Letter from Wm. J. Watkins.
—
BOSTON, Jan. 26th, 1854.

FRIEND DOUGLASS:—I saw a sight to-day
which one cannot behold every day in the
year—a rara avis which astonished me even
more than the infamous declaration of the
runaway Mitchel, that to whip women, steal
babies and sell them, is neither a "sin or
a pecadillo."

What was the sight, think you? Now,
that your curiosity is excited, I will tell you.
I was wending my way through Washing
ington St., all solitary and alone, (no, not
alone, for I had the "Autographs" with me,
and they are excellent company,) and a
gentleman of a "rich brown" complexion,
arrayed in all the paraphernalia of a would
be peacock, thus addressed me:—"Are you
not the gentleman who lectured in Mr.
Grimes' Church the other night." Yes, I
responded. "Well, who is that man you
were speaking about, named Douglass? I
never heard of him. Is he a white man, or a
colored man?" I looked at him intently for
a moment, and after surveying him closely
from head to foot, anxiously inquired who
were his parents, and where he was born?
He replied, "I was raised in Virginia." And
said I, you never heard of Mr. Douglass?—Upon his assuring me that in the most positive
manner he had not, I tho't I'd carry out the
joke, and taking him on one side, I told him
in a whisper, if he promised to keep it a se
crete, I'd shew him the likeness of Mr. D.
He promised never to say anything to any
one, (emphasizing the last two words,) and I
shewed him the Autograph, containing your
likeness, which he promised to purchase.—I then left him, intending to place him in
my memorandum book, in loving proximity
with the white lady who, the other day, in
formed me she had not read Uncle Tom's
Cabin.

By the way, the Autograph is much ad
mired. Everybody wants to see the pictures,
and the "identical" hand-writing affixed to
the various articles of which the book is
composed.

I wish I had received them (the books
forwarded to me) sooner; by this time I
could have disposed of all of them. The
weather has been inclement, that my pro
gress has been somewhat retarded. I am
anxious to return to Rochester; and though
my friends in Boston have offered me many
inducements to remain here, I must say tha[t]
I would be doing detriment to my own feel
ings, were I to accept the occupacy of any
other position than my present one.

If I live, I think I shall continue living
in Rochester, and await the reception of
that "reflex influence" of which our friend
WhitfieldWhitfield, James Monroe

James Monroe Whitfield (1822-71), barber and poet, was born in New Hampshire. During the winter of 1838-39, the Young Men's Union Society of Cleveland appointed Whitfield to deliver an address on the subject of emigration. Thus, as a youth of sixteen, Whitfield urged that blacks establish separate settlements in the United States or on its borders. By the mid-1850s he had become a major spokesman for black emigration. After he moved to Buffalo, New York, in 1841, Whitfield worked as a barber and wrote poetry. Several of his poems had already been published in the North Star when Douglass visited Whitfield in Buffalo in late June 1850. Recounting their visit, Douglass lamented, “That talents so commanding, gifts so rare, poetic powers so distinguished, should be tied to the handle of a razor and buried in the precincts of a barber‘s shop, and that he who possesses them should be consigned, by the malignant arrangements of society, to occupy a position so menial, is painfully disheartening." A delegate to the black convention meeting in Rochester in 1853, Whitfield also endorsed and attended the 1854 emigration convention in Cleveland and was commissioned to investigate Central America as a site for prospective black settlements. Convinced that “full and fair equality can be looked for, only through the existence of national organizations of the different races," Whitfield hoped that the emigration of black Americans would contribute to the emergence of a powerful and independent black nation in the American hemisphere. Before leaving Buffalo around 1859, Whitfield published a volume of poetry, America and Other Poems (Buffalo, 1853), which he dedicated to Martin R. Delany. Later poems appeared in the Liberator the San Francisco Pacific Appeal and the San Francisco Elevator. After the Civil War, Whitfield's principal residence seems to have been in San Francisco, though he also lived in Portland, Oregon, and in Idaho. Between 1864 and 1869 he was Masonic Grand Master of California. Joan R. Sherman, “James Monroe Whitfield, Poet and Emigrationist: A Voice of Protest and Despair," JNH 57: 169-76 (April 1972); Miller, Search for a Black Nationality 137-40; Delany, Condition of the Colored People 132; J. M. Whitfield to Editor, 15 November 1853, in FDP 25 November 1853; ASB 24 August 1850 so eloquently descants.

And I would like to remark, that this Emi
gration movement does not find much favor
among the colored people of Boston. They
do not intend to be frightened from their
homes by the soul-harrowing screams of
the American eagle; the die is cast; slavery
must die, and colored Bostonians desire to
remain here, and sing the monster's funeral
requiem.

I wonder if the hollow-hearted, shallow
pated Mitchel will be in Alabama then with
his "healthy negroes," or not? I rather
think the fellow is now conscious that he has
overshot the mark. Americans, you know,
are not particularly partial to foreign inter
meddlers.

I stepped into the Melodeon a few min
utes ago, the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery So
ciety being in session. Rev. Sam. J. May
informed the audience that John Mitchel
would be handled in the evening. And de
pend upon it, he will be handled with a hand
of iron. The attendance is not large, the
weather being very unfavorable to holding
public meetings. But there will be enough
in attendance to say Amen to the damnation
of the tyrant "patriot!"

I see by the papers that Wm. H. Day has,
by formal vote, been ruthlessly driven
from the "reporter's place" in the Ohio

Legislature, because he happens to have a
little of the hated blood in him. Everything
is being done by this despotic nation to crush
the poor colored man, to pluck out his heart
for the devouring wolf of American preju
dice to prey on. But the end is not yet.
Retribution is on the wing. The Ohio Leg
islature may now refuse to have the light of
Day, but the time is coming when the
cheering sunshine will refuse to look upon
the haggard visages of the tyrants who voted
to thrust him out. We would not for the
world change positions with the enemy.—We would rather be identified with the op
pressed, than with the oppressor.

The angel of Hope still hovers o'er us,
and gently pours the "oil of joy" into our
lacerated hearts. The success of our cause
depends not upon the numbers who advo
cate it, but upon the ceasless vigilance and
untiring assiduity of the few arrayed against
the many. In reality, it is dependent upon
no one's advocacy. Slavery is destined to
die, for it is mortal. Truth, the moral grav
itation of God's universe, is one the side of
humanity. And Truth will live and burn,
amid the tempest and the storm, for God hath
stamped it with the impress of imperishable
life. But each one must do his and her duty.
An individual responsibility rests upon us.
The slave will be free; but if you and I, and
all around us do not help accelerate the day of
his redemption, God will enter into judgment
with us. May each one, then, at all times,
in all places, and under all circumstances,
be found doing something for those who can
not help themselves.

Yours, &c., W. J. W.