CHAPTER V.

BEYOND THE COLOR-LINE.

THE Fugitive Slave Law was not so severe in 1845, as it became five years later; and recent legislation forbade State officials in Massachusetts to assist a kidnapper. He could, however, easily get support enough from the national courts, and also from public sentiment, to secure his prey; and the publication of the "Narrative" made it very rash for its author to remain even for three months, as he actually did, in the United States. Great Britain offered perfect security, and also new opportunities of education, as well as the possibility of obtaining liberal aid. For these reasons he took the Cunard steamer "Cambria,” for Liverpool, on Saturday, August 16, 1845, in company with one of his best friends at Lynn, where he still resided, James N. Buffum. His color shut him out from the first cabin; but his book was eagerly read there. Mr. Buffum, the Hutchinsons, and other passengers visited him often and invited him not only to their cabin, but to the saloon-deck. All parts of the steamer soon became almost equally free to him. But, "I preferred to live within my privileges and keep upon my own premises. I found this quite as much in accordance with good policy as with my own feelings. The effect was, that, with the majority of

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the passengers, all color distinctions were flung to the winds; and I found myself treated with every mark of respect." ("Bondage and Freedom," p. 367.)

There were, however, so many Southerners on board, as to produce a curious mixture of " anti-slavery singing and pro-slavery grumbling." The system was subjected to continual discussion, so that, as he wrote to the "Liberator," from Dublin, on September 1:

"If suppressed in the saloon, it broke out in the steerage; and if it ceased in the steerage, it was renewed in the saloon; and if surpressed in both, it broke out with redoubled energy high up on the saloon-deck, in the free ocean air. I was happy. Everything went on nobly. At last, the evening previous to our arrival in Liverpool, the slave-holders, convinced that reason, morality, common humanity, and Christianity were all against them, abandoned their post in debate, and resorted to their old and natural mode of defending their morality by brute force.” ... "Things went on as usual, till between five and six o'clock in the afternoon of Wednesday, when I received an invitation from the captain to deliver an address upon the saloon-deck. I signified my willingness to do so; and he at once ordered the bell to be rung and the meeting cried. This was the signal for a general excitement. Some swore I should not speak; and others said I should. Bloody threats were made against me, if I attempted it. At the hour appointed I went upon the deck, where I was expected to speak. There was much noise going on among the passengers, evidently intended to make it impossible for me to proceed. At length, our Hutchinson friends broke forth in one of their unrivalled songs, which, like the angel of old, closed the lions' mouths, so that, for a time, silence prevailed. The captain now introduced me; and after expressing my gratitude to a kind Providence that had brought us safely across the sea, I proceeded to portray the condition of my brethren in bonds. I had not uttered five words, when a Mr. H., from Connecticut, called out in a loud voice, 'That's a

lie!' I went on, taking no notice of him, though he was murmuring nearly all the while, backed up by a man from New Jersey. I continued, till I said something which seemed to cut to the quick; when out bawled H., 'That's a lie!' and seemed anxious to strike me. I then said to the audience, that I would explain the reason of his conduct. The colored man in our country was treated as a being without rights. That's a lie!' said H. I then told the audience, that as almost everything I said was pronounced lies, I would endeavor to substantiate them by reading a few extracts from slave-laws. The slavocrats, finding that they were now to be fully exposed, rushed up about me, with hands clenched, and swore I should not speak. They were ashamed to have American laws read before an English audience. The captain said he had tried to please all his passengers; a part of them had expressed a desire to hear me lecture; and those who did not wish to hear me might go to some other part of the ship. He then returned and requested me to proceed." [Another account is that he said, “Give it to them, Douglass, like bricks!"] 'I again commenced, but was again interrupted, more violently than before. One slave-holder shook his fist in my face and said, 'Oh, I wish I had you in Cuba.' 'Ah,' said another, 'I wish I had him in Savannah. We would use him up.' Said another, ' I will be one of a party to throw him overboard.' A noble-spirited, Irish gentleman assured the man, that two could play at that game; and, in the end, he might be thrown overboard himself. The clamor went on, waxing hotter and hotter, till it was quite impossible for me to proceed. I was stopped; but the cause went on. The clamor was only silenced by the captain, who told the mobocrats that he would have them put in irons; and he actually sent for them, and doubtless would have made use of them."

Nothing shows more clearly the inability of the friends of slavery even to listen to facts, than this curious incident, the original account of which has been copied with scarcely any omissions.

The next morning, Thursday, August 28, 1845, they landed at Liverpool, and the pro-slavery champions soon had their visit to Eaton Hall spoiled; for the hated negro was actually admitted at the same time with them, and treated equally well. They said all they could about him in the newspapers, and thus greatly increased his popularity.

Three days after disembarking we find him in Ireland. The potato-rot, which was to destroy, but little more than a year later, a quarter of a million lives, and make three million paupers, had already shown itself, and the condition of the people had long been pitiable. Popular education, poor-laws, and other practical remedies had been introduced by the government, but public attention was absorbed by a wild agitation for repealing the Union with the country which was soon to feed the whole island. O'Connell's imprisonment for sedition kept alive his popularity until the end of 1845, when it was discovered, not only that his schemes were hopelessly visionary, but that he had long been one of the most iniquitous landlords in Ireland. There was a caricature of him in "Punch," as the real potato-blight. Douglass was just in time to get the full benefit of the cordial relations between Irish and American disunionists. The "Liberator," as O'Connell was called, had denounced slavery nobly. Garrison had been among his open admirers, and vast sums had come over from the United States. No wonder that "the black O'Connell," as he was soon named, was able to write to Boston, from Dublin, on September 16:

"Our success here is even greater than I had anticipated. We have held four glorious anti-slavery meetings, two in the

Royal Exchange, and two in the Friends' meeting-house, all crowded to overflowing. I am to lecture to-morrow evening in the Music Hall. It will hold three thousand persons, and is let for about fifty dollars a night. But its generons proprietor has kindly agreed to let me have it free of charge. I have attended several temperance meetings, and given several temperance addresses. One of the most pleasing features of my visit, thus far, has been a total absence of all prejudice against me, on account of my color. I find myself not treated as a color, but as a man; not as a thing, but as a child of the common Father of us all."

Thirteen days later he writes that he has heard O'Connell condemn slavery at a great Repeal meeting in Dublin, has been introduced to him on the platform, and has then said to the multitude, “I have stopped in this country for a month to see the 'Liberator,' and when I heard of his approach in the streets to-day, I rushed forward to catch a sight of him who had befriended the poor negro."

Next he went to Cork, where a public breakfast was given him, and the Mayor took the chair the first evening he spoke. Would the Mayor of any city in the United States, in 1845, have gone into an Abolitionist meeting, unless he wanted to have it dispersed? A soirée was given by Father Mathew, on October 21, to Douglass and Buffum; and the dark guest writes that he was so entirely charmed by the goodness of this truly good man, that I besought him to administer the pledge to me. He complied with promptness, and gave me a beautiful silver pledge. I now reckon myself with delight the fifth of the last five of Father Mathew's 5,487,495 temperance children." He was invited soon after to a reception in