The Anti-Slavery Record, Volume 1, No. 7

THE
VOL. I. JULY, 1835 NO. 7.
STEPHEN DOWNING.
Here we see intrigue and perfidy used with impunity to deprive this poor man of his liberty, which, had it been used in the case of a dog, would have consigned its perpetrators to remediless disgrace.—​Such is the strength of a pro-slavery public sentiment!
FRANCIS SMITH
Was a young man of small stature, but of keen eye and intelligent countenance. While a lad, in the time of the last war, he and his master were taken prisoners at sea and carried to Nova Scotia. His servile condition becoming known to the British officers, they compelled his master to give him free papers. But when the prisoners were exchanged, his master persuaded him to return with him to Virginia, by the promise that he should still be free. But he was sold. In Richmond he for some years had hired his time, and kept a well known fruit shop. At last he became the marriage portion of his master’s daughter, and was speedily to be removed as part and parcel of the set out of the bride. To this he demurred, threw himself upon his inalienable rights, and came to New York. Here he occupied himself for some months as a waiter, much to the satisfaction of his employer. The object of his affections, a very worthy and industrious free colored girl, had found her way to New Haven, Connecticut. Thither it was fixed that Francis should follow, and after their marriage they should proceed with their united means to a place of greater safety. But the kind Christian white bridegroom had come on from Virginia to search for his runaway property , and by the aid of a professed slave taker in the city, discovered the retreat of Francis and his intended movements. At the appointed hour for the steamboat to start, the colored young man came quietly on board with his little bundle. The fell tigers were in ambush—​the slave-taker Boudinot, a constable, and the lily-fingered white bridegroom aforesaid. The latter delicately pointed at the victim. A pounce was made upon him by Boudinot. Smith, after a scuffle of a moment, in which his antagonist received a scratch from his knife, darted on shore, cried “kidnappers,” and fled. The pursuers raised the cry of “murderer, stop the murderer.” The crowd thus deceived ran after him. Clubs, stones, and brickbats, were hurled at the poor fugitive without mercy, and he was at last brought to the ground, weltering in his blood. The owner took care to save his “property” from farther injury by having it conveyed to the old Bridewell. Thus was the happiness of this humble pair frustrated, that the delicate fingers of another pair might be spared the vulgar necessity of doing something for the support of their owners. And all this was done by law. During the law’s delay, Francis for months occupied one of the coffin cells, the heat and smothering stench of which, added to his disappointment and his galling manacles, were too much for his brain. Often were his wild ravings heard by the passengers on the outside.