William Lloyd Garrison, the Abolitionist. Archibald Henry Grimké
the debts incurred by the unproductiveness of the Genius."
Garrison returned to Baltimore, but he did not tarry long in that slave-ruled city. Todd's suit against him was tried after his departure, and the jury soothed the Newburyport merchant's wounded pride with a verdict for a thousand dollars. He never attempted, however, to enforce the payment of the same being content probably with the "vindication," which his legal victory gave him.
Before the reformer left Baltimore he had definitely abandoned the plans looking to a revival of his interest in the Genius. He determined instead to publish a sheet devoted to the abolition of slavery under his sole management and control. This paper he proposed to call the Public Liberator, and to issue from Washington. The prospectus of this journalistic project bearing date, August, 1830, declares in its opening sentence its "primary object" to be "the abolition of slavery, and the moral and intellectual elevation of our colored population." "I shall spare no efforts," he pledged himself, "to delineate the withering influence of slavery upon our national prosperity and happiness, its awful impiety, its rapid extension, and its inevitable consequences if it be suffered to exist without hindrance. It will also be my purpose to point out the path of safety, and a remedy for the disease." This comprehensive and aggressive plan of campaign signalized the rise of an Abolitionism wholly unlike the Abolitionism of any previous time in the history of the country. It did in fact date the opening of a new era in the slavery struggle in America.
With Northern indifference and apathy on the subject of emancipation, Garrison's previous visit to the North had acquainted him. Their existence he saw interposed the main obstacle to the success of his new venture in journalism. "The cause of this callous state of feeling," he believed, "was owing to their exceeding ignorance of the horrors of slavery." He accordingly made up his mind to throw the light which he possessed into the midst of this darkness. He had written in prison three lectures on "Slavery and Colonization." What better could he now do than to deliver those lectures at the North? If the good people and their religious leaders knew what he knew, they would presently feel as he did on the question. He was loath to leave Baltimore without giving this testimony against slavery. But unable to procure a room for this purpose was finally compelled to content himself with the witness he had already borne in the Genius and in prison in behalf of the slave. In Philadelphia he well-nigh failed to obtain a hall for his lectures, but did finally succeed in getting the Franklin Institute, where, to small audiences, he lifted up his voice against the iniquity of the times. He repeated his lectures in New York, New Haven, and Hartford. But not many came out to hear him. The nation, its churches, and politicians had thrust their fingers in their ears to every cry coming up from the slave. Why should they go to sup with a madman on horrors, with which as patriotic people they were forbidden to concern themselves. And so for the most part Garrison could do nothing with communities, which had eyes, but obstinately refused to see with them upon any subject relating to the abominations of slavery. In his own town of Newburyport, officers of Christian churches not only refused to hear his message themselves, but debarred others from listening to the woes and wrongs of fellow-creatures in bondage. As Mr. Garrison truly said at the time: "If I had visited Newburyport to plead the cause of twenty white men in chains, every hall and every meeting-house would have been thrown open, and the fervor of my discourses anticipated and exceeded by my fellow-townsmen. The fact that two millions of colored beings are groaning in bondage, in this land of liberty, excites no interest nor pity." If these damning facts are remembered sixty years after their occurrence to the shame of the trustees of the two churches, viz., the Presbyterian Church on Harris street and the Second Congregational Church, it is also remembered to the honor of the two pastors, Rev. Dr. Daniel Dana, and the Rev. Dr. Luther F. Dimmick, that they had thrown open to the prophet the doors of their meeting-houses, which the trustees afterward slammed in his face.
In Boston the same hard luck followed him. In all that city of Christian churches he could not obtain the use of a single meeting-house, "in which to vindicate the rights of TWO MILLIONS of American citizens, who are now groaning in servile chains in this boasted land of liberty; and also to propose just, benevolent, and constitutional measures for their relief." So ran an advertisement in the Boston Courier of the sorely tried soul. For two weeks he had gone up and down the town in search of a room free of cost, in which to deliver his message. The door of every sanctuary was locked against his cause. It was then, as a final recourse, that he turned to the Courier, and made his last appeal to the Christian charity of the city. The prayer of the prophet was answered from an unexpected quarter. It was that ecclesiastical dragon of the times, Abner Kneeland, and his society of "blasphemers," who proved afresh the truth of that scripture which says: "Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven." It was they that gave to liberty a hearing, to the prophet of righteousness a chance to deliver his message. It was in their meeting-house, in Julian Hall, that Garrison gave his lectures, giving the first one on the evening of October 15, 1830.
Samuel J. May, who was present, has preserved his impressions of the lecture and lecturer. "Never before," he records many years afterward, "was I so affected by the speech of man. When he had ceased speaking I said to those around me: 'That is a providential man; he is a prophet; he will shake our nation to its center, but he will shake slavery out of it. We ought to know him, we ought to help him. Come, let us go and give him our hands.' Mr. Sewall and Mr. Alcott went up with me and we introduced each other. I said to him, 'Mr. Garrison, I am not sure that I can indorse all you have said this evening. Much of it requires careful consideration. But I am prepared to embrace you. I am sure you are called to a great work, and I mean to help you.' Mr. Sewall cordially assured him of his readiness also to cooperate with him. Mr. Alcott invited him to his home. He went and we sat with him until twelve that night, listening to his discourse, in which he showed plainly that immediate, unconditional emancipation, without expatriation, was the right of every slave, and could not be withheld by his master an hour without sin. That night my soul was baptised in his spirit, and ever since I have been a disciple and fellow-laborer of William Lloyd Garrison." A new force had arisen in our history, and a new epoch had broken bolts for humanity.
CHAPTER IV.
THE HOUR AND THE MAN.
The providential man was not yet twenty-five. In personal appearance he was quite the reverse of his friend Lundy. Garrison was gifted with a body that matched his mind, strong, straight, sound in every part, and proportioned in every member. As he stood he was much above the medium height. His dark hair had already partially left the crown of the high dome-shaped head. His forehead combined height with breadth, which, taken in connection with the brown eyes covered with the now habitual glasses, lent to his countenance a striking air of moral serenity and elevation. Force, firmness, no ordinary self-reliance and courage found masterly expression in the rest of the face. There was through the whole physical man a nice blending of strength and delicacy of structure. The impression of fineness and finish was perhaps mainly owing to the woman-like purity and freshness of skin and color, which overspread the virile lines and features of the face from brow to chin. What one saw in that face was the quality of justice made flesh, good-will to men personified.
This characterization of the reformer's countenance may be considered absurd by some readers. But absurd it is not. People who had read his stern denunciations of slave-holding and slaveholders, and who had formed their image of the man from his "hard language" and their own prejudices could not recognize the original when they met him. His manner was peculiarly winning and attractive, and in personal intercourse almost instantly disarmed hostility. The even gentleness of his rich voice, his unfailing courtesy and good temper, his quick eye for harmless pleasantries, his hearty laugh, the Quaker-like calmness, deliberateness, and meekness, with which he would meet objections and argue the righteousness of his cause, his sweet reasonableness and companionableness were in strange contrast to popular misconceptions and caricatures of him. No one needed to be persuaded, who had once conversed with him, that there was no hatred or vindictiveness in his severities of language toward slaveholders. That he was no Jacobin, no enemy