The Resurrection of Nat Turner, Part 2: The Testimonial by Sharon Ewell Foster

or theft. Some even argued that slaves and their defenders had a duty to take up arms.
    Many were not pleased with the abolitionists’ growing presence in New York State—there had been antiblack and antiabolitionist attacks that continued to worsen.
    Inside Plymouth Church, Harriet leaned forward, and across the room she saw Frederick Douglass’s prematurely graying mane nodding as Henry spoke.
    â€œWithout love our faith is meaningless; it has no power. Without love our greatest philanthropy is less than a mere token.”
    Henry’s voice shook the rafters in Plymouth Church—a sanctuary built more like an auditorium than a church—caused the air to vibrate, swelled, and then dropped to a whisper. Words came alive in Henry, or, better still, as Walt Whitman wrote, Henry’s words were substantial and delicious. When Henry spoke he became the words, and though he was human and given to human weaknesses, he tried to live the words he spoke. “Without love, intelligence and knowledge have no value.”
    He not only preached freedom for the captives, he also used his church as a station on the Underground Railroad. He raised money to buy freedom for captive slaves. Henry purchased rifles—rifles that bore the nickname “Beecher’s Bibles.” At Henry’s direction, Sharps rifles were shipped to Kansas along with Bibles to help antislavery men defend themselves against the strangling westward aggression of slavery, slavery discontent to remain within Kentucky’s borders.
    While some churches struggled to gain and hold any members, most that survived brimmed with women. But Plymouth overflowed with men. Henry offered messages of love to those who had been taught that their very being displeased God, just as her family had taught Henry and her. They were tainted by original sin and despised by God.
    But Henry preached love, and they flocked to him like parched men to fresh water. His voice thundered, swept through the room, and then eased to a whisper. “Without love—not only for the greatest, but also for the least among us—all that we do is pointless.”
    From the front of Plymouth, Henry whispered to the congregation, “The only bondage in God’s creation that is tolerable and desirable is the bondage of love.”
    Again, Frederick Douglass nodded his head.

Chapter 7
    M r. Douglass’s hair was more silver than when she last saw him. Harriet lifted a hand to her own hair. Hers was changing, too.
    He bore a heavy burden. He had escaped from slavery in Maryland and made his home in the North for many years now. If he remained silent, there was a good chance he might remain free. But he was not free, he said, until all were free—slaves and black freemen. He risked his life and freedom to bring attention to the plight of others, even fighting for women, including white women, to have the right to vote.
    But it was not just others, not just those who were apathetic or slaveholders, whom he challenged. Frederick challenged her. Each time she conversed with him, she was surprised at how brilliant he was—surprised and ashamed that she was surprised. Her cheeks burned, even now, with the private embarrassment, embarrassment at her epiphany that she had expected less of him simply because of the color of his skin.
    She knew he was a human being, a man created and loved by God. But somehow she bore diminished expectations. She did not expect him to reason so well, to speak so well, or to write so well—he had edited the Rochester Ladies’ Anti-Slavery Society’s collection Autographs for Freedom, which contained William Lloyd Garrison’s work, Henry’s work, and hers. She was too ashamed of her thoughts to share them with anyone, even Calvin. But they were there just the same.
    If she had not conversed with him, she would never have known how exceptional he was, nor would she have recognized her own shortcomings. He had