing away the time\, as though their hearts knew no sorrow. Although I envied their seeming contentment\, all wretche d as I was\, I despised the cowardly acquiescence in their own degradation which it implied\, and felt a kind of pride and glory in my own desperate lot. I dared not enter the quarters\,—for where there is seeming conten tment with slavery\, there is certain treachery to freedom. I proceeded to wards the great house\, in the hope of catching a glimpse of my poor wife\ , whom I knew might be trusted with my secrets even on the scaffold. Just as I reached the fence which divided the field from the garden\, I saw a w oman in the yard\, who in the darkness I took to191be my wife\; but a near er approach told me it was not she. I was about to speak\; had I done so\, I would not have been here this night\; for an alarm would have been soun ded\, and the hunters been put on my track. Here were hunger\, cold\, thir st\, disappointment\, and chagrin\, confronted only by the dim hope of lib erty. I tremble to think of that dreadful hour. To face the deadly cannon' s mouth in warm blood unterrified\, is\, I think\, a small achievement\, c ompared with a conflict like this with gaunt starvation. The gnawings of h unger conquers by degrees\, till all that a man has he would give in excha nge for a single crust of bread. Thank God\, I was not quite reduced to th is extremity. \"Happily for me\, before the fatal moment of utter despair \, my good wife made her appearance in the yard. It was she\; I knew her s tep. All was well now. I was\, however\, afraid to speak lest I should fri ghten her. Yet speak I did\; and\, to my great joy\, my voice was known. O ur meeting can be more easily imagined than described. For a time hunger\, thirst\, weariness\, and lameness were forgotten. But it was soon necessa ry for her to return to the house. She being a house-servant\, her absence from the kitchen\, if discovered\, might have excited suspicion. Our part ing was like tearing the flesh from my bones\; yet it was the part of wisd om for her to go. She left me with the purpose of meeting me at midnight i n the very forest where you last saw me. She knew the place well\,192as on e of my melancholy resorts\, and could easily find it\, though the night w as dark. \"I hastened away\, therefore\, and concealed myself\, to await the arrival of my good angel. As I lay there among the leaves\, I was stro ngly tempted to return again to the house of my master and give myself up\ ; but remembering my solemn pledge on that memorable Sunday morning\, I wa s able to linger out the two long hours between ten and midnight. I may we ll call them long hours. I have endured much hardship\; I have encountered many perils\; but the anxiety of those two hours\, was the bitterest I ev er experienced. True to her word\, my wife came laden with provisions\, an d we sat down on the side of a log\, at that dark and lonesome hour of the night. I cannot say we talked\; our feelings were too great for that\; ye t we came to an understanding that I should make the woods my home\, for i f I gave myself up\, I should be whipped and sold away\; and if I started for the North\, I should leave a wife doubly dear to me. We mutually deter mined\, therefore\, that I should remain in the vicinity. In the dismal sw amps I lived\, sir\, five long years\,—a cave for my home during the day . I wandered about at night with the wolf and the bear\,—sustained by th e promise that my good Susan would meet me in the pine woods at least once a week. This promise was redeemed\, I assure you\, to the letter\, greatl y to my relief. I had partly become contented with my mode of193life\, and had made up my mind to spend my days there\; but the wilderness that shel tered me thus long took fire\, and refused longer to be my hiding-place. \"I will not harrow up your feelings by portraying the terrific scene of t his awful conflagration. There is nothing to which I can liken it. It was horribly and indescribably grand. The whole world seemed on fire\, and it appeared to me that the day of judgment had come\; that the burning bowels of the earth had burst forth\, and that the end of all things was at hand . Bears and wolves\, scorched from their mysterious hiding-places in the e arth\, and all the wild inhabitants of the untrodden forest\, filled with a common dismay\, ran forth\, yelling\, howling\, bewildered amidst the sm oke and flame. The very heavens seemed to rain down fire through the tower ing trees\; it was by the merest chance that I escaped the devouring eleme nt. Running before it\, and stopping occasionally to take breath\, I looke d back to behold its frightful ravages\, and to drink in its savage magnif icence. It was awful\, thrilling\, solemn\, beyond compare. When aided by the fitful wind\, the merciless tempest of fire swept on\, sparkling\, cre aking\, cracking\, curling\, roaring\, out-doing in its dreadful splendor a thousand thunderstorms at once. From tree to tree it leaped\, swallowing them up in its lurid\, baleful glare\; and leaving them leafless\, limble ss\, charred\, and lifeless behind. The scene was overwhelming\, stunning\ ,—nothing was194spared\,—cattle\, tame and wild\, herds of swine and o f deer\, wild beasts of every name and kind\,—huge night-birds\, bats\, and owls\, that had retired to their homes in lofty tree-tops to rest\, pe rished in that fiery storm. The long-winged buzzard\, and croaking raven m ingled their dismal cries with those of the countless myriads of small bir ds that rose up to the skies\, and were lost to the sight in clouds of smo ke and flame. Oh\, I shudder when I think of it! Many a poor wandering fug itive\, who\, like myself\, had sought among wild beasts the mercy denied by our fellow men\, saw\, in helpless consternation\, his dwelling-place a nd city of refuge reduced to ashes forever. It was this grand conflagratio n that drove me hither\; I ran alike from fire and from slavery.\" After a slight pause\, (for both speaker and hearers were deeply moved by the ab ove recital\,) Mr. Listwell\, addressing Madison\, said\, \"If it does not weary you too much\, do tell us something of your journeyings since this disastrous burning\,—we are deeply interested in everything which can th row light on the hardships of persons escaping from slavery\; we could hea r you talk all night\; are there no incidents that you could relate of you r travels hither? or are they such that you do not like to mention them.\" \"For the most part\, sir\, my course has been uninterrupted\; and\, con sidering the circumstances\, at times even pleasant. I have suffered littl e for want of food\; but I need not tell you how I got195it. Your moral co de may differ from mine\, as your customs and usages are different. The fa ct is\, sir\, during my flight\, I felt myself robbed by society of all my just rights\; that I was in an enemy's land\, who sought both my life and my liberty. They had transformed me into a brute\; made merchandise of my body\, and\, for all the purposes of my flight\, turned day into night\ ,—and guided by my own necessities\, and in contempt of their convention alities\, I did not scruple to take bread where I could get it.\" \"And j ust there you were right\,\" said Mr. Listwell\; \"I once had doubts on th is point myself\, but a conversation with Gerrit Smith\, (a man\, by the w ay\, that I wish you could see\, for he is a devoted friend of your race\, and I know he would receive you gladly\,) put an end to all my doubts on this point. But do not let me interrupt you.\" \"I had but one narrow esc ape during my whole journey\, \" said Madison. \"Do let us hear of it\,\" said Mr. Listwell. \"Two weeks ago\,\" continued Madison\, \"after trave lling all night\, I was overtaken by daybreak\, in what seemed to me an al most interminable wood. I deemed it unsafe to go farther\, and\, as usual\ , I looked around for a suitable tree in which to spend the day. I liked o ne with a bushy top\, and found one just to my mind. Up I climbed\, and hi ding myself as well I could\, I\, with this strap\, (pulling one out of hi s old coat-pocket\,) lashed myself to a bough\, and flattered myself that1 96I should get a good night's sleep that day\; but in this I was soon disa ppointed. I had scarcely got fastened to my natural hammock\, when I heard the voices of a number of persons\, apparently approaching the part of th e woods where I was. Upon my word\, sir\, I dreaded more these human voice s than I should have done those of wild beasts. I was at a loss to know wh at to do. If I descended\, I should probably be discovered by the men\; an d if they had dogs I should\, doubtless\, be 'treed.' It was an anxious mo ment\, but hardships and dangers have been the accompaniments of my life\; and have\, perhaps\, imparted to me a certain hardness of character\, whi ch\, to some extent\, adapts me to them. In my present predicament\, I dec ided to hold my place in the tree-top\, and abide the consequences. But he re I must disappoint you\; for the men\, who were all colored\, halted at least a hundred yards from me\, and began with their axes\, in right good earnest\, to attack the trees. The sound of their laughing axes was like t he report of as many well-charged pistols. By and by there came down at le ast a dozen trees with a terrible crash. They leaped upon the fallen trees with an air of victory. I could see no dog with them\, and felt myself co mparatively safe\, though I could not forget the possibility that some fre ak or fancy might bring the axe a little nearer my dwelling than comported with my safety. \"There was no sleep for me that day\, and I197wished fo r night. You may imagine that the thought of having the tree attacked unde r me was far from agreeable\, and that it very easily kept me on the look- out. The day was not without diversion. The men at work seemed to be a gay set\; and they would often make the woods resound with that uncontrolled laughter for which we\, as a race\, are remarkable. I held my place in the tree till sunset\,—saw the men put on their jackets to be off. I observ ed that all left the ground except one\, whom I saw sitting on the side of a stump\, with his head bowed\, and his eyes apparently fixed on the grou nd. I became interested in him. After sitting in the position to which I h ave alluded ten or fifteen minutes\, he left the stump\, walked directly t owards the tree in which I was secreted\, and halted almost under the same . He stood for a moment and looked around\, deliberately and reverently to ok off his hat\, by which I saw that I saw that he was a man in the evenin g of life\, slightly bald and quite gray. After laying down his hat carefu lly\, he knelt and prayed aloud\, and such a prayer\, the most fervent\, e arnest\, and solemn\, to which I think I ever listened. After reverently a ddressing the Almighty\, as the all-wise\, all-good\, and the common Fathe r of all mankind\, he besought God for grace\, for strength\, to bear up u nder\, and to endure\, as a good soldier\, all the hardships and trials wh ich beset the journey of life\, and to enable him to live in a manner whic h accorded with the gospel of Christ. His soul now broke out in humble sup plication198for deliverance from bondage. 'O thou\,' said he\, 'that heare st the raven's cry\, take pity on poor me! O deliver me! O deliver me! in mercy\, O God\, deliver me from the chains and manifold hardships of slave ry! With thee\, O Father\, all things are possible. Thou canst stand and m easure the earth. Thou hast beheld and drove asunder the nations\,—all p ower is in thy hand\,—thou didst say of old\, \"I have seen the afflicti on of my people\, and am come to deliver them\,\"—Oh look down upon our afflictions\, and have mercy upon us.' But I cannot repeat his prayer\, no r can I give you an idea of its deep pathos. I had given but little attent ion to religion\, and had but little faith in it\; yet\, as the old man pr ayed\, I felt almost like coming down and kneel by his side\, and mingle m y broken complaint with his. \"He had already gained my confidence\; as h ow could it be otherwise? I knew enough of religion to know that the man w ho prays in secret is far more likely to be sincere than he who loves to p ray standing in the street\, or in the great congregation. When he arose f rom his knees\, like another Zacheus\, I came down from the tree. He seeme d a little alarmed at first\, but I told him my story\, and the good man e mbraced me in his arms\, and assured me of his sympathy. \"I was now abou t out of provisions\, and thought I might safely ask him to help me replen ish my store. He said he had no money\; but if he had\, he would freely gi ve it me. I told him I had one199dollar\; it was all the money I had in th e world. I gave it to him\, and asked him to purchase some crackers and ch eese\, and to kindly bring me the balance\; that I would remain in or near that place\, and would come to him on his return\, if he would whistle. H e was gone only about an hour. Meanwhile\, from some cause or other\, I kn ow not what\, (but as you shall see very wisely\,) I changed my place. On his return I started to meet him\; but it seemed as if the shadow of appro aching danger fell upon my spirit\, and checked my progress. In a very few minutes\, closely on the heels of the old man\, I distinctly saw fourteen men\, with something like guns in their hands.\" \"Oh! the old wretch!\" exclaimed Mrs. Listwell \"he had betrayed you\, had he?\" \"I think not\ ,\" said Madison\, \"I cannot believe that the old man was to blame. He pr obably went into a store\, asked for the articles for which I sent\, and p resented the bill I gave him\; and it is so unusual for slaves in the coun try to have money\, that fact\, doubtless\, excited suspicion\, and gave r ise to inquiry. I can easily believe that the truthfulness of the old man' s character compelled him to disclose the facts\; and thus were these bloo d-thirsty men put on my track. Of course I did not present myself \; but h ugged my hiding-place securely. If discovered and attacked\, I resolved to sell my life as dearly as possible. \"After searching about the woods si lently for a time\, the whole company gathered around the old200man\; one charged him with lying\, and called him an old villain\; said he was a thi ef\; charged him with stealing money\; said if he did not instantly tell w here he got it\, they would take the shirt from his old back\, and give hi m thirty-nine lashes. \"'I did not steal the money\,' said the old man\, 'it was given me\, as I told you at the store\; and if the man who gave it me is not here\, it is not my fault.' \"'Hush! you lying old rascal\; we 'll make you smart for it. You shall not leave this spot until you have to ld where you got that money.' \"They now took hold of him\, and began to strip him\; while others went to get sticks with which to beat him. I felt \, at the moment\, like rushing out in the midst of them\; but considering that the old man would be whipped the more for having aided a fugitive sl ave\, and that\, perhaps\, in the melée he might be killed outright\, I d isobeyed this impulse. They tied him to a tree\, and began to whip him. My own flesh crept at every blow\, and I seem to hear the old man's piteous cries even now. They laid thirty-nine lashes on his bare back\, and were g oing to repeat that number\, when one of the company besought his comrades to desist. 'You'll kill the d—-d old scoundrel! You've already whipt a dollar's worth out of him\, even if he stole it!' 'O yes\,' said another\, 'let him down. He'll never tell us another lie\, I'll warrant ye!' With t his\, one of the company untied the old man\, and bid him go about his bus iness.201 \"The old man left\, but the company remained as much as an hou r\, scouring the woods. Round and round they went\, turning up the underbr ush\, and peering about like so many bloodhounds. Two or three times they came within six feet of where I lay. I tell you I held my stick with a fir mer grasp than I did in coming up to your house tonight. I expected to lev el one of them at least. Fortunately\, however\, I eluded their pursuit\, and they left me alone in the woods. \"My last dollar was now gone\, and you may well suppose I felt the loss of it\; but the thought of being once again free to pursue my journey\, prevented that depression which a sense of destitution causes\; so swinging my little bundle on my back\, I caugh t a glimpse of the Great Bear (which ever points the way to my beloved sta r\,) and I started again on my journey. What I lost in money I made up at a hen-roost that same night\, upon which I fortunately came.\" \"But you did 'nt eat your food raw? How did you cook it?\" said Mrs. Listwell. \"O no\, Madam\,\" said Madison\, turning to his little bundle:—\"I had the means of cooking.\" Here he took out of his bundle an old-fashioned tinde r-box\, and taking up a piece of a file\, which he brought with him\, he s truck it with a heavy flint\, and brought out at least a dozen sparks at o nce. \"I have had this old box\,\" said he\, \"more than five years. It is the only property saved from the fire in the dismal swamp. It has done me 202good service. It has given me the means of broiling many a chicken!\" It seemed quite a relief to Mrs. Listwell to know that Madison had\, at le ast\, lived upon cooked food. Women have a perfect horror of eating uncook ed food. By this time thoughts of what was best to be done about getting M adison to Canada\, began to trouble Mr. Listwell\; for the laws of Ohio we re very stringent against any one who should aid\, or who were found aidin g a slave to escape through that State. A citizen\, for the simple act of taking a fugitive slave in his carriage\, had just been stripped of all hi s property\, and thrown penniless upon the world. Notwithstanding this\, M r. Listwell was determined to see Madison safely on his way to Canada. \"G ive yourself no uneasiness\,\" said he to Madison\, \"for if it cost my fa rm\, I shall see you safely out of the States\, and on your way to a land of liberty. Thank God that there such a land so near us! You will spend to -morrow with us\, and to-morrow night I will take you in my carriage to th e Lake. Once upon that\, and you are safe.\" \"Thank you! thank you\,\" s aid the fugitive\; \"I will commit myself to your care.\" For the first t ime during five years\, Madison enjoyed the luxury of resting his limbs on a comfortable bed\, and inside a human habitation. Looking at the white s heets\, he said to Mr. Listwell\, \"What\, sir! you don't mean that I shal l sleep in that bed?\"203 \"'Oh yes\, oh yes.\" After Mr. Listwell left the room\, Madison said he really hesitated whether or not he should lie o n the floor\; for that was far more comfortable and inviting than any bed to which he had been used. We pass over the thoughts and feelings\, the h opes and fears\, the plans and purposes\, that revolved in the mind of Mad ison during the day that he was secreted at the house of Mr. Listwell. The reader will be content to know that nothing occurred to endanger his libe rty\, or to excite alarm. Many were the little attentions bestowed upon hi m in his quiet retreat and hiding-place. In the evening\, Mr. Listwell\, a fter treating Madison to a new suit of winter clothes\, and replenishing h is exhausted purse with five dollars\, all in silver\, brought out his two -horse wagon\, well provided with buffaloes\, and silently started off wit h him to Cleveland. They arrived there without interruption\, a few minute s before sunrise the next morning. Fortunately the steamer Admiral lay at the wharf\, and was to start for Canada at nine o'clock. Here the last ant icipated danger was surmounted. It was feared that just at this point the hunters of men might be on the look-out\, and\, possibly\, pounce upon the ir victim. Mr. Listwell saw the captain of the boat\; cautiously sounded h im on the matter of carrying liberty-loving passengers\, before he introdu ced his precious charge. This done\, Madison was conducted on board. With2 04usual generosity this true subject of the emancipating queen welcomed Ma dison\, and assured him that he should be safely landed in Canada\, free o f charge. Madison now felt himself no more a piece of merchandise\, but a passenger\, and\, like any other passenger\, going about his business\, ca rrying with him what belonged to him\, and nothing which rightfully belong ed to anybody else. Wrapped in his new winter suit\, snug and comfortable \, a pocket full of silver\, safe from his pursuers\, embarked for a free country\, Madison gave every sign of sincere gratitude\, and bade his kind benefactor farewell\, with such a grip of the hand as bespoke a heart ful l of honest manliness\, and a soul that knew how to appreciate kindness. I t need scarcely be said that Mr. Listwell was deeply moved by the gratitud e and friendship he had excited in a nature so noble as that of the fugiti ve. He went to his home that day with a joy and gratification which knew n o bounds. He had done something \"to deliver the spoiled out of the hands of the spoiler\,\" he had given bread to the hungry\, and clothes to the n aked\; he had befriended a man to whom the laws of his country forbade all friendship\,—and in proportion to the odds against his righteous deed\, was the delightful satisfaction that gladdened his heart. On reaching hom e\, he exclaimed\, \"He is safe\,—he is safe\,—he is safe\,\"—and th e cup of his joy was shared by his excellent lady. The following letter wa s received from Madison a few days after.205\"WINDSOR\, CANADA WEST\, DEC. 16\, 1840. My dear Friend\,—for such you truly are:— Madison is out of the woods at last\; I nestle in the mane of the British lion\, protect ed by his mighty paw from the talons and the beak of the American eagle. I AM FREE\, and breathe an atmosphere too pure for slaves\, slave-hunters\, or slave-holders. My heart is full. As many thanks to you\, sir\, and to your kind lady\, as there are pebbles on the shores of Lake Erie\; and may the blessing of God rest upon you both. You will never be forgotten by yo ur profoundly grateful friend\,MADISON WASHINGTON.\"PART 3PART III.—His head was with his heart\,And that was far away!Childe Harold. Just upon t he edge of the great road from Petersburg\, Virginia\, to Richmond\, and o nly about fifteen miles from the latter place\, there stands a somewhat an cient and famous public tavern\, quite notorious in its better days\, as b eing the grand resort for most of the leading gamblers\, horse-racers\, co ck-fighters\, and slave-traders from all the country round about. This old rookery\, the nucleus of all sorts of birds\, mostly those of ill omen\, has\, like206everything else peculiar to Virginia\, lost much of its ancie nt consequence and splendor\; yet it keeps up some appearance of gaiety an d high life\, and is still frequented\, even by respectable travellers\, w ho are unacquainted with its past history and present condition. Its fine old portico looks well at a distance\, and gives the building an air of gr andeur. A nearer view\, however\, does little to sustain this pretension. The house is large\, and its style imposing\, but time and dissipation\, u nfailing in their results\, have made ineffaceable marks upon it\, and it must\, in the common course of events\, soon be numbered with the things t hat were. The gloomy mantle of ruin is\, already\, outspread to envelop it \, and its remains\, even but now remind one of a human skull\, after the flesh has mingled with the earth. Old hats and rags fill the places in the upper windows once occupied by large panes of glass\, and the moulding bo ards along the roofing have dropped off from their places\, leaving holes and crevices in the rented wall for bats and swallows to build their nests in. The platform of the portico\, which fronts the highway\, is a rickety affair\, its planks are loose\, and in some places entirely gone\, leavin g effective mantraps in their stead for nocturnal ramblers. The wooden pil lars\, which once supported it\, but which now hang as encumbrances\, are all rotten\, and tremble with the touch. A part of the stable\, a fine old structure in its day\, which has given comfortable shelter to hundreds of the noblest steeds of207\"the Old Dominion\" at once\, was blown down man y years ago\, and never has been\, and probably never will be\, rebuilt. T he doors of the barn are in wretched condition\; they will shut with a lit tle human strength to help their worn out hinges\, but not otherwise. The side of the great building seen from the road is much discolored in sundry places by slops poured from the upper windows\, rendering it unsightly an d offensive in other respects. Three or four great dogs\, looking as dull and gloomy as the mansion itself\, lie stretched out along the door-sills under the portico\; and double the number of loafers\, some of them comple tely rum-ripe\, and others ripening\, dispose themselves like so many sent inels about the front of the house. These latter understand the science of scraping acquaintance to perfection. They know every-body\, and almost ev ery-body knows them. Of course\, as their title implies\, they have no reg ular employment. They are (to use an expressive phrase) hangers on\, or st ill better\, they are what sailors would denominate holders-on to the slac k\, in every-body's mess\, and in nobody's watch. They are\, however\, as good as the newspaper for the events of the day\, and they sell their know ledge almost as cheap. Money they seldom have\; yet they always have capit al the most reliable. They make their way with a succeeding traveller by i ntelligence gained from a preceding one. All the great names of Virginia t hey know by heart\, and have seen their owners often. The history of the20 8house is folded in their lips\, and they rattle off stories in connection with it\, equal to the guides at Dryburgh Abbey. He must be a shrewd man\ , and well skilled in the art of evasion\, who gets out of the hands of th ese fellows without being at the expense of a treat. It was at this old t avern\, while on a second visit to the State of Virginia in 1841\, that Mr . Listwell\, unacquainted with the fame of the place\, turned aside\, abou t sunset\, to pass the night. Riding up to the house\, he had scarcely dis mounted\, when one of the half dozen bar-room fraternity met and addressed him in a manner exceedingly bland and accommodating. \"Fine evening\, si r.\" \"Very fine\,\" said Mr. Listwell. \"This is a tavern\, I believe?\" \"O yes\, sir\, yes\; although you may think it looks a little the worse for wear\, it was once as good a house as any in Virginy. I make no doubt if ye spend the night here\, you'll think it a good house yet\; for there aint a more accommodating man in the country than you'll find the landlor d.\" Listwell. \"The most I want is a good bed for myself\, and a full ma nger for my horse. If I get these\, I shall be quite satisfied.\" Loafer. \"Well\, I alloys like to hear a gentleman talk for his horse\; and just becase the horse can't talk for itself. A man that don't care about his be ast\, and don't look arter it when he's travelling\, aint much in my eye a nyhow. Now\, sir\,209I likes a horse\, and I'll guarantee your horse will be taken good care on here. That old stable\, for all you see it looks so shabby now\, once sheltered the great Eclipse\, when he run here agin Batc helor and Jumping Jemmy. Them was fast horses\, but he beat 'em both.\" L istwell. \"Indeed.\" Loafer.\"Well\, I rather reckon you've travelled a r ight smart distance to-day\, from the look of your horse?\" Listwell. \"F orty miles only.\" Loafer. \"Well! I'll be darned if that aint a pretty g ood only. Mister\, that beast of yours is a singed cat\, I warrant you. I never see'd a creature like that that was'nt good on the road. You've come about forty miles\, then?\" Listwell. \"Yes\, yes\, and a pretty good pa ce at that.\" Loafer. \"You're somewhat in a hurry\, then\, I make no dou bt? I reckon I could guess if I would\, what you're going to Richmond for? It would'nt be much of a guess either\; for it's rumored hereabouts\, tha t there's to be the greatest sale of niggers at Richmond to-morrow that ha s taken place there in a long time\; and I'll be bound you're a going ther e to have a hand in it.\" Listwell. \"Why\, you must think\, then\, that there's money to be made at that business?\" Loafer. \"Well\, 'pon my hon or\, sir\, I never made any that way myself\; but it stands to reason that it's a money making business\; for almost210all other business in Virgini a is dropped to engage in this. One thing is sartain\, I never see'd a nig ger-buyer yet that had 'nt a plenty of money\, and he was 'nt as free with it as water. I has known one on 'em to treat as high as twenty times in a night\; and\, ginerally speaking\, they's men of edication\, and knows al l about the government. The fact is\, sir\, I alloys like to hear 'em talk \, bekase I alloys can learn something from them.\" Listwell. \"What may I call your name\, sir?\" Loafer. \"Well\, now\, they calls me Wilkes. I' m known all around by the gentlemen that comes here. They all knows old Wi lkes.\" Listwell. \"Well\, Wilkes\, you seem to be acquainted here\, and I see you have a strong liking for a horse. Be so good as to speak a kind word for mine to the hostler to-night\, and you'll not lose anything by it .\" Loafer. \"Well\, sir\, I see you don't say much\, but you I've got an insight into things. It's alloys wise to get the good will of them that's acquainted about a tavern\; for a man don't know when he goes into a hous e what may happen\, or how much he may need a friend.\" Here the loafer ga ve Mr. Listwell a significant grin\, which expressed a sort of triumphant pleasure at having\, as he supposed\, by his tact succeeded in placing so fine appearing a gentleman under obligations to him. The pleasure\, howeve r\, was mutual\; for there was something so insinuating in the glance of t his loquacious customer\, that Mr. Listwell was very211glad to get quit of him\, and to do so more successfully\, he ordered his supper to be brough t to him in his private room\, private to the eye\, but not to the ear. Th is room was directly over the bar\, and the plastering being off\, nothing but pine boards and naked laths separated him from the disagreeable compa ny below\,—he could easily hear what was said in the bar-room\, and was rather glad of the advantage it afforded\, for\, as you shall see\, it fur nished him important hints as to the manner and deportment he should assum e during his stay at that tavern. Mr. Listwell says he had got into his r oom but a few moments\, when he heard the officious Wilkes below\, in a to ne of disappointment\, exclaim\, \"Whar's that gentleman?\" Wilkes was evi dently expecting to meet with his friend at the bar-room\, on his return\, and had no doubt of his doing the handsome thing. \"He has gone to his ro om\,\" answered the landlord\, \"and has ordered his supper to be brought to him.\" Here some one shouted out\, \"Who is he\, Wilkes? Where's he go ing?\" \"Well\, now\, I'll be hanged if I know\; but I'm willing to make any man a bet of this old hat agin a five dollar bill\, that that gent is as full of money as a dog is of fleas. He's going down to Richmond to buy niggers\, I make no doubt. He's no fool\, I warrant ye.\" \"Well\, he act s d—d strange\,\" said another\, \"anyhow. I likes to see a man\, when h e comes212up to a tavern\, to come straight into the bar-room\, and show t hat he's a man among men. Nobody was going to bite him.\" \"Now\, I don't blame him a bit for not coming in here. That man knows his business\, and means to take care on his money\,\" answered Wilkes. \"Wilkes\, you 're a fool. You only say that\, becase you hope to get a few coppers out on hi m.\" \"You only measure my corn by your half-bushel\, I won't say that yo u're only mad becase I got the chance of speaking to him first.\" \"O Wil kes! you're known here. You'll praise up any body that will give you a cop per\; besides\, 'tis my opinion that that fellow who took his long slab-si des up stairs\, for all the world just like a half-scared woman\, afraid t o look honest men in the face\, is a Northerner\, and as mean as dish-wate r.\" \"Now what will you bet of that\,\" said Wilkes. The speaker said\, \"I make no bets with you\, 'kase you can get that fellow up stairs there to say anything.\" \"Well\,\" said Wilkes\, \"I am willing to bet any ma n in the company that that gentleman is a nigger-buyer. He did 'nt tell me so right down\, but I reckon I knows enough about men to give a pretty cl ean guess as to what they are arter.\" The dispute as to who Mr. Listwell was\, what his business\, where he was going\, &\;c.\, was kept up wit h much animation for some time\, and more than once threatened a serious d isturbance of the213peace. Wilkes had his friends as well as his opponents . After this sharp debate\, the company amused themselves by drinking whis key\, and telling stories. The latter consisting of quarrels\, fights\, re ncontres\, and duels\, in which distinguished persons of that neighborhood \, and frequenters of that house\, had been actors. Some of these stories were frightful enough\, and were told\, too\, with a relish which bespoke the pleasure of the parties with the horrid scenes they portrayed. It woul d not be proper here to give the reader any idea of the vulgarity and dark profanity which rolled\, as \"a sweet morsel\,\" under these corrupt tong ues. A more brutal set of creatures\, perhaps\, never congregated. Disgus ted\, and a little alarmed withal\, Mr. Listwell\, who was not accustomed to such entertainment\, at length retired\, but not to sleep. He was too m uch wrought upon by what he had heard to rest quietly\, and what snatches of sleep he got\, were interrupted by dreams which were anything than plea sant. At eleven o'clock\, there seemed to be several hundreds of persons c rowding into the house. A loud and confused clamour\, cursing and cracking of whips\, and the noise of chains startled him from his bed\; for a mome nt he would have given the half of his farm in Ohio to have been at home. This uproar was kept up with undulating course\, till near morning. There was loud laughing\,—loud singing\,—loud cursing\,—and yet there seem ed to be weeping and mourning in the214midst of all. Mr. Listwell said he had heard enough during the forepart of the night to convince him that a b uyer of men and women stood the best chance of being respected. And he\, t herefore\, thought it best to say nothing which might undo the favorable o pinion that had been formed of him in the bar-room by at least one of the fraternity that swarmed about it. While he would not avow himself a purcha ser of slaves\, he deemed it not prudent to disavow it. He felt that he mi ght\, properly\, refuse to cast such a pearl before parties which\, to him \, were worse than swine. To reveal himself\, and to impart a knowledge of his real character and sentiments would\, to say the least\, be imparting intelligence with the certainty of seeing it and himself both abused. Mr. Listwell confesses\, that this reasoning did not altogether satisfy his c onscience\, for\, hating slavery as he did\, and regarding it to be the im mediate duty of every man to cry out against it\, \"without compromise and without concealment\,\" it was hard for him to admit to himself the possi bility of circumstances wherein a man might\, properly\, hold his tongue o n the subject. Having as little of the spirit of a martyr as Erasmus\, he concluded\, like the latter\, that it was wiser to trust the mercy of God for his soul\, than the humanity of slave-traders for his body. Bodily fea r\, not conscientious scruples\, prevailed. In this spirit he rose early in the morning\, manifesting no surprise at what he had heard during the n ight. His quondam friend was soon at his elbow\,215boring him with all sor ts of questions. All\, however\, directed to find out his character\, busi ness\, residence\, purposes\, and destination. With the most perfect appea rance of good nature and carelessness\, Mr. Listwell evaded these meddleso me inquiries\, and turned conversation to general topics\, leaving himself and all that specially pertained to him\, out of discussion. Disengaging himself from their troublesome companionship\, he made his way towards an old bowling-alley\, which was connected with the house\, and which\, like all the rest\, was in very bad repair. On reaching the alley Mr. Listwell saw\, for the first time in his life\, a slave-gang on their way to marke t. A sad sight truly. Here were one hundred and thirty human beings\,—ch ildren of a common Creator—guilty of no crime—men and women\, with hea rts\, minds\, and deathless spirits\, chained and fettered\, and bound for the market\, in a christian country\,—in a country boasting of its libe rty\, independence\, and high civilization! Humanity converted into mercha ndise\, and linked in iron bands\, with no regard to decency or humanity! All sizes\, ages\, and sexes\, mothers\, fathers\, daughters\, brothers\, sisters\,—all huddled together\, on their way to market to be sold and s eparated from home\, and from each other forever. And all to fill the pock ets of men too lazy to work for an honest living\, and who gain their fort une by plundering the helpless\, and trafficking in the souls and sinews o f men. As he gazed upon this revolting216and heart-rending scene\, our inf ormant said he almost doubted the existence of a God of justice! And he st ood wondering that the earth did not open and swallow up such wickedness. In the midst of these reflections\, and while running his eye up and down the fettered ranks\, he met the glance of one whose face he thought he ha d seen before. To be resolved\, he moved towards the spot. It was MADISON WASHINGTON! Here was a scene for the pencil! Had Mr. Listwell been confron ted by one risen from the dead\, he could not have been more appalled. He was completely stunned. A thunderbolt could not have struck him more dumb. He stood\, for a few moments\, as motionless as one petrified\; collectin g himself\, he at length exclaimed\, \"Madison! is that you?\" The noble fugitive\, but little less astonished than himself\, answered cheerily\, \ "O yes\, sir\, they 've got me again.\" Thoughtless of consequences for t he moment\, Mr. Listwell ran up to his old friend\, placing his hands upon his shoulders\, and looked him in the face! Speechless they stood gazing at each other as if to be doubly resolved that there was no mistake about the matter\, till Madison motioned his friend away\, intimating a fear les t the keepers should find him there\, and suspect him of tampering with th e slaves. \"They will soon be out to look after us. You can come when the y go to breakfast\, and I will tell you all.\"217 Pleased with this arran gement\, Mr. Listwell passed out of the alley\; but only just in time to s ave himself\, for\, while near the door\, he observed three men making the ir way to the alley. The thought occurred to him to await their arrival\, as the best means of diverting the ever ready suspicions of the guilty. W hile the scene between Mr. Listwell and his friend Madison was going on\, the other slaves stood as mute spectators\,—at a loss to know what all t his could mean. As he left\, he heard the man chained to Madison ask\, \"W ho is that gentleman?\" \"He is a friend of mine. I cannot tell you now. Suffice it to say he is a friend. You shall hear more of him before long\, but mark me! whatever shall pass between that gentleman and me\, in your hearing\, I pray you will say nothing about it. We are all chained here to gether\,—ours is a common lot\; and that gentleman is not less your frie nd than mine.\" At these words\, all mysterious as they were\, the unhappy company gave signs of satisfaction and hope. It seems that Madison\, by t hat mesmeric power which is the invariable accompaniment of genius\, had a lready won the confidence of the gang\, and was a sort of general-in-chief among them. By this time the keepers arrived. A horrid trio\, well fitte d for their demoniacal work. Their uncombed hair came down over foreheads \"villainously low\,\" and with eyes\, mouths\, and noses to218match. \"Ha llo! hallo!\" they growled out as they entered. \"Are you all there!\" \" All here\,\" said Madison. \"Well\, well\, that's right! your journey wil l soon be over. You'll be in Richmond by eleven to-day\, and then you'll h ave an easy time on it.\" \"I say\, gal\, what in the devil are you cryin g about?\" said one of them. \"I 'll give you something to cry about\, if you don't mind.\" This was said to a girl\, apparently not more than twelv e years old\, who had been weeping bitterly. She had\, probably\, left beh ind her a loving mother\, affectionate sisters\, brothers\, and friends\, and her tears were but the natural expression of her sorrow\, and the only solace. But the dealers in human flesh have no respect for such sorrow. T hey look upon it as a protest against their cruel injustice\, and they are prompt to punish it. This is a puzzle not easily solved. How came he her e? what can I do for him? may I not even now be in some way compromised in this affair? were thoughts that troubled Mr. Listwell\, and made him eage r for the promised opportunity of speaking to Madison. The bell now sound ed for breakfast\, and keepers and drivers\, with pistols and bowie-knives gleaming from their belts\, hurried in\, as if to get the best places. Ta king the chance now afforded\, Mr. Listwell hastened back to the bowling-a lley. Reaching Madison\, he said\, \"Now do tell me all about the matter. Do you know me?\"219 \"Oh\, yes\,\" said Madison\, \"I know you well\, an d shall never forget you nor that cold and dreary night you gave me shelte r. I must be short\,\" he continued\, \"for they'll soon be out again. Thi s\, then\, is the story in brief. On reaching Canada\, and getting over th e excitement of making my escape\, sir\, my thoughts turned to my poor wif e\, who had well deserved my love by her virtuous fidelity and undying aff ection for me. I could not bear the thought of leaving her in the cruel ja ws of slavery\, without making an effort to rescue her. First\, I tried to get money to buy her\; but oh! the process was too slow. I despaired of a ccomplishing it. She was in all my thoughts by day\, and my dreams by nigh t. At times I could almost hear her voice\, saying\, 'O Madison! Madison! will you then leave me here? can you leave me here to die? No! no! you wil l come! you will come!' I was wretched. I lost my appetite. I could neithe r work\, eat\, nor sleep\, till I resolved to hazard my own liberty\, to g ain that of my wife! But I must be short. Six weeks ago I reached my old m aster's place. I laid about the neighborhood nearly a week\, watching my c hance\, and\, finally\, I ventured upon the desperate attempt to reach my poor wife's room by means of a ladder. I reached the window\, but the nois e in raising it frightened my wife\, and she screamed and fainted. I took her in my arms\, and was descending the ladder\, when the dogs began to ba rk furiously\, and before I could get to220the woods the white folks were roused. The cool night air soon restored my wife\, and she readily recogni zed me. We made the best of our way to the woods\, but it was now too late \,—the dogs were after us as though they would have torn us to pieces. I t was all over with me now! My old master and his two sons ran out with lo aded rifles\, and before we were out of gunshot\, our ears were assailed w ith 'Stop! stop! or be shot down .' Nevertheless we ran on. Seeing that we gave no heed to their calls\, they fired\, and my poor wife fell by my si de dead\, while I received but a slight flesh wound. I now became desperat e\, and stood my ground\, and awaited their attack over her dead body. The y rushed upon me\, with their rifles in hand. I parried their blows\, and fought them 'till I was knocked down and overpowered.\" \"Oh! it was madn ess to have returned\,\" said Mr. Listwell. \"Sir\, I could not be free w ith the galling thought that my poor wife was still a slave. With her in s lavery\, my body\, not my spirit\, was free. I was taken to the house\,— chained to a ring-bolt\,—my wounds dressed. I was kept there three days. All the slaves\, for miles around\, were brought to see me. Many slave-ho lders came with their slaves\, using me as proof of the completeness of th eir power\, and of the impossibility of slaves getting away. I was taunted \, jeered at\, and berated by them\, in a manner that pierced me to the so ul.221Thank God\, I was able to smother my rage\, and to bear it all with seeming composure. After my wounds were nearly healed\, I was taken to a t ree and stripped\, and I received sixty lashes on my naked back. A few day s after\, I was sold to a slave-trader\, and placed in this gang for the N ew Orleans market.\" \"Do you think your master would sell you to me?\" \"O no\, sir! I was sold on condition of my being taken South. Their motiv e is revenge.\" \"Then\, then\,\" said Mr. Listwell\, \"I fear I can do n othing for you. Put your trust in God\, and bear your sad lot with the man ly fortitude which becomes a man. I shall see you at Richmond\, but don't recognize me.\" Saying this\, Mr. Listwell handed Madison ten dollars\; sa id a few words to the other slaves\; received their hearty \"God bless you \,\" and made his way to the house. Fearful of exciting suspicion by too long delay\, our friend went to the breakfast table\, with the air of one who half reproved the greediness of those who rushed in at the sound of th e bell. A cup of coffee was all that he could manage. His feelings were to o bitter and excited\, and his heart was too full with the fate of poor Ma dison (whom he loved as well as admired) to relish his breakfast\; and alt hough he sat long after the company had left the table\, he really did lit tle more than change the position of his knife and fork. The strangeness o f meeting again one whom he had met on222two several occasions before\, un der extraordinary circumstances\, was well calculated to suggest the idea that a supernatural power\, a wakeful providence\, or an inexorable fate\, had linked their destiny together\; and that no efforts of his could dise ntangle him from the mysterious web of circumstances which enfolded him. On leaving the table\, Mr. Listwell nerved himself up and walked firmly in to the bar-room. He was at once greeted again by that talkative chatter-bo x\, Mr. Wilkes. \"Them's a likely set of niggers in the alley there\,\" s aid Wilkes. \"Yes\, they're fine looking fellows\, one of them I should l ike to purchase\, and for him I would be willing to give a handsome sum.\" Turning to one of his comrades\, and with a grin of victory\, Wilkes sai d\, \"Aha\, Bill\, did you hear that? I told you I know'd that gentleman w anted to buy niggers\, and would bid as high as any purchaser in the marke t.\" \"Come\, come\,\" said Listwell\, \"don't be too loud in your praise \, you are old enough to know that prices rise when purchasers are plenty. \" \"That's a fact\,\" said Wilkes\, \"I see you knows the ropes—and th ere's not a man in old Virginy whom I'd rather help to make a good bargain than you\, sir.\" Mr. Listwell here threw a dollar at Wilkes\, (which th e latter caught with a dexterous hand\,) saying\, \"Take that for your kin d good will.\"223Wilkes held up the dollar to his right eye\, with a grin of victory\, and turned to the morose grumbler in the corner who had quest ioned the liberality of a man of whom he knew nothing. Mr. Listwell now s tood as well with the company as any other occupant of the bar-room. We p ass over the hurry and bustle\, the brutal vociferations of the slave-driv ers in getting their unhappy gang in motion for Richmond\; and we need not narrate every application of the lash to those who faltered in the journe y. Mr. Listwell followed the train at a long distance\, with a sad heart\; and on reaching Richmond\, left his horse at a hotel\, and made his way t o the wharf in the direction of which he saw the slave-coffle driven. He w as just in time to see the whole company embark for New Orleans. The thoug ht struck him that\, while mixing with the multitude\, he might do his fri end Madison one last service\, and he stept into a hardware store and purc hased three strong files. These he took with him\, and standing near the s mall boat\, which lay in waiting to bear the company by parcels to the sid e of the brig that lay in the stream\, he managed\, as Madison passed him\ , to slip the files into his pocket\, and at once darted back among the cr owd. All the company now on board\, the imperious voice of the captain so unded\, and instantly a dozen hardy seamen were in the rigging\, hurrying aloft to unfurl the broad canvas of our Baltimore built American Slaver. T he sailors hung about the224ropes\, like so many black cats\, now in the r ound-tops\, now in the cross-trees\, now on the yard-arms\; all was bluste r and activity. Soon the broad fore topsail\, the royal and top gallant sa il were spread to the breeze. Round went the heavy windlass\, clank\, clan k went the fall-bit\,—the anchors weighed\, jibs\, mainsails\, and topsa ils hauled to the wind\, and the long\, low\, black slaver\, with her carg o of human flesh\, careened and moved forward to the sea. Mr. Listwell st ood on the shore\, and watched the slaver till the last speck of her upper sails faded from sight\, and announced the limit of human vision. \"Farew ell! farewell! brave and true man! God grant that brighter skies may smile upon your future than have yet looked down upon your thorny pathway.\" S aying this to himself\, our friend lost no time in completing his business \, and in making his way homewards\, gladly shaking off from his feet the dust of Old Virginia.PART 4PART IV.Oh\, where's the slave so lowlyCondemn' d to chains unholy\,Who could he burstHis bonds at firstWould pine beneath them slowly ?Moore.—Know ye notWho would be free\, themselves must stri ke the blow.Childe Harold. What a world of inconsistency\, as well as of wickedness\, is suggested by the smooth and gliding phrase\, AMERICAN SLAV E TRADE\; and how strange and perverse is that moral sentiment which loath es\, execrates\, and brands as piracy and as deserving of death the carryi ng away into captivity men\, women\, and children from the African coast\; but which is neither shocked nor disturbed by a similar traffic\, carried on with the same motives and purposes\, and characterized by even more od ious peculiarities on the coast of our MODEL REPUBLIC. We execrate and han g the wretch guilty of this crime on the coast of Guinea\, while we respec t and applaud the guilty participators in this murderous business on enlig htened shores of the Chesapeake. The inconsistency is so flagrant and glar ing\, that it would seem to226cast a doubt on the doctrine of the innate m oral sense of mankind. Just two months after the sailing of the Virginia slave brig\, which the reader has seen move off to sea so proudly with her human cargo for the New Orleans market\, there chanced to meet\, in the M arine Coffee-house at Richmond\, a company of ocean birds\, when the follo wing conversation\, which throws some light on the subsequent history\, no t only of Madison Washington\, but of the hundred and thirty human beings with whom we last saw him chained. \"I say\, shipmate\, you had rather ro ugh weather on your late passage to Orleans?\" said Jack Williams\, a regu lar old salt\, tauntingly\, to a trim\, compact\, manly looking person\, w ho proved to be the first mate of the slave brig in question. \"Foul play \, as well as foul weather\,\" replied the firmly knit personage\, evident ly but little inclined to enter upon a subject which terminated so inglori ously to the captain and officers of the American slaver. \"Well\, betwix t you and me\,\" said Williams\, \"that whole affair on board of the Creol e was miserably and disgracefully managed. Those black rascals got the upp er hand of ye altogether\; and\, in my opinion\, the whole disaster was th e result of ignorance of the real character of darkies in general. With ha lf a dozen resolute white men\, (I say it not boastingly\,) I could have h ad the rascals in irons in ten minutes\, not because I'm so strong\,227but I know how to manage 'em. With my back against the caboose\, I could\, my self\, have flogged a dozen of them\; and had I been on board\, by every m onster of the deep\, every black devil of 'em all would have had his neck stretched from the yard-arm. Ye made a mistake in yer manner of fighting ' em. All that is needed in dealing with a set of rebellious darkies\, is to show that yer not afraid of 'em. For my own part\, I would not honor a do zen niggers by pointing a gun at one on 'em\,—a good stout whip\, or a s tiff rope's end\, is better than all the guns at Old Point to quell a nigg er insurrection. Why\, sir\, to take a gun to a nigger is the best way you can select to tell him you are afraid of him\, and the best way of inviti ng his attack.\" This speech made quite a sensation among the company\, a nd a part of them indicated solicitude for the answer which might be made to it. Our first mate replied\, \"Mr. Williams\, all that you've now said sounds very well here on shore\, where\, perhaps\, you have studied negro character. I do not profess to understand the subject as well as yourself\ ; but it strikes me\, you apply the same rule in dissimilar cases. It is q uite easy to talk of flogging niggers here on land\, where you have the sy mpathy of the community\, and the whole physical force of the government\, State and national\, at your command\; and where\, if a negro shall lift his hand against a white man\, the white community\, with one accord\, are ready to unite in shooting228him down. I say\, in such circumstances\, it 's easy to talk of flogging negroes and of negro cowardice\; but\, sir\, I deny that the negro is\, naturally\, a coward\, or that your theory of ma naging slaves will stand the test of salt water. It may do very well for a n overseer\, a contemptible hireling\, to take advantage of fears already in existence\, and which his presence has no power to inspire\; to swagger about whip in hand\, and discourse on the timidity and cowardice of negro es\; for they have a smooth sea and a fair wind. It is one thing to manage a company of slaves on a Virginia plantation\, and quite another thing to quell an insurrection on the lonely billows of the Atlantic\, where every breeze speaks of courage and liberty. For the negro to act cowardly on sh ore\, may be to act wisely\; and I've some doubts whether you\, Mr. Willia ms\, would find it very convenient were you a slave in Algiers\, to raise your hand against the bayonets of a whole government.\" \"By George\, shi pmate\,\" said Williams\, \"you're coming rather too near. Either I've fal len very low in your estimation\, or your notions of negro courage have go t up a button-hole too high. Now I more than ever wish I'd been on board o f that luckless craft. I'd have given ye practical evidence of the truth o f my theory. I don't doubt there's some difference in being at sea. But a nigger's a nigger\, on sea or land\; and is a coward\, find him where you will\; a drop of blood from one on 'em will skeer a hundred. A knock on th e nose\, or a229kick on the shin\, will tame the wildest 'darkey' you can fetch me. I say again\, and will stand by it\, I could\, with half a dozen good men\, put the whole nineteen on 'em in irons\, and have carried them safe to New Orleans too. Mind\, I don't blame you\, but I do say\, and ev ery gentleman here will bear me out in it\, that the fault was somewhere\, or them niggers would never have got off as they have done. For my part I feel ashamed to have the idea go abroad\, that a ship load of slaves can' t be safely taken from Richmond to New Orleans. I should like\, merely to redeem the character of Virginia sailors\, to take charge of a ship load o n 'em to-morrow.\" Williams went on in this strain\, occasionally casting an imploring glance at the company for applause for his wit\, and sympath y for his contempt of negro courage. He had\, evidently\, however\, waked up the wrong passenger\; for besides being in the right\, his opponent car ried that in his eye which marked him a man not to be trifled with. \"Wel l\, Sir\,\" said the sturdy mate\, \"you can select your own method for di stinguishing yourself\;—the path of ambition in this direction is quite open to you in Virginia\, and I've no doubt that you will be highly apprec iated and compensated for all your valiant achievements in that line\; but for myself\, while I do not profess to be a giant\, I have resolved never to set my foot on the deck of a slave ship\, either as officer\, or commo n sailor again\; I have got enough of it.\"230 \"Indeed! indeed!\" exclai med Williams\, derisively. \"Yes\, indeed\,\" echoed the mate\; \"but don 't misunderstand me. It is not the high value that I set upon my life that makes me say what I have said\; yet I'm resolved never to endanger my lif e again in a cause which my conscience does not approve. I dare say here w hat many men feel\, but dare not speak\, that this whole slave-trading bus iness is a disgrace and scandal to Old Virginia.\" \"Hold! hold on! shipm ate\,\" said Williams\, \"I hardly thought you'd have shown your colors so soon\,—I'll be hanged if you're not as good an abolitionist as Garrison himself.\" The mate now rose from his chair\, manifesting some excitemen t. \"What do you mean\, sir\,\" said he\, in a commanding tone. \"That man does not live who shall offer me an insult with impunity.\" The effect o f the words was marked\; and the company clustered around. Williams\, in a n apologetic tone\, said\, \"Shipmate! keep your temper. I meant no insult . We all know that Tom Grant is no coward\, and what I said about your bei ng an abolitionist was simply this: you might have put down them black mut ineers and murderers\, but your conscience held you back.\" \"In that\, t oo\,\" said Grant\, \"you were mistaken. I did all that any man with equal strength and presence of mind could have done. The fact is\, Mr. Williams \, you underrate the courage as well as the skill of these negroes\, and f urther\, you do231not seem to have been correctly informed about the case in hand at all.\" \"All I know about it is\,\" said Williams\, \"that on the ninth day after you left Richmond\, a dozen or two of the niggers ye h ad on board\, came on deck and took the ship from you\;—had her steered into a British port\, where\, by the by\, every wooly head of them went as hore and was free. Now I take this to be a discreditable piece of business \, and one demanding explanation.\" \"There are a great many discreditabl e things in the world\,\" said Grant. \"For a ship to go down under a calm sky is\, upon the first flush of it\, disgraceful either to sailors or ca ulkers. But when we learn\, that by some mysterious disturbance in nature\ , the waters parted beneath\, and swallowed the ship up\, we lose our indi gnation and disgust in lamentation of the disaster\, and in awe of the Pow er which controls the elements.\" \"Very true\, very true\,\" said Willia ms\, \"I should be very glad to have an explanation which would relieve th e affair of its present discreditable features. I have desired to see you ever since you got home\, and to learn from you a full statement of the fa cts in the case. To me the whole thing seems unaccountable. I cannot see h ow a dozen or two of ignorant negroes\, not one of whom had ever been to s ea before\, and all of them were closely ironed between decks\, should be able to get their fetters off\, rush out of the hatchway in open daylight\ , kill two white men\, the one the232captain and the other their master\, and then carry the ship into a British port\, where every 'darkey' of them was set free. There must have been great carelessness\, or cowardice some where!\" The company which had listened in silence during most of this di scussion\, now became much excited. One said\, I agree with Williams\; and several said the thing looks black enough. After the temporary tumultuous exclamations had subsided\,— \"I see\,\" said Grant\, \"how you regard this case\, and how difficult it will be for me to render our ship's comp any blameless in your eyes. Nevertheless\, I will state the fact precisely as they came under my own observation. Mr. Williams speaks of 'ignorant n egroes\,' and\, as a general rule\, they are ignorant\; but had he been on board the Creole as I was\, he would have seen cause to admit that there are exceptions to this general rule. The leader of the mutiny in question was just as shrewd a fellow as ever I met in my life\, and was as well fit ted to lead in a dangerous enterprise as any one white man in ten thousand . The name of this man\, strange to say\, (ominous of greatness\,) was MAD ISON WASHINGTON. In the short time he had been on board\, he had secured t he confidence of every officer. The negroes fairly worshipped him. His man ner and bearing were such\, that no one could suspect him of a murderous p urpose. The only feeling with which we regarded him was\, that he was a po werful\, good-disposed233negro. He seldom spake to any one\, and when he d id speak\, it was with the utmost propriety. His words were well chosen\, and his pronunciation equal to that of any schoolmaster. It was a mystery to us where he got his knowledge of language\; but as little was said to h im\, none of us knew the extent of his intelligence and ability till it wa s too late. It seems he brought three files with him on board\, and must h ave gone to work upon his fetters the first night out\; and he must have w orked well at that\; for on the day of the rising\, he got the irons off e ighteen besides himself. \"The attack began just about twilight in the ev ening. Apprehending a squall\, I had commanded the second mate to order al l hands on deck\, to take in sail. A few minutes before this I had seen Ma dison's head above the hatchway\, looking out upon the white-capped waves at the leeward. I think I never saw him look more good-natured. I stood ju st about midship\, on the larboard side. The captain was pacing the quarte r-deck on the starboard side\, in company with Mr. Jameson\, the owner of most of the slaves on board. Both were armed. I had just told the men to l ay aloft\, and was looking to see my orders obeyed\, when I heard the disc harge of a pistol on the starboard side\; and turning suddenly around\, th e very deck seemed covered with fiends from the pit. The nineteen negroes were all on deck\, with their broken fetters in their234hands\, rushing in all directions. I put my hand quickly in my pocket to draw out my jack-kn ife\; but before I could draw it\, I was knocked senseless to the deck. Wh en I came to myself\, (which I did in a few minutes\, I suppose\, for it w as yet quite light\,) there was not a white man on deck. The sailors were all aloft in the rigging\, and dared not come down. Captain Clarke and Mr. Jameson lay stretched on the quarter-deck\,—both dying\,—while Madiso n himself stood at the helm unhurt. \"I was completely weakened by the lo ss of blood\, and had not recovered from the stunning blow which felled me to the deck\; but it was a little too much for me\, even in my prostrate condition\, to see our good brig commanded by a black murderer. So I calle d out to the men to come down and take the ship\, or die in the attempt. S uiting the action to the word\, I started aft. You murderous villain\, sai d I\, to the imp at the helm\, and rushed upon him to deal him a blow\, wh en he pushed me back with his strong\, black arm\, as though I had been a boy of twelve. I looked around for the men. They were still in the rigging . Not one had come down. I started towards Madison again. The rascal now t old me to stand back. 'Sir\,' said he\, 'your life is in my hands. I could have killed you a dozen times over during this last half hour\, and could kill you now. You call me a black murderer. I am not a murderer. God is m y witness that LIBERTY\,235not malice\, is the motive for this night's wor k. I have done no more to those dead men yonder\, than they would have don e to me in like circumstances. We have struck for our freedom\, and if a t rue man's heart be in you\, you will honor us for the deed. We have done t hat which you applaud your fathers for doing\, and if we are murderers\, s o were they.' \"I felt little disposition to reply to this impudent speec h. By heaven\, it disarmed me. The fellow loomed up before me. I forgot hi s blackness in the dignity of his manner\, and the eloquence of his speech . It seemed as if the souls of both the great dead (whose names he bore) h ad entered him. To the sailors in the rigging he said: 'Men! the battle is over\,—your captain is dead. I have complete command of this vessel. Al l resistance to my authority will be in vain. My men have won their libert y\, with no other weapons but their own BROKEN FETTERS. We are nineteen in number. We do not thirst for your blood\, we demand only our rightful fre edom. Do not flatter yourselves that I am ignorant of chart or compass. I know both. We are now only about sixty miles from Nassau. Come down\, and do your duty. Land us in Nassau\, and not a hair of your heads shall be hu rt.' \"I shouted\, Stay where you are\, men\,—when a sturdy black fello w ran at me with a handspike\, and would have split my head open\, but for the interference of Madison\, who darted between me236and the blow. 'I kn ow what you are up to\,' said the latter to me. 'You want to navigate this brig into a slave port\, where you would have us all hanged\; but you'll miss it\; before this brig shall touch a slave-cursed shore while I am on board\, I will myself put a match to the magazine\, and blow her\, and be blown with her\, into a thousand fragments. Now I have saved your life twi ce within these last twenty minutes\,—for\, when you lay helpless on dec k\, my men were about to kill you. I held them in check. And if you now (s eeing I am your friend and not your enemy) persist in your resistance to m y authority\, I give you fair warning YOU SHALL DIE.' \"Saying this to me \, he cast a glance into the rigging where the terror-stricken sailors wer e clinging\, like so many frightened monkeys\, and commanded them to come down\, in a tone from which there was no appeal\; for four men stood by wi th muskets in hand\, ready at the word of command to shoot them down. \"I now became satisfied that resistance was out of the question\; that my be st policy was to put the brig into Nassau\, and secure the assistance of t he American consul at that port. I felt sure that the authorities would en able us to secure the murderers\, and bring them to trial. \"By this time the apprehended squall had burst upon us. The wind howled furiously\,—t he ocean was white with foam\, which\, on account of the darkness\, we cou ld see only by the quick flashes of237lightning that darted occasionally f rom the angry sky. All was alarm and confusion. Hideous cries came up from the slave women. Above the roaring billows a succession of heavy thunder rolled along\, swelling the terrific din. Owing to the great darkness\, an d a sudden shift of the wind\, we found ourselves in the trough of the sea . When shipping a heavy sea over the starboard bow\, the bodies of the cap tain and Mr. Jameson were washed overboard. For awhile we had dearer inter ests to look after than slave property. A more savage thunder-gust never s wept the ocean. Our brig rolled and creaked as if every bolt would be star ted\, and every thread of oakum would be pressed out of the seams. To the pumps! to the pumps! I cried\, but not a sailor would quit his grasp. Fort unately this squall soon passed over\, or we must have been food for shark s. \"During all the storm\, Madison stood firmly at the helm\,— his kee n eye fixed upon the binnacle. He was not indifferent to the dreadful hurr icane\; yet he met it with the equanimity of an old sailor. He was silent but not agitated. The first words he uttered after the storm had slightly subsided\, were characteristic of the man. 'Mr. Mate\, you cannot write th e bloody laws of slavery on those restless billows. The ocean\, if not the land\, is free.' I confess\, gentlemen\, I felt myself in the presence of a superior man\; one who\, had he been a white man\, I would have followe d willingly and gladly in any honorable enterprise. Our difference of238co lor was the only ground for difference of action. It was not that his prin ciples were wrong in the abstract\; for they are the principles of 1776. B ut I could not bring myself to recognize their application to one whom I d eemed my inferior. \"But to my story. What happened now is soon told. Two hours after the frightful tempest had spent itself\, we were plump at the wharf in Nassau. I sent two of our men immediately to our consul with a s tatement of facts\, requesting his interference in our behalf. What he did \, or whither he did anything\, I don't know\; but\, by order of the autho rities\, a company of black soldiers came on board\, for the purpose\, as they said\, of protecting the property. These impudent rascals\, when I ca lled on them to assist me in keeping the slaves on board\, sheltered thems elves adroitly under their instructions only to protect property\,—and s aid they did not recognize persons as property. I told them that by the la ws of Virginia and the laws of the United States\, the slaves on board wer e as much property as the barrels of flour in the hold. At this the stupid blockheads showed their ivory\, rolled up their white eyes in horror\, as if the idea of putting men on a footing with merchandise were revolting t o their humanity. When these instructions were understood among the negroe s\, it was impossible for us to keep them on board. They deliberately gath ered up their baggage before our eyes\, and\, against our remonstrances\, poured through the gangway\,—formed239themselves into a procession on th e wharf\,—bid farewell to all on board\, and\, uttering the wildest shou ts of exultation\, they marched\, amidst the deafening cheers of a multitu de of sympathizing spectators\, under the triumphant leadership of their h eroic chief and deliverer\, MADISON WASHINGTON.\"REFERRALhttps://utc.iath. virginia.edu/africam/heroslavhp.htmlCITATIONhttps://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/ent ry/507-the-heroic-slave-from-frederick-douglass/ DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20260622 RRULE:FREQ=YEARLY;INTERVAL=1 END:VEVENT END:VCALENDAR