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CHAPTER 2: Fugitives as Part of Abolitionist History
- The University of North Carolina Press
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In 1870 and 1871, Harper’s Weekly featured an advertisement for plaster statuary suitable for display in genteel parlors. The piece pictured, created by the popular sculptor John Rogers, was called “The Fugitive’s Story” and featured a female fugitive slave recounting her adventures to several well-known abolitionists, including John G. Whittier and William Lloyd Garrison, who had posed for the artist. Rogers had proven to be very successful at producing small plaster groupings on subjects that attracted middle-class buyers. In 1859 he had appealed to antislavery sentiment with his piece “The Slave Auction.” After enjoying success with many Civil War pieces during the war, he returned to an antislavery theme to capitalize on the sympathies of genteel Americans who wanted art in their homes. “The Fugitive’s Story” cost $25 and could be shipped without charge to any railroad station in the country.1 The interest in the fugitive story had also been apparent at the final meeting of the Pennsylvania Anti-Slavery Society. William Still, an African American member of the Society, showed one of the relics of exciting days now past: the wooden box that had concealed a fugitive slave. Still had also entertained the audience by presenting a paper on Henry “Box” Brown and several other fugitives. As a member of the Philadelphia Vigilance Committee , which had helped escaped slaves who had reached the city, Still had been active in the Underground Railroad network and had firsthand knowledge of fugitives and their stories. His paper fascinated his listeners. According to the National Standard, “The mournful tales thus unfolded were like the thrilling fantasies of romance, but more harrowing because of their reality.” In one of its last actions, the society passed a unanimous resolution asking Still to “compile and publish his personal reminiscences and experiences relating to the Underground Rail Road.”2 The resolution seemed to call for personal recollections, perhaps along the lines of Samuel May’s book. Still’s own life was certainly noteworthy enough for a conventional autobiography. Born free in New Jersey, Still had migrated as a young man to Philadelphia, where he eventually found a job with the Pennsylvania Society for the Abolition of Slavery. When the FugiFugitives as Part of Abolitionist History c h a p t e r 2 tive Slave Act was passed in 1850, he became a key figure in the Vigilance Committee’s work. During the war he moved into the coal business, which he made into a flourishing concern. Despite his successes, particularly impressive for a free black man, Still chose not to tell his own story. His narrative thus differed both from a conventional autobiography and from May’s memoirs. Perhaps the audience’s enthusiasm encouraged him to highlight the tales of fugitives rather than his own experiences in the Pennsylvania Anti-Slavery Society office or as the chairman of the Acting Vigilance Committee . Certainly he believed that stories demonstrating the widespread desire of black people for freedom ought to be told.3 The book that resulted represented another form of historical memory about abolitionism and suggests that there was a racial divide in the construction of the past. Still’s account had a different purpose, message, and cast of characters than May’s book and its tone contrasted sharply with that of the effusive memorializing statements made as antislavery societies dissolved. In this narrative, white abolitionists were marginalized. Blacks became the engine of their own liberation, a theme that other black abolitionists would also highlight in their autobiographies published later in the century. Still’s story made clear not only the basic humanity of black slaves but also the justice of emancipation and citizenship. Many black men and women had seized the opportunity for freedom under the most difficult of circumstances. Their actions symbolized blacks’ commitments to core American values and offered proof that they deserved the fundamental political rights associated with freedom. Still’s massive book (almost 800 pages long) appeared in March 1872. Its principal title, The Underground Rail Road, suggested Still’s strategy of receding into the background of the narrative. Clues about Still’s work and character, however, appeared in letters written by and to him included in the narrative. Of the two, the letters to Still were the more revealing, showing his kindness, his thoughtful treatment of fugitives in Philadelphia and in Canada, and his involvement in Underground Railroad operations. Through the voices of others, readers might gain a faint inkling of the kind of man...