“My son here is my eyes,” he said.
Frederick regarded the little fellow with amazement. He was going to write with that pen!
“You are called Frederick?” the father asked.
Frederick gave a start. “I have sometimes heard of another name—Bailey,” he said. “I—I really don’t know. They call me Frederick.”
“For the present, we shan’t worry about the surname. It is safer now to lose whatever identity you might have. Write Frederick Johnson, son!” The boy wrote easily. “There are so many Johnsons. But now that you are a free man, you must have a name—a family name.”
“Oh, yes, sir!”
The days passed swiftly. Anna arrived—warmly welcomed by Tom Stuart’s mother and whisked quickly out of sight until the moment when she stood beside him. Anna, her eyes pools of happiness, wearing a lovely plum-colored silk dress! They were married by the Reverend J. W. C. Pennington, whose father, after having been freed by George Washington, had served him faithfully at Valley Forge. He refused the fee offered by the eager young bridegroom.
“It is my wedding gift to you, young man. God speed you!”
They were put aboard the steamer John W. Richmond, belonging to the line running between New York and Newport, Rhode Island.
“New Bedford is your place,” David Ruggles had said. “There are many Friends in New Bedford, and the shipyards are constantly fitting out ships for long whaling voyages. A good caulker will find work. Good luck, my boy!”