Although Frederick was only an apprentice, he was one of the hated threats to their security. They had no mercy on him. The white apprentices felt it degrading to work with him. Encouraged by the workmen, they began talking contemptuously about “the niggers,” saying they wanted to “take over the country” and that they ought to be “killed off.” One day the powder keg exploded. It was a hot afternoon. Frederick had just lowered a heavy timber into place. Someone called him. He stepped back quickly, jostling against Edward North, meanest bully of them all. North struck him viciously. Whereupon, with one sweep, Frederick picked up the white fellow and threw him down hard upon the deck. They set on him in a pack. One came in front, armed with a brick, one at each side, and one behind. They closed in, and Frederick, knowing he was fighting now for his life, struck out on all sides at once. A heavy blow with a handspike brought him down among the timbers. They rushed him then and began to pound him with their fists. He lay for a moment gathering strength, then rose suddenly to his knees, throwing them off. Just as he did this one of their number planted a blow with his boot in Frederick’s left eye. When they saw his face covered with blood there was a pause. Meanwhile scores of men looked on at this battle of four against one. “Kill him!” they shouted. “Kill the nigger. He hit a white boy!” Frederick was staggering, but he grabbed up a handspike and charged. This time they were taken by surprise. But then several of the carpenters grabbed Frederick and held him powerless. He was sobbing with rage. What could he do against fifty men--laughing, jeering, cursing him? At that moment the division superintendent was seen coming to investigate the uproar. They thinned out. Taking advantage of the lull, Frederick dropped over the side of the hull and escaped from the yard. He knew he would find no justice at the hands of the authorities there. Bleeding and battered, he made his way home, nearly frightening the wits out of Jeb. At Nada’s call, Mrs. Auld came running to the kitchen. She had them carry him to his attic room, and herself saw that his wounds were bathed. She bound up his battered eye with a piece of fresh beef. “The brutes! The beastly brutes!” she kept saying while she rubbed his head with ointment. There was no question about Mr. Auld’s reaction when he reached home that evening. He was furious. It never entered his head that his friend, William Gardiner, was in any way to blame. He heaped curses on the shipyard ruffians; it might well be some “Irish plot,” and he was going to see that the scoundrels were punished. Just as soon as Frederick was somewhat recovered from his bruises, Mr. Auld took him to Esquire Watson’s office on Bond Street, with a view to procuring the arrest of the four workers. The Master gave the magistrate an account of the outrage. Mr. Watson, sitting quietly with folded hands, heard him through.