2016年05月11日
speech at the convention
In the month of August, 1841, I attended an anti-slavery convention in Nantucket, at which it was my happiness to become acquainted with Frederick Douglass, the writer of the following Narrative. He was a stranger to nearly every member of that body; but, having recently made his escape from the southern prison-house of bondage, and feeling his curiosity excited to ascertain the principles and measures of the abolitionists,—of whom he had heard a somewhat vague description while he was a slave,—he was induced to give his attendance, on the occasion alluded to, though at that time a resident in New Bedford.
Fortunate, most fortunate occurrence!—fortunate for the millions of his manacled brethren, yet panting for deliverance from their awful thraldom!—fortunate for the cause of negro emancipation, and of universal liberty!—fortunate for the land of his birth, which he has already done so much to save and bless!—fortunate for a large circle of friends and acquaintances, whose sympathy and affection he has strongly secured by the many sufferings he has endured, by his virtuous traits of character, by his ever-abiding remembrance of those who are in bonds, as being bound with them!—fortunate for the multitudes, in various parts of our republic, whose minds he has enlightened on the subject of slavery, and who have been melted to tears by his pathos, or roused to virtuous indignation by his stirring eloquence against the enslavers of men!—fortunate for himself, as it at once brought him into the field of public usefulness, "gave the world assurance of a MAN," quickened the slumbering energies of his soul, and consecrated him to the great work of breaking the rod of the oppressor, and letting the oppressed go free!
I shall never forget his first —the extraordinary emotion it excited in my own mind—the powerful impression it created upon a crowded auditory, completely taken by surprise—the applause which followed from the beginning to the end of his felicitous remarks. I think I never hated slavery so intensely as at that moment; certainly, my perception of the enormous outrage which is inflicted by it, on the godlike nature of its victims, was rendered far more clear than ever. There stood one, in physical proportion and stature commanding and exact—in intellect richly endowed—in natural eloquence a prodigy—in soul manifestly "created but a little lower than the angels"—yet a slave, ay, a fugitive slave,—trembling for his safety, hardly daring to believe that on the American soil, a single white person could be found who would befriend him at all hazards, for the love of God and humanity! Capable of high attainments as an intellectual and moral being—needing nothing but a comparatively small amount of cultivation to make him an ornament to society and a blessing to his race—by the law of the land, by the voice of the people, by the terms of the slave code, he was only a piece of property, a beast of burden, a chattel personal, nevertheless!
Fortunate, most fortunate occurrence!—fortunate for the millions of his manacled brethren, yet panting for deliverance from their awful thraldom!—fortunate for the cause of negro emancipation, and of universal liberty!—fortunate for the land of his birth, which he has already done so much to save and bless!—fortunate for a large circle of friends and acquaintances, whose sympathy and affection he has strongly secured by the many sufferings he has endured, by his virtuous traits of character, by his ever-abiding remembrance of those who are in bonds, as being bound with them!—fortunate for the multitudes, in various parts of our republic, whose minds he has enlightened on the subject of slavery, and who have been melted to tears by his pathos, or roused to virtuous indignation by his stirring eloquence against the enslavers of men!—fortunate for himself, as it at once brought him into the field of public usefulness, "gave the world assurance of a MAN," quickened the slumbering energies of his soul, and consecrated him to the great work of breaking the rod of the oppressor, and letting the oppressed go free!
I shall never forget his first —the extraordinary emotion it excited in my own mind—the powerful impression it created upon a crowded auditory, completely taken by surprise—the applause which followed from the beginning to the end of his felicitous remarks. I think I never hated slavery so intensely as at that moment; certainly, my perception of the enormous outrage which is inflicted by it, on the godlike nature of its victims, was rendered far more clear than ever. There stood one, in physical proportion and stature commanding and exact—in intellect richly endowed—in natural eloquence a prodigy—in soul manifestly "created but a little lower than the angels"—yet a slave, ay, a fugitive slave,—trembling for his safety, hardly daring to believe that on the American soil, a single white person could be found who would befriend him at all hazards, for the love of God and humanity! Capable of high attainments as an intellectual and moral being—needing nothing but a comparatively small amount of cultivation to make him an ornament to society and a blessing to his race—by the law of the land, by the voice of the people, by the terms of the slave code, he was only a piece of property, a beast of burden, a chattel personal, nevertheless!
Posted by The replacement of seasons at
14:42
│Comments(0)
2016年05月04日
eyes off the event
“Shouldn’t like to kill any of them, but I wish we had a few tear bombs, or some little thing like that to put them out of business,” Jim lamented. He couldn’t help feeling that although it looked as if the officers would soon get their men, they must have some cards still up their sleeves leadership skills.
“Say, Buddy,” Bob bellowed, “There comes Pedro’s covered wagon.” He pointed, and although Jim could not catch the words, he followed the direction and had no difficulty in picking out the highly colored truck which was moving forward slowly along a road that looked as if it was used very little. It was about a mile from the ravine in an especially isolated section and Jim’s eyes swept the vicinity as he thought that the huckster must be nearing his own home, but there wasn’t a house for miles, and as near as the boy could make out, the road meandered along and finally slowed down near a dilapidated old rail fence which might mark an ancient boundary, or surround a pasture. Rocks and brush were piled above it, and as the boy looked, he saw that the truck stopped service apartment in hong kong.
“Perhaps the old guy has heard the shooting,” he thought, but if Pedro did, he gave no sign of either assisting or investigating. Instead he dismounted with agility, with some sort of huge bundle in his arms, and in a moment he was standing on the rim of the wagon bed. It took but a moment for Jim to realize that the man was throwing a canvas of dark green material over the brilliant truck.
“Bob, look,” he bellowed. His step-brother, who had been giving his attention to the plane, glanced over and ahead, and his lips pursed up in a long drawn out whistle. By this time, which was really only a few minutes, Her Highness had passed over the end of the ravine, so Bob zoomed again, banked, and came about. He didn’t propose to miss anything. In that brief interval, the red and blue truck had been turned into a green one so like the forest surrounding it that it could hardly be picked out. Jim saw Pedro take his seat again, then move forward a way until he reached a wide spot where he turned around artas hair.
“That old boy isn’t all he pretends to be,” the boy muttered. He would have liked to watch the “old boy” but he wanted to know what was going on in the ravine. He saw that the bandits were stretched in rows, only two men in the one nearest the blazing shack, while the Mounties were making their way forward cautiously. As Jim watched, he saw the rear row of outlaws slide swiftly back, then one of them disappeared under a rock. Another followed quickly, while the men in front continued to fire rapidly, as if to cover the fact that there were fewer men at the guns.
“Great Caesar’s ghost. They’ve got an outlet there and are going to get away under the ground,” Jim shouted, but he couldn’t make Bob hear and he didn’t want to take his even for an instant. Quickly he swept the country-side for a cave entrance, and then, in a moment, he picked it up. A man emerged stealthily, raced through the woods, and came out close to Pedro and his camouflaged truck.
“By gum and thunder,” Jim exploded.
VII A TAIL SPIN
“Buddy,” Jim screamed as he clutched Bob by the collar. “They’re going to get away.” Bob looked over the side to see what it was all about, and in a moment he gave a grunt.
“Huh!” Caldwell took in the scene, then for a second he stared at his step-brother, mechanically bringing Her Highness around in a half circle. Then Jim had an idea. He pulled his note book from his pocket, fished out a pencil, and began to scribble hastily. When he had finished, Bob read the message.
‘They are crawling away under the hill and there’s a truck, Pedro’s, but it’s got a green cover, and is on an old road to the west, picking them up.
The Flying Buddies.’
“Say, Buddy,” Bob bellowed, “There comes Pedro’s covered wagon.” He pointed, and although Jim could not catch the words, he followed the direction and had no difficulty in picking out the highly colored truck which was moving forward slowly along a road that looked as if it was used very little. It was about a mile from the ravine in an especially isolated section and Jim’s eyes swept the vicinity as he thought that the huckster must be nearing his own home, but there wasn’t a house for miles, and as near as the boy could make out, the road meandered along and finally slowed down near a dilapidated old rail fence which might mark an ancient boundary, or surround a pasture. Rocks and brush were piled above it, and as the boy looked, he saw that the truck stopped service apartment in hong kong.
“Perhaps the old guy has heard the shooting,” he thought, but if Pedro did, he gave no sign of either assisting or investigating. Instead he dismounted with agility, with some sort of huge bundle in his arms, and in a moment he was standing on the rim of the wagon bed. It took but a moment for Jim to realize that the man was throwing a canvas of dark green material over the brilliant truck.
“Bob, look,” he bellowed. His step-brother, who had been giving his attention to the plane, glanced over and ahead, and his lips pursed up in a long drawn out whistle. By this time, which was really only a few minutes, Her Highness had passed over the end of the ravine, so Bob zoomed again, banked, and came about. He didn’t propose to miss anything. In that brief interval, the red and blue truck had been turned into a green one so like the forest surrounding it that it could hardly be picked out. Jim saw Pedro take his seat again, then move forward a way until he reached a wide spot where he turned around artas hair.
“That old boy isn’t all he pretends to be,” the boy muttered. He would have liked to watch the “old boy” but he wanted to know what was going on in the ravine. He saw that the bandits were stretched in rows, only two men in the one nearest the blazing shack, while the Mounties were making their way forward cautiously. As Jim watched, he saw the rear row of outlaws slide swiftly back, then one of them disappeared under a rock. Another followed quickly, while the men in front continued to fire rapidly, as if to cover the fact that there were fewer men at the guns.
“Great Caesar’s ghost. They’ve got an outlet there and are going to get away under the ground,” Jim shouted, but he couldn’t make Bob hear and he didn’t want to take his even for an instant. Quickly he swept the country-side for a cave entrance, and then, in a moment, he picked it up. A man emerged stealthily, raced through the woods, and came out close to Pedro and his camouflaged truck.
“By gum and thunder,” Jim exploded.
VII A TAIL SPIN
“Buddy,” Jim screamed as he clutched Bob by the collar. “They’re going to get away.” Bob looked over the side to see what it was all about, and in a moment he gave a grunt.
“Huh!” Caldwell took in the scene, then for a second he stared at his step-brother, mechanically bringing Her Highness around in a half circle. Then Jim had an idea. He pulled his note book from his pocket, fished out a pencil, and began to scribble hastily. When he had finished, Bob read the message.
‘They are crawling away under the hill and there’s a truck, Pedro’s, but it’s got a green cover, and is on an old road to the west, picking them up.
The Flying Buddies.’
Posted by The replacement of seasons at
12:51
│Comments(0)
