“India Society,” the Colonial Secretary explained, “or anything at all about India. I understand there have been meetings in the provinces--talk about starving India--Indian independence--some sort of agitation.” “We’ve had nothing of that kind in these parts.” Nevins spoke with a touch of disapproval. The Colonial Secretary picked up his paper. He frowned at it a moment. “I was wondering if there were any connection. Any connection at all. Might well be, you know.” “I don’t understand, sir.” “There’s something here about a runaway slave from America speaking in town tonight--at one of those workers’ halls. They’re springing up all over England.” He added the last thoughtfully. “Did you say a slave, sir, perhaps an African cannibal?” “Exactly. This gives a most extraordinary account of the fellow on shipboard. Ship’s Captain says he’s educated.” “I can’t believe it, sir.” “Um--would be very strange, if true. But who would be bringing him over here?” The American Revolution had not yet become a mellowed memory. Americans--white or black--would bear watching. “Nevins!” “Yes, sir.” “I should like you to attend this meeting.” “I, sir?” “Find out what this slave has to say and what’s behind him.” * * * * * It had really been planned by the Hutchinsons as a concert. The Anti-Slavery Society had asked Mr. Buffum to say a few words. Douglass was merely to be presented and to say that he was glad to be in England. But the newspapers had played up Frederick Douglass’ story so much that at the last moment they decided to seize the opportunity and feature him. When, long before dark the hall began to fill, it was obvious that they had come to hear “the black man.” While the crowd listened respectfully to the Hutchinsons, Frederick studied his first British audience. Somehow it was different. He realized it bore out what he had witnessed in two days of wandering about Liverpool. For the first time in his life he had seen white people whose lot might well be compared with that of the black slave in America. Here in Liverpool they could indeed leave their jobs, he thought grimly; but their children would starve. He saw them living in unbelievable squalor, several families herded together in two or three rooms, or in a single dirty cellar, sleeping on straw and shavings. He sat on the platform and studied their faces. There was something in their eyes, something in the stolid set of their chins, something hard and unyielding, some strength which could not be destroyed--something to join with his strength. And so when he rose he did not fumble for words. He told them that he was glad that here on British soil he was truly free, that no slave-hunter could drag him from the platform, no arm, however long, turn him over to a master. Here he stood a free man, among other free men!