Master Slave Husband Wife by Ilyon Woo

Author:Ilyon Woo [Ilyon Woo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2023-01-17T00:00:00+00:00

A WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN

Across the river in Boston, the Georgians faced their own terrors, now that they were known. They could hardly step from their hotel before street boys pelted them with refuse, screaming obscenities. Others stalked them, throwing stones, alongside the boys. The cries went up everywhere: “Slave-hunters!” “Thieves!” “Bloodhounds!” Worse was still to come.

They had scarcely recovered from the weekend when, once again on Monday, the two men were greeted by a new Boston sheriff, Daniel J. Coburn, who informed them that they were under arrest, this time for conspiring to kidnap William Craft. Bail was set at another $10,000.

They were lucky that the money came fast, thanks to two locals: Patrick Riley—the deputy marshal, who had bailed them out previously, and had the marshal’s blessing—alongside broker Hamilton Willis, Louisa May Alcott’s cousin. Willis stood on Webster’s side this day but would later lend his support to others like the Crafts. The bailing, however, was just the beginning of what would be, for the Georgians, an indelible day.

They emerged to see Court Square holding a vast army of men, women, and children—about two thousand people, by Knight’s estimate—with “negroes” outnumbering White protesters three to one. Journalists reported far more White faces than Black, but whatever the composition, the protesters were united, shouting the refrain that Knight had come to loathe: “Slave-hunters! Slave-hunters! There go the slave-hunters!” Some called for feathers and tar.

A hackney coach soon drove up with a pair of white horses, wild with excitement. With the sheriff pushing through the crush, Hughes managed to jump inside, but “not without losing his hat and getting somewhat hustled about.” Knight, meanwhile, was caught behind and forced to retreat, as protesters hissed and jeered, and tried to break the carriage doors. To his amazement, his partner was actually laughing from inside the coach, “making sport,” though not for long.

The crowd became like one body, single-minded, with long, strong arms, as it covered the coach and rocked it from side to side, intent on taking the passenger. A Black man, it was reported, smashed open a window, aimed his weapon, and, for a quivering moment, had Hughes within his sights. But an unnamed member of the Vigilance Committee pulled him down.

The driver raised his whip and cracked it high, and with that, the coach convulsed forward, doors akimbo, people hanging off all sides. They held on, gripping the carriage spokes and dragging the wheels to stop the turning as some tumbled down, with one protester falling motionless before Parker’s restaurant, where slave hunters had recently trolled.

The coach barreled up Court Street, the crowd chasing after it, screaming threats, and the city rang with their cries, the rage of the oppressed. Too late, others remembered Knight, who had managed to duck down and slip away, his hat pulled low. Though he would complain of hissing and coat tugging, and was made uneasy by the sight of a single Black man trailing him, he managed to hail a cab and return to the United States Hotel in safety.

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