The Liberty Bell presided silently over Independence Square from its vantage point atop the State House tower. On this Tuesday afternoon in April of 1872, a late spring breeze brushed over the two-thousand-pound bell's surface.
Twenty-six years had passed since the last time the bell rang out as it celebrated George Washington's birthday back in 1846. The weath-ered and cracked bell had loudly tolled over much of America's history, including a call to the first public reading of the Declaration of Independence in 1776. The bell's inscription could still be read: Proclaim Liberty Throughout All the Land unto All the Inhabitants Thereof. Leviticus xxv.x.
Below the bell, sixteen-year old Josiah Washington stood with his back to the old red brick State House. He faced a semicircle of four older boys pressing in like a tightening noose.
The tallest of the four boys stepped forward, a lock of brown hair curled down between his menacing eyes. He pressed his lips into a determined line and moved his fists in small, deliberate circles like a boxer.
"No more cat and mouse! See how you like this!"
His right fist shot straight at Josiah's mahogany, oval face.
Josiah jerked his head to the right but his opponent's knuckles caught him above his left eye. He retreat-ed several paces across the lush grass. Blood trickled from the corner of his eye and joined the blood already flowing from his nose.
He watched through angry eyes as his opponent raised his fists and moved in for another swing. Josiah wanted to raise his own fists, but he knew that would only make his troubles worse.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of long strawberry blond hair. He glanced to the left and grimaced-the girl who had caused this trouble was back again!
"Stop it, Adam!" The slender girl stepped between them. "I tripped. Josiah was just trying to keep me from falling!"
Josiah sucked in his breath, his eyes darting back and forth between the girl and his opponent. How'd she know his name?
The boy called Adam hesitated, then shook his head from side to side. "Doesn't matter why, Christine. He grabbed your arm. I saw him do it. No colored's going to get away with touching you when I'm around. He's gonna pay!"
Christine grabbed Adam by the arm and pleaded. "No! If you care about me at all, stop! Stop right now!"
"I said he's gonna pay!" Adam edged her aside and balled his hands back into fists.
With a gasp of frustration and with her eyebrows scrunched in worry, Christine gathered her skirts. She turned and ran across the lawn, back toward the busy noonday street.
Adam's eyes followed Christine for a moment; then, with a sigh, he brandished his bloodied knuckles and eyed his three friends. "All right! Let's finish teaching him a lesson. Next time he'll think twice before grabbing the likes of Christine Thompson."
Adam's friends laughed and spread out to Josiah's right and left.
Backing toward the base of an old maple tree, Josiah felt the brush of leaves on his neck. He realized that he had two choices: try to defend himself or--
Josiah gambled on the second choice and spun around. His eyes searched the old maple and found what he was hoping for-a low-hanging limb. Fear pumped through his legs. He grasped the limb and swung his feet up.
His mind screamed. Scramble! Scramble for your life!
Hot in pursuit, Adam mistimed his jump and crashed solidly into the tree. He cursed and shook his fist. "You wily skunk, you! We'll get you yet! Let's see how well you dodge rocks, standing up there on a limb."
Doubt rippled across Josiah's dark face as he looked up. Plenty of branches were within reach. But what good would climbing higher do him if he got thumped with a rock and fell? He was still dizzy from Adam's punch and the first rock thrown when he had been trapped behind the State House.
Suddenly Adam's cocky smile withered into a frown.
The square-shouldered manager of the nearby Freedom Press hurried up the cobbled walk beside the State House, a scowl forming on his nut-brown face. Her arms folded stiffly in front of her, Christine stood by the corner of the building and scowled.
With a sharp nod of his head, Adam signaled his friends. "Seventh and Walnut!"
Relief washed over Josiah as he watched the four young men scatter in opposite directions. He quickly climbed down the tree and found himself face to face with Toby Sykes, his boss and only real friend, the manager of the Freedom Press' weekly newspaper, the Freedman's Journal.
Toby ran his big hands over his close-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair and sighed. His dark eyes flashed with frustration. His high cheekbones and angular face, usually home for a broad and relaxed smile, were now hardened with concern.
He examined the shallow gash over Josiah's right eye. "Let's get back to the shop and clean that cut. Might need stitches."
They started across the back lawn of the State House toward Chestnut Street. Toby reached into his back pocket and offered Josiah a handkerchief.
As he wiped his blood on the handkerchief, Josiah looked around for the girl who had caused all the trouble. She was nowhere to be seen.
Would Toby blame him for what happened?
Toby raised his hand. "No need to explain, son. Miss Thompson's already told me the whole story. There's no excuse for what Adam Vestry and his friends did to you. None."
Josiah stuffed the handkerchief into his back pocket and frowned. Christine Thompson-the Reverend's daughter. Now he remembered. He'd seen her at the Methodist church where he and Toby attended Sunday services.
Pausing at the corner, Josiah and Toby waited for a long wagon train loaded with bulging sacks of grain to ramble by. Streetcars and omnibuses shuttled Philadelphi-ans of both colors back and forth across town. Commerce was booming, and people hungered to read about it.
As they crossed the street, Josiah looked up at the Public Ledger Building, six stories tall and nearly a block wide. The building, home to Philadelphia's biggest newspaper, the Public Ledger, stood directly across the street from the State House and the Liberty Bell.
Around the corner and two shops down was the Freedom Press. The narrow, brick two-story building was squeezed between an insurance agency on one side and a wheelwright shop on the other.
Walking down the sidewalk, Josiah noticed how straight and tall Toby held himself. Toby never let anyone steal his dignity.
Josiah shook his head. Dignity.
He thought back to his first day on the job as a printer's devil two weeks ago. He recalled how Toby leaned back in a chair, put his hands behind his head, and stared thoughtfully into the air.
"Ten years," Toby had said, his voice swelling with pride. "Ten years."
"What about 'ten years'?" Josiah remembered asking him.
Toby had stared him down with a look of amazement. "Why, son, I know you have a proper knowledge of history. I'm talking about ten years of freedom!"
Now, as they walked up to the door of the Freedom Press, Josiah stiffened, just like he had when Toby first spoke those words two weeks earlier. Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation, issued ten years ago in 1862, may have legally freed the slaves, but it had also cost Josiah's parents their lives.
With the taste of blood again on his lips, Josiah lowered his head and followed Toby inside. For all the freedom that emancipation and the Civil War had given him, he didn't feel very free.