Autographs for Freedom Part 17

Yours truly,

[Ill.u.s.tration: (signature) E. H. Chapin.]

NEW YORK, Nov. 22d.

[Ill.u.s.tration: E. H. Chapin (Engraved by J. C. b.u.t.tre)]

The Dying Soliloquy of the Victim of the Wilkesbarre Tragedy.

He was approached from behind by Deputy Marshal Wyncoop and his a.s.sistants, knocked down with a mace and partially shackled. The fugitive, who had unsuspectingly waited upon them during their breakfast at the Phenix Hotel, was a tall, n.o.ble-looking, remarkably intelligent, and a nearly white mulatto; after a desperate effort and severe struggle, he shook off his _five_ a.s.sailants, and with the loss of everything but a remnant of his s.h.i.+rt, rushed from the house and plunged into the water, exclaiming: "I will drown rather than be taken alive." He was pursued and fired upon several times, the last ball taking effect in his head, his face being instantly covered with blood. He sprang up and shrieked in great agony, and no doubt would have sunk at once, but for the buoyancy of the water. Seeing his condition, the slave-catchers retreated, coolly remarking that "dead n.i.g.g.e.rs were not worth taking South."

Than be a slave, Dread death I'll brave, And hail the moment near, When the soul mid pain, Shall burst the chain That long has bound it here.

Earth's thrilling pulse, Man's stern repulse, This weary heart no longer feels; Its beating hushed Its vain hopes crushed, It craves that life which death reveals.

That moment great My soul would wait, In awe and peace sublime; Nor bitter tears, Nor slave-born fears, As I pa.s.s from earth to time.

The angry past, Like phantoms vast, Glides by like the rus.h.i.+ng wave; So soon shall I, Forgotten lie, In the depths of my briny grave.

The time shall be, "When no more sea"

Shall hide its treasures lone; Then my soul shall rise, Clothed for the skies, To find its blissful home.

Foul deeds laid wrong The whip and thong, Have scored my manhood's heart, But ne'er again Shall fiends constrain My body to the slave's vile mart.

The 'whelming wave, This corpse shall lave; Let the winds still pipe aloud, Let the waters lash, The white foam dash, O'er mangled brow and b.l.o.o.d.y shroud.

Roll on, thou free, Unfettered sea, Thy restless moan, my dirge, My cradle deep In my last lone sleep, Is the scoop of thy hollow surge.

Would I might live, _One_ glance to give, To those whose hearts would bless, Each word of love, All price above, As mine to theirs I press.

The wish is vain; My frenzied brain, Is dark'ning even now; Above, above, Is Heaven's love, And mercy's wide arched bow.

Glad free-born soul With grateful hold, Now grasp the gift from Heav'n-- Thy freedom won, New life begun, Forgive, thou'rt there forgiv'n.

[Ill.u.s.tration: (signature) H. H. Greenough]

Let all be Free.

Unbounded in thy expanse--far reaching From sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e--ever beautiful Are thy crystal waters--O sea.

Beautiful--when thy waves, the white pebbles lave, When the weary sea-birds sleep, upon the bosom of the deep.

But when thy storm-pressed billows burst, The grasp which man would "lay upon thy mane,"

Then do I most love thee, sea, Thou emblem of the _Free_.

When above me beam the stars, How beautiful in their infinitude of light, O'er the blue heavens spread, like gems Upon the brow of youth!

Far, far away, beyond the paths of day, More glorious yet, as suns which never set, In darkness never! but s.h.i.+ning forever!

You are more loved by me-- Ye emblems of the _Free_.

All earth of the beautiful is full.

Beautiful the streams which leave the rural vales, Fringed with scarlet berries and leafy green!

O world of colors infinite, and lines of ever-varying grace, How by sea and sh.o.r.e art thou ever beautiful!

But the torrent rus.h.i.+ng by, and the eagle in the sky, The Alpine heights of snow where man does never go, More lovely are to me, For they are _Free_.

Beautiful is man, and yet more beautiful Woman: coupled by bare circ.u.mstance Of place or gold, still beautiful.

But this must fade!

Only the soul, grows never old: They most agree, who most are free: Liberty is the food of love!

The heavens, the earth, man's heart, and sea, Forever cry, _let all be Free_!

[Ill.u.s.tration: (signature) C. M. Clay.]

KENTUCKY, 1853.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Frederick Dougla.s.s (Engraved by J. C. b.u.t.tre)]

_To the Editor of the "Autographs for Freedom."_

DEAR MADAM,--

If the enclosed paragraph from a speech of mine delivered in May last, at the anniversary meeting of the American and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society, shall be deemed suited to the pages of the forthcoming annual, please accept it as my contribution.

With great respect,

[Ill.u.s.tration: (signature) Frederick Dougla.s.s]

ROCHESTER, November, 1853.

Extract.

No colored man, with any nervous sensibility, can stand before an American audience without an intense and painful sense of the disadvantages imposed by his color. He feels little borne up by that brotherly sympathy and generous enthusiasm, which give wings to the eloquence, and strength to the hearts of other men, who advocate other and more popular causes. The ground which a colored man occupies in this country is, every inch of it, sternly disputed. Sir, were I a white man, speaking for the right of white men, I should in this country have a smooth sea and a fair wind. It is, perhaps, creditable to the American people (and I am not the man to detract from their credit) that they listen eagerly to the report of wrongs endured by distant nations. The Hungarian, the Italian, the Irishman, the Jew and the Gentile, all find in this goodly land a home; and when any of them, or all of them, desire to speak, they find willing ears, warm hearts, and open hands. For these people, the Americans have principles of justice, maxims of mercy, sentiments of religion, and feelings of brotherhood in abundance. But for _my_ poor people, (alas, how poor!)--enslaved, scourged, blasted, overwhelmed, and ruined, it would appear that America had neither justice, mercy, nor religion.

She has no scales in which to weigh our wrongs, and no standard by which to measure our rights. Just here lies the grand difficulty of the colored man's cause. It is found in the fact, that we may not avail ourselves of the just force of admitted American principles. If I do not misinterpret the feelings and philosophy of my white fellow-countrymen generally, they wish us to understand distinctly and fully that they have no other use for us whatever, than to coin dollars out of our blood.

Our position here is anomalous, unequal, and extraordinary. It is a position to which the most courageous of our race cannot look without deep concern. Sir, we are a hopeful people, and in this we are fortunate; but for this trait of our character, we should have, long before this seemingly unpropitious hour, sunk down under a sense of utter despair.

Look at it, sir. Here, upon the soil of our birth, in a country which has known us for two centuries, among a people who did not wait for us to seek them, but who sought us, found us, and brought us to their own chosen land,--a people for whom we have performed the humblest services, and whose greatest comforts and luxuries have been won from the soil by our sable and sinewy arms,--I say, sir, among such a people, and with such obvious recommendations to favor, we are far less esteemed than the veriest stranger and sojourner.

Aliens are we in our native land. The fundamental principles of the republic, to which the humblest white man, whether born here or elsewhere, may appeal with confidence in the hope of awakening a favorable response, are held to be inapplicable to us. The glorious doctrines of your revolutionary fathers, and the more glorious teachings of the Son of G.o.d, are construed and applied against us. We are literally scourged beyond the beneficent range of both authorities,--human and divine. We plead for our rights, in the name of the immortal declaration of independence, and of the written const.i.tution of government, and we are answered with imprecations and curses. In the sacred name of Jesus we beg for mercy, and the slave-whip, red with blood, cracks over us in mockery. We invoke the aid of the ministers of Him who came "to preach deliverance to the captive," and to set at liberty them that are bound, and from the loftiest summits of this ministry comes the inhuman and blasphemous response, saying: if one prayer would move the Almighty arm in mercy to break your galling chains, that prayer would be withheld. We cry for help to humanity--a common humanity, and here too we are repulsed.