“This is to certify that I, the undersigned, have given leave to the bearer, my servant, John, full liberty to go to Baltimore to spend the Easter holidays.—W. H.
“Near St. Michaels, Talbot Co., Md.”
On the night before the proposed flight, every possible detail had been rehearsed and arranged. The resolution of each party to the conspiracy was tested and proved firm, except that of Sandy, who, much to the disgust of Douglass, backed out. Early Saturday morning, they were all at work in the usual way. Douglass was the only one who was troubled with a presentiment of evil. He turned abruptly to Sandy, who was working near him, and said: “We are betrayed!” Within a short while his worst fears were being realized. Looking toward the “big house,” he easily discerned a stranger on horseback and an unusual stir. It was not long before he was abruptly accused of plotting to run away, and taken into custody. Thus it turned out that at the very time he had planned to be on the road to freedom, he was a prisoner bound for Easton, to be examined by a magistrate.
His companions, the two Harris brothers, were likewise accused. Henry, however, was the only one who did not tamely submit to being arrested and handcuffed. When a revolver was pointed at him by the officer, he knocked it from the man’s hands and dared any one to shoot him. The recalcitrant slave was soon overpowered, however, and all were led away.
The excitement caused by Harris’s daring revolt served one purpose, of which young Douglass’s alertness enabled him to take advantage. He adroitly threw his pass, the only incriminating evidence against them, in the fire, and by some secret sign advised the others to eat theirs with their bread on the journey, which they did.
When they were examined, each stoutly disclaimed all knowledge of plans for running away and denied that they had any intention of doing so. Notwithstanding the total lack of evidence against them, the officers and Douglass’s master were thoroughly convinced that they were plotting some wickedness. There was always something so mysterious, as well as commanding in the manner of young Douglass, that he was naturally regarded as the ringleader, when any misconduct of the slaves was complained of. His fellows in bonds treated him with a deference never shown toward any but white people. As a slave he worked well and did his full duty, but his masters always regarded him with suspicion, and something akin to fear.
The examination of the four culprits must have afforded an interesting scene. Young Douglass, though a slave in chains, as well as a prisoner at the bar, had the temerity to assume the rôle of attorney and to attempt the defense of his comrades, for whose present predicament he felt himself responsible. When Thomas Auld insisted that the evidence in hand, showing the intention to run away, was strong enough to hang in case of need, Douglass promptly replied: “The cases are not equal. If murder were committed, the thing is done, but we have not run away. Where is the evidence against us? We were quietly at work.” Douglass was confident that the only tangible evidence against them had been skilfully destroyed, and he knew also that his companions had been slyly but effectively coached as to what to say and how to act when they came before the examining magistrate.
So completely had they failed to make young Douglass and his companions convict themselves, that very shortly Mr. Freeland came to the jail and took home his own slaves, leaving Douglass still in confinement. He was glad to know that his companions had escaped punishment, but by this last separation from them he seemed to have reached the very depths of the desolation which it was the lot of a slave to experience.
Through the bars of his imprisonment, he could watch the slave-traders from Georgia, Alabama, and Louisiana apparently eager to get hold of him. He could even hear them pass comments upon his size, strength, and general appearance, and make guesses as to his age. For the first time since he left Covey’s, he felt both hopeless and helpless. If he should be sold and sent down into the far South, he well knew that all chances for escape would be cut off forever.
While in this condition of dejection and hopelessness, the unexpected happened. His owner, Thomas Auld, who, in spite of Douglass’s rebelliousness, always cherished a peculiar fondness for him, ordered his release from jail, and at once decided to send him back to Baltimore to live with Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Auld. In telling Fred what he intended to do, he said that he wanted him to learn a trade, and that if he would behave himself and give him no more trouble, he would emancipate him when he became twenty-five years old.