Chapter X: Part 10

"He has very little reverence, and stands in no awe of the powers that be. He pays no regard to forms or ceremonies, or established customs, in church or state. He renders no homage to great names, such as D.D.; L.L.D.; or Excellency. He treats his fellow men with kindness and affection, but not with sufficient respect and courtesy.

"He is emphatically republican in feeling and character. He makes himself free and familiar with every one. He often lets himself down too much. This constitutes a radical defect in his character.

"He will assert and maintain human rights and liberty at every hazard. In this cause, he will stake anything, or suffer anything. This constitutes the leading feature of his character. Every other element is blended into this.

"I should consider him a very cautious man in fact, though in appearance he is very imprudent; especially in remarks on moral subjects.

"He is too apt to denounce those whom he considers in error; to apply opprobrious epithets and censure in the strongest terms, and the boldest manner.

"I have seldom, if ever, met with a larger organ of conscientiousness.

"Nothing so much delights him as to advocate and propagate moral principles; no matter how unpopular the principles may be.

"He has very little credulity.

"He is one of the closest observers of men and things anywhere to be found. He sees, as it were by intuition everything that passes around him, and understands just when and where to take men and things; just how and where to say things with effect; and in all he says, he speaks directly to the point.

"He says and does a great many severe and cutting things. If anybody else said and did such things, they would at once get into hot water; but he says and does them in such a manner, that even his enemies, and those against whom his censures are aimed, cannot be offended with him. He is always on the verge of difficulty, but never _in_ difficulty.

"He is hated mainly by those not personally acquainted with him. A personal interview, even with his greatest enemies, generally removes enmity; because of the smoothness and easiness of his manners.

"He has at command a great amount of well-digested information on almost every subject, and makes admirable use of his knowledge. He has a great many facts, and always brings them in their right place. His general memory of particulars, incidents, places, and words, is really wonderful.

"But he has a weak memory concerning names, dates, numbers, and colors. He never recognizes persons by their dress, or by the color of anything pertaining to them.

"He tells a story admirably, and acts it out to the life. He makes a great deal of fun, and keeps others in a roar of laughter, while he is sober himself. For his fun, he is as much indebted to the manner as to the matter. He makes his jokes mainly by happy comparisons, striking illustrations, and the imitative power with which he expresses them.

"He possesses a great amount of native talent, but it is so admirably distributed, that he appears to have more than he actually possesses.

"His attachment to his friends is remarkably strong and ardent. But he will associate with none except those whose moral characters are unimpeachable.

"He expects and anticipates a great deal; enters largely into things; takes hold of every measure with spirit; and is always overwhelmed with business. Move where he will, he cannot be otherwise than a distinguished man."

That this description was remarkably accurate in most particulars will be obvious to those who have read the preceding anecdotes. It is not true, however, that he was enthusiastic in character, or that he had the appearance of being so. He was far too practical and self-possessed, to have the reputation of being "half crazy," even among those who are prone to regard everything as insane that is out of the common course. Neither do I think he was accustomed to "let himself down too much;" for according to my radical ideas, a man _cannot_ "let himself down," who "associates only with those whose moral characters are unimpeachable." It is true that he was pleasant and playful in conversation with all classes of people; but he was remarkably free from any tinge of vulgarity. It is true, also, that he was totally and entirely unconscious of any such thing as distinctions of rank. I have been acquainted with many theoretical democrats, and with not a few who tried to be democratic, from kind feelings-and principles of justice; but Friend Hopper and Francis Jackson of Boston are the only two men I ever met, who were born democrats; who could not help it, if they tried; and who would not know _how_ to try; so completely did they, by nature, ignore all artificial distinctions. Of course, I do not use the word democrat in its limited party sense, but to express their perfect unconsciousness that any man was considered to be above them, or any man beneath them. If Friend Hopper encountered his wood-sawyer, after a considerable absence, he would shake hands warmly, and give him a cordial welcome. If the English Prince had called upon him, he would have met with the same friendly reception, and would probably have been accosted something after this fashion: "How art thou, friend Albert? They tell me thou art amiable and kindly disposed toward the people; and I am glad to see thee." Those who observe the parting advice given by Isaac's mother, when he went to serve his apprenticeship in Philadelphia, will easily infer that this peculiarity was hereditary. Some men, who rise above their original position, either in character or fortune, endeavor to conceal their early history. Others obtrude it upon all occasions, in order to magnify themselves by a contrast between what they have been and what they are. But he did neither the one nor the other. The subject did not occupy his thoughts. He spoke of having been a tailor, whenever it came naturally in his way, but never for the sake of doing so. His having been born in a hen-house was a mere external accident in his eyes; and in the same light he regarded the fact that Victoria was born in a palace. What was the spiritual condition of the two at any given age, was the only thing that seemed to him of real importance.

His steadfastness in maintaining moral principles, "however unpopular those principles might be," was severely tried in the autumn of 1838. At a late hour in the night, two colored men came to his house, and one introduced the other as a stranger in the city, who had need of a lodging. Friend Hopper of course conjectured that he might be a fugitive slave; and this conjecture was confirmed the next morning. The stranger was a mulatto, about twenty-two years old, and called himself Thomas Hughes. According to his own account, he was the son of a wealthy planter in Virginia, who sold his mother with himself and his twin sister when they were eleven months old. His mother and sister were subsequently sold, but he could never ascertain where they were sent. When he was about thirteen, he was purchased by the son of his first master. Being hardly dealt with by this relative, he one day remonstrated with him for treating his own brother with so much severity. This was, of course, deemed a great piece of insolence in a bondman, and he was punished by being sold to a speculator, carried off hand-cuffed, with his feet tied under the horse's belly, and finally shipped for Louisiana with a coffle of five hundred slaves. He was bought by a gambler, who took him to Louisville, Kentucky. When he had lived there three years, his master, having lost large sums of money, told him he should be obliged to sell him. Thomas had meanwhile ascertained that his father had removed to Kentucky, and was still a very wealthy man. He obtained permission to go and see him, with the hope that he would purchase him and set him free. Accordingly, he called upon him, and told him that he was Thomas, the son of his slave Rachel, who had always assured him that he was his father. The rich planter did not deny poor Rachel's assertion, but in answer to her son's inquiries, he plainly manifested that he neither knew nor cared who had bought her, or to what part of the country she had been sent. Thomas represented his own miserable condition, in being sold from one to another, and subject to the will of whoever happened to be his owner. He intreated his father to purchase him, with a view to manumission; but himself and his proposition were both treated with supreme contempt. Thus rejected by his father, and unable to discover any traces of his mother, he returned disheartened to Louisville, and was soon after sent to New-Orleans to be sold. Mr. John P. Darg, a speculator in slaves, bought him; and he soon after married a girl named Mary, who belonged to his new master. Mr. Darg went to New-York, to visit some relatives, and took Thomas with him. It was only a few days after their arrival in the city, that the slave left him, and went to Isaac T. Hopper to ask a lodging. When he acknowledged that he was a fugitive, intending to take refuge in Canada, it was deemed imprudent for him to remain under the roof of a person so widely known as an abolitionist; but a very benevolent and intelligent Quaker lady, near eighty years old, named Margaret Shoemaker, gladly gave him shelter.

When Friend Hopper went to his place of business, after parting with the colored stranger, he saw an advertisement in a newspaper called the Sun, offering one thousand dollars reward for the apprehension and return of a mulatto man, who had stolen seven or eight thousand dollars from a house in Varick-street. A proportionate reward was offered for the recovery of any part of the money. Though no names were mentioned, he had reason to conjecture that Thomas Hughes might be the mulatto in question. He accordingly sought him out, read the advertisement to him, and inquired whether he had stolen anything from his master. He denied having committed any theft, and said the pretence that he had done so was a mere trick, often resorted to by slaveholders, when they wanted to catch a runaway slave. That this remark was true, Friend Hopper knew very well by his own experience; he therefore concluded it was likely that Thomas was not guilty. He expressed this conviction in conversation on the subject with Barney Corse, a benevolent member of the Society of Friends, who was kindly disposed toward the colored people. In compliance with Friend Hopper's request, that gentleman waited upon the editor of the Sun, accompanied by a lawyer, and was assured that a large amount of money really had been stolen from Mr. Darg, and that if he could recover it, he was willing to give a pledge for the manumission of the slave, beside paying the promised reward to whoever would enable him to get possession of the money. Barney Corse called upon Mr. Darg, who promptly confirmed the statement made by the editor in his name. The Friend then promised that he, and others who were interested for the slave, would do their utmost to obtain tidings of the money, and see it safely restored, on those conditions; but he expressly stipulated that he could not do it otherwise, because he had conscientious scruples, which would prevent him, in all cases, from helping to return a fugitive slave to his master.

It is to be observed that the promise of manumission was given as the highest bribe that could be offered to induce the slave to refund the money he had taken; for though in argument slaveholders generally maintain that their slaves have no desire for freedom, they are never known to _act_ upon that supposition. In this case, the offer served a double purpose; for it stimulated the benevolent zeal of Friend Hopper and Barney Corse, and induced the fugitive to confess what he had done. He still denied that he had any intention of stealing, but declared that he took the money merely to obtain power over his master, hoping that the promise to restore it would secure his manumission. It is impossible to tell whether he spoke truth or not; for poor Thomas had been educated in a bad school of morals. Sold by his father, abused by his brother, and for years compelled to do the bidding of gamblers and slave-speculators, how could he be expected to have very clear perceptions of right and wrong? The circumstances of the case, however, seem to render it rather probable that he really was impelled by the motive which he assigned for his conduct. Mr. Darg declared that he had previously considered him an honest and faithful servant; that he was in the habit of trusting him with the key of his trunk, and frequently sent him to it for money. The bank-bills he had purloined were placed in the hands of two colored men in New-York, because, as he said, he could not return them himself, but must necessarily employ somebody to do it for him, in the intended process of negotiating for his freedom.

Friend Hopper, his son-in-law James S. Gibbons, and Barney Corse, were very earnest to recover the money, for the best of reasons. In the first place, they greatly desired to secure the manumission of the slave. In the second place, the honesty of their characters led them to wish that the master should recover what was his own. In both instances, they wished to restore stolen property to the rightful owner; to Thomas Hughes the free use of his own faculties and limbs, which had been stolen from him, and to Mr. Darg the money that had been purloined from him. It is not likely that the Southerner would have ever regained any portion of the amount stolen, had it not been for their exertions. But, by careful and judicious management, they soon recovered nearly six thousand dollars, which was immediately placed in one of the principal banks of the city, with a full statement of the circumstances of the case to the cashier. Over one thousand more was heard of as having been deposited with a colored man in Albany. Friend Hopper proposed that Barney Corse should go in pursuit of it, accompanied by the colored man who sent it there. He agreed to do so; but he deemed it prudent to have a previous interview with Mr. Darg, to obtain his written promise to manumit Thomas, to pay the necessary expenses of the journey, and to exonerate from criminal prosecution any person or persons connected with the robbery, provided that assurance proved necessary in order to get possession of the money. All this being satisfactorily accomplished, he went to Albany and brought back the sum said to have been deposited there. Ten or fourteen hundred dollars were still wanting to complete the amount, which Mr. Darg said he had lost; but they had hopes of obtaining that also, by confronting various individuals, who had become involved with this complicated affair. Meanwhile, Barney Corse and James S. Gibbons called upon Mr. Darg to inform him of the amount recovered and safely deposited in the bank, and to pay him the sum brought from Albany. Instead of giving the deed of manumission, which had been his own voluntary offer at the outset, and which he knew had been the impelling motive to exertion, Mr. Darg had two police-officers in an adjoining room to arrest Barney Corse for having stolen money in his possession. He was of course astonished at such an ungrateful return for his services, but at once expressed his readiness to go before any magistrate that might be named.

It would not be easy to give an adequate idea of the storm of persecution that followed. Popular prejudice against abolitionists was then raging with uncommon fury; and police-officers and editors availed themselves of it to the utmost to excite hostility against individuals, who had been actuated by a kind motive, and who had proceeded with perfect openness throughout the whole affair. The newspapers of the city were pro-slavery, almost without exception. The idea of sending abolitionists to the State Prison was a glorious prospect, over which they exulted mightily. They represented that Thomas had been enticed from his master by these pretended philanthropists, who had advised him to steal the money, as a cunning mode of obtaining manumission. As for the accused, all they asked was a speedy and thorough investigation of their conduct. The case was however postponed from week to week, and offers were made meanwhile to compromise the matter, if Barney Corse would pay the balance of the lost money. He had wealthy connexions, and perhaps the prosecutors hoped to extort money from them, to avoid the disgrace of a trial. But Barney Corse was far from wishing to avoid a trial.

At this juncture of affairs, Friend Hopper took a step, which raised a great clamor among his enemies, and puzzled some of his friends at the time, because they did not understand his motives. He sued Mr. Darg for the promised reward of one thousand dollars. He had several reasons for this proceeding. In the first place, the newspapers continually pointed him out as a man over whose head a criminal prosecution was pending; while he had at the same time had good reason to believe that his accusers would never venture to meet him before a court of justice; and a proper regard for his own character made him resolved to obtain a legal investigation of his conduct by some process. In the second place, Mr. Darg had subjected Barney Corse to a great deal of trouble and expense; and Friend Hopper thought it no more than fair that expenses caused by his own treachery should be paid from his own pocket. In the third place, David Ruggles, a worthy colored man, no way implicated in the transaction, had been arrested, and was likely to be involved in expense. In the fourth place, the police officers, who advised the arrest of Barney Corse, made themselves very conspicuous in the persecution. He believed they had been actuated by a desire to obtain the reward for themselves; and as they had no just claim to it, he determined to defeat them in this attempt. He therefore sued for the reward himself, though he never intended to use a dollar of it. This was manifested at the time, by a declaration in the newspapers, that if he recovered the reward, he would give all over the expenses to some benevolent society. It was frequently intimated to him that there should be no further proceedings against him, if he would withdraw this suit; but he constantly replied that a trial was what he wanted. Finding all overtures rejected, a complaint was laid before the Grand Jury; and such was the state of popular prejudice, that twelve out of nineteen of that body concurred in finding a bill against men of excellent moral character, without any real evidence to sustain the charge. Barney Corse had never taken measures to prevent the arrest of Thomas Hughes. He simply declined to render any assistance. He believed that he was under no legal obligation to do otherwise; and he knew for a certainty that he was under no moral obligation; because conscience would not allow him to aid in returning a runaway slave to his master. Nevertheless, he and Isaac T. Hopper, and James S. Gibbons, were indicted for "feloniously receiving, harboring, aiding and maintaining said Thomas, in order that he might escape from arrest, and avoid conviction and punishment." Friend Hopper was advised that he might avail himself of some technical defects in the indictment; but he declined doing it; always insisting that a public investigation was what he wanted.

The trial was carried on in the same spirit that characterized the previous proceedings. A colored man, known to have had dishonest possession of a portion of the lost money, was admitted to testify, on two successive trials, against Barney Corse, who had always sustained a fair character. The District Attorney talked to the jury of "the necessity of appeasing the South." As if convicting an honest and kind-hearted Quaker of being accomplice in a felony could do anything toward settling the questions that divided North and South on the subject of slavery! One of the jury declared that he never would acquit an abolitionist. Mr. Darg testified of himself during the trial, that he never intended to manumit Thomas, and had made the promise merely as a means of obtaining his money. The newspapers spoke as if the guilt of the accused was not to be doubted, and informed the jury that the public expected them to convict these men.

In fact, the storm lowered so darkly, that some friends of the persecuted individuals began to feel uneasy. But Friend Hopper's mind was perfectly undisturbed. Highly respectable lawyers offered to conduct the cause for him; but he gratefully declined, saying he preferred to manage it for himself. He informed the court that he presumed they understood the law, and he was quite sure that he understood the facts; therefore, he saw no need of a lawyer between them. The Court of Sessions was held every month, and he appeared before it at almost every term, to demand a trial. At last, in January 1840, when the hearing had been delayed fifteen months, he gave notice that unless he was tried during that term, he should appear on the last day of it, and request that a _nolle prosequi_ should be ordered. The trial not coming on, he appeared accordingly, and made a very animated speech, in which he dwelt with deserved severity on the evils of the police system, and on the efforts of a corrupt press to pervert the public mind. He said he did not make these remarks to excite sympathy. He was not there to ask for mercy, but to demand justice. "And I would have you all to understand distinctly," continued the brave old man, "that I have no wish to evade the charge against me for being an abolitionist. I _am_ an abolitionist. In that, I am charged truly. I have been an abolitionist from my early years, and I always expect to remain so. For this, I am prosecuted and persecuted. I most sincerely believe that slavery is the greatest sin the Lord Almighty ever suffered to exist upon this earth. As sure as God is good and just, he will put an end to it; and all opposition will be in vain. As regards myself, I can only say, that having lived three-score and nearly ten years, with a character that placed me above suspicion in such matters as have been urged against me, I cannot now forego the principles which have always influenced my conduct in relation to slavery. Neither force on the one hand, nor persuasion on the other, will ever alter my course of action."

One of the New-York papers, commenting on this speech, at the time, states that "the old gentleman was listened to very attentively. He was composed, dignified, and clear in his manner, and evidently had much effect on the court and a large number of spectators. He certainly needed no counsel to aid him."

The court ordered a _nolle prosequi_ to be entered, and the defendants were all discharged. The suit for the reward proceeded no further. David Ruggles had been early discharged, and the whole case had been completely before the public in pamphlet form; therefore the principal objects for urging it no longer existed.

Though the friends of human freedom made reasonable allowance for a man brought up under such demoralizing influences as Thomas Hughes had been, they of course felt less confidence in him, than they would have done had he sought to obtain liberty by some more commendable process. Being aware of this, he returned to his master, not long after he acknowledged the theft. At one time, it was proposed to send him back to the South; but he swore that he would cut his throat rather than return into slavery. The best lawyers declared their opinion that he was legally entitled to freedom, in consequence of his master's written promise to manumit him if the money were restored; consequently some difficulties would have attended any attempt to coerce him. He was tried on an indictment for grand larceny, convicted, and sentenced to the State Prison for two years; the shortest term allowed for the offence charged against him. Through the whole course of the affair, he proved himself to be a very irresolute and unreliable character. At one time, he said that: his master was a notorious gambler; then he denied that he ever said so; then he affirmed that his first statement was true, though he had been frightened into contradicting it. When his time was out at Sing Sing, he expressed to Friend Hopper and others his determination to remain at the North; but after an interview with Mr. Darg, he consented to return to the South with him. Although he was thus wavering in character, he could never be persuaded to say that any abolitionist advised him to take his master's money. He always declared that no white man knew anything about it, until after he had placed it out of his own hands; and that the friends who were willing to aid him in procuring his manumission had always expressed their regret that he had committed such a wrong action. He deserved praise for his consistency on this point; for he had the offer of being exempted from prosecution himself, and used as a witness, if he would say they advised him to steal the money.

When Thomas Hughes consented to return to the South with Mr. Darg, it was with the full understanding that he went as a free man, consenting to be his servant. This he expressed during his last interview with Friend Hopper, in Mr. Darg's presence. But the newspapers represented that he had voluntarily gone back into slavery; and such was their exultation over his supposed choice, that a person unacquainted with the history of our republic might have inferred that the heroes of the revolution fought and died mainly for the purpose of convincing their posterity of the superior advantages of slavery over freedom. However, it was not long before Thomas returned to New-York, and told the following story: "A short time before my release from prison, Mr. Darg brought my wife to see me, and told me we should both be free and enjoy each other's society as long as we lived, if I would go with him. He said I should suffer here at the North; for the abolitionists would do nothing for me. I went with him solely with the hope of living with Mary. I thought if he attempted to hold me as a slave, we would both run away, the first opportunity. He told me we should meet Mary in Washington; but when we arrived in Baltimore, he shut me up in jail, and told me Mary was sold, and carried off South. I cannot describe how I felt. I never expect to see her again. He asked me if I consented to come with him on Mary's account, or on his own account. I thought it would make it better for me to say on his account; and I said so. I hope the Lord will forgive me for telling a falsehood. When I had been in jail some time, he called to see me, and said that as I did not come with him on account of my wife, he would not sell me; that I should be free, and he would try to buy Mary for me."

Thomas said he was informed that certain people in New-York wrote to Mr. Darg, advising him not to sell him, because the abolitionists predicted that he would do so; and he thought that was the reason why he was not sold. If this supposition was correct, it is a great pity that his master was not induced by some better motive to avoid an evil action. Thomas uniformly spoke of Mrs. Darg with respect and gratitude. He said, "She was always very kind to me and Mary. I know she did not want to have me sold, or to have Mary sold; for I believe she loved her. I feel very sorry that I could not live with her and be free; but I had rather live in the State Prison all my life than to be a slave."

I never heard what became of Thomas. Friend Shoemaker used to tell me, years afterward, how she secreted him, and rejoiced in the deed. I heard the good lady, when more than ninety years old, just before her death, talk the matter over; and her kindly, intelligent countenance smiled all over, as she recounted how she had contrived to dodge the police, and avoid being a witness in the case. The Fugitive Slave Law would be of no avail to tyrants, if all the women at the North had as much moral courage, and were as benevolent and quick-witted as she was.

Those who were most active in persecuting Friend Hopper and Barney Corse convinced the public, by their subsequent disreputable career, that they were not men whose word could be relied upon.

Dr. R.W. Moore, of Philadelphia, in a letter to Friend Hopper concerning this troublesome case, says: "I am aware thou hast passed through many trials in the prosecution of this matter. Condemned by the world, censured by some of thy friends, and discouraged by the weak, thou hast had much to bear. But thou hast been able to foil thy enemies, and to pass through the flames without the smell of fire on thy garments. Thy Christian firmness is an example to us all. It reminds one of those ancient Quakers, who, knowing themselves in the right, suffered wrongs rather than compromise their principles. For the sake of mankind, I am sorry there are not more such characters among us. They would do more to exalt our principles, than a host of the professors of the present day."

A year or two later, another incident occurred, which excited similar exultation among New-York editors, that a human being had been so wise as to prefer slavery to freedom; and there was about as much cause for such exultation as there had been in the case of Thomas Hughes.

Mrs. Burke of New-Orleans went to New-York to visit a relative by the name of Morgan. She brought a slave to attend upon her, and took great care to prevent her becoming acquainted with the colored people. I don't know how city editors would account for this extreme caution, consistently with their ideas of the blessedness of slavery. They might argue that there was danger free colored people would be so attracted by her charming pictures of bondage, that they would emigrate to the South in larger numbers than would supply the slave-markets, and thus occasion some depression in an honorable branch of trade in this republic. However they might please to explain it, the simple fact was, Mrs. Burke did not allow her slave to go into the street. Of course, she must have had some other motive than the idea that _freedom_ could be attractive to her. The colored people became aware of the careful constraint imposed upon the woman, and they informed the abolitionists. Thinking it right that slaves should be made aware of their legal claim to freedom, when brought or sent into the free states, with knowledge and consent of their masters, they applied to Judge Oakley for a writ of _habeas corpus,_ by virtue of which the girl was brought before him. While she was in waiting, Friend Hopper heard of the circumstance, and immediately proceeded to the court-room. There he found Mr. Morgan and one of his southern friends talking busily with the slave. The woman appeared frightened and undecided, as is often the case, under such circumstances. Those who wished her to return to the South plied her with fair promises. They represented abolitionists as a set of kidnappers, who seized colored strangers under friendly pretences, and nobody could tell what became of them afterward. It was urged that her condition would be most miserable with the "free niggers" of the North, even if the abolitionists did not sell her, or spirit her away to some unknown region.

On the other hand, the colored people, who had assembled about the court-room, were very eager to rescue her from slavery. She did not understand their motives, or those of the abolitionists; for they had been diligently misrepresented to her. "What do they want to do it _for_?" she asked, with a perplexed air. "What will they do with me?" She was afraid there was some selfish motive concealed. She dared not trust the professions of strangers, whose characters had been so unfavorably represented. Friend Hopper found her in this confused state of mind. The Southerner was very willing to speak _for_ her. He gave assurance that she did not want her freedom; that she desired to return to the South; and that she had been in no respect distrained of her liberty in the city of New-York.

"Thou art a very respectable looking man," said Friend Hopper; "but I have known slaveholders, of even more genteel appearance than thou art, tell gross falsehoods where a slave was in question. I tell thee plainly, that I have no confidence in slaveholders, in any such case. I have had too much acquaintance with them. I know their game too well."

The Southerner said something about its being both mean and wrong to come between master and servant.

"Such may be thy opinion," replied Friend Hopper; "but my views of duty differ from thine in this matter." Then turning to the woman, he said, "By the laws here, thou art free. No man has a right to make thee a slave again. Thou mayest stay at the North, or go back to New-Orleans, just as thou choosest."

The Southerner here interposed to say, "Mind what that old gentleman says. You can go back to New-Orleans, to your husband, if you prefer to go."

"But let me tell thee," said Friend Hopper to the woman, "that if thou stayest here, thou wilt be free; but if they carry thee back, they may sell thee away from thy husband. Dost thou wish to be free?"

The tears gushed from her eyes in full flood, and she replied earnestly, "I do want to be free. To be _sure I_ do want to be free; but then I want to go to my husband."

Mr. Morgan and his Southern friend grew excited. With an angry glance at the old gentleman, the latter exclaimed, "I only wish we had you in New-Orleans! We'd hang you up in twenty-four hours."

"Then you are a set of savages," replied Friend Hopper.

"_You_ are a set of thieves," retorted he.

"Well, savages may be thieves also," rejoined the abolitionist, with a significant smile.

"You are no gentleman," responded the other, in an irritated tone.

"I don't profess to be a gentleman," answered the impassive Quaker. "But I am an honest old man; and perhaps that will do as well."

This remark occasioned a general smile. Indeed it was pleasant to observe, throughout this scene in the court-room, that popular sympathy was altogether on the side of freedom. It was a strange blind instinct on the part of the people, considering how diligently they had been instructed otherwise by pulpit and press; but so it was.

When the slave was summoned into the judge's room, Friend Hopper followed; being extremely desirous to have her understand her position clearly. He found Mr. Morgan and his Southern friend in close and earnest conversation with her. When he attempted to approach her, he was unceremoniously shoved aside, with the remark, "Don't push me away!"

"I did not push thee," said Friend Hopper; "and see that thou dost not push _me_!" He then inquired of the woman if he had rightly understood that her husband was free. She replied in the affirmative. "Then let me tell thee," said the kind-hearted old gentleman, "that we will send for him, and obtain employment for him here, if it is thy choice to remain."

Again she wept, and repeated, "I do want to be free." But she was evidently bewildered and distrustful, and did not know how to understand the opposite professions that were made to her.

On representation of the claimant's friends, Judge Oakley adjourned the case till the next morning; telling the woman she was at liberty to go with whom she pleased. The colored people had assembled in considerable numbers, and were a good deal excited. Experience led them to suppose that she would either be cajoled into consenting to return to slavery, or else secretly packed off to New-Orleans, if she were left in Southern hands. They accordingly made haste to hustle her away. But their well-intended zeal terrified the poor bewildered creature, and she escaped from them, and went back to her mistress.

The pro-slavery papers chuckled, as they always do, when some poor ignorant victim is deceived by false representation, alarmed by an excitement that she does not comprehend, afraid that strangers are not telling her the truth, or that they have not the power to protect her; and in continual terror of future punishment, if she should attempt to take her freedom, and yet be unable to maintain it. Great is the triumph of republicans, when, under such trying circumstances, _one_ poor bewildered wretch goes back to slavery; but of the _hundreds_, who every month take their freedom, through fire and flood, and all manner of deadly perils, they are as silent as the grave.

In the spring of 1841, I went to New-York to edit the Anti-Slavery Standard, and took up my abode with the family of Isaac T. Hopper. The zealous theological controversy among Friends naturally subsided after the separation between the opposing parties had become an old and settled fact. Consequently the demand for Quaker books diminished more and more. The Anti-Slavery Society, at that time, needed a Treasurer and Book-Agent; and Friend Hopper was proposed as a suitable person for that office. As only a small portion of his time was occupied with the sale of books he had on hand, he concluded to accept the proposition. He was then nearly seventy years old; but he appeared at least twenty years younger, in person and manners. His firm, elastic step seemed like a vigorous man of fifty. He would spring from the Bowery cars, while they were in motion, with as much agility as a lad of fourteen. His hair was not even sprinkled with gray. It looked so black and glossy, that a young lady, who was introduced to him, said she thought he wore a wig unnaturally dark for his age. It was a favorite joke of his to make strangers believe he wore a wig; and they were not easily satisfied that he spoke in jest, until they examined his head.

The roguery of his boyhood had subsided into a love of little mischievous tricks; and the playful tone of humor, that rippled through his conversation, frequently reminded me of the Cheeryble Brothers, so admirably described by Dickens. If some one rang at the door, and inquired for Mr. Hopper, he always answered, "There is no such person lives here." If the stranger urged that he had been directed by a man who said he knew Mr. Hopper, he would persevere in saying, "There must be some mistake. No such person lives here." At last, when the disappointed visitor turned to go away, he would call out, "Perhaps thou means Isaac T. Hopper? That is _my_ name."

Being called upon to give a receipt to a Catholic priest for some money deposited in his hands, he simply wrote "Received of John Smith." When the priest had read it, he handed it back and said, "I am disbursing other people's money, and shall be obliged to show this receipt; therefore, I should like to have you write my name, the Reverend John Smith." "I have conscientious scruples about using titles," replied Friend Hopper. "However, I will try to oblige thee." He took another slip of paper, and wrote, "Received of John Smith, who _calls_ himself the Reverend." The priest smiled, and accepted the compromise; being well aware that the pleasantry originated in no personal or sectarian prejudice.

He always had something facetious to say to the people with whom he traded. The oyster-men, the coal-men, and the women at the fruit-stalls in his neighborhood, all knew him as a pleasant old gentleman, always ready for a joke. One day, when he was buying some peaches, he said to the woman, "A serious accident happened at our house last night. I killed two robbers." "Dear me!" she exclaimed. "Were they young men, or old convicts? Had they ever been in Sing Sing?" "I don't know about that," replied he. "I should think they might have been by the noise they made. But I despatched them before they had stolen much. The walls are quite bloody." "Has a Coroner's inquest been called?" inquired the woman. When he answered, "No," she lifted her hands in astonishment, and exclaimed, "Well now, I do declare! If anybody else had done it, there would have been a great fuss made about it; but you are a privileged man, Mr. Hopper." When he was about to walk away, he turned round and said, "I did not mention to thee that the robbers I killed were two mosquitoes." The woman had a good laugh, and he came home as pleased as a boy, to think how completely his serious manner had deceived her.

One day he went to a hosiery store, and said to the man, "I bought a pair of stockings here yesterday. They looked very nice; but when I got home, I found two large holes in them; and I have come for another pair. The man summoned his wife, and informed her of what the gentleman had said.

"Bless me! Is it possible, sir?" she exclaimed.

"Yes," replied Friend Hopper, I found they had holes as large as my hand."

"It is very strange," rejoined she; "for I am sure they were new. But if you have brought them back, of course we will change them."

"O," said he, "upon examination, I concluded that the big holes were made to put the feet in; and I liked the stockings so well, that I have come to buy another pair."

At another time, he entered a crockery shop, where a young girl was tending. He made up a very sorrowful face, and in whining tones, told her that he was in trouble and needed help. She asked him to wait till the gentleman came; but he continued to beseech that she would take compassion on him. The girl began to be frightened by his importunity, and looked anxiously toward the door. At last, the man of the shop came in; and Friend Hopper said, "This young woman thinks she cannot help me out of my trouble; but I think she can. The fact is, we are going to have company, and so many of our tumblers are broken, that I came to ask if she would sell me a few."

One day, when he was walking quickly up the Bowery, his foot slipped on a piece of orange-peel, and he fell prostrate on the sidewalk. He started up instantly, and turning to a young man behind him, he said, "Couldst thou have done that any better?"

He very often mingled with affairs in the street, as he passed along. One day, when he saw a man beating his horse brutally, he stepped up to him and said, very seriously, "Dost thou know that some people think men change into animals when they die?"

The stranger's attention was arrested by such an unexpected question, and he answered that he never was acquainted with anybody who had that belief.

"But some people do believe it," rejoined Friend Hopper; "and they also believe that animals may become men. Now I am thinking if thou shouldst ever be a horse, and that horse should ever be a man, with such a temper as thine, the chance is thou wilt get some cruel beatings." Having thus changed the current of his angry mood, he proceeded to expostulate with him in a friendly way; and the poor beast was reprieved, for that time, at least.

He could imitate the Irish brogue very perfectly; and it was a standing jest with him to make every Irish stranger believe he was a countryman. During his visit to Ireland, he had become so well acquainted with various localities, that I believe he never in any instance failed to deceive them, when he said, "Och! and sure I came from old Ireland meself." After amusing himself in this way for a while, he would tell them, "It is true I did come from Ireland; but, to confess the truth, I went there first."

Once, when he saw two Irishmen fighting, he seized one of them by the arm, and said, "I'm from ould Ireland. If thou _must_ fight, I'm the man for thee. Thou hadst better let that poor fellow alone. I'm a dale stouter than he is; and sure it would be braver to fight me." The man thus accosted looked at him with surprise, for an instant, then burst out laughing, threw his coat across his arm, and walked off.

Another time, when he found two Irishmen quarrelling, he stepped up and inquired what was the matter. "He's got my prayer-book," exclaimed one of them; "and I'll give him a bating for it; by St. Patrick, I will." "Let me give thee a piece of advice," said Friend Hopper. "It's a very hot day, and bating is warm work. I'm thinking thou had'st better put it off till the cool o' the morning." The men, of course, became cooler before they had done listening to this playful remonstrance.

Once, when he was travelling in the stage, they passed a number of Irishmen with cart-loads of stones, to mend the road. Friend Hopper suggested to the driver that he had better ask them to remove a very large stone, which lay directly in the way and seemed dangerous. "It will be of no use if I do," replied the driver. "They'll only curse me, and tell me to go round the old road, over the hill; for the fact is, this road is not fairly opened to the public yet." Friend Hopper jumped out, and asked if they would turn that big stone aside. "And sure ye've no business here at all," they replied. "Ye may jist go round by the ould road." "Och!" said Friend Hopper, "and is this the way I'm trated by my coontryman? I'm from Ireland meself; and sure I did'nt expect to be trated so by my coontrymen in a strange coontry."

"And are ye from ould Ireland?" inquired they.

"Indade I am," he replied.

"And what part may ye be from?" said they.

"From Mount Mellick, Queen's County," rejoined he; and he began to talk familiarly about the priest and the doctor there, till he got the laborers into a real good humor, and they removed the stone with the utmost alacrity. The passengers in the stage listened to this conversation, and supposed that he was in reality an Irish Quaker. When he returned to them and explained the joke, they had a hearty laugh over his powers of mimicry.

His tricks with children were innumerable. They would often be lying in wait for him in the street; and if he passed without noticing them, they would sometimes pull at the skirts of his coat, to obtain the customary attention. Occasionally, he would observe a little troop staring at him, attracted by the singularity of his costume. Then, he would stop, face about, stretch out his leg, and say, "Come now, boys! Come, and take a good look!" It was his delight to steal up behind them, and tickle their necks, while he made a loud squealing noise. The children, supposing some animal had set upon them, would jump as if they had been shot. And how he would laugh! When he met a boy with dirty face or hands, he would stop him, and inquire if he ever studied chemistry. The boy, with a wondering stare, would answer, "No." "Well then, I will teach thee how to perform a curious chemical experiment," said Friend Hopper. "Go home, take a piece of soap, put it in water, and rub it briskly on thy hands and face. Thou hast no idea what a beautiful froth it will make, and how much whiter thy skin will be. That's a chemical experiment. I advise thee to try it."

The character of his wife was extremely modest and reserved; and he took mischievous pleasure in telling strangers the story of their courtship in a way that made her blush. "Dost thou know what Hannah answered, when I asked if she would marry me?" said he. "I will tell thee how it was. I was walking home with her one evening, soon after the death of her mother, and I mentioned to her that as she was alone now, I supposed she intended to make some change in her mode of living. When she said yes, I told her I had been thinking it would be very pleasant to have her come and live with me. 'That would suit me exactly,' said she. This prompt reply made me suppose she might not have understood my meaning; and I explained that I wanted to have her become a member of my family; but she replied again, 'There is nothing I should like better.'"

The real fact was, the quiet and timid Hannah Attmore was not dreaming of such a thing as a proposal of marriage. She supposed he spoke of receiving her as a boarder in his family. When she at last perceived his meaning, she slipped her arm out of his very quickly, and was too much confused to utter a word. But it amused him to represent that she seized the opportunity the moment it was offered.

There was one of the anti-slavery agents who did everything in a dashing, wholesale style, and was very apt to give peremptory orders. One day he wrote a letter on business, to which the following postscript was appended: "Give the hands at your office a tremendous blowing up. They need it." Friend Hopper briefly replied: "According to thy orders, I have given the hands at our office a tremendous blowing up. They want to know what it is for. Please inform me by return of mail."

When the Prison Association of New-York petitioned to be incorporated, he went to Albany on business therewith connected. He was then a stranger at the seat of government, though they afterward came to know him well. When he was seated in the senate-chamber, a man came to him and told him to take off his hat. He replied, "I had rather not. I am accustomed to keep it on."

"But it is contrary to the rules," rejoined the officer. "I am ordered to turn out any man who refuses to uncover his head."

The Quaker quietly responded, "Very well, friend, obey thy orders."

"Then, will you please to walk out, sir?" said the officer.

"No," replied Friend Hopper. "Didst thou not tell me thou wert ordered to turn me out? Dost thou suppose I am going to do thy duty for thee?"

The officer looked embarrassed, and said, half smiling, "But how am I to get you out?"

"Carry me out, to be sure," rejoined Friend Hopper. "I see no other way."

The officer went and whispered to the Speaker, who glanced at the noble-looking old gentleman, and advised that he should be let alone.

Sometimes his jests conveyed cutting sarcasms. One day, when he was riding in an omnibus, he opened a port-monnaie lined with red. A man with very flaming visage, who was somewhat intoxicated, and therefore very much inclined to be talkative, said, "Ah, that is a very gay pocket-book for a Quaker to carry."

"Yes, it is very red," replied Friend Hopper; "but is not so red as thy nose." The passengers all smiled, and the man seized the first opportunity to make his escape.

A poor woman once entered an omnibus, which was nearly full, and stood waiting for some one to make room. A proud-looking lady sat near Friend Hopper, and he asked her to move a little, to accommodate the new comer. But she looked very glum, and remained motionless. After examining her countenance for an instant, he said, "If thy face often looks so, I shouldn't like to have thee for a neighbor." The passengers exchanged smiles at this rebuke, and the lady frowned still more deeply.