Abolition

by Tim Black

  “He’s a regular Dumbo, alright,” Bette quipped. “He could have his own ride at Disneyworld.”

  Heather giggled and the older lady in the row behind them who had poked Mr. Greene to be quiet, hissed a “Shhh” at Heather, turning the girl’s face pink.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” she whispered as she turned around. The old woman was scowling at Heather. Heather tried a smile, but the scowl remained etched on the woman’s face. Heather meekly turned around, and she didn’t utter another sound until Abraham Lincoln concluded his remarks.

  As the young state representative ended his speech, the crowd rose to its feet to give him a standing ovation. Minerva watched the orator’s body movements. Abraham Lincoln bowed his head in thanks and when he brought it up he did not look at the audience, but rather at a comely young woman in a bright blue dress, who was sitting next to another woman. The pretty young woman was coquettishly holding a fan over her face to hide her smile, Minerva realized. She was flirting with Abraham Lincoln.

  “Mr. Greene,” Minerva whispered. “Who is Mr. Lincoln looking at?”

  The teacher smiled. “Why I believe that is the nineteen-year-old belle of the ball, a lady by the name of Mary Todd.”

  “His future wife?” Bette asked.

  “The same,” the teacher replied. “She moved to Springfield from her home in Kentucky to live with her sister, a married woman named Elizabeth Edwards. Mary was also courted by Stephen Douglas who would later be Abraham Lincoln’s political rival in the 1858 Lincoln-Douglas debates. Lincoln would win the popular vote but lose the election for Senate because Douglas’ party controlled the Illinois House of Representatives and the representatives chose the senators for the state. The 17th Amendment changed that, however, and now we vote directly for the United States Senate.”

  “That’s great, Mr. Greene,” Bette said, impatience in her voice. “But give us the scoop on Mary and the Rail-splitter,” she pleaded, using one of Abraham Lincoln’s nicknames.

  “Well, Lincoln was nine years older than Mary and Mary’s father did not approve of Lincoln. Mary’s mother died when she was a child. Her father thought Honest Abe was too poor and too poorly educated. Lincoln was brilliant, but he was self-taught, the ultimate home school student you might say,” Mr. Greene elaborated. “But Mary and Abe shared a love of literature and politics. At about the same time that she was being courted by Lincoln, Stephen Douglas was interested in the young beauty. But against her father’s wishes, Mary Todd married Abraham Lincoln in 1842.”

  “She isn’t fat though,” Victor said. “I thought Mary Lincoln was chubby.”

  “No, her weight came later after she had children and so did her mental illness. Some historians trace her mental illness to the death of their son Willie, in 1862. Willie’s death devastated Mary Lincoln. Have any of you read Lincoln in the Bardo?… I thought not, it is a strange novel, which deals with Abraham Lincoln’s grief over the death of his youngest son. Willie’s death probably worsened Lincoln’s melancholia and aggravated Mary Lincoln’s mental illness.”

  “Mental illness?” Heather asked.

  “Yes, Heather,” Mr. Greene replied, explaining, “She probably suffered from bipolar disorder, although some historians believe Mary was schizophrenic. She may have been clinically depressed. I am not a psychiatrist, but my guess would be bipolar. And while it flared up after Willie’s death, Mary’s mental illness certainly got worse after Lincoln was assassinated. But that is understandable. We refer to her as Mary Todd Lincoln, but she didn’t refer to herself that way. Once she was married, she introduced herself as Mary Lincoln. She did not use the name ‘Todd.’ Rather old-fashioned in today’s world. I suppose,” the teacher added.

  “Can we meet her?” Bette asked.

  “I don’t see how it could cause any harm,” Mr. Greene replied. “I don’t see any butterflies flying about,” he added with a smile.

  “Great,” Bette said. “Let’s go, girls.”

  Victor and Samuel watched as the girls, their long dresses sweeping the floor as they moved, waltzed over to introduce themselves to the future First Lady of the United States.

  Mary Todd, however, was still coyly hiding her smile behind her fan, making eye contact with the tall state representative.

  Bette broke the ice with the lady standing beside Mary Todd, Elizabeth Edwards.

  “Good evening,” Bette said to the woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties.

  Mrs. Edwards turned her head and smiled' politely, asking, “Have we been introduced?”

  “No,” Bette admitted.

  “Do you have a card?”

  Bette didn’t. She looked to Minerva for assistance. Ever since the trip to Philadelphia, Minerva had kept a calling card, announcing herself as Miss Minerva Messinger, Cassadaga, Florida. She handed the calling card to Mrs. Edwards, explaining, “My cousin forgot her cards, please allow me to give you mine,” she said.

  Mrs. Edwards took Minerva’s card and, after reading it, commented. “Florida, you are far from home, Miss Messinger.”

  “Yes, we are traveling with my Uncle Nathan,” she said, as she pointed to Mr. Greene across the room.

  That seemed to satisfy Mrs. Edwards. The three strange girls had a proper male chaperone. She said to her sister, “Mary, stop flirting with Mr. Lincoln. You know father thinks he is a no-account.”

  “I think he is dreamy,” Mary Todd said, wistfully. “He is ever so handsome.”

  “He’s as ugly as a mule,” Mrs. Edwards commented to her smitten sister. Then she shrugged her head as if to say it was useless to protest her sister’s attraction to the gangly Mr. Lincoln.

  Mary Todd pouted at her older sister. “He is not a mule, Lizzy,” she said, before she replaced her fan over her face once more, her eyes gazing at the tall “Rail-splitter.”

  Mrs. Edwards grabbed the fan away from her younger sister. “Don’t be rude. I would like you to meet Miss Messinger and her cousins. They are from Florida. They are here with their Uncle Nathan,” she said, pointing across the room to Mr. Greene.

  “Florida?” Mary Todd said, looking at Minerva. “Do you own slaves, Miss Messinger?”

  “No, Miss Todd,” Minerva replied.

  Mary Todd pointed her fan in the direction of Samuel who was standing between Victor and Mr. Greene. “Why then, who is that tall drink of water standing beside your uncle there?” Mary Todd asked.

  “The white boy?”

  “No, the colored man. He is even taller than Mr. Lincoln, I believe.”

  Minerva thought quickly. “His name is Samuel and he works for my uncle,” Minerva said.

  “Really? In what capacity?” Mary Todd asked.

  It was Bette’s turn to rescue Minerva. “He is my uncle’s secretary.”

  “He can read and write?” Mary Todd said, surprised.

  “Of course,” Bette replied.”

  “Well, I have never known a nigra to read and write,” Mary said. “My father believes that all of our nigras should be sent to Liberia. What do you think, Miss…?”

  “Kromer. Bette Kromer, Miss Todd. I believe in emancipation of all slaves, like Mr. Lincoln,” Bette said.

  “Mr. Lincoln thinks no such thing,” Mary Todd replied, rather bluntly. “He favors sending the darkies back to Africa. That is why Liberia was established, Mr. Lincoln told me. The colored people should be sent to Liberia, Mr. Lincoln said. My father believes the same thing. This country is for white people,” Mary Todd added.

  “It sure wasn’t for Indians,” Professor Bridenbaugh offered. But Mary Todd could not hear the dead historian’s comment, but the comment caused a slight smile to crease Bette Kromer’s face.

  Minerva realized Bette had erred. Lincoln the Great Emancipator came later. His position on slavery evolved over the years until he was able to issue the Emancipation Proclamation during the Civil War. But even the Emancipation Proclamation only freed slaves in states still in rebellion. The slaves in the border states of Kentucky, Maryland and Mi
ssouri, remained in bondage until the passage of the 13th Amendment in 1865. The young Lincoln was morally opposed to slavery and was opposed to its extension into new territories of the United States, but he did not believe in equal rights for the blacks. Or equal rights for women, for that matter. Minerva remembered that Lincoln often stated that he thought that the slaves should be free, but colonized in Liberia, a country that the United States helped establish to return slaves to Africa. The irony, of course, was that Africa is a large continent and slaves came from numerous African countries, not just Liberia.

  “I was mistaken,” Bette said to Mary Todd. “My apologies Miss Todd,” she said.

  Mary Todd accepted Bette’s apology gracefully. “You are not the first person to misconstrue Mr. Lincoln’s position on what we in Kentucky call ‘the peculiar institution.’ Father has yet to free our slaves and send them back to Africa,” she added. She abruptly ended her conversation as Abraham Lincoln approached the group of women.

  Minerva remembered what she had read about the Todd family of Kentucky. Many of Mary’s relatives joined the Confederate Army to fight against the Union. When she was First Lady, she was often vilified for having traitors in the family. But so many families during the Civil War were torn asunder, with one brother fighting for the North and the other fighting for the South.

  “I so enjoyed your speech Mr. Lincoln,” Mary Todd said, finally lowering her fan permanently

  “Thank you, Miss Todd,” he said formally. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends?”

  Minerva watched as Lincoln’s eyes drifted from Mary Todd to Bette Kromer. He smiled at her. Minerva saw the shock on Mary Todd’s face. This wasn’t good. Mary Todd began to scowl, a bit at Mr. Lincoln, but more so at Bette Kromer.

  “Who is this lovely lady?” Abraham Lincoln asked, ignoring Mary Todd.

  Bette Kromer smiled. “I am Bette Kromer,” Bette said, with a smile, holding her hand out to Abraham Lincoln who gallantly took it and kissed it.

  Minerva was watching Mary Todd. She was like Mount Vesuvius and was about to blow. Minerva lip-read a murmured “hussy”” from Mary Todd.

  “So nice to meet you, Miss Kromer,” said Abraham Lincoln.

  Minerva thought she should say something. She looked to Heather, who seemed oblivious. Minerva knew that Heather worshipped Abraham Lincoln. She was starstruck.

  Minerva interrupted. “My cousin is spoken for, Mr. Lincoln,” she lied.

  “I am?” Bette replied. Then, seeing the look on Minerva’s face as it nodded toward Mary Todd, she caught on. “I am, Mr. Lincoln,” she said. “I am engaged to be engaged. I have an understanding with the boy over there, Victor Bridges.” She pointed in Victor’s direction.

  Vesuvius failed to erupt. Mary Todd’s possible rival was off the market. Order had been restored, although Minerva was irritated that Bette claimed to be Victor’s girlfriend. But as a sly smile slid into place on Bette’s face, Minerva realized that Bette Kromer was teasing her, the rat. She smiled along with the ruse.

  Abraham Lincoln’s attention returned to the lovely Mary Todd. Minerva felt as if she had saved the day. That, when they returned to Cassadaga Area High School, there would be no footnote in the biography of Mary Todd about a “hussy” who tried to take Mr. Lincoln away from her one chilly night at a Lyceum meeting in Springfield, Illinois, in 1838.

  As Abraham Lincoln offered his arm to Mary Todd and sashayed her away from her sister and the girls from Cassadaga, Minerva said to Bette Kromer, “You know she thought you were a hussy, Bette.”

  “Really, how delightful,” Bette replied with a chuckle.

  “What’s a hussy?” asked Heather naively.

  “A tart, a strumpet, a wench,” Bette said, listing synonyms for hussy for the younger girl. “What else…oh yes, a floozie.”

  “Why are there so many names for bad girls, but not for bad boys?” Heather asked the college freshman.

  “A good question,” Minerva said.

  “An eternal question,” added Bette.

  “Meaning life isn’t fair, Heather,” Minerva said.

  “Time to go,” Mr. Greene said, which quickly ended the conversation.

  Chapter 8

  As the students took their seats, Mr. Greene said, “I was considering changing our clothing back to our Quaker garb, but I decided we should wait until we meet Harriet Tubman. I think you should be relieved by my decision.”

  “We are, Mr. Greene,” said Bette.

  “Amen to that,” added Samuel.

  The teacher let a small chuckle escape his lips. “We are off to see and hear Frederick Douglass,” Mr. Greene said as the students took their seats in the classroom. Samuel, you did a report last year on Mr. Douglass, why don’t you take over and tell us about him.”

  “Really?” Samuel Chandler was surprised at Mr. Greene’s offer. Samuel had thoroughly researched the life of Frederick Douglass from his time as a slave to his appointment as United States Ambassador to the Republic of Haiti.

  “Yes, Samuel, please tell the class about Frederick Douglass.”

  Samuel walked to the front of the class. “My source of information is Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave. This was his first autobiography, published in 1845. There were others to follow. We believe Frederick Douglass was born in 1817. His original or birth name was a mouthful, Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey, but he changed his name to Douglass after he escaped. We aren’t certain of his birthdate, because Mr. Douglass wrote ‘I have no knowledge of my age, never having seen an authentic record containing it. I do not remember to have ever met a slave who could tell his birthday. They seldom come nearer to it than planting-time, harvest-time, cherry time, spring-time or fall-time. The white children could tell their ages, however.’ Frederick Douglass’ mother was a black slave and his father was a white man, a farmer. What I found sad in reading his autobiography was when he wrote, ‘I never saw my mother, to know her as such, more than four or five times in my life, and each of these times were very short in duration, and at night.’ I committed some of the passages to memory,” Samuel explained. “I thought I should. His mother died when he was about seven. By his calculations, by the time he was eight, he was sent to work on a slave plantation in Maryland owned by the Auld family. Even though it was against the law to teach a slave to read and write, Mrs. Auld taught Frederick Douglass how to read. Unfortunately, Mr. Auld was cruel to him. Auld abused his slaves. I wish I could remember one particular passage…”

  Nikola Tesla, who was holding a copy of Douglass’ autobiography, slipped a bookmark into the volume and handed the copy to Samuel. “Is this the passage you are looking for, Samuel?” he asked, opening the book to the bookmarked page and putting his ghostly finger on a paragraph.

  “Why yes!” Samuel said, as he scanned the page. “Thank you, Mr. Tesla.”

  “My pleasure, Samuel. I, too, read his autobiography when I was a young man.”

  Samuel began to read the passage aloud: “‘He would at times seem to take great pleasures in whipping a slave. I have often been awakened at the dawn of day by the most heart-rending shrieks of an aunt of mine, whom he used to tie up to a joist,’—a piece of timber used to hold up a ceiling—‘and whip upon her naked back till she was literally covered with blood. No words, no tears, no prayers, from his gory victim, seemed to move his iron heart from its bloody purpose. The louder she screamed, the harder he whipped…’”

  “Awful!” Heather said. A tear began to run down the side of the empathetic girl’s face.

  Samuel lowered the book. “Auld hired a ‘slave breaker’ named Covey to handle a rebellious Frederick. It didn’t work.” Samuel resumed reading. “‘Mr. Covey ordered me to take off my clothes. I made no answer but stood with my clothes on. He repeated his order. I still made him no answer, nor did I move to strip myself. Upon this he rushed at me with the fierceness of a tiger, tore off my clothes, and lashed me till he had worn out his switches, cutting me so savage
ly as to leave the marks visible for a long time after.’ Covey repeated the beatings until Frederick had had enough. He turned on Covey and punched him. The white man fell to the ground and Frederick grabbed him by the throat. Hitting a white man was a hanging offense.

  “Mr. Douglass used the papers of a black sailor, a freeman, to escape from bondage and was attracted to the anti-slavery movement. He began speaking at anti-slavery meetings. One night he was addressing an audience and said, ‘I appear this evening as a thief and a robber. I stole this head, these limbs, this body from my master, and ran off with them.’ In the audience that fateful night was our friend William Lloyd Garrison who later wrote that Mr. Douglass was a ‘voice like thunder.’ Mr. Garrison became his sponsor and shortly thereafter Mr. Douglass started his own abolitionist newspaper, The North Star. He took the name for his newspaper from the North Star in the constellation the Big Dipper, for it was the star that guided runaways to the North. The slaves referred to the Big Dipper as the Drinking Gourd.”

  “Thank you, Samuel,” Mr. Greene said. “I can take it from here.”

  “I think you should add Frederick Douglass’ autobiography to your summer reading list, Mr. Greene.”

  “That is an excellent idea, Samuel,” the teacher replied. “Thank you. Now, before we head for Rochester, New York, to hear Frederick Douglass’ speech, ‘The Meaning of July Fourth for the Negro,’ let me say that Frederick Douglass was perhaps the most prominent figure in civil rights in our country during the 19th century. He was, however, unlike other abolitionists, against violence. In fact, during a meeting with John Brown. he tried to persuade Brown to forgo his planned slave revolution, predicting that the revolt would fail, and he would only wind up a martyr. As we know now, Frederick Douglass was correct. You see, as Samuel said, Douglass could not even kill Mr. Covey, the man who had beaten him. Frederick Douglass was a nonviolent man, but his sons served in the Negro regiment of the 54th Massachusetts, a military unit of Negro troops with white officers that engaged in combat during the Civil War. In fact, Douglass was instrumental in pushing Abraham Lincoln to create African American regiments during the Civil War, believing that Negro troops would hasten the emancipation of slaves and even grant citizenship to the men who fought, as had happened in the American Revolution. His championing of black rights did not end with the 13th, 14th and 15th Amendments, which granted freedom, citizenship and voting rights to the African Americans.”