Virginia Hamilton (10 page)

They, the slaves, gathered as a comfort to one another. For safety, because they knew they were lost and they could find themselves only in the presence of one another. And tomorrow they would be lost and alone again.

They would eat, they would share, they would buy and barter as best they could. They would try to keep warm. Those close to the cook fires that sprang up all around would move back after a while so others could eat or get warmed. When they dozed, they did so with one eye open.

They cried, laughed softly, prayed, sang the sorrow songs. They would eat and sleep right there, together in the open, all the whole crowd of them.

Anthony picked his way through. Efrum, Simon, Whittom, and Luther followed. They found
a tight space where they could stop. They put Simon between Anthony and Whittom. For the first time they truly rested. A black man came with a ratty, holey blanket. “Who wants it?” he said. “Ain't be much.”

Simon looked at it longingly. His face shone in the growing light of fires. “He do,” Anthony said, pointing to Simon. “How much?”

“Ain't be much,” said the man. “That cap on you head. And that cap on he head.” He pointed at Luther.

Luther looked down at his hands. Anthony knew he would hate giving up his fine cap. “Be too much,” Anthony said quietly, firmly. He dismissed the man by gazing out over the mass of folks.

“Ain't much,” said the man. He stood there a long while, but wouldn't give in. “One cap,” Anthony said, with calm assurance.

“Two,” said the man. He waited.

They were all still. Next to him, Anthony felt Simon control his shivering. Good ole Simon!

Then it was over. The man snatched Anthony's cap and flung the blanket. He walked away. They wrapped the blanket around Simon.

They lay down. No food, not if they wanted something for the morning. They lay close. The Jims slept. Anthony lay there; he too slept finally. Dreamed he saw Jesus. Mamaw was holding the Christ child in her arms, beckoning Anthony to come join them. They were in the great forest. The baby Jesus smiled, climbed down to walk. He led Anthony and Mamaw to freedom.

11
May 26, 1854

“WH-WHAT?” ANTHONY SAID.
He started up and felt the hard bench under him.

“Where … ?” This was no forest. All at once he remembered where he was. He had been lying on his “bed,” a Court House bench in the jury room that was his jail. Now he died inside for the thousandth time, so completely had he dreamed a way out. Captured he had been and still was. Prisoner. Slave.

Dreaming won't change it, he thought grimly.

But the guards, what? Guards were running every which way, snatching up their weapons, buckling their belts. Anthony was hearing a deep, loud noise that sounded like it could shake the building down. What was going on?

He went to his window. There he saw a large number of people scurrying around the square.

The banging was coming from below. What? Men were trying to break the door down!

Anthony held on to the bars, watching as best he could, until the guards dragged him back. They pulled him to the floor against the blank wall
away from the windows. And there he stayed, listening, wondering what was happening.

Below, the attack on the Court House had begun.

The crowd attacked on the west side of the court building. A dozen men, both black and white, had a long plank to use as a battering ram against the door. Others had axes. Still more had brickbats that they threw up at windows to break them. Glass rattled and fell in all directions. Men ducked their heads out of the way of flying splinters. The sound of the battering ram and the axes falling echoed throughout the adjoining streets and up in the court building. More people came running into the square. The leaders of the attack shouted: “Rescue him! Bring him out! Where is he?”

The Court House bell rang an alarm. The Marshal's guard of 124 had been quickly roused and were at the ready in every hallway and on the stairs. Unknown to the crowd, Marshal Freeman had indeed expected an attack after the Faneuil Hall meeting. He had made sure the Chief of Police had stationed men outside, and he had received a report from them before the crowd reached the Court House.

Now, with Thomas Higginson leading the assault, the west door was broken open. Martin Stowell was by his side with his gun drawn. Before them were guards with guns and cutlasses. There were shouts and startled cries as cutlasses whipped through the air. Higginson felt a swipe of pain against his chin, and then a warm trickling. Shots were fired.

Suddenly, one of the Marshal's guard, a truckman named Batchelder, fell to the floor, bleeding from
his stomach. He said he was stabbed. Other guards managed to get the door closed, and braced themselves against it to keep it shut.

The fallen Batchelder was carried into the Marshal's office. He died almost at once of his wound, which had severed an artery in his abdomen.

Meantime, all the attackers were on the outside, including Thomas Higginson, who was bleeding heavily from the chin. He urged his comrades on but they were slow to move forward.

“You cowards!” he exclaimed. “Would you desert us now?”

Almost at once, some of the attackers, nine or ten of them, were taken by the Chief of Police and his men, who had finally reached the front of the crowd. Somehow, Thomas Higginson managed to escape. But Martin Stowell did not. He was arrested with the others and taken for disturbing the peace. This quieted the crowd somewhat, and many began to leave the area.

The Mayor at City Hill was notified of the riot by Chief of Police Taylor. He requested two companies of Artillery, one to be stationed in the Court House and the other in City Hall. These and several officers of the municipal government arrived at the Court House by midnight. Half an hour later Court Square was largely deserted.

12
May 27, 1854

THE NEXT DAY
was Saturday, the day Anthony Burns was to appear in court again. Very
early in the morning, a crowd once again gathered around the Court House. Composed of those for and against slavery, it was seething with anger and rumor. Marshal Freeman, who had narrowly escaped a bullet as he defended the front stairs, had asked the Mayor for a body of United States troops, which the Mayor ordered out at once. Fifty Marines sped into Boston by steamer and were quartered inside the Court House by morning.

From the Navy Yard in Charlestown came another company of Marines, ordered by the Marshal with District Attorney Hallett's approval. They, too, stayed in the Court House.

Very early, also, the Mayor gave orders for the Independent Corps of Cadets and the Boston Light Infantry to assemble in their armories and then report to City Hall. A detachment of Boston Light Dragoons was in readiness at their armory as well.

Later that morning, James Batchelder's body was taken away by the coroner. The
crowd, growing ever larger, watched silently as the coffin was placed in a covered carriage and carried away.

As other carriages passed through the Square, the crowd grew boisterous again. Three or four men causing the most disturbance were arrested on the spot, to rounds of cheers and hisses.

The Mayor came out, stood at the entrance to the Court House, and briefly addressed the crowd. He told them to go home, that sufficient force was present to preserve the peace. All laws were to be maintained, he said.

At these words, applause and boos rang out. He then had a notice posted, which read:

Because of the excitement that now pervades the city, you are respectfully requested to cooperate with the Municipal Authorities in the maintenance of peace and good order. The laws must be obeyed, let the consequences be what they may.

At five minutes after nine o'clock, Anthony was brought to the Court House by six armed guards and escorted to the United States District Court room.

Seth Thomas and Edward C. Parker appeared as counsel for the claimants, Suttle and Brent, and the United States Government. Richard Dana and Charles M. Ellis were there in defense of the fugitive, Anthony Burns. Spectators, as well as officers of the Marine Corps, filled the courtroom.

The examination began at ten o'clock before Commissioner Loring. Charles
Ellis immediately asked for a further delay, for the purpose of preparing the case on the part of the fugitive. It wasn't until yesterday, he said, that he or Mr. Dana had felt at liberty to act for Anthony Burns. And only Mr. Dana had had access to the prisoner.

“It therefore stands as if this person was seized yesterday afternoon,” Ellis said, “and brought in here this morning for examination. The man is present in this court as a freeman,” he continued, “entitled to all the protection the laws can throw around him.”

The law ought not be executed, Ellis said, until a case had been made out as clear as daylight and free from doubt. “Your Honor,” he continued earnestly, “do consider that this is the only tribunal between the man and perpetual slavery.”

Suttle's attorney Edward Parker objected to a further postponement of the case. “The argument is,” he said, “that the proceedings here are to settle the case of the man's freedom or slavery. This is not so. It is only a preliminary hearing, to determine the question of sending the man to a place where the question of his condition will be settled, according to the laws which are presumed to exist there. I therefore see no reason for delay.”

Richard Dana spoke next. He calmly reviewed the nature of the record, which was the transcript of the record that Charles Suttle had produced from the Alexandria, Virginia, Circuit Court. The transcript had been put in as proof that Anthony Burns was held to service and labor by Suttle. It further stated that Anthony had escaped
from the state of Virginia and still owed service and labor to Charles Suttle, his master; it provided a general description of Anthony.

Dana had had a copy of the transcript only since last evening. “The granting of the certificate,” he said now, “which would allow the claimant to remove the prisoner from Massachusetts to the State of Virginia, settles the case of Burns finally. Anthony Burns will never go before another tribunal, but might—and Burns himself fears that he would—be sold to go to New Orleans. The claimant, Mr. Suttle, might send him where he pleases, and Your Honor could not help it.

“If the case goes on now,” Dana said, “he, Burns, will say and we, his counsel shall say, that he has had no defense. And it is in view of the tremendous consequences of granting this certificate that we ask for a delay.”

“I am advised by the claimant, Charles Suttle,” said Edward Parker, “that he is willing to sell the slave here in the city for his fair market value.”

On hearing Parker, Reverend Grimes of the freeman's church jerked up straight in his seat, stunned by this sudden good news.

The Commissioner quickly gave his decision. He said he looked upon Burns as one who was still to be regarded as a freeman; he knew of no proof yet submitted that he was to be regarded as anything else. He said he thought the question of delay was a sensible one. “I must look at the rights of the parties and see that justice is done. One or two days' delay is not an unreasonable
request, and I therefore grant further delay until Monday morning at eleven o'clock.”

With the decision made, the spectators, who had packed the courtroom and had had difficulty keeping still, now quietly left. Anthony was taken back to his jail on the third floor. On each landing of the stairs now, squads of Marines and other United States troops were posted with fixed bayonets; and they were in the rooms of each story as well.

Very large ropes instead of chains were used to keep people out of the passages along the outer walls of the Court House. The barricades were guarded by the Boston police, a fact that incensed a local newspaper. “We should like to know what law of this Commonwealth authorizes or
permits
the Boston police to serve as sentries for the garrison in that fortified slave pen, commonly called ‘Boston Court House.' But here is a brave array of troops, marshals, police, and enlisted creatures of various sorts—all on duty to crush out the freedom of a poor fellow whose only crime is a decided repugnance to slavery.”

Marshal Freeman had telegraphed President Franklin Pierce informing him of the attack on the Court House the night before and stating that one of his own guards had been killed. He informed the President that he had availed himself of the resources of the United States.

The reply from President Pierce came quickly: “Your conduct is approved. The law must be executed.”

Thousands of people were attracted to the
Court House after Commissioner Loring postponed the examination and Anthony was taken back to his jail. They included those who were already there for the abolitionist convention as well as those outsiders who had only just heard of the Burns case. Many had come to protest Anthony's capture. There were arrests for drunkenness and one for a knife attack. A man from Worcester stood upon a flour barrel and spoke loudly about abolitionism and the Kansas-Nebraska Bill before he was arrested for disturbing the peace. Rumors flew. It was reported that 400 “colored persons” from New Bedford had arrived in the city in support of Anthony Burns.

That evening the postmortem examination of Mr. Batchelder was made. Soon after, the word was out that Batchelder's fellow truckmen intended to make a protest demonstration at the homes of Wendell Phillips and Reverend Theodore Parker.

After a number of men were seen approaching Phillips's and Parker's houses, the Mayor posted guards to protect them.

Reverend Grimes had much to do himself that Saturday. Having learned in the courtroom Friday that Anthony might be sold, he at once approached Suttle's counsel and was told, “Colonel Suttle has agreed to sell Burns.” The sum of sale was to be twelve hundred dollars. But the condition was that it could be made only
after
Anthony had been surrendered to the Colonel.