Then Madame Montell died. And the weeping girl was told that she had been provided with a dowry--a great feather bed, eider-down pillows, some real silver and linen, dishes. Her heart was filled with gratitude. Madame’s relatives did not deprive the faithful girl of her wealth. They had packed a trunk for her and seen her safely installed with the nice Wells family on South Carolina Street. All this before they returned to their beloved France, where Madame had once planned to take Anna. The Wellses were not French, but they were gentle people and Anna was not unhappy with them. Anna was a great favorite among the free Negroes of Baltimore. She had had access to Madame’s books, and anything she said was likely to start an inspiring line of thought. The Negroes from Haiti were drawn to her. She understood their French, though she herself seldom tried to speak it. In spite of the staggering obstacles, groups of free Negroes did manage to sustain themselves even within the boundaries of slave states. They ran small businesses, owned property, were trusted in good jobs. In the 1790’s statesmen from Washington and merchants from Richmond and Atlanta came to Baltimore to buy the clocks of Benjamin Banneker, Negro clockmaker. Any meeting of Negroes was safest in a church. The whites readily encouraged religious fervor among the “childlike” blacks. “Slaves, obey your masters” was a Biblical text constantly upon the lips of the devout. Over all blacks the ease and glories of heaven were sprayed like ether to deaden present pain. It was especially good for free Negroes to have lots of religion. The East Baltimore Mental Improvement Society usually met in the African Methodist Episcopal Church on Sharp Street. Having carefully established their purpose by lusty singing and a long, rolling prayer, watchers were set and copies of the _Freedom’s Journal_, published in New York, or a newer paper called the _Liberator_, were brought out. One evening a group of shipyard workers from Fells Point had something to say. They wanted to present a new name for membership. “He is a young man of character,” their spokesman said. “A good caulker, steady and industrious,” added his companion. “He writes and ciphers well,” put in another. “Invite this newcomer, by all means.” The chairman spoke cordially. “What is his name?” There was a moment of embarrassment among the Fells Point workers. “He is--He is still a--slave.” A horribly scarred old man with only one leg spat contemptuously. He had been one of the followers of Gabriel in the Virginian insurrection. He had seen the twenty-four-year-old giant die without a word. He himself had been one of the four slaves condemned to die, who had escaped. Now, he had little patience with “strong young men” who were content to remain slaves. “Let ’im be!” He rumbled deep in his throat. One of the caulkers turned to him. He spoke with deference, but with conviction. “Daddy Ben, I have seen him fight. He is a man!”