Even as a child—a slave child, following his young master from place to place—Frederick had not been wholly unaware of the swelling, pushing traffic of the growing city. As he sat on the school steps waiting for Tommy to come out, he watched heavy carts go by on their way to the wharf. Sometimes one would get stuck in the mud; and then, while the mule pulled and backed, the “furriners” yelled funny-sounding words. A stalk of sugar cane dropped from the load made a good find. If it was not too large, Frederick would hide it until night. Then he and Tommy would munch the sweet fiber, the little master in his bed, the slave stretched out on the floor. The day came when the growing boys slipped off to the wharves where vessels from the West Indies discharged their freight of molasses, to gorge themselves on the stolen sweet, extracted on a smooth stick inserted through a bunghole.
Frederick had seen coffles of slaves trudge through Baltimore streets—men and women and sometimes little children chained together. The boys always stopped playing and stared after them.
The year 1836 had been a good year for the South. Cotton was rolling up into a gleaming ball—an avalanche which would one day bring ruin; but now prices were soaring. On the June evening when Frederick sailed into Baltimore’s harbor, tall masts of square-rigged vessels bowed and dipped. They spoke to him of places in the far corners of the world; they beckoned to him. He nodded, his heart leaping.
He had left Baltimore a child; he returned a man. He looked around now, thinking, evaluating, remembering places he must go, people he must look up.
But first, there was Mr. Hugh Auld waiting for him on wharf. Tommy was nowhere in sight. Then he remembered. Tommy also was a man—a free, white man. A little stab of pain shot through Frederick.
Hugh Auld and his brother Thomas had come South to seek their fortunes. Raised in Vermont, they had found the lush softness of Maryland very pleasant. Employed by Colonel Lloyd on his rolling tidewater acres, Hugh had in due time married the Colonel’s youngest daughter and set up business in Baltimore. Hugh Auld had prospered. He was now part owner of a shipyard. Soon it would be Auld & Son.
“Good evening, Captain. I see you’ve got my boy.”
Mr. Auld greeted the captain though Frederick had hurried forward, his face alight.
“Yes, sir; shipshape, sir. And not a mite of trouble.” Nantucket Bay was more familiar to the captain than Chesapeake, but he liked the southern waters and he found Baltimore people friendly. They stood chatting a while and Frederick waited.
“Well, I thank you.” Mr. Auld was adjusting his panama hat. “Now I’ll be taking him off your hands.”