slaves waiting for the next market-day, of recaptured fugitives waiting
for their owners to reclaim them. Here they were huddled and caged,
pitiful and despairing in their misery. Such scenes sickened the young
reformer every day. God had opened to him the darkest chapter in the
book of the negroes' wrongs. Here is a page from that black volume of
oppression and cruelty, the record of which he has preserved in the
following graphic narrative: "During my late incarceration in Baltimore
prison, four men came to obtain a runaway slave. He was brought out of
his cell to confront his master, but pretended not to know him--did not
know that he had ever seen him before--could not recollect his name. Of
course the master was exceedingly irritated. 'Don't you remember,' said
he, 'when I gave you not long since thirty-nine lashes under the
apple-tree? Another time when I gave you a sound flogging in the barn?
Another time when you was scourged for giving me the lie, by saying that
the horse was in a good condition?' 'Yes,' replied the slave, whose
memory was thus quickened, 'I do recollect. You have beaten me cruelly
without cause; you have not given me enough to eat and drink; and I
don't want to go back again. I wish you to sell me to another master. I
had rather even go to Georgia than to return home!'

"'I'll let you know, you villain,' said the master, 'that my wishes and
not _yours_, are to be consulted. I'll learn you how to run away
again.'"

The other men advised him to take the black home, and cut him up in inch
pieces for his impudence, obstinacy, and desertion--swearing
tremendously all the while. The slave was ordered back to his cell. Then
ensued the following colloquy between Garrison and the master:

G.--"Sir, what right have you to that poor creature?"

M.--"My father left him to me."

G.--"Suppose your father had broken into a bank and stolen ten thousand
dollars, and safely bequeathed that as a legacy; could you
conscientiously keep the money? For myself, I had rather rob any bank to
an indefinite amount than kidnap a fellow-being, or hold him in bondage;
the sin would be less injurious to society, and less sinful in the sight
of God."

M.--"Perhaps you would like to buy the slave and give him his liberty?"

G.--"Sir, I am a poor man; and were I ever so opulent, it would be
necessary, on your part, to make out a clear title to the services of
the slave before I could conscientiously make a bargain."