Daniel

by Richard Adams

  Mr. Zachary went on to say that to the opponents of Abolition, Mr. Wilberforce now seemed almost a laughing-stock. In 1798 and again this year, he had put forward his regular Motion for leave to introduce the Bill. On both occasions he had been defeated. We knew that he had told the Commons that the prospects for

  Abolition actually seemed weaker now than they had been when he had first raised the matter twelve years before. Yet, he said, his heart was still in the cause and he meant to fight on until he won.

  At this time we had at least one consolation; namely, the recovery of Mr. Thomas Clarkson. After nine years as an invalid, he now returned to the fray with all his former energy and commitment. He resumed his speaking tours, on one of which — to Birmingham and Worcester — Fahdah and I accompanied him. He addressed both the large audiences with all his old ardour. He had not changed, but the audiences had. On each occasion he met with the greatest enthusiasm and strong support. At Worcester he was loudly cheered and the audience were virtually unanimous in their support for Abolition. I saw to it that Mr. Wilberforce received a full report.

  Mr. Zachary’s subsequent career could not have been more honourable and distinguished. Upon his return, with his wife, to London, he learned that he had been elected to the Anti-Slave-Trade Committee. Soon after, he was chosen as a member of the Royal Society. He became well known as an active member of the Church Missionary Society and was one of the founders of London University.

  At the beginning of the new century, most of the members of the Anti-Slave-Trade Committee felt sure that the Bill would soon be introduced and would undoubtedly succeed. Yet if they had only known, eight more years of hope deferred lay before us.

  The times were full of trouble. Parliament was facing discord up and down the land, and there never seemed to be a favourable occasion to introduce the Bill. Ireland was in open rebellion. Lord Nelson’s stupendous naval victory in Aboukir Bay had not brought about the eclipse of Napoleon. The devil took care of his own, and the Corsican brigand managed to sneak back to France, where he was given command of an army to campaign against Austria. Mr. Pitt, although he had rejected French overtures of peace, was almost at his wits’ end for resources to meet the cost of the war, and incurred outraged condemnation for introducing an income tax of ten per cent. He was also faced with widespread dissension among workmen and labourers, whose combinations (or “unions”) to gain higher wages he felt constrained to prohibit by law.

  In a cold, dark February he resigned office and his place was taken by Mr. Addington, of whom all we knew was that he was no supporter of Abolition. “Doesn’t do us any good, does it?” said Fahdah. “He won’t help Mr. Wilberforce.”

  Next month there followed a negotiated peace that no one could believe would last. And neither it did, for just over a year later the war was resumed.

  Yet there seemed little or no prospect of the defeat of France. Napoleon assembled an army on the opposite side of the Channel, intending to invade England in a ridiculous fleet of open craft. For a whole year our regiments kept watch on the south coast from Kent to Dorset, but in the event Boney plainly didn’t fancy a set-to with our Navy, for he gave up the idea and marched his men away to try their luck elsewhere in Europe.

  “Still dreaming of Abolition, are you?” remarked Mr. Thornton’s porter as he opened the door to me one fine morning.

  “Aren’t you?” I replied. As he shook his head I added “Then you’ve got no business in that job.”

  When, late in October of 1805, the whole nation rejoiced to learn of the almost total destruction of the French fleet at Trafalgar, they also mourned deeply the death of Admiral Nelson in the battle. Yet we Abolitionists could not join wholeheartedly in mourning for the man who had pledged his word to the burgesses of Liverpool that so long as he possessed any power or influence, he would continue to support the “valuable and necessary Slave Trade”, upon which the prosperity of Liverpool depended. Although we didn’t, of course, say this publicly, we felt he was an obstacle out of our way.

  Three months later, Mr. Pitt died, aged only 47, worn out by his long years of leadership of the nation throughout the greatest danger it had ever faced. He had always been a true supporter of Abolition. The Clapham Sect grieved for him, yet if we had only known, our battle was already as good as won. Virtually the whole country was now in favour of Abolition.

  It seemed strange that the Bill – the great Bill for which we had worked and struggled for so long – should be introduced first in the House of Lords, the once invincible castle before whose walls Mr. Wilberforce had so often been repulsed and humiliated. Yet in a way it was fitting, too, for the Bill was presented by none other than Mr. William — now Lord — Grenville, the third man who, together with Mr. Pitt and Mr. Wilberforce, had sat under a tree at Holwood twenty years before, and pledged themselves to defeat the Slave Trade. Mr. Charles James Fox, during this, the last year of his life, gave his fullest support in the Commons: and all went forward like a charge of cavalry.

  It was on the afternoon of the 23rd February 1807 – a day to be celebrated forever — that Mr. Zachary sent for me to join him at dinner. Upon my appearance he told me that if he was any judge, the evening was going to turn out a memorable one in the House.

  “I thought I’d take you along,” he said, “as a well-deserved reward for all the loyal good work you did for me in Sierra Leone. With any luck we may be able to get places in the Strangers’ Gallery, but we’d better be there in good time.”

  As soon as we arrived, we felt all around us an atmosphere of mounting excitement. Mr. Gratby and George were among those present, and I caught sight of one or two more Quaker friends. Mr. Zachary, who was, of course, well-known as a leading Abolitionist, had little difficulty in gaining admission, and although our view was somewhat restricted, we felt more than happy to be there at all. Mr. Granville Sharp, now an old man, had, of course, been placed in the best seat, and beside him sat Mr. Wilberforce’s brother-in-law, Mr. Stephen, the distinguished lawyer and author of the widely-read pamphlet War in Disguise. Not far away were Mr. Thomas Clarkson and Mr. James Phillips, to whom I owed so much for my literary education.

  The House had been taking a short break, but now they began to reassemble by twos and threes. Among the first was Mr. Wilberforce, escorted (one might almost say “guarded”) by Mr, Thornton, who kept at bay the many Members who wanted to speak to him. Mr. Wilberforce nodded and smiled about him in his usual kindly way, but I could perceive that beneath this lay a more-than-normal tension and expectancy. When Mr. Fox appeared, he glanced across to Mr. Wilberforce with a broad smile and a silent clapping of his hands.

  Business was resumed. I was wondering whether Mr. Castlereagh, one of the foremost adversaries of Abolition, would speak, or Mr. Rose, who had been so devoted a friend of Lord Nelson. But they remained silent, and only three or four die-hard Members, whose names I did not know, put up the bravest display they could. I’m ashamed to say that my attention wandered for a time, but I was jolted back to proper alertness as the Solicitor General, Sir Samuel Romilly, began to speak for the Government. We all felt the atmosphere of the House rising to the highest pitch of excitement as Sir Samuel spoke of the persistence of the indefatigable Mr. Wilberforce during long years of scorn, ridicule and disappointment; and of how he had, almost single-handedly, impelled the nation’s conscience to its present, virtually unanimous condemnation of the cruel and evil Slave Trade. At this point Mr. Clarkson turned in his seat and whispered, “You fought for nearly as long as he did, Daniel.”

  At this tears sprang to my eyes, but they were a mere trickle in the flood from Sir Samuel’s audience. And as he spoke of Mr. Wilberforce’s Christian heroism and final triumph, of the innumerable voices that would be raised in every quarter of the world to bless him and of the incomparable felicity he must enjoy in the knowledge of having preserved so many millions of his fellow-creatures, the remainder of his speech was drowned in the outburst of an ovation such as the House had neve
r given to any living man. All order was flung to the winds. Total uproar prevailed. Hardly a Member but was on his feet, cheering, and shouting his congratulations. I had never seen Mr. Zachary shed tears, but he was shedding them now all right, and so were Mr. Clarkson and Mr. Sharp.

  As for Mr. Wilberforce, he seemed insensible to everything about him, the still centre, sitting bowed in his seat, his head in his hands. From time to time he gave an almost imperceptible nod. I believed — and still believe — that an archangel was speaking in his ear.

  After the clamour had at last died down, the House divided and the second reading was carried by a majority of 283 to 16. A month later the King’s assent was given and the Bill became law.

  One morning afterwards, in early April, I was told that Mr. Wilberforce wished me to call upon him at three o’clock that afternoon. It seemed strange that he should be thus precise, for almost always there were so many people, crowding one upon another, in the hope of gaining his attention, that it was usually impossible for him to say at what time he could make himself available to anyone in particular. Today, however, almost as soon as I had joined the usual throng outside his door in Palace Yard, (these being the overspill from the reception-room and the corridor), a servant came out and asked whether Mr. Daniel was present. Following him upstairs, I found Mr. Wilberforce alone in a little sitting-room overlooking the sunny garden. As we shook hands he said that he was most pleased to see me, since there had been so little opportunity lately for us to talk together. Mystified, I sat down in the chair he placed for me beside the fire and waited as he settled himself in another opposite.

  “Daniel,” he said, “I owe you a great deal and I’m very happy to thank you for all that you’ve done for Abolition. I know you’ve been at it almost longer than I have. More than that, you endured something like two years on a slave-ship; you sailed to West Africa and crossed to Jamaica on the Middle Passage. So you were able to tell the public the truth at first hand. Your evidence couldn’t be refuted; it was one of the strongest weapons we had. It was unique; the authentic voice of a black man speaking of what he’d experienced himself.

  “And then you joined Tom Clarkson and went to Liverpool with him. That took some courage, as I know well. And you got him out of a bit of nasty trouble, didn’t you?”

  “Then you went to Sierra Leone and worked with Zachary Macaulay in one of the worst climates in the world. He’s told me how you stood by him when the French sailors destroyed everything you’d built. I doubt whether Zachary could have survived without you at his elbow.

  “I’d like to tell you about an idea I’ve had, Daniel. A few years ago I bought a house out at Clapham. I had thought of living there myself but as things turned out I had to stay at Palace Yard. Availability — pressure of business, you know. So I let the Clapham property to an American friend. He’s just told me he’s returning to Delaware, so the house has fallen vacant. If it suits you and your charming wife, I’d be only too happy to see you living there as my tenants. Now the Bill’s been passed, there’ll be any amount of work for experienced Abolitionists like you. We’ve got to enforce the Act and move on to our next battle – the prohibition of Slavery throughout all British-controlled countries.

  “There’s no hurry to decide about the house. I’ll write down the address for you. Why not take Fahdah to have a look at it, and let me know in a day or two’s time? I can guarantee you won’t find the rent excessive; not for someone who’s contributed as much as you have.

  “I know Henry Thornton’s hoping you’ll work for him; and young Zachary’s of the same mind. I’m in no doubt they’ll pay you what you’re worth. If you do decide to take the house, you’ll be living quite near Henry’s place. Most convenient.”

  That was six months ago, and the yellow leaves are falling in the little copse opposite our front windows. Fahdah and I are watching our children playing in the garden: William will be eight next birthday; he was born in the year we were married; and Penelope will be six. Henry, the baby, is just beginning to walk.

  The other day, not far from London Bridge, I happened to see Jack Wain in the distance; but I was careful to avoid him. Fahdah and I may not be rich, but we’re very comfortably off and feel we want for nothing; except an end to Slavery throughout the world.

  THE END