Candle in the Darkness - Lynn N. Austin [44]
“I’d like to hear your view of slavery, Miss Fletcher.”
“My . . . view?”
I remembered my first view of Slave Row, of the ramshackle cabins with Caleb and the other little children playing outside in the dirt. Then I pictured the view from my bedroom window that terrible morning, the wagon full of slaves in chains, Grady screaming as the men dragged him away.
“It’s . . . it’s horrible . . .” I couldn’t finish. Tears sprang to my eyes before I could stop them. I dug in my pockets for a handkerchief and couldn’t find one. Rev. Greene offered me his.
“Here . . . I’m so sorry, Miss Fletcher. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He rested his hand on my shoulder, patting it consolingly.
As I battled to regain control, Julia eyed me jealously. She seemed to be weighing the idea of bursting into tears herself, just so he would rest his freckled hand on her shoulder. In the end, she was wise enough to realize that the way to Nathaniel Greene’s heart was to become an ardent abolitionist herself.
“How did you become involved in this very worthy cause?” she asked him, passing the plate of tea cakes one more time. “Did you live down south yourself?”
“No, I first joined the New England Anti-Slavery Society when I was in college and—”
“I had no idea there was such an organization,” she chirped. “Might I join the society, too?”
He swiveled his full attention back to Julia. “Certainly, Miss Hoffman. We’d be pleased to have you. In fact, the American Anti-Slavery Society was founded right here in Philadelphia in 1833.”
“Why, I had no idea. What is it that the society does, exactly?”
“Well, you see, the Declaration of Independence proclaimed freedom and liberty for all men, yet the Negroes are still enslaved. It says all men are created equal, yet the Negroes don’t share that equality with whites. Slavery is a great evil, Miss Hoffman, and a curse to this great nation. It must be abolished. The Society believes it is our task to complete the unfinished work of the American Revolution.”
Julia appeared horrified. “You don’t mean going to war—with real guns and things!”
“Oh, no, no—nothing like that.” He pulled a square lump from his bulging jacket pocket. I had assumed it was a Bible, but it turned out to be a good-sized packet of abolitionist tracts. He peeled off two and passed them to Julia and me. “The Declaration of Sentiments, written in 1833, reads that our principles ‘forbid the doing of evil that good may come, and lead us to reject—and to entreat the oppressed to reject—the use of all carnal weapons for deliverance from bondage; relying solely upon those which are spiritual, and mighty through God . . . the destruction of error by the potency of truth—the overthrow of prejudice by the power of love—and the abolition of slavery by the spirit of repentance.’ ”
I stared at the words in disbelief. They were so similar to what Eli had told his fellow slaves—that they wouldn’t have to resort to violence, God would fight their battle for them. I wanted to learn more from Rev. Greene, but when I looked up, Julia was perched on the edge of her seat, gazing at him like a puppy with its master. I could see that he mistook her adoration as interest in abolition, especially when she said, “I would love to accompany you to one of your meetings sometime.”
Rev. Greene beamed at her. It wasn’t love I saw in his eyes but the excitement of a zealot who has just made a new convert. “There will be an anti-slavery lecture next week, in fact. It’s being held at the Quaker meetinghouse in Germantown. I’d be very happy to escort you—and Miss Fletcher, of course.”
I agreed to go, partly because I was genuinely interested, and partly because Julia never would have forgiven me if I hadn’t. Her father wouldn’t allow her to attend the lecture alone with an unmarried man, minister or not.
Uncle Philip let us take his carriage when the day finally arrived, and he instructed his driver to stop by the church to pick up Rev. Greene. The young reverend started lecturing