Page:Narrative of Henry Box Brown.pdf/88

  But ah! the men who thee so loud did call, The souls, whom thou hadst saved from bondage dread, O fearful tale! themselves on thee did tread; And thy fair robe was pierced with traitorous thrusts. As Cæsar groaning fell and kissed the dust, When ingrate Brutus' blows on him did fall.

On the 5th of March, 1775, the Boston massacre occurred — the fearful tragedy of State Street! All Boston was aroused, murders dreadful had been committed by the British troops, and it was a difficult task to allay the excitement occasioned thereby. What was the amount of this terrible massacre? Why, three Boston citizens had been shot in the heat of an affray with the British soldiery! What horror seemed to seize upon the hearts of the people! Why, "our brothers are being shot down in the face of open day, and our turn may come next." Terrible was the indignation of our fathers! And yet we, their descendants, calmly allow the South to slay our citizens at their leisure. "The blood of a murdered Lovejoy, still cries out from the ground for vengeance! A Baltimore prison, still contains the impress of a departed spirit's feet, which left an impression on its gloomy pavement, as he fled from an earthly prison-house to the mansions of the blest. A C. C. Torrey still calls for redress for his wrongs at the hands of Southern tyrants. The jail of our own capital if it could speak, would tell of him who pined away within its noisome walls, as he lay in that republican enclosure, a victim to Southern tyranny. Yes, Dr. Crandall's blood has not yet been atoned for, by the wicked South. Here are, at least three victims who have been slain, at the cruel dictation of Slavery's dreadful power, But time would fail me, to tell of a Van Zandt, of a Fairbanks,