Passenger on the Pearl

by Winifred Conkling

  The American Anti-Slavery Society

  The American Anti-Slavery Society was founded in 1833 and dedicated to ending slavery in the United States. Within five years, it had about 1,500 state and local chapters and more than 200,000 members. Slavery was a divisive moral and economic issue, and pro-slavery mobs sometimes disrupted meetings and attacked speakers.

  Even within the society, members did not agree on how to achieve their goals. The more radical members of the group denounced the U.S. Constitution as pro-slavery and favored allowing women to take leadership roles within the group. The more conservative faction supported working for change within the government, and it expected women to leave the work of the organization to the men. In 1839, a more conservative group known as the American and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society splintered off. At the same time, some members left and formed a third group, the Liberty Party, which aimed to end slavery through the political process. Following this organizational change, most work in the abolitionist movement was done through state and local branches or chapters.

  GATHERING AT THE TABERNACLE

  On the night of October 23, 1848, 2,000 people from across New York City jammed into the Broadway Tabernacle at Worth and Catherine streets. Paul watched Beecher captivate the audience with his zeal and theatrics. Early in his remarks, Beecher held up shackles and chains and dramatically clashed them onto a table in front of him.

  Paul admired the way Beecher carefully chose his words. Rather than wrestling with broad questions about the system of slavery itself, Beecher focused on the plight of Emily and Mary Edmonson, two devout and virginal Christian girls who faced a life of prostitution in the South if he and his congregation failed to act.

  While sympathetic to the Edmonsons as individuals, not everyone believed that ransom should be paid for slaves. Some people thought that negotiating with slaveholders recognized and legitimized the institution of slavery. Others believed that paying ransom would just supply money to those who would use it to buy other slaves. In addition, some didn’t consider it fair to use limited resources to ransom the fortunate few rather than promote the emancipation of all enslaved people.

  Despite these objections, most audience members found Beecher’s plea hard to resist because it focused on the fate of two specific individuals. It wasn’t abstract, it was personal. The audience at the Broadway Tabernacle wasn’t trying to take on the institution of slavery; it was trying to help two innocent Christian girls, Emily and Mary Edmonson.

  The Broadway Tabernacle was a center of antislavery activism from its founding in 1836. A pro-slavery mob burned it down while it was under construction, but it was rebuilt.

  Beecher presented Paul to the audience and asked: “The father! Do goods and chattel have fathers? Do slaves have daughters?” He spoke of the girls’ spirituality and faithfulness, begging the audience to protect the virtue of these Christian girls. When he noted that they were pious members of the Episcopal Methodist Church and that their faith would make them worth more on the slave market, the crowd responded with fury.

  Rev. Henry Ward Beecher held mock auctions to raise funds to ransom enslaved persons, including Emily and Mary Edmonson.

  Paul watched as a fire was lit within Beecher. The chains before him became a symbol of the chains that bound Emily and Mary, as well as those that held the wrists of millions of other slaves, and in an outburst of passion Beecher seized them, slammed them to the floor, and ground them beneath his heel as though he were grinding the institution of slavery to dust beneath his feet. The audience cheered; their applause thundered throughout the hall.

  “I thank you for that noise!” Beecher said. “It cheers me and makes me feel that I am among brethren.” Beecher paced the stage—talking, preaching, waving his hands. A man in the audience later described him as “popping about like a box of fireworks accidentally ignited and going off in all shapes and directions—a rocket here with falling stars, a fiery wheel there.”

  Beecher then called for a donation, urging the audience to be generous.

  When the money was counted, it amounted to a mere $600. Edmonson needed $2,250. Beecher expressed his displeasure and a voice came from the crowd: “Take up another!”

  The collection boxes circulated again. This time members of the audience dug deeper into their pockets. Some women in the audience removed their rings and earrings and added their valuable jewelry to the collection. The money was counted, and again it fell several hundred dollars short.

  One by one, additional pledges were made. Mr. S. B. Chittenden gave his name for another $50; his brother, Henry Chittenden, matched the pledge with $50 more. From time to time a voice in the audience yelled, “How much is wanting now?”

  When all but $50 had been raised, Beecher said, “I never did hurrah in a public meeting, but when this account is closed up, I will join in three of the loudest cheers that ever rang through this old building.”

  “I’ll take the balance,” called a member of Beecher’s Plymouth Church.

  The room erupted in cheers and shouts. Men waved their hats and handkerchiefs offering three cheers for Beecher and the benefactors.

  Paul broke down in tears.

  After a moment of revelry, Beecher quieted the crowd and reminded them of the gratitude they each owed to God. Those in attendance sang the doxology, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow,” not with thunder and applause, but with tenderness and thanksgiving.

  The meeting closed with a joyful benediction, celebrating the fact that the Edmonson sisters would soon be free.

  Rev. Henry Ward Beecher: Finding His Voice

  Henry Ward Beecher was born in Litchfield, Connecticut, in 1813. He was a shy and sensitive child with a severe speech impediment. “When Henry is sent to me with a message, I always have to make him say it three times,” said one of his aunts.

  Beecher took oratorical training at Mount Pleasant Classical Institute, a boarding school in Amherst, Massachusetts, before studying at Amherst College and later at Lane Theological Seminary outside Cincinnati, Ohio. In his own words:

  I had from childhood a thickness of speech arising from a large palate, so that when a boy I used to be laughed at for talking as if I had pudding in my mouth. When I went to Amherst, I was fortunate in passing into the hands of John Lovell, a teacher of elocution; and a better teacher for my purpose I cannot conceive. His system consisted in drill, or the thorough practice of inflexions by the voice, of gesture, posture, and articulation. Sometimes I was a whole hour practicing my voice on a word, like justice.

  I would have to take a posture, frequently a mark chalked on the floor. Then we would go through all the gestures; exercising each movement of the arm, and the throwing open the hand. … It was drill, drill, drill, until the motions almost became second nature. Now I never know what movement I shall make. My gestures are natural because this drill made them natural to me.

  Beecher overcame his speech problems, and his antislavery preaching then made him one of the most prominent orators of his time.

  Henry Ward Beecher was one of the best-known clergymen of the day. Several of his brothers and sisters became respected educators and abolitionists, including his sister Harriet Beecher Stowe.

  Was It Wrong to Ransom Mary and Emily?

  Many abolitionists were reluctant to pay to ransom slaves, even though they wanted to end slavery. They had several key concerns:

  • Negotiating with slaveholders recognized and legitimized the institution of slavery. If abolitionists didn’t believe one person had the right to own another, how could they engage in this kind of commerce?

  • Paying ransom provided money to those who could use it to buy additional slaves. Wouldn’t buying slaves drive up the prices and give slave traders the money they needed to stay in business?

  • Using money to ransom individual slaves misused funds that could otherwise be used to promote the emancipation of all enslaved people. Should the resources of the abolitionists be used to free all slav
es, not just the fortunate few?

  • Engaging in the buying and selling of human beings was sinful and morally wrong. Was it ever appropriate to do what is wrong, even if the goal was to achieve a greater good?

  PAYMENT IN FULL

  On an afternoon in early November, Emily was sewing near the open window of Bruin’s home when she looked outside and said: “There, Mary, is that white man we have seen from the North.” A moment later and they noticed a second man—their father!—walking with the man.

  They sprang up and ran through the house and into the street, shouting as they went. The girls knew their father had been collecting money in the North. Emily rushed to him and asked if he had been successful. Paul’s hands shook and his voice trembled as he told his daughters that he needed to speak with Bruin but would talk to them soon. Paul Edmonson and his companion entered Bruin’s office and shut the door.

  Emily and Mary returned to their room while their father conducted his business with Bruin. Did their father have the money for their ransom?

  Did he have enough for both of them?

  The longer they waited, the more they worried. They focused on their father’s trembling hands and unsteady voice. Could he, in fact, be bringing them bad news? They had heard that their mother had been quite ill. Was she dead or in failing health? They strode back and forth as anxiety turned to excitement and back into anxiety again.

  Inside the office, Bruin said that he was sincerely glad that Paul had arrived with the payment and that he would honor their agreement, but he was disappointed that Beecher had spoken so harshly about him at the meeting at the tabernacle. Bruin considered himself a good Christian and a more humane and sophisticated man than other slave traders. (Most slave traders were wealthy and influential citizens from well-to-do plantation families.) Bruin may have been well dressed and had impeccable manners, but he still made his fortune buying and selling human beings. Business was business.

  Bruin counted the money, $2,250 cash, and signed the bill of sale. It read:

  Received from W. L. Chaplin twenty-two hundred and fifty dollars, being payment in full for the purchase of two negroes, named Mary and Emily Edmonson. The right and title of said negroes we warrant and defend against the claims of all persons whatsoever; and likewise warrant them sound and healthy in body and mind, and slaves for life.

  Given under our hand and seal, this seventh day of November, 1848. $2,250 BRUIN & Hill. (Seal.)

  Bruin handed the paper to William Chaplin, who had helped plan the escape on the Pearl. When Bruin let go, Mary and Emily Edmonson were no longer his.

  FOREVER FREE

  Upstairs, Emily paced and prayed and tried to stay calm. She tried to accept Mary’s reassurance that God’s will would be done, whether she and Mary would be freed or if they would suffer another setback.

  Finally, a messenger came shouting to them, “You are free! You are free!”

  The girls jumped and clapped and laughed and shouted.

  Paul held his daughters tenderly and tried to quiet them. He certainly shared their exuberance, but he may have known that even as free women their lives would not be free of hardship and discrimination. He told them to prepare to go home and see their mother. The girls gathered their belongings and said good-bye to members of the Bruin family, this time with joy rather than sadness.

  A carriage took the girls and their father to their sister Elizabeth’s house in Washington, where family and friends had gathered to celebrate their emancipation. Their brothers lifted the girls in their arms and ran about with them, almost frantic with joy. Their mother wept and gave thanks to God. They spent the night rejoicing, grateful for the chance to be together.

  In the morning, Mary and Emily went with Chaplin to City Hall and watched him sign the deed of manumission. In exchange for a payment of one dollar, the document assured that “the sisters Mary Jane and Emily Catherine Edmonson, daughters of Paul Edmonson,” were “hereby, each of them, declared forever free from any and all restraint or control.” After a lifetime of slavery and more than six months in various slave pens and auction houses, Mary and Emily belonged only to themselves. They were, at last, free.

  THIRTEEN

  The Trial of Captain Daniel Drayton

  WHILE EMILY AND Mary were ransomed about seven months after they first tried to escape, the captains of the Pearl remained in prison. Although there were two captains aboard the ship on the night of the escape, the central figure in the plot was 46-year-old Captain Daniel Drayton.

  After the passengers and crew of the Pearl were captured, Drayton was questioned about the events of that night. Those who interrogated him wanted to know who had masterminded and financed the escape, but Drayton refused to tell them. He knew that to reveal the names of his contacts in New York and Philadelphia would not only put his associates at personal risk but could also compromise the broader abolitionist movement.

  The names he kept secret were William L. Chaplin’s, of the New York Anti-Slavery Society, and Dr. Charles Cleveland’s, of the Philadelphia Anti-Slavery Society. These two men had raised the money and organized the escape plan, arranging for Drayton to be paid $100 to smuggle a group of enslaved people out of Washington, D.C. Drayton was given another $100 to hire a boat and captain. Most of the seamen Drayton approached refused to help him with a scheme as risky as a slave escape. Captain Edward Sayres needed work and the $100 fee was significantly more than he could earn in another trip of similar duration. The men agreed that Drayton would control the cargo—the enslaved people—and Sayres would control the ship itself.

  Drayton did not tell his captors anything, and he was sent back to his cell. When it came time to sleep, one of the keepers threw Drayton two thin blankets and left him to rest as well as he could on the stone floor. The room was virtually empty—no chair, table, stool, just a night bucket and a water can.

  A WELCOME VISITOR

  In the morning, Ohio Congressman Joshua Giddings and his friend Edwin Hamlin, editor of the Cleveland daily True Democrat, an antislavery newspaper, arrived at the jail to visit Drayton and Sayres. As they entered the building, they had to work their way through a cluster of slave owners and slave traders doing business in the lobby. When 53-year-old Giddings asked to visit the prisoners, the jailer hesitated. He knew who was standing before him; Giddings, who believed that slavery violated not just the Constitution but a higher natural law, was known as one of the most outspoken antislavery legislators of his day. He wasn’t sure it would be safe to let a well-known abolitionist and a newspaper editor inside the jail to visit the accused.

  Eventually the jailer allowed them in, relocking the front gate and passing the key back to another guard. He then escorted the men up the winding stone staircase to a second locked gate, which he opened to allow Giddings and Hamlin to pass through to the cells where Drayton and Sayres were held.

  When the congressman met Drayton, he reassured the captain that his friends in the abolitionist movement would not abandon him. In that moment, Drayton had the power to derail several leading members of the Underground Railroad by linking them to criminal activity. Giddings reiterated that he and his abolitionist associates would take care of Drayton’s family if he stayed quiet and did not provide the names of those who had planned the escape. In addition to financial support, Giddings offered Drayton representation by an attorney, David A. Hall, a lawyer from the District of Columbia who had experience defending several people who had been implicated in another Underground Railroad escape.

  While Giddings spoke with Drayton, the noise of the rioters echoed in the staircase. Not long after, their voices grew louder and Giddings could hear dozens of feet pounding up the stairs. Downstairs, someone in the mob had gained possession of the key and unlocked the first gate, allowing the men to rush up the stairs and continue to threaten and yell at the congressman, who had become the target for their anger.

  Although they were still separated by a second locked iron gate, someone in the crowd told Giddings
to leave immediately or his life would be in danger. Giddings ignored the threats and completed his business with Drayton. He refused to show fear or any willingness to retreat.

  The jailer eventually regained control of the crowd and convinced the men on the stairs to move back behind the main gate so that the visitors could leave. Giddings calmly faced the mob, meeting the eyes of those who had come to do him harm. The protesters had felt bold enough to assault the congressman with words, but no one touched him as he passed. Giddings and Hamlin walked down the stairs and out the front door unharmed.

  Addressing Congress About the Pearl Escape

  After visiting Captain Daniel Drayton in the Washington City Jail, Congressman Joshua Giddings went to the floor of the House of Representatives to speak about the escape on the Pearl. The following is an excerpt of his April 25, 1848, speech:

  It is said that some seventy-six men, women, and children, living in this District, possessing the same natural right to the enjoyment of life and liberty as gentlemen in this Hall … went on board a schooner lying at one of the wharves of this city, and set sail for a “land of liberty.”

  When they reached the mouth of the river, adverse winds compelled them to anchor. Thus detained, we may imagine the anxiety that must have filled their minds. How that slave mother pressed her tender babe more closely to her breast, as she sent up to the God of the oppressed her silent supplication for deliverance from the men-stealers who were on their track. … Bloodhounds in human shape were in her pursuit, clothed with the authority of the laws enacted by Congress, and now kept in force by this body. They seized upon those wretched fugitives and brought them back to this city, and thrust them into yonder prison, erected by the treasure of this nation.