PASSAGE—PROSCRIPTION1 TURNED TO GOOD ACCOUNT—THE HUTCHINSON FAMILY—THE
MOB ON BOARD THE “CAMBRIA”—HAPPY INTRODUCTION TO THE BRITISH
WERE DIRECTED—RECEPTION SPEECH IN LONDON—CHARACTER OF THE SPEECH
DEFENDED—CIRCUMSTANCES EXPLAINED—CAUSES CONTRIBUTING TO THE SUCCESS OF
MY MISSION—FREE CHURCH OF SCOTLAND—TESTIMONIAL.
The allotments of Providence8, when coupled with trouble and anxiety, often conceal9 from finite vision the wisdom and goodness in which they are sent; and, frequently, what seemed a harsh and invidious dispensation, is converted by after experience into a happy and beneficial arrangement. Thus, the painful liability to be returned again to slavery, which haunted me by day, and troubled my dreams by night, proved to be a necessary step in the path of knowledge and usefulness. The writing of my pamphlet, in the spring of 1845, endangered my liberty, and led me to seek a refuge from republican slavery in monarchical10 England. A rude, uncultivated fugitive11 slave was driven, by stern necessity, to that country to which young American gentlemen go to increase their stock of knowledge, to seek pleasure, to have their rough, democratic manners softened12 by contact with English aristocratic refinement13. On applying for a passage to England, on board the “Cambria”, of the Cunard line, my friend, James N. Buffum, of[285] Lynn, Massachusetts, was informed that I could not be received on board as a cabin passenger. American prejudice against color triumphed over British liberality and civilization, and erected14 a color test and condition for crossing the sea in the cabin of a British vessel15. The insult was keenly felt by my white friends, but to me, it was common, expected, and therefore, a thing of no great consequence, whether I went in the cabin or in the steerage. Moreover, I felt that if I could not go into the first cabin, first-cabin passengers could come into the second cabin, and the result justified16 my anticipations17 to the fullest extent. Indeed, I soon found myself an object of more general interest than I wished to be; and so far from being degraded by being placed in the second cabin, that part of the ship became the scene of as much pleasure and refinement, during the voyage, as the cabin itself. The Hutchinson Family, celebrated18 vocalists—fellow-passengers—often came to my rude forecastle deck, and sung their sweetest songs, enlivening the place with eloquent19 music, as well as spirited conversation, during the voyage. In two days after leaving Boston, one part of the ship was about as free to me as another. My fellow-passengers not only visited me, but invited me to visit them, on the saloon deck. My visits there, however, were but seldom. I preferred to live within my privileges, and keep upon my own premises20. I found this quite as much in accordance with good policy, as with my own feelings. The effect was, that with the majority of the passengers, all color distinctions were flung to the winds, and I found myself treated with every mark of respect, from the beginning to the end of the voyage, except in a single instance; and in that, I came near being mobbed, for complying with an invitation given me by the passengers, and the captain of the “Cambria,” to deliver a lecture on slavery. Our New Orleans and Georgia passengers were pleased to regard my lecture as an insult offered to them, and swore I should not speak. They went so far as to threaten to throw me overboard, and but for the firmness of Captain Judkins,[286] probably would have (under the inspiration of slavery and brandy) attempted to put their threats into execution. I have no space to describe this scene, although its tragic21 and comic peculiarities22 are well worth describing. An end was put to the melee23, by the captain’s calling the ship’s company to put the salt water mobocrats in irons. At this determined24 order, the gentlemen of the lash25 scampered26, and for the rest of the voyage conducted themselves very decorously.
This incident of the voyage, in two days after landing at Liverpool, brought me at once before the British public, and that by no act of my own. The gentlemen so promptly27 snubbed in their meditated28 violence, flew to the press to justify29 their conduct, and to denounce me as a worthless and insolent30 Negro. This course was even less wise than the conduct it was intended to sustain; for, besides awakening31 something like a national interest in me, and securing me an audience, it brought out counter statements, and threw the blame upon themselves, which they had sought to fasten upon me and the gallant33 captain of the ship.
Some notion may be formed of the difference in my feelings and circumstances, while abroad, from the following extract from one of a series of letters addressed by me to Mr. Garrison, and published in the Liberator35. It was written on the first day of January, 1846:
MY DEAR FRIEND GARRISON: Up to this time, I have given no direct expression of the views, feelings, and opinions which I have formed, respecting the character and condition of the people of this land. I have refrained thus, purposely. I wish to speak advisedly, and in order to do this, I have waited till, I trust, experience has brought my opinions to an intelligent maturity36. I have been thus careful, not because I think what I say will have much effect in shaping the opinions of the world, but because whatever of influence I may possess, whether little or much, I wish it to go in the right direction, and according to truth. I hardly need say that, in speaking of Ireland, I shall be influenced by no prejudices in favor of America. I think my circumstances all forbid that. I have no end to serve, no creed37 to uphold, no government to defend; and as to nation, I belong to none. I have no protection at home, or resting-place abroad. The land of my birth welcomes me to her shores only as a slave, and spurns38 with contempt the idea of treating me differently; so that I am an outcast from the society of my childhood, and an outlaw39 in the[287] land of my birth. “I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner40, as all my fathers were.” That men should be patriotic41, is to me perfectly42 natural; and as a philosophical43 fact, I am able to give it an intellectual recognition. But no further can I go. If ever I had any patriotism44, or any capacity for the feeling, it was whipped out of me long since, by the lash of the American soul-drivers.
In thinking of America, I sometimes find myself admiring her bright blue sky, her grand old woods, her fertile fields, her beautiful rivers, her mighty45 lakes, and star-crowned mountains. But my rapture46 is soon checked, my joy is soon turned to mourning. When I remember that all is cursed with the infernal spirit of slaveholding, robbery, and wrong; when I remember that with the waters of her noblest rivers, the tears of my brethren are borne to the ocean, disregarded and forgotten, and that her most fertile fields drink daily of the warm blood of my outraged48 sisters; I am filled with unutterable loathing49, and led to reproach myself that anything could fall from my lips in praise of such a land. America will not allow her children to love her. She seems bent50 on compelling those who would be her warmest friends, to be her worst enemies. May God give her repentance51, before it is too late, is the ardent52 prayer of my heart. I will continue to pray, labor3, and wait, believing that she cannot always be insensible to the dictates53 of justice, or deaf to the voice of humanity.
My opportunities for learning the character and condition of the people of this land have been very great. I have traveled almost from the Hill of Howth to the Giant’s Causeway, and from the Giant’s Causway, to Cape54 Clear. During these travels, I have met with much in the chara@@ and condition of the people to approve, and much to condemn55; much that @@thrilled me with pleasure, and very much that has filled me with pain. I @@ @@t, in this letter, attempt to give any description of those scenes which have given me pain. This I will do hereafter. I have enough, and more than your subscribers will be disposed to read at one time, of the bright side of the picture. I can truly say, I have spent some of the happiest moments of my life since landing in this country. I seem to have undergone a transformation56. I live a new life. The warm and generous cooperation extended to me by the friends of my despised race; the prompt and liberal manner with which the press has rendered me its aid; the glorious enthusiasm with which thousands have flocked to hear the cruel wrongs of my down-trodden and long-enslaved fellow-countrymen portrayed58; the deep sympathy for the slave, and the strong abhorrence59 of the slaveholder, everywhere evinced; the cordiality with which members and ministers of various religious bodies, and of various shades of religious opinion, have embraced me, and lent me their aid; the kind of hospitality constantly proffered60 to me by persons of the highest rank in society; the spirit of freedom that seems to animate61 all with whom I come in contact, and the entire absence of everything that looked like prejudice against me, on account of the color of my skin—contrasted so strongly with my long and bitter experience in the United States, that I look with wonder and amazement62 on the transition. In the southern part of the United States, I was a slave, thought of[288] and spoken of as property; in the language of the LAW, “held, taken, reputed, and adjudged to be a chattel64 in the hands of my owners and possessors, and their executors, administrators65, and assigns, to all intents, constructions, and purposes whatsoever66.” (Brev. Digest, 224). In the northern states, a fugitive slave, liable to be hunted at any moment, like a felon68, and to be hurled69 into the terrible jaws70 of slavery—doomed71 by an inveterate72 prejudice against color to insult and outrage47 on every hand (Massachusetts out of the question)—denied the privileges and courtesies common to others in the use of the most humble73 means of conveyance—shut out from the cabins on steamboats—refused admission to respectable hotels—caricatured, scorned, scoffed74, mocked, and maltreated with impunity75 by any one (no matter how black his heart), so he has a white skin. But now behold76 the change! Eleven days and a half gone, and I have crossed three thousand miles of the perilous77 deep. Instead of a democratic government, I am under a monarchical government. Instead of the bright, blue sky of America, I am covered with the soft, grey fog of the Emerald Isle78. I breathe, and lo! the chattel becomes a man. I gaze around in vain for one who will question my equal humanity, claim me as his slave, or offer me an insult. I employ a cab—I am seated beside white people—I reach the hotel—I enter the same door—I am shown into the same parlor—I dine at the same table and no one is offended. No delicate nose grows deformed79 in my presence. I find no difficulty here in obtaining admission into any place of worship, instruction, or amusement, on equal terms with people as white as any I ever saw in the United States. I meet nothing to remind me of my complexion80. I find myself regarded and treated at every turn with the kindness and deference81 paid to white people. When I go to church, I am met by no upturned nose and scornful lip to tell me, “We don’t allow niggers in here!”
I remember, about two years ago, there was in Boston, near the south-west corner of Boston Common, a menagerie. I had long desired to see such a collection as I understood was being exhibited there. Never having had an opportunity while a slave, I resolved to seize this, my first, since my escape. I went, and as I approached the entrance to gain admission, I was met and told by the door-keeper, in a harsh and contemptuous tone, “We don’t allow niggers in here.” I also remember attending a revival82 meeting in the Rev67. Henry Jackson’s meeting-house, at New Bedford, and going up the broad aisle83 to find a seat, I was met by a good deacon, who told me, in a pious84 tone, “We don’t allow niggers in here!” Soon after my arrival in New Bedford, from the south, I had a strong desire to attend the Lyceum, but was told, “They don’t allow niggers in here!” While passing from New York to Boston, on the steamer Massachusetts, on the night of the 9th of December, 1843, when chilled almost through with the cold, I went into the cabin to get a little warm. I was soon touched upon the shoulder, and told, “We don’t allow niggers in here!” On arriving in Boston, from an anti-slavery tour, hungry and tired, I went into an eating-house, near my friend, Mr. Campbell’s to get some refreshments85. I was met by a lad in a white apron86, “We don’t allow niggers in here!”[289] A week or two before leaving the United States, I had a meeting appointed at Weymouth, the home of that glorious band of true abolitionists, the Weston family, and others. On attempting to take a seat in the omnibus to that place, I was told by the driver (and I never shall forget his fiendish hate). “I don’t allow niggers in here!” Thank heaven for the respite87 I now enjoy! I had been in Dublin but a few days, when a gentleman of great respectability kindly88 offered to conduct me through all the public buildings of that beautiful city; and a little afterward89, I found myself dining with the lord mayor of Dublin. What a pity there was not some American democratic Christian90 at the door of his splendid mansion91, to bark out at my approach, “They don’t allow niggers in here!” The truth is, the people here know nothing of the republican Negro hate prevalent in our glorious land. They measure and esteem92 men according to their moral and intellectual worth, and not according to the color of their skin. Whatever may be said of the aristocracies here, there is none based on the color of a man’s skin. This species of aristocracy belongs preeminently to “the land of the free, and the home of the brave.” I have never found it abroad, in any but Americans. It sticks to them wherever they go. They find it almost as hard to get rid of, as to get rid of their skins.
The second day after my arrival at Liverpool, in company with my friend, Buffum, and several other friends, I went to Eaton Hall, the residence of the Marquis of Westminster, one of the most splendid buildings in England. On approaching the door, I found several of our American passengers, who came out with us in the “Cambria,” waiting for admission, as but one party was allowed in the house at a time. We all had to wait till the company within came out. And of all the faces, expressive94 of chagrin95, those of the Americans were preeminent93. They looked as sour as vinegar, and as bitter as gall34, when they found I was to be admitted on equal terms with themselves. When the door was opened, I walked in, on an equal footing with my white fellow-citizens, and from all I could see, I had as much attention paid me by the servants that showed us through the house, as any with a paler skin. As I walked through the building, the statuary did not fall down, the pictures did not leap from their places, the doors did not refuse to open, and the servants did not say, “We don’t allow niggers in here!”
A happy new-year to you, and all the friends of freedom.
My time and labors, while abroad were divided between England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. Upon this experience alone, I might write a book twice the size of this, My Bondage96 and My Freedom. I visited and lectured in nearly all the large towns and cities in the United Kingdom, and enjoyed many favorable opportunities for observation and information. But books on England are abundant, and the public may, therefore, dismiss any fear that I am meditating97 another infliction98 in that line;[290] though, in truth, I should like much to write a book on those countries, if for nothing else, to make grateful mention of the many dear friends, whose benevolent99 actions toward me are ineffaceably stamped upon my memory, and warmly treasured in my heart. To these friends I owe my freedom in the United States. On their own motion, without any solicitation100 from me (Mrs. Henry Richardson, a clever lady, remarkable101 for her devotion to every good work, taking the lead), they raised a fund sufficient to purchase my freedom, and actually paid it over, and placed the papers 8 of my manumission in my hands, before [291] they would tolerate the idea of my returning to this, my native country. To this commercial transaction I owe my exemption102 from the democratic operation of the Fugitive Slave Bill of 1850. But for this, I might at any time become a victim of this most cruel and scandalous enactment103, and be doomed to end my life, as I began it, a slave. The sum paid for my freedom was one hundred and fifty pounds sterling104.
Some of my uncompromising anti-slavery friends in this country failed to see the wisdom of this arrangement, and were not pleased that I consented to it, even by my silence. They thought it a violation106 of anti-slavery principles—conceding a right of property in man—and a wasteful107 expenditure108 of money. On the other hand, viewing it simply in the light of a ransom, or as money extorted109 by a robber, and my liberty of more value than one hundred and fifty pounds sterling, I could not see either a violation of the laws of morality, or those of economy, in the transaction.
It is true, I was not in the possession of my claimants, and could have easily remained in England, for the same friends who had so generously purchased my freedom, would have assisted me in establishing myself in that country. To this, however, I could not consent. I felt that I had a duty to perform—and that was, to labor and suffer with the oppressed in my native land. Considering, therefore, all the circumstances—the fugitive slave bill included—I think the very best thing was done in letting Master Hugh have the hundred and fifty pounds sterling, and leaving me free to return to my appropriate field of labor. Had I been a private person, having no other relations or duties than those of a personal and family nature, I should never have consented to the payment of so large a sum for the privilege of living securely under our glorious republican form of government. I could have remained in England, or have gone to some other country; and perhaps I could even have lived unobserved in this. But to this I could not consent. I had already become some[292] what notorious, and withal quite as unpopular as notorious; and I was, therefore, much exposed to arrest and recapture.
The main object to which my labors in Great Britain were directed, was the concentration of the moral and religious sentiment of its people against American slavery. England is often charged with having established slavery in the United States, and if there were no other justification110 than this, for appealing to her people to lend their moral aid for the abolition5 of slavery, I should be justified. My speeches in Great Britain were wholly extemporaneous111, and I may not always have been so guarded in my expressions, as I otherwise should have been. I was ten years younger then than now, and only seven years from slavery. I cannot give the reader a better idea of the nature of my discourses113, than by republishing one of them, delivered in Finsbury chapel114, London, to an audience of about two thousand persons, and which was published in the London Universe, at the time. 9
Those in the United States who may regard this speech as being harsh in its spirit and unjust in its statements, because delivered before an audience supposed to be anti-republican in their principles and feelings, may view the matter differently, when they learn that the case supposed did not exist. It so happened that the great mass of the people in England who attended and patronized my anti-slavery meetings, were, in truth, about as good republicans as the mass of Americans, and with this decided115 advantage over the latter—they are lovers of republicanism for all men, for black men as well as for white men. They are the people who sympathize with Louis Kossuth and Mazzini, and with the oppressed and enslaved, of every color and nation, the world over. They constitute the democratic element in British politics, and are as much opposed to the union of church and state as we, in America, are to such an union. At the meeting where this speech was delivered, Joseph Sturge—a world-wide philanthropist,[293] and a member of the society of Friends—presided, and addressed the meeting. George William Alexander, another Friend, who has spent more than an Ameriacn(sic) fortune in promoting the anti-slavery cause in different sections of the world, was on the platform; and also Dr. Campbell (now of the British Banner) who combines all the humane116 tenderness of Melanchthon, with the directness and boldness of Luther. He is in the very front ranks of non-conformists, and looks with no unfriendly eye upon America. George Thompson, too, was there; and America will yet own that he did a true man’s work in relighting the rapidly dying-out fire of true republicanism in the American heart, and be ashamed of the treatment he met at her hands. Coming generations in this country will applaud the spirit of this much abused republican friend of freedom. There were others of note seated on the platform, who would gladly ingraft upon English institutions all that is purely117 republican in the institutions of America. Nothing, therefore, must be set down against this speech on the score that it was delivered in the presence of those who cannot appreciate the many excellent things belonging to our system of government, and with a view to stir up prejudice against republican institutions.
Again, let it also be remembered—for it is the simple truth—that neither in this speech, nor in any other which I delivered in England, did I ever allow myself to address Englishmen as against Americans. I took my stand on the high ground of human brotherhood118, and spoke63 to Englishmen as men, in behalf of men. Slavery is a crime, not against Englishmen, but against God, and all the members of the human family; and it belongs to the whole human family to seek its suppression. In a letter to Mr. Greeley, of the New York Tribune, written while abroad, I said:
I am, nevertheless aware that the wisdom of exposing the sins of one nation in the ear of another, has been seriously questioned by good and clear-sighted people, both on this and on your side of the Atlantic. And the[294] thought is not without weight on my own mind. I am satisfied that there are many evils which can be best removed by confining our efforts to the immediate119 locality where such evils exist. This, however, is by no means the case with the system of slavery. It is such a giant sin—such a monstrous120 aggregation121 of iniquity—so hardening to the human heart—so destructive to the moral sense, and so well calculated to beget122 a character, in every one around it, favorable to its own continuance,—that I feel not only at liberty, but abundantly justified, in appealing to the whole world to aid in its removal.
But, even if I had—as has been often charged—labored to bring American institutions generally into disrepute, and had not confined my labors strictly123 within the limits of humanity and morality, I should not have been without illustrious examples to support me. Driven into semi-exile by civil and barbarous laws, and by a system which cannot be thought of without a shudder124, I was fully125 justified in turning, if possible, the tide of the moral universe against the heaven-daring outrage.
Four circumstances greatly assisted me in getting the question of American slavery before the British public. First, the mob on board the “Cambria,” already referred to, which was a sort of national announcement of my arrival in England. Secondly126, the highly reprehensible127 course pursued by the Free Church of Scotland, in soliciting128, receiving, and retaining money in its sustentation fund for supporting the gospel in Scotland, which was evidently the ill-gotten gain of slaveholders and slave-traders. Third, the great Evangelical Alliance—or rather the attempt to form such an alliance, which should include slaveholders of a certain description—added immensely to the interest felt in the slavery question. About the same time, there was the World’s Temperance Convention, where I had the misfortune to come in collision with sundry130 American doctors of divinity—Dr. Cox among the number—with whom I had a small controversy131.
It has happened to me—as it has happened to most other men engaged in a good cause—often to be more indebted to my enemies than to my own skill or to the assistance of my friends, for whatever success has attended my labors. Great surprise was[295] expressed by American newspapers, north and south, during my stay in Great Britain, that a person so illiterate132 and insignificant133 as myself could awaken32 an interest so marked in England. These papers were not the only parties surprised. I was myself not far behind them in surprise. But the very contempt and scorn, the systematic134 and extravagant135 disparagement136 of which I was the object, served, perhaps, to magnify my few merits, and to render me of some account, whether deserving or not. A man is sometimes made great, by the greatness of the abuse a portion of mankind may think proper to heap upon him. Whether I was of as much consequence as the English papers made me out to be, or not, it was easily seen, in England, that I could not be the ignorant and worthless creature, some of the American papers would have them believe I was. Men, in their senses, do not take bowie-knives to kill mosquitoes, nor pistols to shoot flies; and the American passengers who thought proper to get up a mob to silence me, on board the “Cambria,” took the most effective method of telling the British public that I had something to say.
But to the second circumstance, namely, the position of the Free Church of Scotland, with the great Doctors Chalmers, Cunningham, and Candlish at its head. That church, with its leaders, put it out of the power of the Scotch137 people to ask the old question, which we in the north have often most wickedly asked—“What have we to do with slavery?” That church had taken the price of blood into its treasury138, with which to build free churches, and to pay free church ministers for preaching the gospel; and, worse still, when honest John Murray, of Bowlien Bay—now gone to his reward in heaven—with William Smeal, Andrew Paton, Frederick Card, and other sterling anti-slavery men in Glasgow, denounced the transaction as disgraceful and shocking to the religious sentiment of Scotland, this church, through its leading divines, instead of repenting139 and seeking to mend the mistake into which it had fallen, made it a flagrant sin, by undertaking140 to defend, in the name of God and the bible, the principle not only[296] of taking the money of slave-dealers to build churches, but of holding fellowship with the holders129 and traffickers in human flesh. This, the reader will see, brought up the whole question of slavery, and opened the way to its full discussion, without any agency of mine. I have never seen a people more deeply moved than were the people of Scotland, on this very question. Public meeting succeeded public meeting. Speech after speech, pamphlet after pamphlet, editorial after editorial, sermon after sermon, soon lashed141 the conscientious142 Scotch people into a perfect furore. “SEND BACK THE MONEY!” was indignantly cried out, from Greenock to Edinburgh, and from Edinburgh to Aberdeen. George Thompson, of London, Henry C. Wright, of the United States, James N. Buffum, of Lynn, Massachusetts, and myself were on the anti-slavery side; and Doctors Chalmers, Cunningham, and Candlish on the other. In a conflict where the latter could have had even the show of right, the truth, in our hands as against them, must have been driven to the wall; and while I believe we were able to carry the conscience of the country against the action of the Free Church, the battle, it must be confessed, was a hard-fought one. Abler defenders143 of the doctrine144 of fellowshiping slaveholders as christians145, have not been met with. In defending this doctrine, it was necessary to deny that slavery is a sin. If driven from this position, they were compelled to deny that slaveholders were responsible for the sin; and if driven from both these positions, they must deny that it is a sin in such a sense, and that slaveholders are sinners in such a sense, as to make it wrong, in the circumstances in which they were placed, to recognize them as Christians. Dr. Cunningham was the most powerful debater on the slavery side of the question; Mr. Thompson was the ablest on the anti-slavery side. A scene occurred between these two men, a parallel to which I think I never witnessed before, and I know I never have since. The scene was caused by a single exclamation146 on the part of Mr. Thompson.
The general assembly of the Free Church was in progress at[297] Cannon147 Mills, Edinburgh. The building would hold about twenty-five hundred persons; and on this occasion it was densely148 packed, notice having been given that Doctors Cunningham and Candlish would speak, that day, in defense149 of the relations of the Free Church of Scotland to slavery in America. Messrs. Thompson, Buffum, myself, and a few anti-slavery friends, attended, but sat at such a distance, and in such a position, that, perhaps we were not observed from the platform. The excitement was intense, having been greatly increased by a series of meetings held by Messrs. Thompson, Wright, Buffum, and myself, in the most splendid hall in that most beautiful city, just previous to the meetings of the general assembly. “SEND BACK THE MONEY!” stared at us from every street corner; “SEND BACK THE MONEY!” in large capitals, adorned150 the broad flags of the pavement; “SEND BACK THE MONEY!” was the chorus of the popular street songs; “SEND BACK THE MONEY!” was the heading of leading editorials in the daily newspapers. This day, at Cannon Mills, the great doctors of the church were to give an answer to this loud and stern demand. Men of all parties and all sects151 were most eager to hear. Something great was expected. The occasion was great, the men great, and great speeches were expected from them.
In addition to the outside pressure upon Doctors Cunningham and Candlish, there was wavering in their own ranks. The conscience of the church itself was not at ease. A dissatisfaction with the position of the church touching152 slavery, was sensibly manifest among the members, and something must be done to counteract153 this untoward154 influence. The great Dr. Chalmers was in feeble health, at the time. His most potent155 eloquence156 could not now be summoned to Cannon Mills, as formerly157. He whose voice was able to rend57 asunder158 and dash down the granite159 walls of the established church of Scotland, and to lead a host in solemn procession from it, as from a doomed city, was now old and enfeebled. Besides, he had said his word on this very question; and his word had not silenced the clamor without, nor stilled[298] the anxious heavings within. The occasion was momentous160, and felt to be so. The church was in a perilous condition. A change of some sort must take place in her condition, or she must go to pieces. To stand where she did, was impossible. The whole weight of the matter fell on Cunningham and Candlish. No shoulders in the church were broader than theirs; and I must say, badly as I detest161 the principles laid down and defended by them, I was compelled to acknowledge the vast mental endowments of the men. Cunningham rose; and his rising was the signal for almost tumultous applause. You will say this was scarcely in keeping with the solemnity of the occasion, but to me it served to increase its grandeur162 and gravity. The applause, though tumultuous, was not joyous163. It seemed to me, as it thundered up from the vast audience, like the fall of an immense shaft164, flung from shoulders already galled165 by its crushing weight. It was like saying, “Doctor, we have borne this burden long enough, and willingly fling it upon you. Since it was you who brought it upon us, take it now, and do what you will with it, for we are too weary to bear it. [“no close”].
Doctor Cunningham proceeded with his speech, abounding166 in logic167, learning, and eloquence, and apparently168 bearing down all opposition169; but at the moment—the fatal moment—when he was just bringing all his arguments to a point, and that point being, that neither Jesus Christ nor his holy apostles regarded slaveholding as a sin, George Thompson, in a clear, sonorous170, but rebuking171 voice, broke the deep stillness of the audience, exclaiming, HEAR! HEAR! HEAR! The effect of this simple and common exclamation is almost incredible. It was as if a granite wall had been suddenly flung up against the advancing current of a mighty river. For a moment, speaker and audience were brought to a dead silence. Both the doctor and his hearers seemed appalled172 by the audacity173, as well as the fitness of the rebuke174. At length a shout went up to the cry of “Put him out!” Happily, no one attempted to execute this cowardly order, and the doctor proceeded with his discourse112. Not, however, as before, did the[299] learned doctor proceed. The exclamation of Thompson must have reechoed itself a thousand times in his memory, during the remainder of his speech, for the doctor never recovered from the blow.
The deed was done, however; the pillars of the church—the proud, Free Church of Scotland—were committed and the humility175 of repentance was absent. The Free Church held on to the blood-stained money, and continued to justify itself in its position—and of course to apologize for slavery—and does so till this day. She lost a glorious opportunity for giving her voice, her vote, and her example to the cause of humanity; and to-day she is staggering under the curse of the enslaved, whose blood is in her skirts. The people of Scotland are, to this day, deeply grieved at the course pursued by the Free Church, and would hail, as a relief from a deep and blighting176 shame, the “sending back the money” to the slaveholders from whom it was gathered.
One good result followed the conduct of the Free Church; it furnished an occasion for making the people of Scotland thoroughly177 acquainted with the character of slavery, and for arraying against the system the moral and religious sentiment of that country. Therefore, while we did not succeed in accomplishing the specific object of our mission, namely—procure the sending back of the money—we were amply justified by the good which really did result from our labors.
Next comes the Evangelical Alliance. This was an attempt to form a union of all evangelical Christians throughout the world. Sixty or seventy American divines attended, and some of them went there merely to weave a world-wide garment with which to clothe evangelical slaveholders. Foremost among these divines, was the Rev. Samuel Hanson Cox, moderator of the New School Presbyterian General Assembly. He and his friends spared no pains to secure a platform broad enough to hold American slaveholders, and in this partly succeeded. But the question of slavery is too large a question to be finally disposed of, even by the[300] Evangelical Alliance. We appealed from the judgment178 of the Alliance, to the judgment of the people of Great Britain, and with the happiest effect. This controversy with the Alliance might be made the subject of extended remark, but I must forbear, except to say, that this effort to shield the Christian character of slaveholders greatly served to open a way to the British ear for anti-slavery discussion, and that it was well improved.
The fourth and last circumstance that assisted me in getting before the British public, was an attempt on the part of certain doctors of divinity to silence me on the platform of the World’s Temperance Convention. Here I was brought into point blank collison with Rev. Dr. Cox, who made me the subject not only of bitter remark in the convention, but also of a long denunciatory letter published in the New York Evangelist and other American papers. I replied to the doctor as well as I could, and was successful in getting a respectful hearing before the British public, who are by nature and practice ardent lovers of fair play, especially in a conflict between the weak and the strong.
Thus did circumstances favor me, and favor the cause of which I strove to be the advocate. After such distinguished179 notice, the public in both countries was compelled to attach some importance to my labors. By the very ill usage I received at the hands of Dr. Cox and his party, by the mob on board the “Cambria,” by the attacks made upon me in the American newspapers, and by the aspersions cast upon me through the organs of the Free Church of Scotland, I became one of that class of men, who, for the moment, at least, “have greatness forced upon them.” People became the more anxious to hear for themselves, and to judge for themselves, of the truth which I had to unfold. While, therefore, it is by no means easy for a stranger to get fairly before the British public, it was my lot to accomplish it in the easiest manner possible.
Having continued in Great Britain and Ireland nearly two years, and being about to return to America—not as I left it, a[301] slave, but a freeman—leading friends of the cause of emancipation180 in that country intimated their intention to make me a testimonial, not only on grounds of personal regard to myself, but also to the cause to which they were so ardently181 devoted182. How far any such thing could have succeeded, I do not know; but many reasons led me to prefer that my friends should simply give me the means of obtaining a printing press and printing materials, to enable me to start a paper, devoted to the interests of my enslaved and oppressed people. I told them that perhaps the greatest hinderance to the adoption183 of abolition principles by the people of the United States, was the low estimate, everywhere in that country, placed upon the Negro, as a man; that because of his assumed natural inferiority, people reconciled themselves to his enslavement and oppression, as things inevitable184, if not desirable. The grand thing to be done, therefore, was to change the estimation in which the colored people of the United States were held; to remove the prejudice which depreciated185 and depressed186 them; to prove them worthy187 of a higher consideration; to disprove their alleged188 inferiority, and demonstrate their capacity for a more exalted189 civilization than slavery and prejudice had assigned to them. I further stated, that, in my judgment, a tolerably well conducted press, in the hands of persons of the despised race, by calling out the mental energies of the race itself; by making them acquainted with their own latent powers; by enkindling among them the hope that for them there is a future; by developing their moral power; by combining and reflecting their talents—would prove a most powerful means of removing prejudice, and of awakening an interest in them. I further informed them—and at that time the statement was true—that there was not, in the United States, a single newspaper regularly published by the colored people; that many attempts had been made to establish such papers; but that, up to that time, they had all failed. These views I laid before my friends. The result was, nearly two thousand five hundred dollars were speedily[302] raised toward starting my paper. For this prompt and generous assistance, rendered upon my bare suggestion, without any personal efforts on my part, I shall never cease to feel deeply grateful; and the thought of fulfilling the noble expectations of the dear friends who gave me this evidence of their confidence, will never cease to be a motive190 for persevering191 exertion192.
Proposing to leave England, and turning my face toward America, in the spring of 1847, I was met, on the threshold, with something which painfully reminded me of the kind of life which awaited me in my native land. For the first time in the many months spent abroad, I was met with proscription on account of my color. A few weeks before departing from England, while in London, I was careful to purchase a ticket, and secure a berth193 for returning home, in the “Cambria”—the steamer in which I left the United States—paying therefor the round sum of forty pounds and nineteen shillings sterling. This was first cabin fare. But on going aboard the Cambria, I found that the Liverpool agent had ordered my berth to be given to another, and had forbidden my entering the saloon! This contemptible194 conduct met with stern rebuke from the British press. For, upon the point of leaving England, I took occasion to expose the disgusting tyranny, in the columns of the London Times. That journal, and other leading journals throughout the United Kingdom, held up the outrage to unmitigated condemnation195. So good an opportunity for calling out a full expression of British sentiment on the subject, had not before occurred, and it was most fully embraced. The result was, that Mr. Cunard came out in a letter to the public journals, assuring them of his regret at the outrage, and promising105 that the like should never occur again on board his steamers; and the like, we believe, has never since occurred on board the steamships196 of the Cunard line.
It is not very pleasant to be made the subject of such insults; but if all such necessarily resulted as this one did, I should be very happy to bear, patiently, many more than I have borne, of[303] the same sort. Albeit197, the lash of proscription, to a man accustomed to equal social position, even for a time, as I was, has a sting for the soul hardly less severe than that which bites the flesh and draws the blood from the back of the plantation198 slave. It was rather hard, after having enjoyed nearly two years of equal social privileges in England, often dining with gentlemen of great literary, social, political, and religious eminence199 never, during the whole time, having met with a single word, look, or gesture, which gave me the slightest reason to think my color was an offense200 to anybody—now to be cooped up in the stern of the “Cambria,” and denied the right to enter the saloon, lest my dark presence should be deemed an offense to some of my democratic fellow-passengers. The reader will easily imagine what must have been my feelings.
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1
proscription
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| n.禁止，剥夺权利 | |
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garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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abolition
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| n.废除，取消 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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7
ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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monarchical
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| adj. 国王的，帝王的，君主的，拥护君主制的 =monarchic | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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12
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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14
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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15
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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16
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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23
melee
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| n.混战；混战的人群 | |
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24
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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25
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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26
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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28
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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29
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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30
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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31
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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32
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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33
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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34
gall
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| v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难 | |
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liberator
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| 解放者 | |
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36
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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37
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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38
spurns
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| v.一脚踢开，拒绝接受( spurn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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39
outlaw
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| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
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40
sojourner
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| n.旅居者，寄居者 | |
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41
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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42
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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43
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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44
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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45
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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46
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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47
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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48
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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49
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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50
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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51
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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52
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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53
dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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54
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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55
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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56
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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57
rend
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| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
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portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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59
abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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60
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
animate
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| v.赋于生命，鼓励；adj.有生命的，有生气的 | |
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62
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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63
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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64
chattel
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| n.动产；奴隶 | |
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65
administrators
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| n.管理者( administrator的名词复数 )；有管理（或行政）才能的人；（由遗嘱检验法庭指定的）遗产管理人；奉派暂管主教教区的牧师 | |
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66
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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67
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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68
felon
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| n.重罪犯；adj.残忍的 | |
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69
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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76
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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80
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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81
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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82
revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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83
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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84
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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85
refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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87
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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88
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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91
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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92
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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preeminent
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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infliction
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| n.（强加于人身的）痛苦，刑罚 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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solicitation
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| n.诱惑；揽货；恳切地要求；游说 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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exemption
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| n.豁免，免税额，免除 | |
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103
enactment
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| n.演出，担任…角色；制订，通过 | |
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104
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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105
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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106
violation
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| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
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107
wasteful
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| adj.（造成）浪费的，挥霍的 | |
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108
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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109
extorted
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| v.敲诈( extort的过去式和过去分词 )；曲解 | |
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110
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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111
extemporaneous
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| adj.即席的，一时的 | |
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112
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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113
discourses
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| 论文( discourse的名词复数 )； 演说； 讲道； 话语 | |
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114
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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115
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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116
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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117
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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118
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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119
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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120
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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121
aggregation
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| n.聚合，组合；凝聚 | |
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122
beget
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| v.引起；产生 | |
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123
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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124
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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125
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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126
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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127
reprehensible
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| adj.该受责备的 | |
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128
soliciting
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| v.恳求( solicit的现在分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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129
holders
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| 支持物( holder的名词复数 )； 持有者； （支票等）持有人； 支托（或握持）…之物 | |
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130
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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131
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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132
illiterate
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| adj.文盲的；无知的；n.文盲 | |
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133
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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134
systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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135
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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136
disparagement
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| n.轻视，轻蔑 | |
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137
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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138
treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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139
repenting
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的现在分词 ) | |
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140
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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141
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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142
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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143
defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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144
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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145
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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146
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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147
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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148
densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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149
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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150
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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151
sects
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| n.宗派，教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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152
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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153
counteract
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| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
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154
untoward
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| adj.不利的，不幸的，困难重重的 | |
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155
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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156
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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157
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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158
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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159
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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160
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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161
detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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162
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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163
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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164
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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165
galled
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| v.使…擦痛( gall的过去式和过去分词 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
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166
abounding
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| adj.丰富的，大量的v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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167
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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168
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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169
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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170
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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171
rebuking
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的现在分词 ) | |
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172
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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173
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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174
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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175
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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176
blighting
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| 使凋萎( blight的现在分词 )； 使颓丧； 损害； 妨害 | |
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177
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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178
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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179
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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180
emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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181
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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182
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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183
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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184
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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185
depreciated
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| v.贬值，跌价，减价( depreciate的过去式和过去分词 )；贬低，蔑视，轻视 | |
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186
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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187
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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188
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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189
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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190
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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191
persevering
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| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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192
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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193
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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194
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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195
condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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196
steamships
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| n.汽船，大轮船( steamship的名词复数 ) | |
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197
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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198
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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199
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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200
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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