William Lloyd Garrison stood there—his eyes flaming—his face alight. He waited for an answer, holding Frederick’s hand in his, facing the audience. And from a thousand voices rose the shout.
“He is a man!”
“A man! A man!”
Garrison let the tumultuous shouts roll and reverberate. Men wept unashamed. Far down the street people heard the applause and shouting and came running. Through it all Garrison stood, holding the strong brown hand in his. At last Garrison pressed the hand gently, and Frederick stumbled to his seat. Then Garrison stepped to the edge of the platform.
Those who had heard him oftenest and known him longest were astonished by his speech that afternoon. He was the fabulous orator who could convert a vast audience into a single individuality.
“And to this cause we solemnly dedicate our strength, our minds, our spirits and our lives!”
As long as they lived men and women talked about that August afternoon on Nantucket Island.
John A. Collins, general agent of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society, was at Frederick’s elbow when the meeting let out.
“We want you as an agent,” he was saying. “Come, Mr. Garrison told me to bring you to him.”
While the crowd surged about them, the great man once more held Frederick’s hand, but now he gazed searchingly at the brown face.