The Boston father had no right to his
own sons. The law, however, had long been considered a dead-letter.
This was not to continue. The Fugitive Slave Law was enacted. It
revived the hopes of the slave-owners. A young, healthy, energetic
mother, with two fine boys, was a rich prize. She would make an
excellent mother. Good men began to say: 'We must enforce this law; it
is one of the compromises of the constitution.' Christian ministers
began to preach: 'The voice of law is the voice of God. There is no
higher rule of duty.' As may be supposed, the poor woman was
panic-stricken. Her friends gathered around her, and trembled for her.
Her husband was absent from home, a seaman on board one of the
Liverpool packets. She was afraid to go out of doors, lest some one
from the South should see her, and recognise her. One day, as she was
going to the grocery for some provisions, her quick anxious eye caught
a glimpse of a man prowling around, whom she immediately recognised as
from the vicinity of her old home of slavery. Almost fainting with
terror, she hastened home, and taking her two children by the hand,
fled to the house of a friend. She and her trembling children were hid
in the garret. In less than an hour after her escape, the officer,
with a writ, came for her arrest. It was a dark and stormy day. The
rain, freezing as it fell, swept in floods through the streets of
Boston.
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