Quaker idyls

by Sarah M. H. Gardner

Of course thee knows I had never been in a court room before, and so I am afraid I shall not be able to give thee anything more than a very meager account of the regular proceedings. It seems that the identity of the slave had first to be proved, with the date of his escape. Then the poor man brought what testimony he could quickly gather as to his having lived near Lancaster for a greater length of time than his would-be owner asserted. The evidence was given under great difficulties because the strong Southern bias of the crowd broke forth in wild cries and oaths, whenever the adverse testimony came on. Sometimes the noise was deafening. The commissioner is a frail man of middle age, and by the way, a descendant of Friends. He made great exertion to maintain order, but frequently looked as if he feared the result of interference.

Hour after hour went on. The twilight had grown into darkness and midnight finally drew near. None of the anti-slavery party had been allowed to leave the room, or rather having left it, to return. Everyone was getting hungry, yet I think we all thought especially of the good woman who sat so calmly beside the not over cleanly colored man, but I am bound to add, with a group of tried and true friends close around her.

In one of the pauses loud voices were heard outside, and a rush toward the door gave us fear that a measure was on foot to seize the prisoner and carry him off under the very eye of the law, but we found the trouble arose from a young man insisting upon being allowed to enter with refreshments for Lucretia Mott. He was actually driven away by force, and only after a hazardous entry, by means of a water pipe and window, was he able to present the modest supper to her. Thee will not be surprised to know that she at once shared it with other Friends in attendance.

Soon after daylight the commissioner announced that the testimony had all been taken and he found himself too much fatigued to continue the sitting, therefore the court was adjourned until 2 P. M. of that day. I had grown very restless, as thee may imagine, and turning to aunt I said, “I scarcely dare breathe for fear the poor man must go back to his chains.” A. L., who sat near, touched me lightly on the shoulder, and replied: “Prepare thyself calmly for the worst in life, and thus thee will not be overwhelmed when disaster comes, and should the best be realized thy joy will be proportionate.”

I think I shall never forget his remark. The whole scene is so vivid before me. I cannot close my eyes without seeing every detail of the crowded room, dimly lighted, and the shadowy figures in the shady corners leaning anxiously forward to catch the expression as well as the words of an earnest old black man, who was questioned and cross-questioned for hours on the witness stand. I know, mother, that had it been I, I should certainly have made some mistake, but he did not get greatly confused, only wandered slowly over and over again in his statements and settled down upon what proved to be the absolute truth.

It seems he was a small gardener in the neighborhood where the prisoner worked, and had written down in his rough notebook the date of the stranger’s arrival. This book was the only direct testimony in favor of freedom, for all the other witnesses became confused, or else exhibited clearly the falsity of their statements. As it turned out, the good, conscientious gardener had made a mistake in his date, and the commissioner suspected it, but as A. L. told us they could not go behind the written facts and we all thought he was, indeed, greatly harassed by the situation and was glad enough to be able “to give the prisoner the benefit of the doubt,” which I suppose is a formal phrase that applies to causes decided upon suspicious evidence, and thee knows, it is often said that English law leans toward mercy.

Alas! that it should not always be based upon justice! And, mother dear, thee will recall here a great deal that I have written thee about the young men of New England with whom I have been thrown during the year. I cannot bring myself back to the old thought that I bore concerning them. I expected the H. and A. families were as eager for the abolition of slavery as their forefathers were to found a “free and independent nation,” and behold! they jeer at Garrison and Phillips and hesitate to do any thing that will hurt Southern pride.

Thee has ever taught me to “judge not,” yet I would that the youth of distinguished patriot families now enjoying every educational advantage at the great seat of learning—Harvard College—might also feel the throb of sympathy for the oppressed. But we must turn back to the terrible slave trial.

At times, toward dawn especially, when the men grew weary, I suppose, the pistols were flourished as if they were harmless things. I drew very near to dear aunt once, but she quietly pointed to Lucretia Mott, whose age required rest, but whose motion betrayed neither her weariness nor deep concern. It was a relief when a little before nine o’clock the court was adjourned. It seems there was some thought of attempting a forcible capture of the man on trial, but his anti-slavery friends gathered close about him and thus remained until he was in the hands of the officers of the law.

Of course we were very tired, but nothing of small importance could have kept us from rejoining the throng, for such it had now become, when court opened again that afternoon.