There was once a slave ... : $b The heroic story of Frederick DouglassDu Bois, Shirley Graham
History
There was once a slave ... : $b The heroic story of Frederick Douglass
Du Bois, Shirley Graham
Douglass, Frederick, 1818-1895
“You’re safe, John Brown!” It was a ridiculous thing to say, and John
Brown rewarded him with one of his rare smiles--the smile few people
knew he had, with which he always won a child.
“Yes, Douglass, now I am free to carry out my mission.”
Douglass’ heart missed a beat. John Brown had not sought him out as a
fugitive, he had not come to his house to hide away--not John Brown!
“Frederick is dead.”
The words came with blunt finality, but a spasm of pain distorted the
old man’s face.
“Oh, John! John!”
Douglass gently pushed him into the armchair, knelt at his feet, pulled
off the heavy boots, then hurried away to bring him food. He ate as one
does whose body is starving, gulping down unchewed mouthfuls with the
warm milk.
“I come direct from the National Kansas Committee in Chicago. They
will perhaps equip a company. I have letters from Governor Chase and
Governor Robinson. They endorse my plan.”
Douglass expressed his pleased surprise. Brown wiped his shaggy beard.
Something like a grin flickered on his face.
“Kansas is free and the good people are glad to be rid of me,” he said
dryly.
Douglass understood: they dared not jail the man.
Brown’s plan was now complete. He spread out maps and papers and, as he
talked, traced the lines of his march with a blunt pencil.
“God has established the Allegheny Mountains from the foundation of
the world that they might one day be a refuge for the slaves. We march
into these mountains, set up our stations about five miles apart, send
out our call; and, as the slaves flock to us, we sustain them in this
natural fortress.”
Douglass followed the line of his pencil.
“Each group will be well armed,” the old man continued, “but will avoid
violence except in self-defense. In that case, they will make it as
costly as possible to the assailing parties--whether they be citizens
or soldiers. We will break the backbone of slavery by rendering slave
property insecure. Men will not invest their money in a species of
property likely to take legs and walk off with itself!” His eyes were
shining.
“I do not grudge the money or energy I have spent in Kansas,” he went
on, “but now my funds are gone. We must have arms, ammunition, food and
clothing. Later we will subsist upon the country roundabout. I now have
the nucleus of my band.” Shadows crossed his face. “Already they have
gone to hell and back with me.”
He talked on--three military schools to be set up, one in Iowa, one in
northern Ohio and one in Canada. It would be a permanent community in
Canada. “Finally the escaped slaves will pass on to Canada, each doing
his share to strengthen the route,” he explained.
“But won’t it take years to free the slaves this way?” his friend asked.
“Indeed not! Each month our line of fortresses will extend farther
south.” His pencil moved across Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, to
Mississippi. “To the delta itself! The slaves will free themselves.”
Pale dawn showed in the sky before they went upstairs.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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