“Invite this newcomer, by all means.” The chairman spoke cordially. “What is his name?”
There was a moment of embarrassment among the Fells Point workers.
“He is—He is still a—slave.”
A horribly scarred old man with only one leg spat contemptuously. He had been one of the followers of Gabriel in the Virginian insurrection. He had seen the twenty-four-year-old giant die without a word. He himself had been one of the four slaves condemned to die, who had escaped. Now, he had little patience with “strong young men” who were content to remain slaves.
“Let ’im be!” He rumbled deep in his throat.
One of the caulkers turned to him. He spoke with deference, but with conviction.
“Daddy Ben, I have seen him fight. He is a man!”
“His name?” asked the chairman.
“He is known as Frederick.”
So Frederick was admitted to membership. At his first meeting he sat silent, listening. He felt very humble when these men and women rose to their feet and read or spoke. His head whirled. It seemed that he could not bear any more when a young woman, whom he had noticed sitting very quietly in a corner, rose. She held a paper in her hand, and when she spoke her voice was low and musical. At first he heard only that music. He shook himself and tried to attend to what she was saying.