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Title: Narratives of Colored Americans
Author: Mott, A., Wood, M. S.
Language: English
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NARRATIVES
OF
COLORED AMERICANS.
God "hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the
face of the earth."--ACTS xvii., 26.
PRINTED BY ORDER OF THE TRUSTEES OF THE RESIDUARY ESTATE OF LINDLEY
MURRAY.
NEW YORK:
WILLIAM WOOD & CO., 27 GREAT JONES STREET. 1875.
Lindley Murray, the Grammarian, and author of several excellent
School and Reading books, in his last Will bequeathed certain funds
to Trustees in America, his native country, for several benevolent
objects, including the gratuitous distribution of "books calculated to
promote piety and virtue, and the truth of Christianity."
The Trustees have had "The Power of Religion on the Mind, in
Retirement, Affliction, and at the approach of Death," stereotyped, and
several thousand copies printed and distributed.
They also publish the following Narratives compiled by A. Mott, and M.
S. Wood, believing they will prove acceptable reading to our Colored
Americans.
JOHN F. TROW & SON,
PRINTERS AND BOOKBINDERS,
_205-213 East 12th St._,
NEW YORK.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
AFRICAN SERVANT, THE 88
AFRICAN PRINCE, THE 212
AFRICAN SCHOOLS IN NEW YORK 242
AFRICANS, THE INJURED 245
ANCASS 74
ANECDOTE 101
ANECDOTE 205
AN INCIDENT 62
BANNEKER, BENJAMIN 60
BAYLEY, SOLOMON 133
BELL, LET ME RING THE 53
BENEZET, ANTHONY 230
BIBLE, LOVE FOR THE 272
BILLY AND JENNY 182
BOWEN, WILLIAM 229
BOYD, HENRY 251
BUCCAN, QUAMINO 257
CAREY, LOTT 191
CHRISTIAN, AN AGED 45
CHRISTIAN KINDNESS 48
CLARINDA, A PIOUS COLORED WOMAN 143
COFFIN 210
COSTON, EZEKIEL 203
CUFFEE, CAPTAIN PAUL 126
CHRISTMAS HYMN AT ST. HELENA'S ISLAND 273
DADDY DAVY 37
DERHAM, JAMES 211
EMANCIPATION IN NEW YORK 263
FAITH OF A POOR BLIND WOMAN 241
FERGUSON, KATY 69
FOUNDLING, THE COLORED 206
FREEDMEN OF AMERICA 264
GOOD MASTER AND HIS FAITHFUL SLAVE, THE 200
GRATITUDE IN A LIBERATED SLAVE 225
HAM, FALLACIES RESPECTING THE RACE OF 14
HARDY, GEORGE 186
HOSPITABLE NEGRO WOMAN 222
HYMN SUNG AT ST. HELENA'S ISLAND 272
INDIAN, THE GOOD OLD 238
KINDNESS, A LITTLE ACT OF 102
LETTERS FROM A LADY IN RICHMOND, VA. 270
LIBERTY, EXTRAORDINARY EXERTIONS TO OBTAIN 228
LIE, HE NEVER TOLD A 37
LION, DELIVERANCE FROM 9
LITTLE WA 83
LUCAS, BELINDA 164
LIBERTY TO THE CAPTIVE 276
MISSIONARY BOX, THE 35
MONTJOY, ZILPAH 160
MORRIS, AGNES 226
MUNIFICENCE, EXTRAORDINARY 234
NAIMBANNA 150
NEGRO, THE GENEROUS 123
NEGRO, THE GRATEFUL 208
NO-ACCOUNT JOHNNY 18
NURSE, THE FAITHFUL 209
OLD DINAH 16
OLD SUSAN 103
POOR POMPEY 74
POOR SARAH 111
PRAYER, ANSWER TO 12
PRAYER, THE AFRICAN SERVANT'S 100
PROVIDENCE, TRUST IN 23
REPENTANCE AND AMENDMENT IN A COLORED SCHOOL 62
SAAT 30
SACRIFICE, THE LIVING 27
SLAVE, THE BLIND, IN THE MINES 97
SLAVE, FLIGHT OF A 55
SLAVE, THE PSALM OF THE 34
SLAVE SHOEMAKER, THE 51
SLAVES, GRATITUDE OF 50
STORM AT SEA, A 81
TEACHERS, A HOTTENTOT'S LOVE FOR HER 26
TEMPTATION RESISTED AND HONESTY REWARDED 236
TRUTH, SOJOURNER 65
TEMPERANCE MEETING IN AFRICA 274
UNCLE HARRY 213
UNCLE JACK 46
VASSA, GUSTAVUS 169
WHEATLEY, PHILLIS 5
WIFE, THE 24
ZACHARY AND THE BOY 21
PHILLIS WHEATLEY.
In 1761 John Wheatley's wife went to the slave market in Boston, for a
girl whom she might train to wait upon her in her old age. At that time
ships were sent from Boston to Africa after cargoes of slaves, which
were sold to the people of Massachusetts. Among a group of more robust
and healthy children just imported from Africa, the lady observed one
of slender form, suffering from change of climate and the miseries of
the voyage. She was interested in the poor little girl, bought her, and
took her home. The child, who was named Phillis, was almost naked, her
only covering being a strip of dirty carpet; but in a short time the
effects of comfortable clothing and food were visible in her returning
health.
Phillis at the time of her purchase was between seven and eight
years of age, and the intention of her mistress was to train her as
a servant; but the intelligence which the young girl soon exhibited,
induced her mistress's daughter to teach her to read. Such was the
rapidity with which she learned, that in sixteen months from the time
of her arriving in the family, the African child had so mastered the
English language, to which she was an utter stranger before, that
she could read with ease the most difficult parts of the Bible. Her
uncommon intellect altered the intentions of the family regarding
Phillis, and she was kept about the person of her mistress, whose
affection she won by her amiable disposition and pleasing manners. All
her knowledge was obtained without any instruction, except what was
given her in the family; and in four years from the time she was stolen
from Africa, and when only twelve years of age, she was capable of
writing letters to her friends on various subjects.
The young colored girl became an object of very general attention and
astonishment; and in a few years she corresponded with several persons
in high stations. As she grew up to womanhood, her attainments kept
pace with the promise of her earlier years; the literary people of
Boston supplied her with books and encouraged her intellectual powers.
This was greatly assisted by her mistress, who treated her like a child
of the family, admitted her to her own table, and introduced her as an
equal to the best society; but Phillis never departed from the humble
and unassuming deportment which distinguished her when she stood a
little trembling child for sale in the slave market. She respected the
prejudice against her color, and, when invited to the tables of the
great or wealthy, she chose a place apart for herself, that none might
be offended at a thing so unusual as sitting at table with a woman of
color.
Such was the modest and amiable disposition of Phillis Wheatley. She
studied Latin, and her translations show that she made considerable
progress in it; and she wrote poetry. At the age of fourteen she
appears to have first attempted literary composition, and by the time
she was nineteen the whole of her printed poems appear to have been
written. They were published in London in 1773 in a small volume of
above 120 pages, containing thirty-nine pieces, which she dedicated to
the Countess of Huntington. This work has gone through several editions
in England and America.
Most of her poetry has a religious or moral bearing; all breathes a
soft and sentimental feeling; many pieces were written on the death of
friends. In a poem addressed to a clergyman on the death of his wife,
some beautiful lines occur:
"O come away," her longing spirit cries,
"And share with me the rapture of the skies.
Our bliss divine to mortals is unknown,
Immortal life and glory are our own.
Here too may the dear pledges of our love
Arrive, and taste with us the joys above;
Attune the harp to more than mortal lays,
And join with us the tribute of their praise
To Him who died stern justice to atone,
And make eternal glory all our own."
A poem on the Providence of God contains the following:
"All-wise, Almighty Providence, we trace
In trees, and plants, and all the flowery race,
As clear as in the nobler frame of man,
All lovely ensigns of the Maker's plan.
The power the same that forms a ray of light,
That called creation from eternal night."
From a beautiful address and prayer to the Deity:
"Great God, incomprehensible, unknown
To sense, we bow at thine exalted throne.
O while we crave thine excellence to feel,
Thy sacred presence to our hearts reveal,
And give us of that mercy to partake,
Which Thou hast promised for the Saviour's sake."
About the twenty-first year of her age Phillis was liberated; but she
continued in her master's family, where she was much respected. Her
health was delicate, and her physician having recommended a sea-voyage,
it was arranged that she should visit England. She had not before been
parted from her adopted mother, and the separation was painful to both
of them.
Phillis was received and admired in the first circles of English
society, her poems published, and her portrait engraved. Her
countenance appears to have been pleasing, and her head highly
intellectual. The health of Mrs. Wheatley declined, and she longed
for her beloved companion. On the first notice of her benefactress's
desire to see her, Phillis, whose humility was not shaken by flattery
and attention, re-embarked for Boston. Within a short time after her
return she stood by the dying bed of her mistress, mother, and friend,
and Phillis Wheatley found herself alone.
Shortly after the death of her friend she married a respectable
man of her own color, named Peters. He was a remarkable person--of
good character, a fluent writer, a ready speaker, and altogether an
intelligent, educated man. He was a grocer by trade, and, as a lawyer,
pleaded the cause of his brethren, the Africans, before the courts.
Phillis was twenty-three at the time of her marriage. The connection
did not prove a happy one, and she being of a susceptible mind and
delicate constitution, fell into a decline, and died in 1780, about the
twenty-sixth year of her age.
DELIVERANCE OF A HOTTENTOT FROM A LION.
A Methodist missionary named Kay, relates the following occurrence:
I visited a poor sick Hottentot in the south of Africa, who recently
experienced one of the most remarkable and providential deliverances
I ever heard of. I found him in great pain, from the wounds he had
received on that occasion. He gave me a description of his escape
from the jaws of a lion, which he ascribes wholly to the gracious
interposition of the Father of mercies.
About a month ago he went on a hunting excursion, accompanied by
several other natives. On an extensive plain they found an abundance of
game, and discovered a number of lions, who appeared to be disturbed by
their approach. A very large male lion began slowly to advance towards
the party, many of whom were young and unaccustomed to such formidable
animals. They all dismounted and prepared to fire, and, according to
custom, began to tie their horses together by the bridles, with a view
to keep them between themselves and the lion until they were able to
take deliberate aim.
Before the horses were properly fastened, the monster made a tremendous
bound or two, and suddenly pounced upon the hind part of one of the
horses, which plunged forward and knocked down the poor Hottentot. His
comrades took flight, and ran off with all speed. He rose as quickly
as possible to follow them; but no sooner had he regained his feet
than the majestic beast stretched forth his paw, and, striking him
behind the neck, brought him to the ground again. He then rolled on
his back, and the lion set his foot upon his breast, and lay down upon
him. The poor man now became almost breathless, partly from fear, but
principally from the pressure of his terrific load. He moved a little
to gain air, but, feeling this, the lion seized his left arm, close to
the elbow, and amused himself with the limb for some time, biting it in
different places, down to the hand.
All this time the lion did not seem to be angry, but merely caught at
the arm as a cat sports with a mouse that is not quite dead, so that
there was not a single bone broken, as there would have been if the
lion had been hungry or irritated. While in great agony, and expecting
every moment to be torn limb from limb, the sufferer cried to his
companions for assistance, but cried in vain. On raising his head a
little, the beast opened his dreadful jaws to receive it, but his hat
only was rent, and points of the teeth only grazed his skull. The lion
set his foot on the arm from which the blood was freely flowing, his
paw was soon covered therewith, and he again and again licked it clean,
and, with flaming eyes, appeared half inclined to devour the man.
"At this critical moment," said the poor victim, "I recollected having
heard that there is a God in heaven who is able to deliver at the last
extremity, and I began to pray that He would save me, and not allow the
lion to eat my flesh." While the Hottentot was thus engaged in calling
on God, the animal turned himself completely round. On perceiving this,
the man attempted to get from under him, but the lion became aware of
his intention, and laid terrible hold of his right thigh, which gave
excruciating pain. He again sent up his cry to God for help, nor were
his prayers in vain. The huge creature rose from his seat, and walked
majestically off about thirty or forty paces, and then lay down on
the grass as if to watch his victim, who ventured to sit up, which
attracted the lion's attention; he made no attack, but rose, took his
departure, and was seen no more. The man soon arose, took up his gun,
and hastened to his terrified companions, who had given him up for
dead. He was set upon a horse, and taken to the place where I found him.
Dr. Gambier hastened to his relief, and thought the appearance of the
wounds so alarming that amputation of the arm was absolutely necessary.
To this, however, the man would not consent, as he had a number of
young children, whose subsistence depended on his labor. "As the
Almighty has delivered me," said he, "from that horrid death, surely
He is able to save my arm also." Astonishing to relate, his wounds are
healed, and there is now hope of his ultimate recovery.
ANSWER TO PRAYER.
"I well remember," said the son of a Christian missionary, "hearing
my mother speak in touching terms of the narrow escapes my father
had during our sojourn in Jamaica. He endured five attacks of yellow
fever, and on one occasion suffered so much that the medical attendant
gave up all hopes of his recovery. For sometime he lingered in a state
of insensibility hardly to be described. My mother watched and wept;
friends did the same; the faithful Christian colored people also wept
as they saw life ebbing away. Death seemed just about to seize his
prey.
"Prayer-meetings were held, and at last some hundreds of negroes were
assembled, earnestly beseeching Almighty God with tears to spare the
life of their beloved missionary. Often had he stood up before judges
in their defence. Often had he been cast into prison for protecting
them from their tyrannical oppressors; and now, with a warmth of
affection and intensity of feeling unknown amongst Christians in
England, they cried mightily to God. Hour after hour passed by;
messengers were passing from the chapel to the mission-house to obtain
tidings of the sick man. At length, when his spirit appeared about
to depart and to leave all earthly scenes, the pious negroes agreed
to unite _silently_ in one heartfelt petition to Him 'in whose hand
our breath is;' and believing that 'man doth not live by bread only,
but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of the Lord,' they
thus silently, unitedly prayed. The multitude joined in one petition,
ascending from their inmost souls; and at that very hour the shadow of
death was removed at the rebuke of the Lord!
"A change took place, signs of health appeared, and he for whom so
many supplicants prayed was raised up from his bed of languishing, and
that chapel did indeed become filled with songs of joy, praise, and
thanksgiving. 'He lives! he lives!' was the joyful exclamation that ran
from one to another through that congregation."
FALLACIES RESPECTING THE RACE OF HAM.
It is thought by some that the race of Ham, one of the sons of Noah,
had a curse pronounced upon it at the beginning, whereby through
all time this particular branch of the human family was to be kept
in an inferior and servile condition. This is not correct. No curse
stands recorded in the Bible against the race of Ham. The curse in
question was pronounced upon Canaan, one of the four sons of Ham, whose
descendants settled in the hill country, called after his name, along
the east end of the Mediterranean Sea. There they dwelt for several
centuries, and built up a corrupt and idolatrous nation, until they
were dispossessed of their inheritance by the invading hosts of the
Jews. By this invasion vast numbers of this Canaanitish race perished,
and those who survived were brought into an abject, dependant, and
servile condition.
The perversion of the passage is the more noteworthy from the fact,
that while Ham was the offender, on account of whose conduct the curse
was pronounced--so that the reader is naturally looking for some
manifestation towards him personally--his name does not appear. The
curse, though three times repeated, falls steadily upon Canaan, one of
the four sons. When the three sons of Noah came forth with their father
out of the ark, the historian simply says, "And Ham is the father
of Canaan." True, so he was, and was also the father of Misraim, and
Cush, and Phut. Shem, too, was the father of five sons, and Japheth of
seven; but nothing is said at that time about all these, only, "Ham is
the father of Canaan." And so also when Ham's irreverent wickedness is
mentioned, it is "Ham the father of Canaan."
What is perhaps still more noticeable, when the curse is passed, and
the historian in the next chapter takes up the genealogy of the race
after the flood, and shows us the first founders of kingdoms and
nations, the only instance in all that long list, when he stops to give
us the boundaries of any people, is in this case of Canaan. It seems
as if God took especial pains to set the people who were to be cursed,
apart from the rest, that there need be no doubt who they were, and
where they lived.
But if we take the race of Ham generally, we shall find that for two
thousand years after the flood it continued by far the most noticeable
and conspicuous of the three branches. For some reason the early
developments of civilization were almost entirely in this race. Egypt
and Assyria, by far the grandest empires of antiquity, were both of
this Hametic order. Misraim, the son of Ham, is the reputed father of
the one, and Nimrod, the grandson, of the other. So obvious was this
fact, at least as respects Egypt, that it is familiarly called in the
Scriptures "the land of Ham." "Israel also came into Egypt, and Jacob
sojourned in the land of Ham." And again, "He sent Moses His servant,
and Aaron whom He had chosen. They showed His signs among them, and
wonders in the land of Ham."
OLD DINAH.
Dinah was a slave. Her mistress was an Indian woman, into whose dark
mind not a single ray of gospel light had ever penetrated. She lived
among a small tribe on the borders of Tennessee, and although at the
age of forty, or a little over, she was called Old Dinah. The Indian
mistress and all her servants had been baptized by a Roman priest;
but why, or wherefore, none of them knew. Dinah said, in relating the
circumstance, "I allers thought the white folks had something to tell
that we did not know about, and I used to think what could it be. When
the missionaries come here with the Bible, then I know what it is."
Her veneration for the "Good Book," as she always called it, was
remarkable. Getting on a stool in her little cabin one day, I noticed
on a shelf, far above the reach of her little ones, a pile of torn,
dingy bits of paper. I said, "What have you here, Dinah?"
"Oh, missus, don't mind _them_ now. I picks 'em up when I come from the
meeting. I spose the children throws 'em out of the school-house, but I
thinks it may be they are pieces of the Good Book, and when I learns to
read I can find 'em out."
Dinah did learn to read. She had a family to provide for, and Saturday
was the only day in the week allotted to her in which to look after
her little patch of corn and potatoes, cook their food, and prepare
her children for the Sabbath. The morning she gave to her farming in
summer, then the washing and mending, and at night after the children
were washed and stowed away for sleep, she would take the youngest
on her back, and, tired as she often was, trudge away two miles to
the mission station; and favored indeed was the teacher who could get
rid of the earnest appeal, "Let me learn just a little more," before
the morning dawned. Every Sabbath morning a little time was spent in
imparting to her Daniel the lesson of the previous evening--his master
living in a village some miles distant, so that he could not secure
any other instruction; but Daniel soon outran his teacher, and having
a warm Christian heart, learned to expound as well as read the Good
Book, much to the edification of his colored friends. This was also an
unfailing source of comfort and grateful recollection to Dinah. Once
when listening to his fervent appeals, she said to me, while the big
tears chased each other joyously down her cheeks, "Oh, missus, look at
Daniel! I taught that man his a, b, c, and now he knows so much, and I
can only pick out a little of the Good Book yet."
In the preaching of the gospel she took great delight, and never
but once, during our nine or ten months among that people, do I
remember her being absent from our meetings on the Sabbath. It was
in the female prayer-meeting that Dinah was invaluable. Here all her
tenderness of conscience, her desire for instruction, her delicacy
and tact in eliciting it, not only for herself but for the benefit of
others whose spiritual wants she had made her study, and above all,
her meek and earnest supplications, rendered her a helper never to be
forgotten, and I loved her for the image of my Master shining in her
face.
"NO-ACCOUNT JOHNNY."
BY M. E. SANGSTER.
"No-Account Johnny" had had a hard time all his life. He was a poor
boy, so homely, and dirty, and ragged, so nearly idiotic, that few
people would look at him twice. He lived with a French dyer, who had
taught him how to stir the vats at a certain time every day, and who
gave him in return enough corn-bread and bacon to keep him alive. A
damp, ill-smelling cellar was the place where he spent his days, and
his nights were passed in an equally repulsive attic. To dodge a blow,
to tell a lie, to eat, to sleep, to be glad in a vague sort of way when
the sun shone on him warmly, these were all the accomplishments of poor
"No-Account Johnny" Long.
Christmas, with its green boughs and its gifts, went by, and brought
no gift to him. He did wish, as he heard the other boys tooting away
on their tin horns, that he had one; but as he could not get one by
wishing, he contented himself with turning somersaults on the pavement.
By an unfortunate miscalculation, he lay bruised and unconscious at the
foot of the cellar-steps.
Aunt Lizzie, the washerwoman, at the end of the court, took him home to
her poor little house, and took care of him till he was well again, for
in the fall he had broken his arm. Her children went to Sunday-school,
and one of them brought his teacher to see Johnny.
"Well, my poor little fellow," said the gentleman, looking with pity on
the thin face, clean now, through Aunt Lizzie's care, "I see you are
sick; what's your name?"
"No-Account Johnny!"
"Johnny! well, Johnny, do you know that Jesus loves you?"
"Never hearn tell of the Mister, I'm no account. Reckon He don't know
me! Missis says I'm no account nohow!"
"But that is a mistake, my boy. You are of great account. You have a
soul that can never die. Did you never know that?"
"No," shaking his head; "I don't un'erstand, Mister."
"Was anybody ever good to you, Johnny?"
"Nobody but Aunt Liz. Aunt Liz been good."
"Well, Jesus is better than Aunt Liz. Jesus is God. He died for you! He
lives up there among the stars! He loves you, poor No-Account Johnny.
Think of that."
The teacher went away. At the door old Aunt Lizzie thanked him for
coming, but said:
"It's of no use, sir, to teach that boy. He a'nt right here," tapping
her forehead.
"Ah! Aunt Lizzie, our blessed Jesus can make him understand," said Mr.
Allen, as he went away.
After a few weeks Johnny was able to go back to the dyeing
establishment. The first Sabbath after, however, he lost his place, for
he refused to work, and astonished his master by saying that he was
going to Sunday-school. Thither he went, and walking up to Mr. Allen
said:
"Here I am! Tell me more 'bout Jesus; I've found out a heap since you
told me 'bout Him, and I'm going to be Jesus Christ's Johnny now.
No-Account Johnny's gone off altogether."
Nobody could tell how it happened, but that magic word, "Jesus," had
done wonders for the little heathen. "He loves me," he had said to
himself again and again, and then he had listened, with that unlocked
heart, to every word he heard about Jesus, and had learned a great
deal. "No-Account Johnny" became one of the best scholars in the little
mission-school.
ZACHARY AND THE BOY.
Zachary was an Indian of the Mohegan tribe, and belonged to the
royal family of his people. He was one of the best of hunters, never
returning empty-handed from the chase. But he was a poor, miserable
drunkard. He had learned from the white man how to drink "fire-water,"
and had become so fond of it that he was drunk nearly all the time when
he was not hunting. When he had reached the age of fifty years, several
of his superiors in the tribe died, leaving only one person between him
and the position of chief.
One day Zachary was returning from hunting, and while on his way began
to think of his past life and of his future prospects. "What a fool
I have been," said he to himself, "having lived so long to act so
foolishly. How can such a drunken wretch as I ever hope to be the chief
of my tribe? What will my people think and say of me? I am not worthy
to fill the place of the great Uncas. I will drink no more!"
When he reached his wigwam, he told his wife and friends that he would
never, as long as he lived, taste any drink but water. And he kept this
resolution to the day of his death.
Many of the whites who heard this story could not believe it. They
said Zachary had been so long in the habit of drinking that he could
not live without it, and they had no doubt that he often took a glass
slyly when no one was looking on. Among these was a young man, the son
of the governor of one of the New England colonies; for this story I am
telling you is about matters which took place many years ago, before
America was a separate nation, and when what are now States were called
colonies, and governed by rulers sent over from England.
Zachary had by this time become the chief in his tribe, and the
governor invited him one day to dine with him. While they were seated
at the table the governor's son thought he would try the temperance
principles of the old chief, and offering him a glass of beer, said:
"Zachary, this beer is excellent, will you taste it?"
The old man dropped his knife and fork, and leaning over the table,
looked with a sharp eye upon the youth, and said: "John, you do not
know what you are doing! Boy, you are serving the devil! Do you want
to make me what I once was, a poor, miserable man, unfit to govern
my tribe? John, the acorn grows into an oak; the cub becomes a bear;
the brook swells into a river; and a single spark of fire will spread
through a whole forest. So one drop of your beer would make me want
more, and then I should want something stronger, and I would drink rum
until I became as wretched as I once was. Do you not know that I am
an Indian? I tell you that I am; and that if I begin to drink beer I
cannot stop without tasting rum. _John, while you live, never again
tempt a man to break a good resolution._"
The young man knew not what to say. He felt that he had done a mean
thing in trying to get old Zachary to break his pledge. His parents
were deeply affected at the scene, and often reminded their son of it
afterward, charging him never to forget it; and he did not. For years
after the Indian chief died, John made frequent visits to his grave,
repeating to himself the valuable lesson he had learned, never to tempt
a man to break a good resolution.
Men, and children too, who are trying to become better, ought to be
helped, not hindered. Kind words and kind deeds will greatly encourage
them; but to frown upon them, to sneer at them, or to make sport
of them, is often a sure way of making them as bad as ever.--_The
Christian._
TRUST IN PROVIDENCE.
On a bridge I was standing one morning,
And watching the current roll by,
When suddenly into the water
There fell an unfortunate fly.
The fishes that swam to the surface,
Were looking for something to eat,
And I thought that the hapless young insect
Would surely afford them a treat.
"Poor thing," I exclaimed with compassion,
"Thy trials and dangers abound,
For if thou escap'st being eaten,
Thou canst not escape being drowned."
No sooner the sentence was spoken,
Than lo, like an angel of love,
I saw, to the waters beneath me,
A leaflet descend from above.
It glided serene on the streamlet,
'Twas an ark to the poor little fly;
Which, soon to the land reascending,
Spread its wings to the breezes to dry.
Oh, sweet was the truth that was whispered,
That mortals should _never_ despair,
For He that takes care of an insect,
Much more for His _children_ will care.
And though, to our short-sighted vision,
No way of escape may appear,
Let us trust, for when least we expect it,
The help of _our Father_ is near.
THE WIFE.
Dr. Livingstone, in his travels in Africa, came one night to the house
of Mozinkwa, a friendly man, with a pleasant-looking wife and fine
family of children, very "black, but comely." Perhaps their hospitable,
kind ways made them look handsome to the lonely missionary, so far
from home and friends. He was caught in a heavy rain, but he and
his companions received a warm welcome and plenty of food from this
friendly couple, till they were able to proceed.
They had a large garden, cultivated by the wife, with yams, sweet
potatoes, and other vegetables growing in it, and all surrounded by
a fine hedge of the banian tree. Under some larger trees, in the
middle of the yard, stood the huts in which they lived, and no doubt
the fine-looking little children played many happy days under their
mother's care in the shade.
When Dr. Livingstone took his leave of this interesting family, the
wife asked him to bring her some cloth from the white man's country.
When he returned, after a long journey, he was surprised to find the
pleasant home silent and deserted; the garden given up to wild weeds,
and the huts in ruins, and no sign of life in the spot where he last
saw a large family of frolicking children. Poor _Mozinkwa's wife was
dead_ and in her grave under the large trees, while the huts, garden,
and hedge, of which she had been so proud, were fast going to ruin;
for, according to the custom of that heathen country, a man can never
continue to live where a favorite wife has died. He is so lonely and
sorrowful when he thinks of the happy times they have had together,
that he cannot stay where everything reminds him of his loss. If ever
he visits the spot again, it is to pray to his dead wife and make some
offering. So for want of a knowledge of the Friend of Sinners, who
binds up the wounded heart, they must move from place to place, and can
never have any settled villages in that part of the country.
How different would the scene have been on Dr. Livingstone's return,
if poor Mozinkwa and his wife had been _Christians_. Then he might have
been happy even in his loneliness, for he would have prayed to God for
strength to bear his loss, and read the Bible, and taught his children
to live so as to meet their mother in heaven. Instead of flying from
place to place to forget their troubles, those poor Africans might have
permanently happy homes, if they knew the peace the gospel gives.
A HOTTENTOT'S LOVE FOR HER TEACHERS, AND THE POWER OF PRAYER.
During the persecution to which the Moravian missionaries in South
Africa were exposed some years ago, a woman, living about an hour's
walk from the mission house, had a daughter who attended the school,
and had become a Christian. One day this girl returned home in terror,
bringing her little sister. Her mother inquired the reason; she
replied: "We and our teachers are all to be shot dead, and I have
brought my sister back, that you may at least keep one child; but as
for me, I will return to my teachers and suffer with them."
"What!" said her mother, "do you mean to go and be killed?"
"Yes," replied the poor girl; "for it is written in the Bible, 'Whoever
will lose his life for my sake, shall find it.'"
Her mother was much affected, and taking up her younger daughter, said,
"My child, where you are there will I be."
The party then set off for Bavian's Kloof, weeping all the way. When
they had arrived at the top of the hill which commanded a view of the
settlement, they saw a number of the natives approaching it, as if to
attack the missionaries. The Hottentot woman and her children fell upon
their knees and cried fervently to God, beseeching Him to prevent the
enemy from hurting their beloved teachers. When they again looked up,
they saw the men going towards another plantation, at some distance
from the mission. The woman and children went to Bavian's Kloof, and
found the Hottentots there all in tears, some kneeling, some prostrate
on their faces, crying to God, and their most urgent prayers seemed to
be, "Preserve the teachers whom Thou hast sent us."
THE LIVING SACRIFICE.
Amid the forest's silent shades
Where nature reigns supreme,
A little band had met to hear
The glorious gospel theme.
I gazed upon the dusky forms
Of Indians gathered there,
And thought how once the red man owned
Those lands so rich and fair.
But now he roams throughout the plains
Where once his fathers dwelt,
A poor heart-stricken wanderer,
For him none pity felt.
But hark! the preacher's solemn tone
My wand'ring thoughts recall;
He preaches Jesus crucified,
Jesus who died for all.
He tells, with simple eloquence,
How the Good Shepherd came
To save the erring sheep He loved,
From ruin and from shame.
He speaks of sad Gethsemane,
Then tells the eager crowd,
How Jesus Christ was crucified
By cruel men and proud.
And at his words like forest trees
Moved by the rushing blast,
O'er the proud hearts of those dark men
A wondrous change then passed.
They wept--nature's lone children wept
At that sweet tale of love--
To think that Jesus died that they
Might dwell with Him above.
And one of that wild forest's sons,
Of tall and noble frame,
While tears bedewed his manly cheek,
Towards the preacher came.
"What? did the blessed Saviour die
And shed His blood for me?
Was it for _my_ sins Jesus wept
In dark Gethsemane?
"What can poor Indian give to Thee,
Jesus, for love like thine?
The lands my fathers once possessed
Are now no longer mine;
"Our hunting-grounds are all upturned
By the proud white man's plough,
My rifle and my dog, alas!
Are my sole riches now.
"Yet these I fain would give to Him
On Calvary's cross who bled;
Will Christ accept so mean a gift?"--
The stranger shook his head.
The Indian chief a moment paused,
And downward cast his eyes:
Then suddenly from round his neck
His blanket he unties.
"This, with my rifle and my dog,
Are all I have to give;
Yet these to Jesus I would bring;
He died that I might live!
"Stranger! will Jesus Christ receive
These tokens of my love?"
The preacher answered, "Gifts like these
Please not the God above."
The humble child of ignorance
His head in sorrow bent;
Absorbing thought unto his brow
Its saddening influence lent.
He raised his head, a gleam of hope
O'er his dark features passed,
As when on some deep streamlet's breast
The sun's bright beams are cast.
His eyes were filled with glistening tears,
And earnest was his tone;
"Here is poor Indian! Jesus, take,
And make him all thine own."
A thrill of joy passed through the crowd,
To see how grace divine
Could cause the heart of th' Indian chief
With heav'nly love to shine;--
Such love as made him yield with joy
Body and soul to Him
Whose watchful care can never fail,
Whose love can ne'er grow dim.
SAAT.
Sir Samuel Baker and his wife made a dangerous and toilsome journey
into the burning regions of Central Africa. From a book of travel and
adventure published by him we glean such portions as relate to their
faithful servant, Saat, the African boy.
When a child of six years old, minding his father's goats in the
desert, Saat was captured by a hostile Arab tribe, and thrust into
a sack, which was placed on a camel's back, and thus he was carried
hundreds of miles from home. Every time that the poor child screamed
or offered resistance he was threatened that he would be killed by
his cruel captors. Saat shortly found himself in the hands of a
slave-dealer, by whom he was offered to the Egyptian government as a
drummer-boy, but being too small was rejected. A fellow slave told
little Saat of an Austrian mission-house in the very town in which they
were, that would protect and care for him if he could escape to it.
Thither the little boy fled, and found shelter for some time, gaining
such instruction as his mind could receive, together with other little
waifs and strays, which the missionaries had received at different
times.
Sickness reduced the number of the good men who had cared for and
taught the children, and they found it necessary to turn adrift the
friendless little ones, who apparently without result had been watched
and tended, and little Saat, "the one grain of gold," was a second time
without a home. But God guided him on a good way.
One evening Sir Samuel Baker and his wife were sitting in their
courtyard on the Nile, when a starved, miserable boy crept up to them,
and crouching in the dust, begged to be allowed to live with them
and be their boy. They did not take him then, and he came again the
next day, praying them to allow him to serve them. They endeavored
to discourage him by telling of the long and dangerous journey they
were about to take. Saat was firm; he would go with them to the end
of the world. Touched by the boy's story they went to the mission to
inquire the truth of it. There an excellent character was given of him,
with the remark that he must have been turned out by mistake. This
determined the traveller to adopt him. A good washing and a new suit of
clothes made Saat quite respectable, and being well-disposed he soon
made himself useful. Mrs. Baker taught him to sew, and Sir Samuel gave
him lessons in shooting. When his day's work was done, he was allowed
to sit by his mistress while she told him stories from the Bible and
from the history of Europe. There was plenty of time for such talk, the
long, weary journey in the Nile boat, which they had just commenced,
enabling that gentle lady to instruct the poor ignorant boy thrown on
her hands. Their native servants robbed, betrayed, and deserted the
travellers at every turn, but among them little Saat shone as a bright
star, honest, truthful, and devoted to those who had rescued him from
starvation, and he daily won their love. To him they most probably owed
their lives, as he detected and exposed to them a plan their servants
had agreed on, to seize their master's arms and leave him in the
desert, or murder him and his wife if they met with resistance.
This child of the sun seemed to have all the best points of a happy
English boy; he delighted in active sports and shooting with his light
gun. Through dangers and distresses he was always bright and cheerful.
Saat was sometimes in mischief, too, and he spoilt two watches by
trying to examine their inside works. He was very fond of a drum; but a
camel which carried it rolled over and spoilt that musical instrument;
then he destroyed a tin kettle and a tin cup by drumming on them.
Neither watch nor tinware could be replaced when shops were thousands
of miles away. Once, when he was not well, a powder was given him to
take, and he asked if he should eat the paper it was in.
Sir Samuel followed his plans for his journey through all obstacles,
and Saat's name is never mentioned, except in praise. He endured hunger
and thirst, and rejoiced with his kind protectors in the success of
their undertaking. During these years of travel, sickness and death
had visited their little band, but as yet the boy had been spared; but
on the homeward journey his time came,--that fearful sickness, the
plague, attacked the vessel in which the party journeyed: first one was
smitten, then another, and then it was Saat. Mrs. Baker herself nursed
the sick boy with tender care, but he lay day and night in delirium. At
last came a calm; he was gently washed and dressed in clean clothes,
and laid to rest. He slept; his mistress hoped it was the sleep of
recovery; but a kind servant presently covered the boy's face while
tears ran down her cheeks. Saat was dead. The boat was stopped, and
the faithful boy was sadly buried beneath a tree, the wonderful river
Nile rolling by his grave.
Saat was converted from Paganism to Christianity, and reached his home
and rest in heaven.
THE PSALM OF THE SLAVE.
_God heard it; and he is free._
Loud he sang the Psalm of David,
He a negro and enslaved,
Sang of Israel's victory;
Sang of Zion bright and free.
In that hour when night is calmest,
Sang he from the Hebrew Psalmist,
In a voice so sweet and clear,
That I could not choose but hear--
Songs of triumph and ascription,
Such as reached the swarth Egyptian,
When upon the Red-Sea coast
Perished Pharaoh and his host.
And the voice of his devotion,
Filled my soul with strange emotion;
For its tones by turns were glad,
Sweetly solemn, wildly sad.
Paul and Silas in their prison,
Sang of Christ, the Lord arisen;
And an earthquake's arm of might
Broke their dungeon-gates at night.
But, alas! what holy angel
Brings the slave this glad evangel?
And what earthquake's arm of night
Breaks his dungeon-gates at night?
_Longfellow._
THE MISSIONARY BOX.
A few years ago two young Africans went to England to obtain an
education, and then return to Africa to teach their countrymen the
gospel of Jesus Christ. One of them, George Nicol, while staying
near London, walked a considerable distance. In his walk he came to
Hampstead Heath, from which he could see the city of London before him.
The principal buildings attracted his attention. A laborer who was
breaking stones on the other side of the road, kept looking at him; no
doubt it seemed strange to him to see a colored man looking at the view
he had himself seen every day for many years past; and in his eyes,
perhaps, the wonder would be increased by seeing the African dressed
like a respectable Englishman.
While George Nicol stood gazing on the scene the laborer kept peeping
at him from time to time, but never thought of speaking. Presently
George Nicol turned to him, and asked in good English, what a certain
building was which he saw in the distance. The laborer answered civilly
that it was St. Paul's Church; and then replied to several other
questions, till he had pointed out the chief buildings of the great
city, which could be seen from the hill on which they were standing.
When this was done, after a short pause the African said: "Well,
my friend, you have here a very large and magnificent city; but,
after all, it is not to be compared to the city of God, the heavenly
Jerusalem, which I hope you and I will both see one day."
If the honest laborer was surprised before, his astonishment was much
greater now.
"Why," said he, "do you know anything about such things?"
"Yes, thank God," replied the African, "I am happy to say I do. It was
not always so. I was once in darkness, and knew nothing of the true
God; but good missionaries from England came, and taught me about Jesus
Christ; and now I live in hope of one day seeing Him in that beautiful
city, the heavenly Jerusalem, where I shall dwell with Him forever."
By this time the good Englishman had thrown down the hammer with which
he had been breaking stones. He came across the road, and grasping
Nicol's hand exclaimed, "Why, then, you are one of them that I have
been praying for these twenty years. I never put a penny into the
missionary box without saying, 'God bless the colored man.'"
It rejoiced the heart of the good African not a little to find in the
humble stone-breaker a friend who had taken such a deep interest in
the people of Africa. And if his pleasure was so great, the laborer's
was not less, for he saw in George Nicol an answer to his prayers, and
a sure proof that his missionary money had not been spent in vain. He
felt the truth of the words, "Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou
shalt find it after many days."
HE NEVER TOLD A LIE.
Mungo Park, in the account of his African travels, relates that a negro
youth was killed by a shot from a party of Moors. His mother walked
before the corpse, as it was carried home, frantic with grief, clapping
her hands, and declaring her son's good qualities. "He never told a
lie," cried the bereaved mother; "he never told a lie; no, never."
DADDY DAVY.
One winter evening, when a little orphan in my seventh year, I climbed
upon my grandfather's knee, and begged that he would "tell me a story."
The candles were not yet lighted in the parlor, but the glowing fire
sent forth its red blaze, and its cheering heat seemed more grateful
from a fall of snow, which was rapidly collecting in piles of fleecy
whiteness on the lawn.
I had taken my favorite seat on the evening I have mentioned, just
as a poor negro with scarcely any covering appeared at the window,
and supplicated charity. His dark skin was deeply contrasted with the
unblemished purity of the falling snow, whilst his trembling limbs
seemed hardly able to support his shivering frame; and there he stood,
perishing in the land of boasted hospitality and freedom!
With all the active benevolence which my grandfather possessed,
he still retained the usual characteristics of the hardy seaman.
He discouraged everything which bore the smallest resemblance to
indolence. The idle vagrant dared not approach his residence; but he
prized the man of industrious habits, however lowly his station; and
his influence was ever extended to aid the destitute and to right the
injured.
On his first going to sea he had been cabin-boy on board a Liverpool
ship; he afterwards lived several years in the island of Trinidad, in
the West Indies, where the slaves were rigorously treated. He there
became well acquainted with the colored people, and now he no sooner
saw the dark face of the poor perishing creature at his window, than he
hastily rang the bell, and a footman entered.
"Robert," said he, "go and bring that poor fellow in here."
"Poor fellow, did you say?" inquired Robert.
"Yes, yes," replied my grandfather, "yonder man, fetch him here to me."
The servant quitted the room, and it was not without some feelings of
fear, as well as hopes of amusement that, a few minutes afterwards, I
saw the poor African stand bowing before the parlor door. The twilight
had faded away, and except the reflection from the snow, night had
thrown its sable shadows on the scene; but as the bright gleam of the
fire shed its red hue upon the features of the negro, and flashed upon
his rolling eyes, he presented rather a terrific appearance to my young
mind.
"Come in!" exclaimed my grandfather in a shrill voice; but the poor
fellow stood hesitatingly on the border of the carpet till the command
was repeated with more sternness than before, and then the trembling
African advanced a few steps towards the easy-chair in which the
veteran was sitting.
Never shall I forget the abject figure which the poor creature
displayed. He was a tall, large-boned man, but was evidently bent down
under the pressure of sickness and of want rather than of age. A pair
of old canvas trowsers hung loosely on his legs, but his feet were
quite naked. On the upper part of his body was a striped flannel shirt,
one of the sleeves of which was torn away. He had no covering for his
head; and the snow which had fallen on it having melted in the warmth
of the room, large, transparent drops of clear water hung glistening on
his thick woolly hair.
His look was inclined downwards, as if fearful of meeting the stern
gaze of my grandfather, who scanned him with the most minute attention,
not unmingled with agitation. Every joint of the poor fellow's limbs
shook as if struck with ague, and the cold seemed to have contracted
his sinews; for he crouched his body together, as if to shrink from the
keen blast. Tears were trickling down his cheek, and his spirit seemed
bowed to the earth by distress.
"Tell me," said my grandfather, "what brought you to England, and what
you mean by strolling about the country here as a beggar? I may order
you to be put in the stocks."
"Ah, massa," replied the negro, "buckra never have stocks in dis
country; yet he die if massa neber give him something to fill hungry
stomach."
While he was speaking my grandfather was restless and impatient. He
removed me from his knee, and looked with more earnestness at the poor
man, who never raised his head. "We have beggars enough of our own
nation," said my grandfather.
"Massa speak true," replied the African, meekly; "distress live
everywhere; come like race-horse, but go away softly, softly."
Again my grandfather looked sharply at the features of the man and
showed signs of agitation in his own. "Softly, softly," said he,
"that's just your cant. I know the whole gang of you, but you are not
going to deceive me; now wouldn't you sacrifice me and all I am worth
for a bunch of plantains?"
"Massa have eat the plantains, den," said the man, "and yet massa
think hard of poor negur who work to make them grow. God Almighty send
rain--God Almighty send sun--but God Almighty send negur too."
"Well, well," said my grandfather, softening his voice, "God is no
respecter of colors, and we must not let you starve, daddy; so, Robert,
tell the cook to get some warm broth, and bid her bear a hand about it."
"God forever bless massa," exclaimed the poor man, as he listened to
the order, and keenly directed his eye towards the person who had
issued it; but my grandfather had turned his head toward me, so his
face was not seen by the grateful man.
"So I suppose you are some runaway slave?" said my grandfather, harshly.
"No, massa," rejoined the African, "no, massa; never run away--I free
man. Good buckra give freedom; but then I lose kind massa, and"----
"Ay, ay," replied my grandfather, "but what about Plantation Joseph, in
Trinidad?"
"Ky!" responded the man, as his eyes were bent upon his questioner, who
again hid his face; "de buckra knows ebery ting; him like the angel of
light to know the secret of the heart."
"Come nearer to the fire, Daddy Davy," said my grandfather, as he bent
down to stir the burning coals with the poker.
Never shall I forget the look of the African; joy, wonder, and
admiration were pictured in his face, as he exclaimed, while advancing
forward--
"De buckra know my name too!--how dis?"
My grandfather having kindled a bright flame that illuminated the whole
room, turned his face towards the African; but no sooner had the poor
fellow caught sight of his features than, throwing himself at his feet,
he clasped the old sailor's knees, exclaiming, "My own massa!--what for
you give Davy him freedom? and now do poor negur die for want! but no,
neber see de day to go dead, now me find my massa."
"Willie, my boy," said my grandfather, turning to me, "fetch my
pocket-handkerchief off the sofa."
I immediately obeyed, but I used the handkerchief two or three times to
wipe the tears from my eyes before I delivered it to him.
At this moment Robert opened the door, and said the broth was ready,
but stood with amazement to see the half-naked man at his master's feet.
"Go, Davy," said my grandfather, "go and get some food; and, Robert,
tell the cook to have a warm bath ready, and the housemaid must run a
pan of coals over the little bed in the blue room, and put some extra
blankets on. You can sleep without a nightcap, I dare say, Davy. There,
go along, Davy, go along;" and the gratified negro left the room with
unfeigned ejaculations of "Gor Amighty for eber bless kind massa!"
As soon as the door was closed, and I was once more seated on my
grandfather's knee, he commenced his usual practice of holding converse
with himself. "What could have brought him here?" said he. "I gave him
his freedom, and a piece of land to cultivate. There was a pretty hut
upon it, too, with a double row of cocoa-nut trees in front, and a
garden of plantains behind, and a nice plot of guinea-grass for a cow,
and another of buckwheat--what has become of it all I wonder? Bless me,
how time flies! it seems but the other day that I saved the fellow from
a couple of bullets, and he repaid the debt by rescuing my Betsy--ah,
poor dear! She was your mother, William, and he snatched her from a
dreadful and terrific fate. How these things crowd upon my mind! The
earthquake shook every building to its foundation--the ground yawned
in horrible deformity, and your poor mother--we can see her gravestone
from the drawing-room window, you know, for she died since we have
been here, and left her old father's heart a dreary blank. Yet not so
either, my child," pressing me to his breast and laying his hoary head
on mine, "not so either, for she bequeathed you to my guardian care,
and you are now the solace of my gray hairs."
I afterwards learned that Davy had rescued my dear mother from
destruction, at the risk of his own life, during an earthquake in
Trinidad, for which my grandfather had given him his freedom, together
with the hut and the land. But he had no protector in the west: the
slaves plundered his property; sickness came, and no medical attendant
would minister to his wants without the accustomed fee; he contracted
debts, and his ground was sold to the estate on which it was situated,
to pay the lawyers. He quitted the island of Trinidad to go to Berbice;
but, being wrecked near Mahaica Creek, on the east coast of Demerara,
he lost his free papers, was seized by the government, and sold as a
slave, to pay the expense of advertising and his keep. He fortunately
fell into the hands of a kind master, who at his death once more set
him at liberty, and he had come to England in the hope of bettering his
condition. But here misfortune still pursued him: the gentleman whom he
accompanied died on the passage; he could obtain no employment on his
landing; he had been plundered of what little money he possessed, and
had since wandered about the country till the evening that he implored
charity and found a home.
My worthy grandfather is now numbered with the dead; and I love to
sit upon his gravestone at the evening hour; it seems as if I were
once more placed upon his knee, and listening to his tales of bygone
years. But Daddy Davy is still in existence, and living with me.
Indeed, whilst I have been writing, I have had occasion to put several
questions to him on the subject, and he has been fidgeting about the
room to try and ascertain what I was relating respecting him.
"I am only giving a _sketch_ of my grandfather, Davy," said I.
"_Catch_, massa! what he call _catch_?"
"About the schooner, and Trinidad, and the earthquake, Davy."
"And da old massa what sleep in de _Werk-en-rust_?"
"Yes, Davy, and the snow-storm."
"Ah, da buckra good man! Davy see him noder time up dare," pointing
toward the sky. "Gor Amighty for eber bless kind massa!"
AN AGED CHRISTIAN.
"One afternoon," writes an American missionary in Africa, "I went to
see old Father Scott, an aged dying African. He sent me word he would
like to see me. He is in an old dilapidated shanty. A few boards
knocked together, raised about a foot from the floor, served as a
bedstead. The straw bed we made for him on our first arrival. A little
bench, on which were two Bibles and an earthen jar for water, was all
the furniture he possessed. He is dependent for food and care on his
neighbors, as he is perfectly helpless.
A woman who was near brought me a stool, and I sat down beside him. He
was delighted to see me; he told me he had served the Lord for forty
years. He had been a Methodist preacher for many years, and had often
preached three times a day, though he could never read a word. He would
get some boy to read to him several chapters in the Bible, till he got
hold of just the text that would suit him. I was very much surprised at
his familiarity with the Bible. He could tell me where to find almost
any passage.
I could not but look at that poor old man, with his few privileges, and
compare them with those of our more favored people. As I looked at him
in his penury, witnessed his happiness and his implicit faith, and
saw how near home he was, I felt that he was really to be envied. Who
can doubt the power of Divine grace? I read to him, and talked to him
on the glories of the resurrection, and the mansions our Saviour has
prepared for those who love Him; and then I left him with the promise
of soon seeing him again. He is almost blind. He begged me not to
forget him in my prayers. He is dying of old age, yet no one knows how
old he is.
UNCLE JACK.
He was a remarkable African slave of Virginia. It is probable he was
brought to James River in the last slave-ship that brought slaves to
that State. Such was the regard in which he was held that, on the death
of his master, several benevolent persons subscribed a sufficient sum
to purchase his freedom.
Uncle Jack's talents were of a high order, and his knowledge of human
nature very remarkable. Dr. Rice, of Richmond, said of him, "The old
man's acquaintance with the Scriptures is wonderful. Many of his
interpretations of obscure passages are singularly just and striking."
He spoke pure English. A few anecdotes will convey a good idea of his
ready and apt mode of illustration. A person addicted to horse-racing
and card-playing, stopped Uncle Jack on the road and said, "Old man,
you Christians say a great deal about the way to heaven being narrow.
Now if this is so, a great many who profess to be travelling it will
not find it half wide enough."
"That's very true," was the reply, "of all that have merely a name to
live, and all like you."
"Why refer to me," said the man; "if the road is wide enough for any,
it is for me."
"By no means," said Uncle Jack. "You will want to take along a
card-table, or a race-horse or two. Now there is no room along this way
for such things."
A man who prided himself on his morality said to Uncle Jack: "Old man,
I am as good as I need to be. I can't help thinking so, because God
blesses me as much as he does you Christians; and I don't know what
more I want than He gives me."
To this the old preacher replied, with great seriousness, "Just so with
the hogs. I have often looked at them, rooting among the leaves in the
woods, and finding just as many acorns as they needed; and yet I never
saw one of them look up to the tree from whence the acorns fell."
On one occasion some unruly persons undertook to arrest and whip him,
and also several of his hearers, for holding religious meetings. After
the arrest one of the men thus accosted Uncle Jack, "Well, old fellow,
you are the ringleader of these meetings, and we have been anxious to
catch you; now what have you to say for yourself?"
"Nothing at all, master," was the reply.
"What! nothing to say against being whipped! how is that?"
"I have been wondering a long time," said the old Christian, "how it
was that so good a man as the Apostle Paul should have been whipped
three times for preaching the Gospel, while such an unworthy man as I
am should have been permitted to preach twenty years without getting a
lick." The young men immediately released him.
Uncle Jack died in 1843, aged one hundred years.
--_Blake's Biographical Dictionary._
CHRISTIAN KINDNESS.
In one of my early journeys, says Moffat, with some of my companions,
we came to a heathen village on the borders of Orange River, South
Africa. We had travelled far, and were hungry, thirsty, and fatigued.
From the fear of being exposed to lions, we preferred remaining at
the village to proceeding further during the night. The people of the
village rather roughly directed us to halt at a distance. We asked
for water, but they would not supply it. I offered the three or four
buttons which still remained on my jacket for a little milk; this also
was refused. We had the prospect of another hungry night at a distance
from water, though within sight of the river. We found it difficult to
reconcile ourselves to our lot; for in addition to repeated rebuffs,
the manner of the villagers excited suspicion.
When twilight drew on, a woman approached from the height beyond which
the village lay. She bore on her head a bundle of wood, and had a
vessel of milk in her hand. The latter, without opening her lips, she
handed to us, laid down the wood, and returned to the village. A second
time she approached with a cooking-vessel on her head, a leg of mutton
in one hand, and water in the other. She sat down without saying a
word, prepared the fire, and put on the meat. We asked again and again
who she was. She remained silent until affectionately entreated to give
us a reason for such unlooked-for kindness to strangers. A tear stole
down her sable cheek as she replied: "I love Him whose servants you
are; and surely it is my duty to give you a cup of cold water in His
name. My heart is full; therefore I cannot speak the joy I feel to see
you in this out-of-the-way place."
On learning a little of her history, we found she was a solitary light
burning in a dark place. I asked her how she kept up the life of God
in her soul, in the entire absence of the communion of saints. She
drew from her bosom a copy of the Dutch New Testament, which she had
received from brother Helm when in his school several years since,
before she had been compelled by her connections to retire to her
present seclusion. "This," she said, "is the fountain whence I drink:
this is the oil which makes my lamp burn."
I looked on the precious relic, and the reader may imagine how I felt,
and my companions with me, when we met with this disciple, and mingled
our sympathies and prayers together at the throne of our heavenly
Father.
GRATITUDE OF SLAVES.
BY DR. LETTSOM.
Dr. Lettsom was born in the West Indies, and inherited fifty slaves,
which was all the property his father left him. He gave freedom to his
slaves; and during a long life, with a large practice as a physician
in London, he kept up a correspondence with some of those who were
indebted to him for their liberty. When he went to the West Indies to
settle his father's estate, he made a visit to Tortola, and wrote to a
friend as follows:
"I frequently accompanied Major John Pickering to his plantations, and
as he passed his numerous negroes saluted him in a loud song, which
they continued as long as he remained in sight. I was also a melancholy
witness to their attachment to him after his death. He expired
suddenly, and when few of his friends were near him. I remember I held
his hand when the final period arrived, but he had scarcely breathed
his last breath before it was known to his slaves, and instantly about
five hundred of them surrounded the house and insisted on seeing their
master.
"They commenced a dismal and mournful yell, which was communicated
from one plantation to another, till the whole island of Tortola was
in agitation, and crowds of negroes were accumulating around us.
Distressed as I was by the loss of my relation and friend, I could not
be insensible to the danger of a general insurrection; or, if they
entered the house, which was constructed of wood, and mounted into his
chamber, there was danger of its falling by their weight and crushing
us in its ruins.
"In this dilemma I had resolution enough to secure the doors, and
thereby prevent sudden intrusion. After this precaution I addressed
them through a window, assuring them that if they would enter the house
in companies of only twelve at a time, they should all be admitted to
see their deceased master, and that the same lenient treatment of them
should still be continued. To this they assented, and in a few hours
quiet was restored. It affected me to see with what silent, fixed
melancholy they departed from the remains of this venerable man."
THE SLAVE SHOEMAKER.
A lady, who was a Quaker, travelled several years ago through some of
the Southern States on a gospel mission. When near the borders of North
Carolina, while the horses were being fed, she walked towards a poor
hut, and on entering it saw an aged man engaged in making shoes. He
was very black, but his hair was white and his countenance thoughtful;
he looked up surprised, and when she asked if she might come in and sit
down, he replied, "Will mistress sit with me?" She inquired if he was
a slave, and if he had a wife and children. He said, "If mistress will
hear me I will tell her. I have a wife and four children, but massa
sold them into Georgia." Wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt,
he continued, "I am a slave, but, mistress, ever since I got religion
God has sweetened my bitter cup, and made smooth my rough path; my
bitter cup was parting with my wife and children--my rough path is
slavery."
She asked him how he got religion. He replied, "My massa let me go to
hear preaching, and I remember what the minister said."
"Can thou read?"
"No, mistress, but God helps me remember; fourteen years ago I got
religion; I was bad before; massa bad too. When I got religion, I was
good; massa was kind too; hard things were made easy; bitter cups were
sweetened. Mistress knows what that means (looking at her earnestly). I
know you do. Massa gives me work, and I must do it; nobody comes here,
but overseer walks by once a day to see if I at work; then the rest of
the time is my own; I have one and sometimes two hours."
"How does my Christian brother employ his own time?" asked the lady.
"I will tell you, mistress: I shut the door, then sit down on that
bench and wait upon God; and what good times I have! Sometimes I go to
prayer, and God puts words into my mouth; then other times something
here (laying his hand upon his breast) tells me not to pray, but to be
still--wait upon God in silence; and did my massa and the white people
know how good I felt, they would be glad to come and sit with me. In
heaven, mistress, God makes no difference--massa and slave all one."
The lady's companions now called for her, and put an end to this very
interesting conversation. His parting address was: "Farewell, mistress,
till we meet again in heaven. God bless you." With tears they parted.
LET ME RING THE BELL.
A missionary far away,
Beyond the Southern sea,
Was sitting in his home one day,
With Bible on his knee,
When suddenly he heard a rap
Upon the chamber door,
And opening, there stood a boy,
Of some ten years or more.
He was a bright and happy child,
With cheeks of dusky hue,
And eyes that 'neath their lashes smiled
And glittered like the dew.
He held his little form erect,
In boyish sturdiness,
But on his lip you could detect
Traces of gentleness.
"Dear sir," he said, in native tongue,
"I do so want to know,
If something for the house of God
You'd kindly let me do."
"What can you do, my little boy?"
The missionary said,
And as he spoke he laid his hand
Upon the youthful head.
Then bashfully, as if afraid
His secret wish to tell,
The boy in eager accents said,
"Oh, let me ring the bell!
"Oh, please to let me ring the bell
For our dear house of prayer;
I'm sure I'll ring it loud and well,
And I'll be always there!"
The missionary kindly looked
Upon that upturned face,
Where hope, and fear, and wistfulness
United, left their trace.
And gladly did he grant the boon:
The boy had pleaded well,
And to the eager child he said,
"Yes, you shall ring the bell!"
Oh, what a pleased and happy heart
He carried to his home,
And how impatiently he longed
For the Sabbath-day to come!
He rang the bell, he went to school,
The Bible learned to read,
And in his youthful heart they sowed
The gospel's precious seed.
And now to other heathen lands
He's gone, of Christ to tell;
And yet his first young mission was
To ring the Sabbath bell.
THE FLIGHT OF A SLAVE.
James ---- was born a slave in the State of Maryland. He was so useful
as a blacksmith that his value was at least one thousand dollars. He
was brought up in total ignorance of letters or of religion, but he
always aimed to be trustworthy. He sought to distinguish himself in
the finer branches of the business, by invention and finish, making
fancy hammers, hatchets, etc. One day his master thought James was
watching him improperly, and fell into a panic of rage. "He came down
upon me with his cane," said James, "and laid over my shoulders,
arms, and legs about a dozen severe blows, so that my flesh was sore
for several weeks." He felt the disgrace of the beating so acutely
that he determined to abscond, and if possible reach the free soil of
Pennsylvania.
One Sunday night, in November, he stole away into the woods, with only
half a pound of Indian corn-bread to sustain him on his journey, which
would take several days. At three o'clock in the morning his strength
began to fail, his scanty supply of food afforded poor nourishment, and
the only shelter he could find, without risking travelling by daylight,
was a corn-shock but a few hundred yards from the road, and there he
passed his first day out. As night came on he pursued his journey;
it was cloudy, and he could not see the north star, which was his
only guide to freedom. His bread was all eaten, he felt his strength
failing, and his mind was filled with melancholy.
In this condition he travelled all the night, and just at the dawn of
day he found a few sour apples, and took shelter under the arch of a
bridge, where he lay in ambush through the day. Night came on, and
he once more proceeded on his wearisome journey. Frequently he was
overcome with hunger and fatigue, and sat down and slept a few minutes.
At dawn of day he saw a toll-bar, and here he ventured to ask the best
way to Philadelphia, and set off in the right direction. His taking the
open road was fatal. He was observed by a man, and ordered to give an
account of himself. After a parley, James took to his heels; but a hue
and cry being raised he was speedily captured. Led to a tavern as a
prisoner, he was questioned. He persisted in saying he was a free man,
but he had no free papers. Though his story was false, we must remember
that he knew not the wickedness of a lie, for he knew nothing of God
and our Saviour.
Toward night, being watched only by a boy, he contrived to slip away,
and again took to the woods.
Wandering in darkness, the north star being covered with clouds, he
was at a loss as to what course to pursue. "At a venture," says he, "I
struck northward in search of a road. After several hours of laborious
travel, dragging through briers and thorns, I emerged from the woods
and found myself wading through marshy ground and over ditches, and
came to a road about three o'clock in the morning.
"It so happened I came where there was a fork in the road of three
prongs. Which was the right one for me? After a few moments' parley
with myself, I took the central prong of the road, and pushed on with
all my speed. It had not cleared off, but a fresh wind had sprung up;
it was chilly and searching. This, with my wet clothes, made me very
uncomfortable."
He saw a farm with a small hovel-like barn; into this he went and
buried himself in the straw. Here he lay the whole day; his only danger
was from the yelping of a small dog, and the noise of horsemen who
passed in search of him. He heard them say they were after a runaway
negro, who was a blacksmith, and that a reward of two hundred dollars
was offered for his recovery. Night came, and he was again on his way,
but all he could do was to keep his legs in motion. There came a heavy
frost, and he expected every moment to fall to the ground and perish.
Coming to a corn-field covered with heavy shocks of corn, he gathered
an ear and then crept into one of the shocks; he ate as much as he
could, expecting to travel on, but fell asleep, and when he awoke the
sun was shining. He was obliged to conceal himself as well as he could
through the day; he began again to eat the hard corn, and it took all
the forenoon to eat his breakfast. Night came, and he sallied out,
feeling much better for the corn he had eaten.
He now believed himself near to Pennsylvania, and under this
impression, skipped and danced for joy. He says: "A little after the
sun rose I came in sight of a toll-gate; for a moment I felt some
hesitation, but on arriving at the gate I found it attended by only an
elderly woman, whom I afterwards heard was a widow and an excellent
Christian. I asked her if I was in Pennsylvania. On being informed
that I was, I asked if she knew where I could get employment. She said
she did not, but advised me to go to W. W., a Quaker, who lived about
three miles from her, and whom I would find to take an interest in me.
In about half an hour I stood at the door of W. W. After knocking, the
door opened upon a comfortably spread table. Not daring to enter, I
said I had been sent to him in search of employment.
"'Well,' said he, 'come in, and take thy breakfast and get warm.'
"These words made me feel, in spite of all my fear and timidity, that
I had, in the providence of God, found a friend and a home. He at once
gained my confidence, and from that day to this, whenever I discover
the least disposition in my heart to disregard poor and wretched
persons with whom I meet, I call to mind these words: 'Come in, and
take thy breakfast and get warm.'
"I was a starving fugitive, without home or friends, and no claim upon
him to whose door I went. Had he turned me away I must have perished.
Nay, he took me in, and gave of his food, and shared with me his own
garments."
By W. W. the wretched wanderer was fed, clothed, and employed, and not
only so, but he was instructed in reading, writing, and much useful
knowledge. Here, for the first time, did he learn one word of the
truths of religion.
James resided with the benevolent Quaker for six months, when it became
necessary for him to depart and go elsewhere. He found employment on
Long Island, opposite New York. By the kindness of his friends he was
educated, and became a Christian minister and pastor of a colored
congregation in connection with the Presbyterian Church.
BENJAMIN BANNEKER.
He was born in Baltimore County, Maryland, in the year 1732. There
was not a drop of white man's blood in his veins. His father was born
in Africa, and his mother's parents were both natives of Africa. What
genius he had must be credited to that race. Benjamin's mother was a
remarkable woman. Her name was Morton before marriage, and her nephew,
Greenbury Morton, was gifted with a lively and impetuous eloquence
which made its mark in his neighborhood. Her husband was a slave when
she married him, but she soon purchased his freedom. Together they
bought a farm of two hundred acres, which though but ten miles from
Jones' Falls, was at that time a wilderness.
When Benjamin was approaching manhood he attended an obscure country
school, where he learned reading and writing, and a little arithmetic.
Beyond these rudiments he was entirely his own teacher.
Perhaps the first wonder among his neighbors was when, at thirty years
of age, he made a clock. It is probable that this was the first clock
of which every portion was made in America. He had seen a watch, but
never a clock; and it was as purely his own invention as if none had
ever been made before.
The clock attracted the attention of the Ellicott family, well educated
men, and Quakers. They gave him books and astronomical instruments.
From this time astronomy became the great object of Benjamin's life.
He remained unmarried, and lived in a cabin on the farm his father left
him; he still labored for a living, but his wants were few and simple.
He slept much in the day, that he might observe at night the heavenly
bodies, whose laws he was studying. The first almanac prepared by
Banneker was for the year 1792, when he was fifty-nine years old, and
he continued to prepare almanacs till 1802.
He had become known and respected by scientific men, and received
tokens of regard from many of them. The Commissioners to run the lines
of the District of Columbia invited Banneker to assist them, and
treated him in all respects as an equal.
A gentleman writes of Banneker: "When I was a boy I became very
much interested in him, as his manners were those of a perfect
gentleman--kind, generous, hospitable, humane, dignified, and
pleasing--and he abounded in information on all the various subjects
of the day." His head was covered with thick white hair, which gave
him a dignified and venerable appearance. His dress was uniformly of
superfine drab broadcloth, made with straight collar, a long waistcoat,
and broad-brimmed hat. In size and personal appearance the statue of
Franklin, in the Library of Philadelphia, as seen from the street, is a
perfect likeness of him.
REPENTANCE AND AMENDMENT IN A COLORED SCHOOL AT CHRISTIANSBURG.
Two days since, one of my boys had been behaving badly all the
afternoon. I think I spoke to him three times during the session, and
it seemed to have no effect; so when five o'clock came, I told him
I would see him after school. When the other scholars had left, I
went and sat down by him, and talked to him a short time. Among other
things, I told him that I could not teach a boy who would do so badly,
and that I wanted him to kneel down with me, and I would ask the Lord
to watch over him after I had to give him up. He was crying very hard,
and we knelt down together. When I came to that part of my prayer,
he screamed out, "O Lord! don't let Miss Lucy turn me out of school.
_Please_, Lord, don't let her! I know I have been a bad boy, but I
won't do so any more. Oh! help her to forgive me. O Jesus! I love to
come to school! do forgive me for being so wicked!" Of course I forgave
him. He has given me no trouble since, and I do not think he will.
--_Am. Freedman._
AN INCIDENT.
During the late rebellion the Confederate army burnt the town of
Hampton, Va., as they left it, to prevent the Union troops, who were
approaching, taking possession of the houses for winter-quarters. Soon
afterwards a gentlemen was riding through the deserted streets and
heard the voices of children, but saw no one; all the white inhabitants
of the town had fled with the Confederate army, and the colored people
were employed around the camp beyond the town. He stopped his horse and
listened, then advanced in the direction from which the voices seemed
to come, and looked within the four blackened walls and half-burnt
wood-work of what had been a lordly mansion. There he saw forty colored
children seated on heaps of stones and charred wood, rejoicing and
singing "The Christian's Home." They added the last verse.
I have a home above,
From sin and sorrow free;
A mansion which eternal love
Design'd and form'd for me.
My Father's gracious hand
Has built this sweet abode,
From everlasting it was plann'd,
My dwelling-place with God.
My Saviour's precious blood
Has made my title sure;
He passed through death's dark raging flood
To make my rest secure.
The Comforter is come,
The Earnest has been given;
He leads me onward to the home
Reserv'd for me in heaven.
Bright angels guard my way;
His ministers of power
Encamping round me night and day,
Preserve in danger's hour.
Lov'd ones are gone before,
Whose pilgrim days are done;
I soon shall greet them on that shore,
Where partings are unknown.
But more than all I long
HIS glories to behold,
Whose smile fills all that radiant throng,
With ecstasy untold.
That bright, yet tender smile
(My sweetest welcome there),
Shall cheer me through the little while
I tarry for Him here.
Thy love, thou precious Lord,
My joy and strength shall be;
Till Thou shalt speak the glad'ning word
That bids me rise to Thee.
And then through endless days,
Where all Thy glories shine,
In happier, holier strains I'll praise
The grace that made me Thine.
Before the great _I AM_,
Around His throne above,
The song of Moses and the Lamb,
We'll sing with deathless love.
There is no sorrow there!
There is no sorrow there!
In heaven above where all is love,
There is no sorrow there.
SOJOURNER TRUTH.
A man and his wife and their children were brought from Africa to
America, and were sold as slaves. One little girl and her mother kept
together, but the others were so far separated that they never met
again. The little girl's name was Isabella; but when she grew to be a
woman and became a Christian, she adopted the name of Sojourner Truth.
She told a lady, "I can remember, when I was a little thing, how my ole
mammy would sit out of doors in the evenin', an' look up at the stars
an' groan. She'd groan, an' groan, and says I to her:
"'Mammy, what makes you groan so?'
"An' she'd say, 'Matter enough, chile! I'm groaning to think of my poor
children; they don't know where I be, and I don't know where they be;
they looks up at the stars, an' I looks up at the stars, but I can't
tell where they be.'
"'Now,' she said, 'chile, when you be grown up, you may be sold away
from your mother an' all your ole friends, an' have great troubles come
on ye; an' when you has these troubles come on ye, ye jes go to God,
an' He'll help ye.'"
Isabella was sold to a hard master and mistress. She thought she had
got into trouble, and she wanted to find God; she prayed that He would
make her master and mistress better, and as He did not do so, she
concluded they were too bad to be made better, and that she might leave
them. So she rose at three o'clock one morning, and travelled till late
at night, when she came to a house and went in, "And," she said, "they
were Quakers, an' real kind they was to me. They jes took me in, an'
did for me as kind as ef I had been one of 'em, an' I stayed an' lived
with 'em two or three years. An' now, jes look here; instead o' keeping
my promise an' being good, as I told the Lord I would, jest as soon
as everything got agoing easy, I forgot all about God, an' I gin up
praying."
Sojourner did not long continue in this dark state, but she found
the Lord Jesus, and she said, "I shouted and cried, Praise, praise,
praise to the Lord; an' I began to feel such a love in my soul as I
never felt before,--love to all creatures. An' then all of a sudden it
stopped; an' I said, 'There are the white folks, that have abused you,
an' beat you, an' abused your people,--think o' them!' An' then there
came another rush o' love through my soul, an' I cried out loud, 'Lord,
Lord, I can love even the white folks. Jesus loved me! I knowed it, I
felt it.'"
When slavery was abolished in the State of New York, Sojourner went
back to her old mistress and demanded her son; he had been sent to
Alabama. After some trouble and expense her son was brought back to
her, though her mistress said to her:
"What a fuss you make about a little nigger! got more of 'em now than
you know what to do with."
"Sojourner," said a gentleman, "you seem to be very sure about heaven."
"Well, I be;" she answered triumphantly.
"What makes you so sure there is any heaven?"
"Well, because I got such a hankering arter it in here," she said,
giving a thump on her breast with her usual energy.
"Sojourner, did you always go by this name?"
"No, 'deed! My name was Isabella. No, 'deed! but when I left the house
of bondage, I left everything behind. I want goin' to keep nothin' of
Egypt about me, and so I went to the Lord and asked him to give me a
new name. And the Lord gave me Sojourner, because I was to travel up
an' down the land, showing the people their sins, an' being a sign
unto them. Afterwards I told the Lord I wanted another name, 'cause
everybody else had two names; and the Lord gave me _Truth_, cause I was
to declare the truth to the people."
Wendell Phillips relates a scene of which he was witness before the
abolition of slavery in the United States. It was in a crowded public
meeting in Faneuil Hall, Boston, where Frederick Douglas was one of the
chief speakers. Douglas had been describing the wrongs of the colored
race, and as he proceeded he grew more and more excited, and finally
ended by saying that they had no hope of justice from the whites, no
possible hope except in their own right arms. It must come to blood;
they must fight for themselves, or it would never be done.
Sojourner was sitting, tall and dark, on the very front seat facing
the platform; and in the hush of feeling after Frederick sat down, she
spoke out in her deep peculiar voice, heard all over the house:
"Frederick, _is God dead_?"
The effect was perfectly electrical, and thrilled through the whole
house, changing as by a flash, the whole feeling of the audience. Not
another word she said or needed to say, it was enough.
The following is from a letter from a lady who visited Freedman's
Village, near Washington, where Sojourner Truth was residing in a
little frame building with the American flag over the door.
"We found Sojourner Truth, tall, dark, very homely, but with an
expression of determination and good sense by no means common. She
apologized for her hoarseness, as she had a meeting last evening. We
asked what she had been doing there. 'Fighting the devil,' she said.
What particular devil? 'An unfaithful man who has undertaken work for
which he is not competent. My people,' she added, 'have fallen very
low, and no one need take hold to help raise them up as a matter of
business, it must be done from love.' She greatly complained of some
one who had an office in relation to the Freedmen, and said he ought to
be removed. She was asked why she did not go to the President with her
story of the wrongdoing. She said, 'Don't you see the President has
a big job on hand? Any little matter Sojourner can do for herself she
aint going to bother him with.'"
KATY FERGUSON;
OR, WHAT A POOR COLORED WOMAN MAY DO.
About the year 1774, Katy Ferguson was born. Her mother was a slave,
and was taken from her young child and sold to another master.
Uneducated and unaided in her parental duties, this poor Christian
mother had been faithful to the extent of her abilities, and left
upon the mind of her child indelible religious impressions. Katy, in
speaking of this cruel separation, many years afterward, said: "Mr. B.
sold my mother, and she was carried away from me; but I remember that
before they tore us asunder, she kneeled down, laid her hand upon my
head, and gave me to God."
Katy's active mind sought every opportunity of acquiring knowledge.
Her mother had taught her much that she herself remembered of the
Scriptures. Other persons had taught her the catechism, and her
retentive memory seldom lost what had been committed to it.
In her fifteenth year, the Holy Spirit applied to her conscience and
heart the truths of Scripture which she had thus received. But when
awakened to a perception of her sinfulness, she felt the need of some
kind counsellor.
Neither master nor mistress had ever encouraged her to communicate her
thoughts on religious subjects. The minister on whose services she
attended, Dr. John M. Mason, was a man of such a commanding figure
and bearing as to inspire her with fear, rather than confidence. Yet
she knew he was a faithful servant of Christ, and that he would care
for her soul. She accordingly ventured to call on him. She remarked
afterward, "While I was standing at the door, after having rung the
bell, my feelings were indescribable. And when the door was opened,
and I found myself in the minister's presence, I trembled from head
to foot. One harsh word or look would have crushed me." But this
faithful minister of Christ at once appreciated her solicitude, and
in the gentlest manner inquired, "Have you come here to talk with me
about your soul?" This kind reception at once relieved and encouraged
her to open her whole heart. The interview was blessed of God to her
conversion. And from that day, her course was remarkably direct and
upward. She was, in a word, an earnest, self-denying follower of Christ.
At the age of eighteen, by the aid of friends, she was made a free
woman; and very soon afterwards married; but her husband and children
did not live long.
She lived in a part of the city where there were many very poor
families, and many of both colored and white children who had none to
care for their bodies or souls. Some of these she took to her own home
and taught them to take care of themselves; and for others she found
places, where they would be provided for. In this way, during her life,
she secured homes for _forty-eight_ of these neglected and suffering
ones;--thus anticipating one of the benevolent movements of our time.
But her concern for the spiritual welfare of those around her was
especially manifest, and in most appropriate ways. She invited the
children to come into her house every Sabbath day, for religious
instruction. Feeling her own incompetency to instruct them fully,
especially as she was herself unable to read, she obtained the
assistance of other Christian people in this work. The well-known
Isabella Graham thus aided Katy by occasionally inviting her little
flock to come to her own house.
Thus Katy's labor of love went on for some time, unobserved for the
most part, even by Christian people, but not unnoticed by God. He
smiled upon her, and as He often does in the case of humble efforts
like hers, made her little school on the Sabbath the beginning of a
great and good work in that city. It was about this time that the house
of worship on Murray street, in which Dr. Mason preached, was built.
This good man of God had not forgotten Katy, the trembling inquirer.
Having heard of her Sabbath assembly of children, he went one day to
see what she was doing. As he entered her lowly dwelling, and looked
around upon the group of interested, happy-looking faces, he said, with
his wonted kindness: "What are you about here, Katy? Keeping school
on the Sabbath? We must not leave you to do all this." He immediately
conferred with the officers of his church, telling them what he had
seen, and advising that others should join Katy in this good work. Soon
the lecture-room was opened for the reception and instruction of Katy's
charge. This was the beginning of the Sabbath-school in the Murray
Street Church; and KATY FERGUSON, the colored woman, who had been a
slave, is believed to have thus gathered THE FIRST SABBATH SCHOOL IN
THE CITY OF NEW YORK.
But Katy's benevolent heart was not satisfied with this effort for the
good of children. She established and maintained, during the last forty
years of her life, a weekly prayer-meeting at her house, and during
the last five years of her life, when she could not attend the public
services of divine worship, she made her own house a Bethel on Sabbath
afternoons, by gathering the neglected children of the neighborhood,
with such others as did not attend at any place of public worship, and
obtaining some suitable person to lead in the services of prayer and
praise.
The cause of foreign missions was also dear to Katy. On one occasion, a
young man who was about to sail for Africa as a missionary, was invited
to attend a meeting at her house. Three years afterwards, on speaking
of this man and his associate missionaries, she said: "For these three
years I have never missed a day but I have prayed for those dear
missionaries."
The question may occur to some persons, where did this poor woman
procure the means of doing so much good--clothing children and
assisting missionaries? Uneducated as she was, she possessed
extraordinary taste and judgment. Of a truly refined nature, she
appreciated the beautiful, wherever found. Hence a wedding, or other
festival, in some of the best circles of New York, could scarcely be
considered complete unless Katy had superintended the nicer provisions
of the table. She was also uncommonly skilful in the cleaning of laces
and other fine articles of ladies' dresses. This constant demand for
her services must, however, be likewise traced, in part, to the great
esteem in which she was held, and to the desire to furnish her the
means of continuing her useful Christian labors.
She was a cheerful believer; occupied less in complaining of her own
deficiencies and her troubles, or boasting of her attainments, than in
commending her Redeemer to others, and in trying to imitate His active
benevolence.
Thus was this beloved disciple ripening for heaven. And when death, in
that fearful disease, the cholera, came for her, she was ready, and
calmly expressed her Christian confidence by saying: "Oh, what a good
thing it is to have a hope in Jesus!" Her last words were, "All is
well."
POOR POMPEY.
An old African who had long served the Lord, when on his death-bed, was
visited by his friends, who came around him lamenting that he was going
to die, saying: "Poor Pompey! poor Pompey is dying." The old saint said
to them, with much earnestness: "Don't call me poor Pompey. _I_, KING
Pompey," referring to Revelation i. verse 6.--"_And hath made us kings
and priests unto God and His Father._"
ANCASS.
"I was born in Africa, about the year 1789; the country of the Iboes
was my home. My father's name was Durl, and mine, Ancass. My mother was
my father's only wife, and she was the daughter of a great chieftain.
Of four children I was the only son, and therefore my father's pet. He
always liked to have me near him, and even when he went out to work
he would take me along with him. In the midst of our ignorance we
had a vague idea of the existence of a Supreme Being, which we know
that every heathen can see from the works of creation. We called him
'Thunderer,' and appealed to him for aid in case of illness.
"A young man began to pay us frequent visits, under pretence of wishing
to marry one of my sisters, but in reality, doubtless, with a view to
getting possession of me, a growing, healthy boy, about twelve years
old. One day my father had gone out, leaving me with my sisters, and
the young man made use of the opportunity to persuade me to accompany
him to a market in the vicinity, which he described to me in glowing
colors. We walked all that day, and never reached the place; the night
was spent with an acquaintance of my guide, and our journey continued
all the next day. I was struck by the circumstance that persons who
met us often asked the man what he was going to do with the boy he had
with him, whether he was intending to sell him, etc. He invariably gave
an assurance of the contrary, but I was soon to learn what his scheme
really was.
"The end of the journey was reached at last, and proved to be a trading
place on the coast. I lay down under a large tree, and gazed on the
scene with delight.
"Suddenly a stranger appeared, and proposed that I should try a sail
in his boat. I was frightened and refused: but found myself seized by
the man's strong hand, and rapidly dragged away. Then I knew that I was
being taken as a slave. The man who had brought me from home and sold
me to the traders, looked on unmoved as I was hurried to the water's
edge, and I could only implore him to take a last message to my dear
father, letting him know what had become of me.
"There were several negroes already in the boat, bound with ropes,
and others were added. When the boat put off for the ship I was so
exhausted with crying, that the gentle rocking motion lulled me into
a sound sleep, from which I awoke to find that we were being lifted
into the vessel. The white color of the captain's face filled me with
no less astonishment than his black, shining feet without toes, as I
regarded his polished boots, which I now saw for the first time. The
next morning I was horrified to see great numbers of people brought up
from the hold on deck, to be fed with yams and rum. As for myself, I
was heartily glad to be spared this confinement. I was at liberty to
remain on deck with some other boys, slept in the captain's cabin, and
was soon very happy.
"On reaching Kingston, in Jamaica, the slaves went ashore, and I looked
with intense longing at the beautiful land, visible from the ship. I
was kept on board for several weeks, and the captain told me I was
destined to be his servant, and should not be allowed to go ashore. On
my declaring, however, that I was resolved, at all hazards, to leave
the vessel, and would leap overboard if he should try to prevent me,
he changed his mind, and I was sent to a white man, who took me, with
eleven others, into the yard adjoining his house. We were purchased
for the owner of the estate Krepp, and thither we were taken without
further delay. My companions were sent to work in the fields; I was
retained as servant in the overseer's family, and called Toby. After
the lapse of a year my master took me as servant into his own house,
making me the companion and play-fellow of his children, and treating
me with great kindness.
"About eight years afterwards my master left the island for England,
and I was sent with the children to the seaport-town, Savana-la-Mar,
where we were to attend the church and school. This was anything but
agreeable to us, and I persisted in neglecting every opportunity of
learning, which I might have enjoyed. As to the church, I invariably
played outside during the services, and my master's children were
generally with me. In three years' time the master returned, and took
us all back to the estate, where he soon died. The eldest son became
owner of the property, and he immediately appointed me his overseer at
Krepp, and subsequently at Dumbasken, when the former estate was sold.
"In the year 1824 the owner of a neighboring estate (Paynstown)
returned to Jamaica from a visit in England. This gentleman and his
lady were true Christians. One evening, when passing his plantation on
my way home, I met a female servant of the family, Christina by name,
who was going to draw water from a neighboring spring. I entered into
conversation with her, and she told me that on Sunday there would be
prayer and singing at Paynstown, and that her master invited his people
to attend. I asked if strangers were admitted, and was told that Mrs.
Cook had frequently expressed her regret that no one from the vicinity
would come to join them at prayers, and that strangers would be
welcomed, not only on Sundays, but also in the morning and evening of
the week-days.
"This conversation made a deep impression upon me, and the thought
of the prayer-meeting at Paynstown was continually recurring day and
night, until I at length resolved to go there on the following Sunday.
"Sunday came, and I started on my way to Paynstown. On reaching the
house, a negro servant addressed me in a friendly voice; at the same
moment Mrs. Cook appeared at the door, and I heard her say to the
attendant, on his mentioning my name, 'Let him enter; I am glad that he
comes!' Feeling very shy, I waited outside the hall till a bell gave
the summons for prayers. Mr. Cook conducted the service, which was
commenced with singing a hymn: then a portion of the Scriptures was
read and prayer offered. I have no recollection of what was read, nor
could I understand the prayer, as I knew nothing of our Saviour; yet
I shall never forget this hour; it was a turning-point for the whole
of my life. I had a feeling that I was in the presence of Almighty
God, _my_ Lord and God, and my inmost soul was deeply moved, while I
trembled from head to foot. Unable to utter a word, I hurried away and
remained alone in my hut.
"Some time afterwards Mrs. Cooper offered to teach me to read if I
wished to learn, and I gladly accepted her offer, though exposing
myself to no little ridicule on the part of my fellow-slaves, who
thought it very foolish of me to attempt to learn to read 'the white
men's book.' How thankful have I felt ever since that I was enabled
to read the Bible for myself, and thus come into the enjoyment of a
wonderful privilege!
"Saturday and Sunday were free days for the slaves; Sunday was
market-day in the neighboring town, and we negroes were in the habit
of cultivating our own plots of ground on our return from the service
at Paynstown, or carrying their produce to the market. One Sunday I
was so eagerly bent on making the most out of my garden, that I did
not go to Paynstown, but was busy at work from earliest dawn. Suddenly
the conviction seized my mind that I was not acting right in the sight
of God, in thus digging and planting in hope of gain. Quite overcome
with the thought, I threw away my hoe, and kneeling in the hole which
I had just dug, I cried aloud to our Saviour, imploring Him to help me
in my darkness, and show me what I ought to do. The comforting light
was vouchsafed to me at once. While recognizing my sinful conduct in
striving for outward gain to the detriment of my soul, I was assured
that all my need would be supplied from the bountiful hand of my
heavenly Father, and that the right course for me was to seek first the
kingdom of God and His righteousness. From that day I never touched a
hoe on Sunday, and I have been so blessed in regard to externals that I
have never suffered any want.
"Some time afterwards I made a proposal of marriage to a young woman,
whom I had known as one of the most regular attendants at the services
in Mr. Cooper's house, and she accepted it. My master and mistress
were at first greatly opposed to this step, but were led eventually to
withdraw their prohibition, and we were married on the 8th of June,
1826.
"A few months afterwards I became a member of the Moravian Church, one
of twelve, who at that time constituted the whole congregation. Many
others, however, joined the church at Carmel, and the number of those
who desired to cast in their lot with us as children of God, increased
most surprisingly from week to week.
"The office of native helper, to which I was soon afterwards appointed,
gave me many opportunities of telling others what the Lord had done for
me, and directing them to the same Saviour.
"I had a great desire to purchase my freedom. I went to my master,
who tried to persuade me to wait, seeing that I should be legally
emancipated in three years' time. My longing for freedom was, however,
so strong that I remained unmoved. I paid down all my savings, and was
soon afterwards able to complete the required sum, and my certificate
of freedom was signed. O how full my heart was! how overflowing with
thanks and praise to God! This day has always been to me a day of
special rejoicing and thanksgiving. It was the 1st of June, 1837.
"Subsequently I was asked by several gentlemen to undertake the
management of their estates, but I declined, not wishing to fetter
myself in such a manner as would be prejudicial to my work in the
Lord's cause. I was greatly rejoiced when Brother Zorn proposed to me
to devote my time entirely to the duties of a native helper, receiving
£12 a year to provide subsistence for myself and family. I purchased
a small cottage and piece of ground, and here I have lived ever since
with my dear wife and the only daughter whom the Lord has been pleased
to give us."
Ancass died July, 1864.--_English Tract._
A STORM AT SEA.
Some few years since, a minister was preaching at Plymouth, when a
request was sent to the pulpit to this effect: "The thanksgiving
of this congregation is desired to Almighty God, by the captain,
passengers, and crew of a West Indiaman, for their merciful deliverance
during the late tempest."
The following day the minister went on board, and entered into
conversation with the passengers, when a lady thus addressed him:
"O, sir, what an invaluable blessing is personal religion! Never did
I see it so exemplified as in my poor Ellen during the storm. When
we expected every wave to entomb us all, my mind was in a horrible
state--I was afraid to die. Ellen would come to me and say, with all
possible composure: 'Never mind, missie; look to Jesus Christ. He
made--he rule the sea.' And when we neared the shore, and were at
a loss to know where we were, fearing every minute to strike on the
rocks, Ellen said, with the same composure as before, 'Don't fear,
missie; look to Jesus Christ--He the Rock; _no shipwreck on that Rock_;
He save to the uttermost. Don't fear, missie; look to Jesus Christ!'"
The minister wished to see this poor, though rich African. She was
called, and, in the presence of the sailors, the following conversation
took place:
_Minister._ "Well, Ellen, I am glad to find you know something of Jesus
Christ."
_Ellen._ "Jesus Christ, massa! Oh, He be very good to my soul! Oh! He
be very dear to me."
_Minister._ "How long since you first knew the Saviour?"
_Ellen._ "Why, some time ago me hear Massa Kitchin preach about the
blessed Jesus. He say to us colored people--the Lord Jesus come down
from the good world; He pity us poor sinners; we die, or He die; _He
die, but we no die_. He suffer on the cross--He spill precious blood
for us poor sinners. Me feel me sinner; me cry; me pray to Jesus, and
He save _me_ by His precious blood."
_Minister._ "And when did you see Mr. Kitchin last?"
_Ellen._ "Sir, the fever take him; he lie bed; he call us his children.
He say, 'Come round the bed, my children.' He then say, 'My children, I
go to God; meet me before God;' and then he fall asleep."
_Minister._ "Oh, then, Mr. Kitchin is dead, is he?"
_Ellen._ "Dead, sir? oh, no! Mr. Kitchin no die; he fall asleep in
Jesus. He has gone to heaven."
"LITTLE WA."
There is a boy of tender years now in England, whose story beautifully
illustrates the loving care of God for an afflicted heathen child. He
is the son of an African chief, and two or three years since you might
have seen him playing about his father's and mother's yard--as happy
as the day was long--no kid frisked so merrily, no kitten was fuller
of fun. But "little Wa" was deaf and dumb, and soon his mother, "Ti
Bla," was to die, and then his father, "Ta Qwia," was to be laid by her
side under the palm-tree. God foreknew this, and see how graciously He
provided for this helpless orphan.
Little Wa was very fond of wandering from home; and wherever he went,
whether to the huts of the natives or the houses of the colonists, he
was a great favorite, and everybody treated him kindly. He liked to
sport about with those of his own age, and would amuse the tribes by
the hour. Often he came to the mission station, and the missionary got
quite attached to him, and encouraged him to stay, and gave him a white
shirt--his first civilized suit. This delighted him, and kept him
hovering around for a week together; then off he trotted to the town.
By-and-by he reappeared with his shirt dirty, and the missionary
exchanged it for a clean one. "He seemed so pleased to be with us, and
was such a good boy," says the missionary, "that pitying his sad case,
I thought I would try and get him into my family." He asked his father,
who was still an idolater, if he would let him keep him. His father
said, "Yes, he might keep him if he could." He meant that "Wa" was
such a gad-about that no one could keep him. However, the missionary
determined to try it. He had some new clothes made for him, bound with
scarlet; he set him a stool to have his meals, and he had his own plate
and fork, and a snug corner to sleep in at night, and a warm blanket to
wrap himself in.
Now, do you suppose that "Wa" stayed with the missionary, or that he
ran away? He stayed, and he grew fonder and fonder of the missionary
and the missionary of him. Whenever he ate his meals, before tasting
anything, he would bend his head and shut his eyes, and be still, as
if he was saying grace. So also, night and morning, he would always
drop on his knees, and for a time remain in the attitude of prayer.
Occasionally he would go into the school-room, and sitting beside the
girls, take a book, and make believe that he was studying his lessons.
The missionary would frequently have him in his room, and kneel down
with him, and pray God to teach him by His Holy Spirit, and deliver
him from all evil. God did indeed watch over him, and preserve him
from danger, to which he was exposed. No lion was permitted to terrify
him; and no scorpion or serpent was allowed to bite his bare feet. The
angels had charge of him.
When, on account of his bad health, the missionary had to leave Africa
for a season, he much desired to bring "little Wa" to England with him.
He had a talk with his father (his mother was now dead) about it. He
told him what Christian people had done in England for the deaf and
dumb, what attention was paid to them, and how they were taught to
write and read. He looked very serious, and shook his head. "I can't
let him go;" he said, "I let his brother, 'Wia,' go to New York, and
he is buried there. I can't let 'Wa' go." But when he assured him
that England had a milder climate than New York, and that he would be
a parent to him, and that it was only the child's welfare he sought,
"Well," he said, "I will consider it." Shortly after he called and
said, "Take him; do with him what you choose. He is yours." So the
missionary began at once to get him ready for sea. He was fitted
with red and yellow flannel smocks and trousers; and when he saw the
preparations, and knew that he was going, he jumped for joy.
At length the steamer hove in sight. The captain agreed to charge a
shilling a day for the "coal scuttle," as he called him. So he was
brought off with them in a boat through the surf, and he bade adieu
to the scenes of his infancy, in better spirits than the missionary
did; but soon the rocking of the ship upset him. He lay down sick
on the deck. When he recovered, he became a great favorite with the
passengers and crew. He had a wonderful power of mimicry, and he amused
many with his imitations. Now he would act as he saw the monkeys or the
chimpanzee act; now he would mock the way in which the gentlemen walked
when the vessel rolled; now he would pretend to be preaching; now he
would dance as his country people do; and now, when a lady would be
moving about alone, he would run up to her and offer her his arm. The
officers would feed him with good things, and let him sleep in their
state-rooms, though he had a comfortable box of his own.
When the missionary arrived at Liverpool, "little Wa" was an object of
curiosity to all. His dark skin and his flaming-colored dress made him
ridiculously conspicuous. The children in the streets followed him, and
gathered round the shop-doors pointing at him jeeringly; but whenever
they were rude the missionary said to them, "He is deaf and dumb," and
then they would say, "Poor boy! poor little fellow!" You may be sure
he was in ecstasies at the sights, such as he had never even dreamt
of. Especially he noticed the horses, and tried to trot as they trot;
and the sliders on the ice, and when one tumbled down he was convulsed
with laughter. I have had him at my table, and he behaved himself like
a gentleman, only he would open the whole plate of sandwiches to see
which had least mustard on it; and when I presented him with a pear, he
wanted to put it into his mouth whole.
It was decided that he should go into the Bath Deaf and Dumb
Institution. The money, a large sum, was speedily raised by the ladies
of Brighton. Far and wide contributions flowed in. "Little Wa" was
loaded with presents beside; indeed, ladies began to be so kind to him
that it was high time he was out of the way of being spoiled. News
of his father's death reached England by the next mail; so now the
missionary felt that "little Wa" was wholly his, and he took him to
Bath without any further doubt as to its being God's will for him.
Before "little Wa" left London, he stole into the missionary's wife's
sick chamber, and seeing that several persons were with her, he sat
down quietly until they withdrew, then he quickly touched her; and then
raising his eyes, he clasped his hands, and by other signs gave her to
understand that he wished her to pray with him. She did so. On getting
up, he looked into her face so bright and satisfied, and shook her hand
to thank her. As he bade her good-bye, he signified that after two
days and two nights he would come back to her. When the missionary was
leaving him at the Institution, and broke the intelligence to him that
he must stay there a long while, "little Wa" was downcast for a moment,
but he did not cry; he nodded his head bravely, and stood watching him
at the door till he turned the corner.
A recent letter informed us that at first he showed considerable
self-will, but was daily improving. If we recollect how short a time
he has been under control at all, we cannot but wonder that the wild
African is as tractable as he is. When he saw the handwriting of the
missionary the tears started, and he pressed the envelope to his lips.
Now, my dear young readers, does not this narrative _prove_ that God
thinks of children, and loves them, and cares for them? He is busy with
the affairs of the universe, and yet He can turn from them to provide
for a heathen mute. He dwells in the high and holy place, and yet He
can stoop to be a friend to the fatherless African boy. Who is a God
like unto Him? Oh, give your heart to Him, that _you_, too, may have
His wing spread over you, and be able to confide in Him for whatever
you want.
May "little Wa's" Almighty protector and all-loving provider be
yours!--_The Family Treasury._
THE AFRICAN SERVANT.
During a residence of some years' continuance in the neighborhood of
the sea, an officer in the navy called upon me and stated that he had
just taken a lodging in the parish for his wife and children, and that
he had an African whom he had kept three years in his service.
"Does he know anything," I asked, "of the principles of the Christian
religion?"
"Oh, yes, I am sure he does," answered the captain; "for he talks a
great deal about it in the kitchen, and often gets laughed at for his
pains; but he takes it all very patiently."
"Does he behave well as your servant?"
"Yes, that he does: he is as honest and civil a fellow as ever came
aboard a ship or lived in a house."
"Was he always so well-behaved?"
"No," said the officer; "when I first had him he was often very unruly
and deceitful; but for the last two years he has been quite like
another creature."
"Well, sir, I shall be very glad to see him, and think it probable I
shall wish to go through a course of instruction and examination. Can
he read?"
"Yes," replied his master; "he has been taking great pains to learn to
read for some time past, and can make out a chapter in the Bible pretty
well, as my maid-servant informs me. He speaks English better than many
of his countrymen, but you will find it a little broken. When will it
be convenient that I should send him over to you?"
"To-morrow afternoon, sir, if you please."
"He shall come to you about four o'clock, and you shall see what you
can make of him."
With this promise he took his leave. I felt glad to see him the next
day, and asked:
"Where were you born?"
"In Africa. I was very little boy when I was made slave by the white
men."
"How was that?"
"I left father and mother one day at home to go to get shells by the
sea-shore; and, as I was stooping down to gather them up, some white
sailors came out of a boat and took me away. I never see father nor
mother again."
"And what became of you then?"
"I was put into ship and brought to Jamaica, and sold to a massa, who
keep me in his house to serve him some years; when about three years
ago, Captain W----, my massa that spoke to you, bought me to be his
servant on board his ship. And he be good massa; and I live with him
ever since."
"And what thoughts had you about your soul all that time before you
went to America?" I asked him.
"I no care for my soul at all before then. No man teach me a word about
my soul."
"Well, now tell me further about what happened to you in America. How
came you there?"
"My massa take me there in a ship, and he stop there one month; and
then I hear the good minister."
"And what did that minister say?"
"He said I was a great sinner."
"Did he speak to you in particular?"
"Yes, I think so; for there was a great many to hear him, but he tell
them all about me."
"What did he say?"
"He say all about the things that were in my heart."
"Who taught you to read?"
"God teach me to read."
"What do you mean by saying so?"
"God gave me desire to read, and that make reading easy. Massa give me
Bible, and one sailor show me the letter; and so I learn to read by
myself with God's good help."
"And what do you read in the Bible?"
"Oh, I read all about Jesus Christ, and How He loved sinners; and
wicked men killed him, and He died and came again from the grave, and
all this for poor negro. And it sometime make me cry to think that
Christ love me so."
Not many days after the first interview with my African disciple, I
went from home on horseback, with the design of visiting and conversing
with him again at his master's house, which was situated in a part of
the parish near four miles distant from my own. The road which I took
lay over a lofty down or hill, which commands a prospect of scenery
seldom equalled for beauty and magnificence. It gave birth to silent,
but instructive contemplation.
As I pursued the meditations which this magnificent and varied scenery
excited in my mind, I approached the edge of a tremendous perpendicular
cliff with which the hill terminates; I dismounted from my horse and
tied him.
I cast my eye downwards a little to the left, towards a small cove,
the shore of which consists of fine hard sand. It is surrounded by
fragments of rock, chalk cliffs, and steep banks of broken earth.
Shut out from human intercourse and dwellings, it seems formed for
retirement and contemplation. On one of these rocks I unexpectedly
observed a man sitting with a book, which he was reading. The place was
near two hundred yards perpendicularly below me: but I soon discovered
by his dress, and by the color of his features, contrasted with the
white rocks beside him, that it was no other than my African disciple,
with, as I doubted not, a Bible in his hand. I rejoiced at this
unlooked-for opportunity of meeting him in so solitary and interesting
a situation. I descended a steep bank, winding by a kind of rude
staircase, formed by fishermen and shepherds' boys, in the side of the
cliff down to the shore.
He was intent on his book, and did not perceive me till I approached
very near to him.
"William, is that you?"
"Ah, massa, I very glad to see you. How came massa into this place? I
thought nobody here but only God and me."
"I was coming to your master's house to see you, and rode round by this
way for the sake of the prospect. I often come here in fine weather to
look at the sea and the shipping. Is that your Bible?"
"Yes, sir, this is my dear, good Bible."
"I am glad," said I, "to see you so well employed; it is a good sign,
William."
"Yes, massa, a sign that God is good to me; but I never good to God."
"How so?"
"I never thank Him enough; I never pray to Him enough; I never remember
enough who give me all these good things. Massa, I afraid my heart very
bad. I wish I was like you."
"Like me, William? Why, you are like me, a poor helpless sinner."
"Tell me, William, is not that very sin which you speak of, a burden to
you? You do not love it: you would be glad to obtain strength against
it, and to be freed from it, would you not?"
"Oh, yes; I give all this world, if I had it, to be without sin."
"Come then, and welcome, to Jesus Christ, my brother; His blood
cleanseth from all sin. He gave himself as a ransom for sinners. He
hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. He was wounded for our
transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of
our peace was upon Him; and with His stripes we are healed. The Lord
hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all. Come, freely come to Jesus,
the Saviour of sinners."
"Yes, massa," said the poor fellow, weeping, "I will come, but I come
very slow; very slow, massa; I want to run; I want to fly. Jesus is
very good to poor me to send you to tell me all this."
I was much pleased with the affectionate manner in which he spoke of
his parents, from whom he had been stolen in his childhood; and his
wishes that God might direct them by some means to the knowledge of the
Saviour.
"Who knows," I said, "but some of these ships may be carrying a
missionary to the country where they live, to declare the good news
of salvation to your countrymen, and to your own dear parents in
particular, if they are yet alive."
"Oh, my dear father and mother; my dear, gracious Saviour," exclaimed
he, leaping from the ground, as he spoke, "if Thou would but save their
souls, and tell them what Thou hast done for sinners; but--"
He stopped and seemed much affected.
"My friend," said I, "I will now pray with you for your own soul, and
those of your parents also."
"Do, massa, that is very good and kind; do pray for poor negro souls
here and everywhere."
This was a new and solemn "house of prayer." The sea-sand was our
floor, the heavens were our roof. The cliffs, the rocks, the hills,
and the waves, formed the walls of our chamber. It was not indeed a
"place where prayer was wont to be made," but for this once it became a
hallowed spot; it will by me ever be remembered as such. The presence
of God was there. I prayed. The African wept. His heart was full. I
felt with him, and could not but weep likewise.
The last day will show whether our tears were not the tears of
sincerity and Christian love.
I had, for a considerable time, been accustomed to meet some serious
persons once a week, in a cottage at no great distance from the house
where he lived, for the purpose of religious conversation, instruction,
and prayer. Having found these occasions remarkably useful and
interesting to myself and others, I thought it would be very desirable
to take the African there, in order that there might be many witnesses
to the simplicity and sincerity of real Christianity, as exhibited in
the character of this promising young convert. I hoped it might prove
an eminent means of grace to excite and quicken the spirit of prayer
and praise among some over whose spiritual progress I was anxiously
watching.
It was known that the African was to visit the little society this
evening, and satisfaction beamed in every countenance as I took him
by the hand and introduced him among them, saying, "I have brought a
brother from Africa to see you, my friends. Bid him welcome in the name
of the Lord."
"Sir," said a humble and pious laborer, whose heart and tongue always
overflowed with Christian kindness, "we are at all times glad to see
our dear minister, but especially so to-day, in such company as you
have brought with you. We have heard how gracious the Lord has been to
him. Give me your hand, good friend," turning to the African; "God be
with you here and everywhere; and blessed be His holy name for calling
wicked sinners, as I hope He has done you and me, to love and serve Him
for His mercy's sake."
Each one greeted him as he came into the house, and some addressed him
in very kind and impressive language.
"Massa," said he, "I not know what to say to all these good friends; I
think this looks like little heaven upon earth."
He then, with tears in his eyes, which, almost before he spoke, brought
responsive drops into those of all present, said:
"Good friends and brethren in Christ Jesus, God bless you all, and
bring you to heaven at last."
After some time passed in more general conversation on the subject of
the African's history, I said, "Let us now praise God for the rich and
unspeakable gift of His grace, and sing the hymn of 'redeeming love,'
"'Now begin the heavenly theme,
Sing aloud in Jesus' name,'" etc.
which was accordingly done. Whatever might be the merit of the natural
voices, it was plain there was melody in all their hearts.
The African was not much used to our way of singing, yet joined with
great earnestness and affection, which showed how truly he felt what
was uttered. When the fifth verse was ended--
"Nothing brought Him from above,
Nothing but redeeming love"--
he repeated the words, almost unconscious where he was.
"No, nothing, nothing but redeeming love bring Him down to poor
William; nothing but redeeming love."
The following verses were added, and sung by way of conclusion:
See, a stranger comes to view;
Though he's black, he's comely too:
Come to join the choirs above,
Singing of redeeming love.
Welcome, brother, welcome here,
Banish doubt, and banish fear;
You, who Christ's salvation prove,
Praise and bless redeeming love.
--_Abridged from Legh Richmond._
THE BLIND SLAVE IN THE MINES.
With a companion I had descended a thousand feet perpendicularly,
beneath the earth's surface, into one of the coal mines of East
Virginia, called the Mid-Lothian pit. As we were wandering through its
dark passages--numerous and extensive enough to form a subterranean
city--the sound of music at a little distance caught our ears. It
ceased upon our approach; but we perceived that it was sacred music,
and we heard the concluding sentiment of the hymn, "I shall be in
heaven in the morning."
On advancing with our lamps we found the passage closed by a door, in
order to give a different direction to the currents of air for the
purpose of ventilation; yet this door must be opened occasionally to
let the rail-cars pass, loaded with coal. And to accomplish this we
found sitting by that door an aged blind slave, whose eyes had been
entirely destroyed by a blast of gunpowder many years before, in
that mine. There he sat, on a seat cut in the coal, from sunrise to
sunset, day after day; his sole business being to open and shut the
door when he heard the rail-cars approaching. We requested him to sing
again the hymn whose last line we had heard. It was, indeed, lame in
expression, and in poetic measure very defective, being in fact one of
those productions which we found the pious slaves were in the habit of
singing, in part at least, impromptu. But each stanza closed with the
sentiment, "I shall be in heaven in the morning."
It was sung with a clear and pleasant voice, and I could see the
shrivelled, sightless eyeballs of the old man rolling in their sockets,
as if his soul felt the inspiring sentiments; and really the exhibition
was one of the most affecting that I have ever witnessed. There he
stood, an old man, whose earthly hopes, even at the best, must be very
faint--and he was a slave--and he was blind--what could he hope for on
earth? He was buried, too, a thousand feet beneath the solid rocks. In
the expressive language of Jonah, he had "gone down to the bottom of
the mountains; the earth with her bars was about him for ever." There,
from month to month, he sat in total darkness.
I would add, that on inquiry of the pious slaves engaged in these
mines, I found that the blind old man had a fair reputation for piety,
and that it was not till the loss of his eyes that he was led to the
Saviour. It may be that the destruction of his natural vision was the
necessary means of opening the eye of faith within his soul. And though
we should shudder at the thought of exchanging conditions with him on
earth, yet who can say but his peculiar and deep tribulation here may
prepare his soul for a distinction in glory which we might covet. Oh,
how much better to endure even his deep degradation and privations,
sustained by his hopes, than to partake of their fortune who live in
luxury and pleasure, or riot in wealth!
The scene which I have now described affords a most animating lesson
of encouragement to the tried and the afflicted, and of reproof to the
complaining and discontented.
Suppose health does fail us, and poverty oppress us, and our friends
forsake us, and our best laid plans prove abortive, so that a dark
cloud settles upon our worldly prospects--who of us is reduced so low
as to be willing to change places with this poor slave? And yet he is
able to keep his spirits buoyant by the single hope of future glory. He
thinks of a morning that is to come, when even his deep and dreadful
darkness shall pass away; and the thought has a magic power to sustain
him. If we are Christians, shall not that same hope chase away our
despondency, and nerve us to bear cheerfully those trials which are far
inferior to his?
THE AFRICAN SERVANT'S PRAYER.
I was a helpless negro boy,
And wandered on the shore;
Men took me from my parents' arms,
I never saw them more.
But yet my lot, which seemed so hard,
Quite otherwise did prove;
For I was carried far from home,
To learn a Saviour's love.
Poor and despiséd though I was,
Yet Thou, O God, wast nigh;
And when Thy mercy first I saw,
Sure none so glad as I.
And if Thy Son hath made me free,
Then am I free indeed;
My soul is rescued from its chains;
For this did Jesus bleed.
Oh, send Thy word to that far land
Where none but negroes live;
Teach them the way, the truth, the life;
Thy grace, Thy blessing give.
Oh, that my father, mother, dear,
Might there Thy mercy see;
Tell them what Christ has done for them,
What Christ has done for me.
Whose God is like the Christian's God?
Who can with Him compare?
He has compassion on my soul,
And hears a negro's prayer.
ANECDOTE.
A worthy old colored woman in the city of New York was one day
walking along the street on some errand to a neighboring store, with
her tobacco-pipe in her mouth, quietly smoking. A sailor, rendered
mischievous by liquor, came down the street, and when opposite Phillis,
crowded her aside, and with a wave of his hand knocked her pipe out of
her mouth. He then halted to hear her fret at his trick, and to enjoy
a laugh at her. But what was his astonishment when she meekly picked
up the pieces of her broken pipe, without the least resentment in her
manner, and giving him a look of mingled sorrow, kindness, and pity,
said: "God forgive my son, as I do." It touched a tender part of the
young sailor's heart; he felt ashamed and repented; the tears started
in his eyes. He confessed his error, and thrusting both hands into his
two full pockets of change, forced her to take the handfuls of money,
saying: "God bless you, kind mother, I'll never do so again."
A LITTLE ACT OF KINDNESS.
One dull night I sat by my window watching the people as they passed to
and from the market. The wind blew hard, and the rain was beginning to
patter against the window panes, and make large drops on the pavement.
Soon I noticed two little colored girls hurrying past with an empty
basket, and I heard one of them say: "Oh, be quick, for it is going to
rain hard, and the chips will all be wet."
"Yes, I'm coming in a minute," said the other, who lingered behind--for
what purpose, do you think?
Leaning against the lamp-post at the corner of the street was a
poor old woman, bent with age and infirmities. In one hand was her
market-basket, in the other a bundle, and she was trying to open an
umbrella. The wind blew against her, the bundle slipped from her poor
old fingers, rolling into the gutter, and the umbrella would not come
open.
But the quick feet and fingers of this little girl soon set things
all right. First she hastened to rescue the bundle, and restore it to
its owner; then opened the umbrella and placed it securely in the
old woman's hands. She waited for no more--hastening on after her
companion; but, amid the falling rain, I heard the old woman say, "God
bless you, my child!"
Ah! it was a little deed, but done so cheerfully and quickly that I
knew the child had a kind heart. Was the act not seen and noticed by
our Father in heaven, and will He not bless the child who helps the
aged and infirm?
Dear little ones, do not let _one chance_ of helping another, or of
doing good, pass by.
If your eyes are open, you will see these opportunities _every day_,
and oh, how happy you may make your own heart, and the heart of
some other, while your dear Father in heaven will smile upon your
efforts.--_Angel of Peace._
OLD SUSAN.
BY GERTRUDE L. VANDERBILT.
"Bless de Lord, I'm pretty well, and granny's no wuss." I heard the
voice below my window just as the dawn of a bright summer day was
coloring the eastern horizon. Then another question was asked by the
cook below, as she threw open the shutters, but I could only hear old
Susan's reply: "No, I can't come in; I'm up so airly to look for wood
to bile the kittle. Granny'll be a-wantin' breakfast."
Soon after I saw the poor old woman bent almost double with the weight
of fagots on her back, and her check apron filled with chips and
corn-cobs from the wood-yard. I raised the sash, and called her:
"Aunt Susan, do come in! Flora will get your breakfast, and you can
take some home with you for granny," said I.
She lowered the bundle of fagots from her shoulders, and pushed back
the long gingham sun-bonnet, as she looked up at my window.
"Bless yer heart, chile, but I couldn't--wouldn't!" She shook her head
very decidedly, and adjusted the red bandana turban which had been
crushed down by the sun-bonnet. "Ye see, me and granny ain't had fambly
prayers yit this morning. That's it; obliged to yer jes' the same."
I suggested that our Heavenly Father would not reject prayers that
were offered after breakfast. She looked up at me as I leaned from the
window to catch the glory of the sunrise, and said, with rather a touch
of sadness in her tone:
"No, chile, yer hadn't oughter think so. De Lord fust, an' everything
else afterwards. Ef ye eat, or ef ye drink, do it all to de glory of
God; but it tain't ter His glory ef yer please yerself fust. I'll be
round biemby; then we 'splain the matter together." And reloading her
tired shoulders, she tottered off under her burden.
This poor colored woman, bent down by her seventy years of sickness,
and poverty, and hard work, and constant care, had a conscience so
tender that nothing could have induced her to partake of the proffered
meal before she had offered up her morning prayer, lest the act might
seem like want of reverence and respect.
This was not an occasional spasmodic outburst of piety; she seemed
always anxious to talk about God, and, as she could not read herself,
to hear others read about Him. I never knew one who seemed to be in
such constant and close communion with God. In my visits among the
poor, I remember calling at her door one day, and being obliged to wait
some time after knocking, although I heard her voice within. I was
surprised that she should keep me waiting, for she had such a delicate
sense of the duties of hospitality that she was particularly careful
never to oblige a visitor to remain standing at her door. I soon
discovered that she was engaged in prayer; one greater than any earthly
guest was with her; it almost seemed as if she pleaded before one who
was visibly present. She waited and wept, she urged, entreated, and
earnestly pleaded; then gradually her tone changed, and her voice rose
in prayer and loud hallelujahs, and then she was silent. I knocked once
more, and hastily now she threw open the door; the traces of tears were
still on her cheeks, and in her poor, dim eyes.
"Welcome, welcome!" she exclaimed: "come in. De Lord's bin wid me dis
day. Praise and bless His holy name. I'se had sich a blessed time."
Then she dusted the only spare seat her poor room afforded, and placed
it so that as she seated herself upon her bed she should face me.
"Oh, chile!" she exclaimed; "de prayers dat's gone up from dis poor
shanty for you and de Sunday-school! Dey's gone right up from dis poor,
low, mean place, right up through dis old roof, straight up to de great
white throne!" And she clasped her hands and looked up as if she saw
the vision beyond. "God's holy angels has heard 'em, Jesus's listened
to 'em, and God's treasured 'em up, and dey'll come down in blessin's
when old Susan's dead and gone. When I gits rid of dis mis'able, sickly
body, and rises up to where my prayer's gone before me, oh, how I'll
sing wid de holy angels, praise de Lord, praise de Lord!"
She used to go off in these rhapsodies frequently; she had dull prosaic
neighbors, who never got excited over praise or anything else, and
they used to say that old Susan was crazy when she prayed. In alluding
to this she once told me, smiling, that she was going to ask the Lord
to make them crazy in prayer. She thought a little more earnestness
on the subject would be an improvement. Her faith was so strong that
it seemed to have an element of sublimity in it; it was grand! The
extreme poverty in which she lived, and her reliance upon others for
every comfort in life, made her realize her dependence upon our Father
in heaven more strongly than those who live in ease and luxury. She
has often said to me, "I am poor and sick, broken down with hard work,
crooked and bent with rheumatism, my wrists are so weak, and my
fingers so stiff, that I can hardly pick up chips; boys often laugh
at me in the street, because when I bend down I cannot always get up
again; sometimes my fire goes out, and I have nothing to eat until the
Lord sends some kind friend with food. But bless the Lord I am going
home. The Lord is my Father, and in my Father's house there is plenty;
more than enough. Oh, when I get home! Dear Lord, dear Lord! When I
shall reach my home, I shall forget all the troubles I have had in this
poor shanty." Looking at her in her poor room, I have often thought
that if possible, heaven would seem more glorious to her, coming out
of distress and misery, sickness and want, darkness and cold, into the
full blaze of heavenly light.
She was very grateful to those who paid her rent. Of one lady in
particular, she often spoke to me with great affection. She said to me
once, naming this lady: "She is to be paid back every cent." It was
spoken with so much earnestness that I involuntarily looked around
as if I expected to see some one standing there with the money. She
smiled, and told me she had been reminding God of His promise to pay
her debts.
I once called on passing, to leave some dinner for her, she met me at
the door, and insisted on my coming in. "I know'd you was a comin',"
she said, "for I had nothin' t'eat, and I prayed de Lord ter send me
somethin'."
"Well," I replied, "He has heard your prayer, and has sent this to you."
She placed the dish on her stove to keep warm, and then she began to
talk of prayer. "I does pray fur you," she said, "and fur Mr. and Mrs.
L., and Miss C. I prays fur all de world, but the Lord lets us choose
out those who's good to us, and pray fur them most of all. Mr. L. has
been so good, so good to me, never gettin' tired of being good to me,
oh, I do pray fur him!" She paused, and sat thinking a moment, and then
added: "When Aunt Susan stops a prayin', she'll be cold and dead."
"Aunt Susan" was by no means a gloomy Christian, she had a sense of
humor, and was often very quick-witted in reply.
During those terrible riots in New York, in which so many of her race
fell victims to the mob, she fled to her white friends for protection.
Some time after this, when she was speaking of her faith and her trust
in the Lord, an Irish Roman Catholic taunted her with having failed
to trust in the Lord at that time. Her reply was very characteristic.
"Did you ever read in the Old Testament of a man named Lot?" she asked.
"Well, Lot showed his faith by running away, and so did Aunt Susan!" In
relating to me this story, she laughed very heartily, and concluded by
saying: "Yer see as I understan's it, Lot showed his faith by leavin'
his home and flyin' accordin' to the command of der Lord, and Aunt
Susan did jes de same, fur I showed my faith by usin' de means de Lord
hed appinted, and not temptin' de Lord by stayin' behind. Jes so."
Old Susan's "family" consisted of her aged mother, at that time in her
hundred and first year, her dog Prince, her cat Tom, her hen Toby; a
more aged and decrepit family were surely never before gathered under
one roof. If I had been told that old Dinah's age was a hundred and
twenty, from appearances I should have been inclined to believe it.
Smoking was the sole recreation which years had left her. Susan would
fill her pipe at intervals during the day, and after using it, Dinah
would sit gazing vacantly around her until it was refilled and placed
in her hand. The dog, proportionately to canine years, had reached an
equally advanced age with his mistress, and his scabby back gave him
the appearance of having been eaten by moth. The cat and the hen had
reached a greater age than the time usually allotted to their species;
each would sit for hours perfectly motionless on the door-step, as if
musing on the singing and exhorting they were constantly hearing within
the house from their old mistress. Susan was very fond of animals, and
seemed to have a curious power in taming and controlling them. I once
told her, that had she lived earlier, she might have been taken up for
a witch, with Tom and Toby as her familiar spirits.
Old Susan's faith led her to believe that she could see the hand of God
in even the most trifling events of life, and that, as He was leading
her, and teaching her through these means, she should be ever on the
watch, so as not to lose the lessons His providence set in her way.
She came to me one day with the utmost gravity, to tell me of a lesson
in resignation. This pet dog, through some inadvertence, had eaten a
portion prepared for rats; her tender heart was much troubled by the
suffering so carelessly inflicted. Just before extinguishing her light
at night, she turned to Dinah and--to let her tell her own story, as
she told it to me: "Sez I, granny, look yer last on poor Prince, fur
you'll never see him alive no more. Then it kinder struck me that I
wasn't resigned, so I kneels down, and sez I, 'O dear Lord, he's bin
a faithful dog to me. He's watched over my things many a day when I
was out a beggin' for daily bread; he's bin very faithful, but I gin
him up to de Lord. If de Lord says his time's out, I gin him up. I's
resigned.' Next mornin' I opens de winders, an' behold, dere's Prince,
jis as well as ever! Sez I, granny, de Lord has gin him back to me. He
was jis a tryin' my faith! His will is the best fur us all, ye mus larn
dat, granny, dat's the lesson from dis providence."
Old Susan still lives, but her faculties seem gradually failing, while
life yet retains hold in her weak frame. She is helpless, poor, and
old. While earthly matters seem fading out of her memory, her thoughts
still cling to things above. In my last tract-distributing visit to her
room, I found her holding an open Testament, with the leaf folded down
at the fourteenth chapter of St. John's Gospel. She cannot read, but
she sat pathetically looking at the text. As I entered, she exclaimed:
"Oh, read it, read it, for me!" It seemed as if her faith, so sorely
tried by her long waiting, and her earthly sufferings, was for a moment
wavering. As I slowly and distinctly read the words, "In my Father's
house are many mansions," etc., the glimmering rays rekindled, her
faith re-asserted itself. "Yes, yes!" she exclaimed, "I knew it was so,
I knew it was written somewhere there; now I remember it. I'll yet have
a home in my Father's house." As I looked at the poor, worn-out frame;
the weak, helpless hands; the wrinkled face, and the dim eyes, my faith
could see through these the glorious spirit that should one day arise
and take its upward flight towards the heavenly mansions.
POOR SARAH;
_Or, Religion Exemplified in the Life and Death of a Pious Indian
Woman._
The subject of the following narrative lived and died in a town in
the eastern part of Connecticut. We are well acquainted with the
writer, and we can assure our readers that the account here given
is true.--_Editor of the Religious Intelligencer._
It was a comfortless morning in the month of March, 1814, when I first
formed an acquaintance with the subject of the following sketch.
She called to solicit a few _crusts_, meekly saying she "deserved
nothing but the _crumbs_--they were enough for her poor old body, just
ready to crumble into dust." I had heard of _Sarah_, a pious Indian
woman, and I was therefore prepared to receive her with kindness. And
remembering the words of my Lord, who said, "Inasmuch as ye have done
it unto one of the _least_ of these my brethren, ye have done it unto
me," I was ready to impart a portion of my _little_ unto her (for
little, alas! was my store).
"And how," I asked her, "have you got along, this long, cold winter,
Sarah?" "O misse," she replied, "God better to Sarah than she fear.
When winter come on, Sarah was in great doubt. No husband, no child
here but one; she wicked, gone a great deal. What if great snow come?
What if fire go out? Nabor great way off. What if sick all 'lone? What
if I die? Nobody know it.
"While I think so, in my heart, then I cry: while I cryin', somethin'
speak in my mind, and say, 'Trust God, Sarah; He love His people, He
never leave them, He never forsake them; He never forsake Sarah, He
friend indeed. Go tell Jesus, Sarah; He love hear prayer; He often hear
Sarah pray.' So I wipe my eyes; don't cry any more; go out in bushes,
where nobody see, fall down on my old knees and pray. God give me great
many words; pray a great while. God make all my mind peace.
"When I get up, go in house, can't stop prayin' in my mind. All my
heart burn with love to God; willin' live cold, go hungry, be sick,
die all 'lone, if God be there. He know best; Sarah don't know. So I
feel happy; great many day go singin' hymn--
'Now I can trust the Lord for ever,
He can clothe, and He can feed,
He my rock, and He my Saviour,
Jesus is a friend indeed.'"
"Well, Sarah, have you been comfortably supplied?" "O yes," she
replied, "I never out corn meal once all winter." "But how do you cook
it, Sarah, so as to make it comfortable food?" "O, I make porridge,
misse. Sometimes I get out, like to-day, and I go get some crusts bread
and some salt put in it, then it is so nourishing to this poor old
body; but when can't get none, then make it good I can, and kneel down,
pray God to bless it to me; and I feel if God feed me, and be so happy
here"--(laying her hand on her heart).
Oh, what a lesson, thought I, for my repining heart! "But do you have
no meat or other necessaries, Sarah?" "Not often, misse; sometimes I
get so hungry for it, I begin feel wicked; then think how Jesus hungry
in the desert. But when Satan tempt Him to sin, to get food, He would
not. So I say, Sarah won't sin to get victuals. I no steal, no eat
stole food, though be hungry ever so long.
"Then God gives me small look of His self, His _Son_, and His glory;
and I think in my heart, they all be mine soon; then I no suffer
hunger any more--my Father have there many mansions." "Sarah," said
I, "you seem to have some knowledge of the Scriptures; can you read?"
"I can spell out a little; I can't read like you white folks; O, if I
could!" Here she burst into tears.
But after regaining her composure, she added, "This, misse, what I want
above all things, more than victuals or drink. Oh, how often I beg God
teach me to read, and He do teach me some. When I take Bible, kneel
down and pray, he show me great many words, and they be so sweet, I
want to know a great deal more. Oh, when I get home to heaven, then I
know all; no want to read any more."
In this strain of simple piety, she told me her first interesting
story. And when she departed, I felt a stronger evidence of her being
a true child of God, than I have acquired of some professors by a long
acquaintance. In one of the many visits she afterward made me, she gave
me, in substance, the following account of her conversion:--She lived,
according to her own account, until she became a wife and mother,
without hope and without God in the world, having been brought up in
extreme ignorance.
Her husband treating her with great severity, she became dejected and
sorrowful, and to use her own simple language, "I go sorrow, sorrow,
all day long. When the night come, husband come home angry, beat me so;
then I think, Oh, if Sarah had friend! Sarah no friend. I no want tell
nabor I got trouble, that make only worse. So I be quiet, tell nobody,
only cry all night and day for one good friend.
"One Sunday, good nabor come, and say, 'Come, Sarah, go Meetin'.' So I
call my children, tell 'em stay in house while I go to Meetin'. When
got there, minister tell all about Jesus; how He was born in stable,
go suffer all His life, die on great cross, bury, rise, and go up into
heaven, to be always sinners' friend. He say, too, if you got trouble,
go to the Lord Jesus. He best friend in sorrow, He cure all your
sorrow, He bring you out of trouble, He support you, make you willin'
suffer.
"So when I go home, think great deal what minister say; think this the
friend I want--this the friend I cry for so long. Poor ignorant Sarah
never heard so much about Jesus before. Then I try hard to tell Jesus
how I want such friend. But oh, my heart so hard, can't feel, can't
pray, can't love Jesus, though he so good. This make me sorrow more and
more.
"When Sunday come, want to go to Meetin' 'gain. Husband say, 'You
shan't go; I beat you if you go.' So I wait till he go off huntin',
then shut up children safe, and run to Meetin'; sit down in door, hear
minister tell how bad my heart is--no love to God, no love to Jesus, no
love to pray. So then I see why can't have Jesus for friend, 'cause got
so bad heart: then go prayin' all way home, Jesus make my heart better.
"When got home, find children safe, feel glad husband no come: only
feel sorry 'cause my wicked heart don't know how make it better. When
I go sleep, then dream I can read good book: dream I read there, Sarah
must be born 'gain. In mornin' keep thinkin' what that word mean. When
husband go work, run over my good nabor, ask her if Bible say so.
"Then she read me, where that great man go see Jesus by night, 'cause
'fraid go in day-time. I think he just like Sarah. She must go in
secret, to hear 'bout Jesus, else husband be angry, and beat her. Then
feel 'couraged in mind, determined to have Jesus for friend. So asked
nabor how get good heart. She tell me, 'Give your heart to Jesus,
He will give Holy Spirit, make it better. Sarah don't know what she
mean--never hear 'bout Holy Spirit.
"She say must go Meetin' next Sunday, she will tell minister 'bout
me--he tell me what to do. So Sarah go hear how must be born 'gain;
minister say, 'You must go fall down 'fore God; tell Him you grieved
'cause you sin--tell him you want better heart--tell him for Christ
Jesus' sake give Holy Spirit, make your heart new.' Then Sarah go home
light, 'cause she know the way.
"When get home, husband beat me 'cause I go Meetin'--don't stay home
work. I say, 'Sarah can't work any more on Sunday, 'cause sin 'gainst
God. I rather work night, when moon shine.' So he drive me hoe corn
that night, he so angry. I want to pray great deal, so go out hoe corn,
pray all the time. When come in house, husband sleep. Then I kneel down
and tell Jesus take my bad heart--can't bear bad heart; pray give me
Holy Spirit, make my heart soft, make it all new.
"So great many days Sarah go beg for a new heart. Go Meetin' all
Sundays; if husband beat me, never mind it; go hear good nabor read
Bible every day. So, after great while, God make all my mind peace. I
love Jesus; I love pray to Him; love tell Him all my sorrows. He take
away my sorrow, make all my soul joy; only sorrow 'cause can't read
Bible--learn how to be like Jesus; want to be like His dear people
Bible tell of.
"So I make great many brooms; go get Bible for 'em. When come home,
husband call me fool for it; say he burn it up. Then I go hide it; when
he gone, get it, kiss it many times, 'cause it Jesus' good Word. Then I
go ask nabor if she learn me read; she say, 'Yes.' Then I go many days
learn letters, pray God all the while help me learn read His Holy Word.
"So, misse, I learn read hymn; learn to spell out many good words in
Bible. So every day take Bible, tell my children that be God's words,
tell 'em how Jesus die on cross for sinner: then make 'em all kneel
down, I pray God give 'em new heart; pray for husband too, he so
wicked. Oh, how I sorry for him; fear his soul go in burnin' flame."
"Sarah," said I, "how long did your husband live?" "Oh, he live great
many year." "Did he repent and become a good man?" "No, misse, I 'fraid
not; he sin more and more. When he got sick, I in great trouble for
him; talk every day to him, but he no hear Sarah. I say, 'How can you
bear go in burnin' fire, where worm never die, where fire never go
out?' At last he get angry, bid me hold my tongue. So I don't say any
more, only mourn over him every day 'fore God.
"When he die, my heart say, 'Father, thy will be done--Jesus do all
things well. Sarah can't help him now, he be in God's hands; all is
well.' So then give my heart all away to Jesus; tell Him I be all His;
serve Him all my life; beg Holy Spirit come fill all my heart, make
it all clean and white like Jesus. Pray God help me learn more of His
sweet words.
"And now, Sarah live poor Indian widow great many long years; always
find Jesus friend, husband, brother, all. He make me willin' suffer;
willin' live great while in this bad world, if He see best. 'Bove all,
He give me great good hope of glory when I die. So now I wait patient
till my change comes."
While she was giving this narration, her countenance bore strong
testimony to the diversified emotions of her soul. I might greatly
swell the list of particulars; but I design only to give the outlines
of an example which would have done honor to the highest sphere in
life; and which, in my opinion, is not the less excellent, or the
less worthy of imitation, because shrouded in the veil of poverty and
sorrow. It was evident she meditated much on what little she knew of
divine things; and what she knew of the Bible was to her like honey and
the honeycomb.
She was in the habit of bringing bags of sand into the village, and
selling it to buy food. Sometimes she brought grapes and other kinds
of fruit. But as she walked by the way, she took little notice of
anything that passed (except children, whom she seldom passed without
an affectionate word of exhortation to be good, say their prayers,
learn to read the Bible, etc., accompanied with a bunch of grapes or an
apple--thus engaging the affection of many a little heart), but seemed
absorbed in meditation; and you might often have observed her hands
uplifted in the attitude of prayer.
One day, after having observed her as she came, I asked her how she
could bring so heavy loads, old as she was, and feeble. "Oh," said she,
"when I get great load, then I go pray God give me strength to carry
it. So I go on, thinkin' all the way how good God is give His only Son
die for poor sinner; think how good Jesus be, suffer so much for such
poor creature; how good Holy Spirit was, come into my bad heart, make
it all new: so these sweet thoughts make my mind so full joy, I never
think how heavy sand be on my old back."
"Here," said I to my heart, "learn how to make the heavy load of iron
cares easy." One day she passed with a bag of sand. On her return she
called on me. I inquired how much Mrs. ---- gave her for the sand.
She was unwilling to tell, and I feared she was unwilling lest I
should withhold my accustomed mite, on account of what she had already
received; I therefore insisted she should let me see.
She at length consented, and I drew from the bag a bone, not containing
meat enough for half a meal. "Is this all? Did that rich woman turn
you off so? How cruel, how hard-hearted!" I exclaimed. "Misse," she
replied, "this made me 'fraid let you see it; I 'fraid you would be
angry: I hope she have bigger heart next time, only she forget now that
Jesus promise to pay her all she give Sarah. Don't be angry, I pray God
to give her a great deal bigger heart."
The conviction, that she possessed, in an eminent degree, the Spirit
of Him who said, "Bless them that curse you," and prayed for His
murderers, rushed upon my mind with energy, and I could compare myself
in some measure to those who said, "Shall we command fire to come
down from heaven," etc. I think I never felt deeper self-abhorrence
and abasement; I left her for a moment, and from the few comforts I
possessed, gave her a considerable portion.
She received them with the most visible marks of gratitude--arose to
depart, went to the door, and then turned, looking me in the face with
evident concern. "Sarah," said I, "what would you have?" (supposing she
wanted something I had not thought of, and she feared to ask). "Oh, my
good misse!" said she, "nothing; only 'fraid your big heart feel some
proud 'cause you give more for nothing than Misse ---- for sand."
This faithfulness, added to her piety and gratitude, completed the
swell of feeling already rising in my soul; and bursting into tears, I
said, "O Sarah! when you pray that Mrs. ---- may have a bigger heart,
don't forget to pray that I may have an humbler one." "I will, misse, I
will," she exclaimed with joy, and hastened on her way.
Another excellence in her character, was, that she loved the habitation
of God's house, and often appeared there, when, from bad weather or
other causes, many a seat of affluence was empty. She was always early,
ever clean and whole in her apparel, though sometimes almost as much
diversified with patches as the shepherd's coat.
She was very old and quite feeble, yet she generally stood during
public service, with eyes riveted on the preacher. I have sometimes
overtaken her on the steps, after service, and tapping her on her
shoulder, would say, "Have you had a good day, Sarah?" "All good;
sweeter than honey," she would reply.
In the spring of 1818, it was observed by her friends that she did
not appear at Meeting as usual, and one of her particular female
benefactors asked her the reason; when she, with streaming eyes, told
her that her clothes had become so old and ragged that she could not
come with comfort or decency; but said she had been praying God to
provide for her in this respect, a great while, and telling Jesus how
much she wanted to go to His house of prayer, and expressed a strong
desire to be resigned and submissive to His will.
This was soon communicated to a few friends, who promptly obeyed
the call of Providence, and soon furnished this suffering member of
Christ with a very decent suit of clothes. This present was almost
overpowering to her grateful heart. She received them as from the hand
of her Heavenly Father and kind Redeemer, in answer to her special
prayer.
But this did not in the least diminish her gratitude to her
benefactors; but she said she would go on, tell Jesus how good His dear
people were to this poor old creature, and pray her good Father to give
them great reward. Two of the garments given her, she received with
every mark of joy. On being asked why she set so high a value on these,
she replied, "Oh, these just what I pray for so long, so as to lay out
my poor old body, clean and decent, like God's dear white people, when
I die."
These she requested a friend to keep for her, fearing to carry them
home, lest they should be taken from her. She was, however, persuaded
to wear one of them to Meeting, upon condition that if she injured
that, another should be provided; the other was preserved by her
friend, and made use of at her death.
Thus was this humble band of female friends honored, by anointing, as
it were, the body, beforehand, to the burial. And I doubt not that her
prayer was heard, and will be answered in their abundant reward. The
last visit I had from her was in the summer of 1818. She had attended a
funeral, and on returning, she called at my cottage. She complained of
great weariness, and pain in her limbs, and showed me her feet, which
were much swollen.
I inquired the cause. "Oh," said she, with a serene smile, "death comes
creeping on; I think in graveyard to-day, Sarah must lie here soon."
"Well, are you willing to die? do you feel ready?" "Oh, I hope, misse,
if my bad heart tell true, I willin' and ready to do just as Jesus bid
me. If He say, 'You must die,' I glad to go be with Him; if He say,
'Live, and suffer great deal more,' then I willin' do that; I think
Jesus know best.
"Sometime I get such look of heaven, I long to go see Jesus; see happy
angel; see holy saint; throw away my bad heart; lay down my old body;
and go where I no sin. Then I tell Jesus; He say, 'Sarah, I prepare a
place for you, then I come to take you to myself.' Then I be quite like
child, don't want to go till He call me."
Much more she said upon this interesting subject, which indicated a
soul ripe for heavenly glories. When we parted, I thought it very
doubtful whether we should ever meet again below. In the course of
three weeks I heard Sarah was dead.
THE GENEROUS NEGRO.
Joseph Rachel resided in the island of Barbadoes. He was a trader,
and dealt chiefly in the retail way. In his business, he conducted
himself so fairly and complaisantly, that in a town filled with little
peddling shops, his doors were thronged with customers. Almost all
dealt with him, and ever found him remarkably honest and obliging.
If any one knew not where to obtain an article, Joseph would endeavor
to procure it, without making any advantage for himself. In short,
his character was so fair, and his manners so generous, that the best
people showed him a regard which they often deny to men of their own
color, because they are not blessed with the like goodness of heart.
In 1756, a fire happened, which burned down a great part of the town,
and ruined many of the inhabitants. Joseph lived in a quarter that
escaped the destruction, and expressed his thankfulness by softening
the distresses of his neighbors. Among those who had lost their
property by this heavy misfortune, was a man to whose family Joseph, in
the early part of his life, owed some obligations.
This man, by too great hospitality, an excess very common in the West
Indies, had involved himself in difficulties, before the fire happened;
and his estate lying in houses, that event entirely ruined him. Amid
the cries of misery and want, which excited Joseph's compassion, this
man's unfortunate situation claimed particular notice. The generous and
open temper of the sufferer, the obligations that Joseph owed to his
family, were special and powerful motives for acting toward him the
part of a friend.
Joseph had his bond for sixty pounds sterling. "Unfortunate man," said
he, "this debt shall never come against you. I sincerely wish you could
settle all your other affairs as easily. But how am I sure that I shall
keep in this mind? May not the love of gain, especially when, by length
of time, your misfortune shall become familiar to me, return with too
strong a current, and bear down my fellow-feeling before it? But for
this I have a remedy. Never shall you apply for the assistance of any
friend against my avarice."
He arose, and ordered a large account that the man had with him, to
be drawn out; and in a whim that might have called up a smile on the
face of Charity, he filled his pipe, sat down again, twisted the bond
and lighted his pipe with it. While the account was drawing out, he
continued smoking, in a state of mind that a monarch might envy. When
it was finished, he went in search of his friend, with the discharged
account and the mutilated bond in his hand.
On meeting him, he presented the papers to him with this address: "Sir,
I am sensibly affected with your misfortunes: the obligations I have
received from your family give me a relation to every branch of it. I
know that your inability to pay what you owe gives you more uneasiness
than the loss of your own substance.
"That you may not be anxious on my account in particular, accept of
this discharge, and the remains of your bond. I am overpaid in the
satisfaction that I feel from having done my duty. I beg you to
consider this only as a token of the happiness you will confer upon me,
whenever you put it in my power to do you a good office."
The philanthropists of England take pleasure in speaking of him:
"Having become rich by commerce, he consecrated all his fortune to acts
of benevolence. The unfortunate, without distinction of color, had a
claim on his affections. He gave to the indigent; lent to those who
could not make a return; visited prisoners, gave them good advice, and
endeavored to bring back the guilty to _virtue_. He died at Bridgetown,
on that island, in 1758, lamented by all, for he was a friend to all."
CAPTAIN PAUL CUFFEE.
Paul Cuffee, the subject of this narrative, was the youngest son
of John Cuffee, a poor African slave; but who, by good conduct,
faithfulness, and a persevering industry, in time obtained his
freedom. He afterward purchased a farm, and having married an Indian
woman, brought up a family of ten children respectably, on one of the
Elizabeth Islands, near New Bedford, Massachusetts.
In the year 1773, when Paul was about fourteen years of age, his father
died, leaving a widow with six daughters to the care of him and his
brothers. Although he had no learning except what he had received from
the hand of friendship, yet by that means he advanced to a considerable
degree of knowledge in arithmetic and navigation.
Of the latter, he acquired enough to enable him to command his own
vessel in its voyages to many ports in the Southern States, the West
Indies, England, Russia, and to Africa. The beginning of his business
in this line was in an open boat; but by prudence and perseverance, he
was at length enabled to obtain a good-sized schooner, then a brig, and
afterward a ship. In the year 1806, he owned a ship, two brigs, and
several smaller vessels, besides considerable property in houses and
lands.
Feeling in early life a desire of benefiting his fellow-men, he made
use of such opportunities as were in his power for that purpose.
Hence, during the severity of winter, when he could not pursue his
usual business in his little boat, he employed his time in teaching
navigation to his own family and to the young men of the neighborhood.
Even on his voyages, when opportunity offered, he instructed those
under his care in that useful art.
He was so conscientious that he would not enter into any business,
however profitable, that might have a tendency to injure his
fellow-men; and seeing the dreadful effects of drunkenness, he would
not deal in ardent spirits on that account.
In the place where he lived, there was no school; and as he was anxious
that his children should obtain an education, he built a house on his
own land, at his own expense, and gave his neighbors the free use of
it; being satisfied in seeing it occupied for so useful and excellent a
purpose.
In many parts of his history, we may discover that excellent trait of
character which rendered him so eminently useful--a steady perseverance
in laudable undertakings. It is only by an honest, industrious use of
the means in our power that we can hope to become respectable.
His mind had long been affected with the degraded and miserable
condition of his African brethren, and his heart yearning toward them,
his thoughts were turned to the British settlement at Sierra Leone. In
1811, finding his property sufficient to warrant the undertaking, and
believing it to be his duty to use a part of what God had given him for
the benefit of his unhappy race, he embarked in his own brig, manned
entirely by persons of color, and sailed to Africa, the land of his
forefathers.
After he arrived at Sierra Leone, he had many conversations with the
governor and principal inhabitants, and proposed to them a number of
improvements. Thence he sailed to England, where he met great attention
and respect; and being favored with an opportunity of opening his views
to the Board of Managers of the African Institution, they cordially
united with him in all his plans. This mission to Africa was undertaken
at his own expense, and with the purest motives of benevolence.
He was very desirous of soon making another voyage, but was prevented
by the war which took place between England and the United States.
In 1815, however, he made preparations, and took on board his brig
thirty-eight persons of color; and after a voyage of thirty-five days,
he arrived safe at his destined port. These persons were to instruct
the inhabitants of Sierra Leone in farming and the mechanic arts. His
stay at this time was about two months, and when he took his leave,
particularly of those whom he had brought over, it was like a father
leaving his children, and with pious admonition commending them to the
protection of God.
He was making arrangements for a third voyage, when he was seized with
the complaint which terminated his labors and his life. He was taken
ill in the winter, and died in the autumn following, 1817, in the
fifty-ninth year of his age. For the benefit of his African brethren,
he devoted a portion of his youthful acquisitions, of his latter time,
and even the thoughts of his dying pillow.
As a private man, he was just and upright in all his dealings. He was
an affectionate husband, a kind father, a good neighbor, and a faithful
friend. He was pious without ostentation, and warmly attached to the
principles of the Society of Friends, of which he was a member; and
he sometimes expressed a few sentences in their Meetings, which gave
general satisfaction. Regardless of the honors and pleasures of the
world, he followed the example of his Divine Master, in going from
place to place doing good, looking not for a reward from man, but from
his Heavenly Father.
Thus walking in the ways of piety and usefulness, and in the enjoyment
of an approving conscience, when death appeared, it found him in peace,
and ready to depart. Such a calmness and serenity overspread his soul,
and showed itself in his countenance, that the heart of even the
reprobate might feel the wish, "Let me die the death of the righteous,
and let my last end be like his."
A short time before he expired, feeling sensible that his end was near,
he called his family together. It was an affecting and solemn scene.
His wife and children, with several other relations, being assembled
around him, he reached forth his feeble hand, and after embracing them
all, and giving them some pious advice, he commended them to the mercy
of God, and bid them a final farewell.
After this, his mind seemed almost entirely occupied with the eternal
world. To one of his neighbors who came to visit him, he said, "Not
many days hence, and ye shall see the glory of God. I know that my
works are gone to judgment before me; but it is all well, it is all
well."
He lived the life, and died the death of a Christian. He is gone whence
he never shall return, and where he shall no more contend with raging
billows and with howling storms. His voyages are all over, he has made
his last haven, and it is that of eternal repose. Thither, could we
follow him, we should learn the importance of fulfilling our duty to
our Creator, to ourselves, and to our fellow-creatures.
Such was his reputation for wisdom and integrity, that his neighbors
consulted him in all their important concerns; and what an honor to
the son of a poor African slave! And the most respectable men in Great
Britain and America were not ashamed to seek him for counsel and advice.
Thus we see how his persevering industry and economy, with the blessing
of Providence, procured him wealth; his wisdom, sobriety, integrity,
and good conduct made him many friends; his zealous labors for the
honor of his Maker, and for the benefit of his fellow-men, gave him
a peaceful conscience; and an unshaken belief in the mercies and
condescending love of his Heavenly Father, afforded, in his dying
moments, that calmness, serenity, and peaceful joy, which are a
foretaste of immortal bliss.
The following is an extract from his address to his brethren at Sierra
Leone:--"Beloved friends and fellow-countrymen, I earnestly recommend
to you the propriety of assembling yourselves together to worship the
Lord your God. God is a Spirit, and they that worship Him acceptably,
must worship in spirit and in truth.
"Come, my African brethren, let us walk in the light of the Lord; in
that pure light which bringeth salvation into the world. I recommend
sobriety and steadfastness, that so professors may be good examples in
all things. I recommend that early care be taken to instruct the youth
while their minds are tender, that so they may be preserved from the
corruptions of the world, from profanity, intemperance, and bad company.
"May servants be encouraged to discharge their duty with faithfulness;
may they be brought up to industry; and may their minds be cultivated
for the reception of the good seed which is promised to all who seek
it. I want that we should be faithful in all things, that so we may
become a people giving satisfaction to those who have borne the burden
and heat of the day in liberating us from a state of slavery.
"I leave you in the hands of Him who is able to preserve you through
time, and crown you with that blessing which is prepared for all who
are faithful to the end." This appears to be the simple expression of
his feelings, and the language of his heart.
When you have read this account of your brother Paul Cuffee, pause
and reflect. Do not think because you cannot be as extensively useful
as he was, that you cannot do any good. There are very few people, if
any, in the world who cannot be useful in some way or other. If you
have health, you may, by your industry, sobriety, and economy, make
yourselves and your families comfortable.
By your honesty and good conduct, you may set them and your neighbors
a good example. If you have aged parents, you may soothe and comfort
their declining years. If you have children, you may instruct them
in piety and virtue, and in such business as will procure them a
comfortable subsistance, and prepare them for usefulness in the world.
SOLOMON BAYLEY.
In the narrative of his own life, Solomon Bayley says: "The Lord tried
to teach me His fear when I was a little boy; but I delighted in vanity
and foolishness, and went astray; but He found out a way to overcome
me, and to cause me to desire His favor and His great help; and
although I thought no one could be more unworthy of His favor, yet He
did look on me, and pity me in my great distress.
"I was born a slave in the State of Delaware, and was one of those that
were carried out of Delaware into the State of Virginia; the laws of
Delaware did say, that slaves carried out of that State should be free;
and I asserted my right to freedom, for which I was put on board of a
vessel and sent to Richmond, where I was put in jail, and in irons, and
thence sent in a wagon back into the country.
"On the third day after we left Richmond, in the bitterness of my
heart, I was induced to say, 'I am past all hope;' but it pleased the
Father of mercy to look upon me, and He sent a strengthening thought
into my heart--that He that made the heavens and the earth was able
to deliver me. I looked up to the sky, and then on the trees and the
ground, and I believed, in a moment, that if He could make all these,
He was able to deliver me.
"Then did that Scripture come into my mind, 'They that trust in the
Lord shall never be confounded.' I believed it, and got out of the
wagon unperceived, and went into the bushes. There were three wagons
in company: when they missed me, they looked round some time for me,
but not finding me, they went on; and that night I travelled through
thunder, lightning, and rain, a considerable distance."
His trials and difficulties in getting along were many and various;
but at Petersburg he met a man from his neighborhood, circumstanced
like himself: they got a small boat, went down James River, and landed
on the eastern shore of Chesapeake Bay, and travelled to Hunting
Creek, where their wives were. "But," says he, "we found little or no
satisfaction, for we were hunted like partridges on the mountains."
His poor companion, being threatened again with slavery, in attempting
to escape, was pursued and killed; on which Solomon makes the following
remarks: "Now, reader, you have heard of the end of my fellow-sufferer,
but I remain as yet a monument of mercy, thrown up and down on life's
tempestuous sea; sometimes feeling an earnest desire to go away and be
at rest; but I travail on, in hopes of overcoming at my last combat.
"It being thought best for me to leave Virginia, I went to Dover,
in Delaware, the distance of about one hundred and twenty miles." By
travelling in the night, and laying by in the day-time, he at length
reached that place, but not without great difficulty, from being hunted
and pursued.
In concluding this part of his narrative, he says, "Oh, what pains God
takes to help His otherwise helpless creatures! Oh, that His kindness
and care were more considered and laid to heart! and then there would
not be that cause to complain that 'the ox knoweth his owner, and the
ass his master's crib, but Israel doth not know, my people doth not
consider;' but they would see that they are of more value than many
sparrows; and that they are not their own, but bought with a price.
Now, unto the King immortal, invisible, the only wise God, be glory and
honor, dominion and power, now and forever. Amen."
In the second part of his narrative, he proceeds by remarking, "Seventh
month, 24th, 1799, I got to Camden, where my master soon came from
Virginia and found me, though he had not seen me since he put me on
board the back-country wagon, nearly three or four hundred miles from
Camden. Upon first sight, he asked me what I was going to do. I said,
'Now, master, I have suffered a great deal, and seen a great deal of
trouble; I think you might let me go for little or nothing.' He said,
'I won't do that; but if you will give me forty pounds bond and good
security, you may be free.'"
After much conversation between them on the subject of his right to
freedom, he continues: "Finally, he sold my time for eighty dollars,
and I went to work, and worked it out in a shorter time than he gave
me, and then I was a free man. And when I came to think that the _yoke
was off my neck_, and _how_ it was _taken_ off, I was made to wonder
and admire, and to adore the order of kind Providence, which assisted
me in all my way."
Here he very feelingly recites the trials and exercises of mind that
attended him for not adhering to that wisdom and goodness of his
Creator, which had been so marvellously manifested for his deliverance,
and then proceeds to relate the circumstances respecting his wife
and children. "My wife was born a slave, and remained one until she
was thirty-two years of age; when her master, falling out with her,
proposed sending her, with my eldest daughter, about three months old,
into the back country.
"To go with her, I knew not where, or to buy her at his price, brought
me to a stand; but, by the pleading of his wife and little daughter, he
agreed to let me have her for one hundred and thirty-three dollars and
a third, which is thirty-one pounds Virginia money. I paid what money I
had saved since paying for my own freedom, and the rest as I earned it,
and she was manumitted. But I had one child in bondage, my only son,
and having worked through the purchase of myself and wife, I thought I
would give up my son to the ordering of Divine Providence.
"So we worked and rented land, and got along twelve or thirteen years,
when my son's master died, and his property had to be sold, and my son
among the rest, at public sale. The backwoods-men having come over and
given such large prices for slaves, it occasioned a great concern to
come over my mind, and I told it to many of my friends, and they all
encouraged me to buy him, but I told them I could have no heart to do
it, because at his master's death he was appraised at four hundred
dollars; however, I went to the sale. When the crier said, 'A likely
young negro-fellow for sale,' and then asked for a bid, I said, 'Two
hundred dollars.'
"As soon as I made this bid, a man that I feared would sell him to the
backwoods-men, bid three hundred and thirty-three dollars, which beat
down all my courage, but a thought struck me--Don't give out so--and
I bid one shilling, but they continued to bid until they got him up
to three hundred and sixty dollars, and I thought I could do no more;
but those men who had engaged to be my securities, encouraged me, and
some young men who were present, and had their hearts touched with a
feeling for my distress, said, 'Solomon, if you will make one more bid,
we will give you five dollars apiece;' so I turned round and said,
'One shilling;' so he was knocked off to me at three hundred and sixty
dollars and a shilling: this was in the year 1813.
"Then I believed that God would work, and none could hinder Him, and
that a way would be made for me, though I knew not how; and I confess
the eyes of my mind appeared to be dazzled as I was let into a sight of
the great goodness of the Highest in undertaking for me; but I felt a
fear lest my behavior should not be suitable to the kindness and favor
shown toward me.
"Oh, that all men would study the end of their creation, and act
accordingly! Then they would walk in the light of His countenance
indeed, and 'in His name rejoice all the day, and in His righteousness
for ever be exalted.'
'Then should their sun in smiles decline,
And bring a peaceful night;'
which may all who read these lines, desire, and seek, and obtain,
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."
In the account of his mother, he says, "She was born of a woman brought
from Guinea about the year 1690, then about eleven years old. She was
brought into one of the most barbarous families; and though treated
hard, she had many children, and lived to a great age. My mother had
thirteen sons and daughters, and served the same cruel family until
they died.
"Then great distress and dispersion took place. Our young mistress
married, and brought our family out of the State of Virginia into the
State of Delaware; but by their removing back to Virginia, we were
entitled to our freedom, and attempting to recover it by law, we were
sold and scattered wide. My father and two of his children were taken
unaware, and sent to the West Indies. My mother was in the house at
the time, but made her escape, leaving a child about eleven months
old, which some kind friend carrying to her, she took, and travelling
through Delaware, went into New Jersey.
"We were separated about eighteen years, except that I once visited
her, and carried her seventeen or eighteen dollars, which, in my
circumstances, was a sacrifice, but I was favored to find that
satisfaction which I esteemed more than time or money. Being thoughtful
about my mother, I sent for her to come to the State of Delaware, and
when we were brought together, it was very comfortable, and we could
sit and tell of the dangers and difficulties we had been brought
through. She lived to a great age, and departed without much complaint,
like one falling asleep.
"_An account of my eldest daughter Margaret, who died in the
twenty-fourth year of her age._
"She was a pleasant child in her manners and behavior, yet fond of gay
dress and new fashions; yet her mind was much inclined to her book, and
to read good lessons; and it pleased the Father of mercy to open her
understanding to see excellent things out of His law, and to convince
her that it was His will she should be holy here, and happy hereafter;
but custom, habit, and shame, seemed to chain her down, so that she
appeared like one halting between two opinions.
"But about a month before she was taken for death, she went to a
Meeting, under a concern about her future state; and the Meeting
appeared to be favored with the outpouring of the Spirit of love and of
power. Margaret came home under great concern of mind, and manifested
a wonderful change in her manners and behavior; I believe the whole
family were affected at the sight of the alteration, which indeed
appeared like that of the prodigal son coming home to his father. For
my own part, I felt fear and great joy--such was her delight to read
the Bible and ask the meaning of certain texts of Scripture, which
evidenced a concern to make sure work for eternity.
"In this frame of mind she was taken for death. She appeared very
desirous to live, for the first four weeks; but was very patient, and
of a sweet temper and disposition all the time. I recollect but one
instance when she was known to give way to peevish fretfulness; then
I, feeling the evil spirit striving to get the advantage of her, very
tenderly and earnestly admonished her not to regard trifles, but to
look to that Power which was able to save her; and from that time she
became passive and resigned.
"The following two weeks her pain was great, and baffled all the force
of medicine. A few days before her departure, she was urged with much
brokenness of heart to make confession, when she was let into a view
of the vanity of the world, with all its glittering snares, and said
she could not rest till her hair was cut off; for, she said, 'I was
persuaded to plait my hair against my father's advice, and I used to
tie up my head when father would come to see me, and hide ruffles and
gay dress from him, and now I cannot rest till my hair is cut off.' I
said, 'No, my daughter, let it be till thee gets well.' She answered,
'Oh, no, cut it now.' So I, to pacify her, took and cropped it.
"After this, she appeared filled with raptures of joy, and talked of
going, as if death had lost its sting. This was about three days before
her departure; and she seemed to have her senses as long as she could
speak. A little before her speech left her, she called us all, one by
one, held out her hand, bade us farewell, and looked as if she felt
that assurance and peace that destroy the fear of death; and while she
held out her hands, she earnestly charged us to meet her in heaven.
"I desire now to give the pious a brief account of the life and death
of my youngest daughter, Leah Bayley, who departed this life the 27th
of 7th month, 1821, aged twenty-one years and six months. She, from a
child, was more weakly and sickly than her sister Margaret, and the
thought of leaving her here in this ill-natured world, caused me many
serious moments; but the great Parent of all good, in the greatness of
His care, took her away, and relieved me of the care of her forever.
"Weakness of body and mind appeared in her as she grew up, and an
inclination to vanity and idleness; but being bound out under an
industrious mistress, to learn to work and to have schooling, her
mind soon became much inclined to her book and then to business. Her
school-mistress gave her a little book concerning some pious young
people that lived happily, and died happily, and were gone to heaven;
namely,--
"Young Samuel, that little child
Who served the Lord, lived undefiled.
Like young Abijah I must be,
That good things may be found in me.
Young Timothy, that blessed youth
Who sought the Lord and loved the truth.
I must not sin as others do,
Lest I lie down in sorrow too.
"These blessed examples won her heart so as to bury every other
enjoyment; she seemed to possess as great a deadness to the world as
any young woman I ever observed. She seemed not ashamed to read in
any company, white or colored; and she read to the sick with intense
desire, which appeared from her weeping and solid manner of behavior.
She seemed to desire to walk in the fear of the Lord all the day long;
and every body that observed her remarked her serious, steady behavior.
"She seemed as if she was trying to imitate those good children whom
she read about; and so continued until she was taken sick; and though
her sickness was long and sharp, yet she bore it like a lamb. A few
days before her decease, I was noticing how hard she drew her breath;
she looked very wistful at me, and said, 'Oh, father! how much I do
suffer!' I answered, 'Yes, my dear, I believe thee does.'
"Then, after a long pause, she said, 'But I think I never shall say I
suffer too much.' This, I apprehended, was extorted from a view of the
sufferings of Christ and her own imperfections. The day she died, she
called us all, one by one, and, like her sister Margaret, held out her
hand, and with much composure of mind bade us farewell, as if she was
only going a short walk, and to return."
The last accounts from Solomon Bayley say, that he was very diligent
and faithful in his calling--laboring not only for the souls of his
brethren, but for their bodies also--by setting them the best example
he was capable of, in cultivating his land to the best advantage, and
by improving his plans, to show the natives, as well as the emigrants,
the usefulness and comforts of civilized life.
CLARINDA,
A PIOUS COLORED WOMAN OF SOUTH CAROLINA, WHO DIED AT THE AGE OF A
HUNDRED AND TWO YEARS.
The subject of this memoir was brought up in a state of ignorance
unworthy of a Christian country; and following the propensities of a
corrupt heart, she was, by her own confession, "sold under sin," and
involved in almost every species of iniquity. And for the furtherance
of her wicked designs, she learned to play on the violin, and usually,
on the first day of the week, sallied forth with her instrument, in
order to draw persons of both sexes together, who, not having the
fear of God before their eyes, delighted, like herself, in sinful and
pernicious amusements, which keep the soul from God and the heart from
repentance.
But even on these occasions she found it difficult to struggle against
the Spirit of the Most High. Often was it sounded in her conscience,
"Clarinda, God ought not to be slighted--God ought not to be
forgotten;" but these monitions were treated with derision, and in the
hardness of her heart she would exclaim: "Go, you fool, I do not know
God--go, I do not wish to know Him."
On one occasion, while on her way to a dance, these blasphemous
thoughts, in answer to the monitions of conscience, were passing
through her mind, and in this frame she reached the place of
appointment, and mingled in the gay throng. While participating in the
dance, she was seized with fits, and convulsively fell to the ground.
From that moment, she lost her love of dancing, and no more engaged in
this vain amusement.
She did not, however, forsake the evil of her ways, but continued her
course of wickedness. Thus she went on for about twenty years, when she
lost her only child, and was confined for several months by severe
illness. During this period of bodily suffering, her mind was brought
under awful convictions for sin: she perceived that the great Jehovah
is a sin-hating and sin-avenging God, and that He will by no means
clear the guilty.
She remained in a distressed state of mind for about three months, and
when a little bodily strength was restored, she sought solitary places,
where she poured out her soul unto the Lord, and in His own good time
He spoke peace to her wounded spirit. One day being thus engaged in
earnest prayer, and looking unto the Lord for deliverance, the evening
approached unregarded, her soul was deeply humbled, and the night
passed in prayer, while rivers of tears (to use her own expressive
language) ran down her cheeks, and she ceased not to implore mercy from
Him who is able to bind up the broken-hearted.
While thus engaged, and all this time ignorant of her Saviour,
something whispered to her mind, "Ask in the name of Christ." She
queried, "Who is Christ?" and in reply, these passages of Scripture
seemed repeated to her: "Let not your heart be troubled; ye believe in
God, believe also in Me." "In My Father's house are many mansions: I go
to prepare a place for you, that where I am there ye may be also." "I
am the way, the truth, and the life; no man cometh unto the Father but
by Me."
Being desirous to know whence these impressions proceeded, she was
led to believe that they were received through the influence of the
Holy Spirit. This remarkable passage was also presented to her mind:
"Therefore, being justified by faith, we have peace with God through
our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ."
She now felt the love of God shed abroad in her heart; the overwhelming
burden of sin was removed, and she received ability to sing praises to
the Lord on the banks of deliverance.
Having been thus permitted to see the desire of her soul, she was
anxious to learn more of the divine will, and inquired, like the
apostle, "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?" and like him she was
commanded to be a witness of what she had seen and heard. Believing she
had a commission given her to preach the Gospel, she began to warn the
sinful and licentious, that they must crucify the man of sin, or for
ever forego the hope of salvation.
This raised her a host of enemies, both white and colored; and she
underwent, many years, cruelty and persecution which could hardly
obtain credence. She bore about on her body the visible marks of her
faithful allegiance to the Lord Jesus; yet, while alluding to this,
tears filled her eyes, and she said with emotion, "I am thankful that I
have been found worthy to suffer for my blessed Saviour."
Although living in great poverty, and subsisting at times on casual
charity, with health impaired by the sufferings through which she had
passed, yet neither promises of protection, accompanied with the offer
of the good things of this life, on the one hand, nor the dreadful
persecution she endured on the other, could make her relinquish the
office of a minister of the Gospel.
This office she continued to exercise, holding meetings regularly
on the first day of the week, at her own little habitation, where a
greater number at times assembled than could be accommodated in the
house. It may be interesting to add some particulars relative to the
trial of her faith and the persecution she suffered.
One individual in whose neighborhood she lived, who was much annoyed by
hearing her sing and pray, offered, if she would desist, to provide her
with a home and the comforts of life; but she replied, she had received
a commission to preach the Gospel, and she would preach it as long as
she had breath. Several ill-intentioned persons one night surrounded
her house, and commanded her to come out to them. This she refused to
do. After threatening her for some time, they forced open the door, and
having seized their victim, they beat her cruelly, so that her head was
deeply indented with the blows she received.
At another time she was so much injured that she was left nearly
lifeless on the open road, whither she had fled to escape from them;
but her unsuccessful efforts increased the rage of her pursuers, and
after treating her with the utmost barbarity, they left her. She was
found after some time, but so exhausted by the loss of blood that she
was unable to walk, and from the effects of that cruelty she did not
recover for years. But it may be said of her, that she joyfully bore
persecution for Christ's sake.
A man who lived in the same village, being much incensed at the
undaunted manner in which she stood forth as a minister of the meek
and crucified Saviour, swore that he would beat her severely if ever
he found an opportunity. One evening, as she was walking home on a
solitary road, she saw this person riding towards her. She knew his
intentions, and from his character she did not doubt that he would
execute them.
She trembled from head to foot, escape seemed impracticable, and prayer
was her only refuge. As he advanced, she observed that his handkerchief
fell and was wafted by the wind to a little distance. She picked it up,
he stopped his horse, and she handed it to him in a submissive manner;
he looked at her fiercely for a moment, when his countenance softened;
he took it, saying, "Well, Clarinda," and passed on.
She was not able to read a word till her sixty-sixth year, but she was
in the practice of getting persons to read the Holy Scriptures to her,
much of which she retained in her memory with remarkable accuracy. By
dint of application, she was at length able to read them herself; and
those who visited her in advanced life, found her knowledge of the
Scriptures, as well as her growth in grace, very surprising.
When she was one hundred years old, and very feeble, she would, if able
to get out of bed, on the Sabbath morning, discharge what she thought
to be her duty, by conversing with and exhorting both the white and
colored people who came to her house, often standing for half an hour
at a time. Her zeal was indeed great, and her faith steadfast.
She said she often wished she could write, that she might in this way
also express her anxiety for the good of souls. Then she would have
described more of the exercises of her mind upon the depravity of man
by nature and by practice, with the unbounded and redeeming love and
mercy of God through Jesus Christ.
The person who gives the account of Clarinda's death, says, "I was
prevented from seeing her often in her last moments; when I did see
her she was always the same--her one theme the love of God to poor
sinners, which was always her style of speaking. One day, as I sat by
her bedside, she said to me, 'Do you think I am a Christian?' 'Yes,'
I answered, 'I do believe you are a Christian.' 'I have tried to be,'
she replied, 'but now that I suffer in my body, when I think what an
unprofitable servant I have been, I am distressed.' She then wept.
'You know,' I said, 'it is not how _much_ we can do, but what we do
_sincerely_ for the love of Christ, that is acceptable.' She seemed
comforted, and talked as usual.
"She showed me much affection when I left her, saying, 'I shall not
live long, my dear ----,' and, adding a few other words, blessed me,
and bid me pray for her. She had frequently expressed her fears of the
bodily sufferings of death, but not accompanied with a dread of eternal
death. I asked her, when she was ill, if she _now_ feared to die. She
said 'No; this fear was taken away some time previous to my illness.'"
She requested that her people, as she called them, might continue to
meet at her house, but this was not allowed. I am told they sometimes
meet elsewhere, and are called "Clarinda's People." When dying, she
told those near her to follow her _only_ as she had followed Christ.
Her death occurred in 1832. "Those that be planted in the house of the
Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God. They shall bring forth
fruit in old age."
While perusing this remarkable account of "a brand plucked from the
burning," let those who from their earliest years have enjoyed the
inestimable privilege of access to the sacred volume, and various other
religious means, seriously consider the blessed Saviour's words: "Unto
whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required."
NAIMBANNA.
When the Sierra Leone Company was first settled, they endeavored to
bring over to their friendship all the petty African princes in their
neighborhood. Among others, they applied to a chief of the name of
Naimbanna, who was remarkable for a good disposition and an acute
understanding. He easily saw that the intention of the company was
friendly to Africa, and entered into amity with them.
They spoke to him about the slave trade, and gave him reasons for
wishing to have it abolished. He was convinced of its wickedness, and
declared that not one of his subjects should ever go into slavery
again. By degrees, they began to talk to him about religion, but he
was rather wary on that head. It seems he had formed some prejudices
against Christianity.
Finding, however, that the Company's factory contained a very good
sort of people, and that they lived happily among themselves, he began
to think more favorably of their religion; but he was still backward
either in receiving it himself, or in making it the religion of his
country. He was well convinced of the barbarous state of his own
people, on a comparison with Europeans, and he wished for nothing more
than a reformation among them, especially in religion.
But as he found there were several kinds (or forms) of religion in
the world, he wished to know which was the best before he introduced
either of them. To ascertain this point as well as he could, he took
the following method: He sent one of his sons into Turkey, among the
Mohammedans; a second into Portugal, among the Papists; and the third
he recommended to the Sierra Leone Company, desiring they would send
him to England, to be there instructed in the religion of that country.
It appears he meant to be directed by the reports of his sons in the
choice of a national religion. Of the two former of these young men,
we have no particulars, only that one of them became very vicious. The
last mentioned, though I believe the eldest, bore his father's name,
Naimbanna. The Sierra Leone Company received the charge of him with
great pleasure, believing that nothing could have a better effect in
promoting their benevolent schemes, than making him a good Christian.
Young Naimbanna was a perfect African in form, and had the features
with which the African face is commonly marked. While he was with the
Company, he seemed a well-disposed tractable youth; but when opposed,
he was impatient, fierce, and subject to violent passion. In the first
ship that sailed he was sent to England, where he arrived in the year
1791.
We may imagine with what astonishment he surveyed every object that
came before him: but his curiosity, in prudent hands, became, from the
first the medium of useful instruction. During his voyage he acquired
some knowledge of the English language; and although he could not
speak it with any degree of fluency, he could understand much of what
he heard spoken, which greatly facilitated his learning it, when he
applied to it in a more regular way.
The difficulty of learning to speak and read being in a great degree
subdued, he was put upon the grand point for which he was sent to
England--that of being instructed in the Christian religion. The
gentlemen to whose care he had been recommended, alternately took
him under their protection; and each gave up his whole time to him,
faithfully discharging the trust which he had voluntarily, and without
any emolument, undertaken.
Naimbanna was first made acquainted with the value of the Bible; the
most material parts of the Old Testament, as well as the New, were
explained to him. The great necessity of a Saviour, for the sinfulness
of man, was pointed out; the end and design of Christianity, its
doctrines, its precepts, and its sanctions, were all made intelligible
to him. With a clearness of understanding which astonished those who
took the care of instructing him, he made those divine truths familiar
to his mind. He received the Gospel with joy, and carried it home to
his heart as the means of happiness both in this world and the next.
His love for reading the Scriptures, and hearing them read, was such
that he never was tired of the exercise. Every other part of learning
that he was put upon, as arithmetic, for instance, was heavy work with
him, and he soon began to complain of fatigue; but even when he was
most fatigued, if he was asked to read in the Bible, he was always
ready, and generally expressed his readiness by some emotions of joy.
In short, he considered the Bible as the rule which was to direct his
life; and he made a real use of every piece of instruction which he
obtained from it. This was evident in all his actions. If his behavior
was at any time wrong, and a passage of Scripture was shown to him,
which forbade such behavior, whatever it was, he instantly complied
with the rule he received. Of this there were many instances.
One related to dress. He had a little vanity about him, was fond
of finery, admired it in other people, and was always ready to
adorn himself. His kind instructors told him these were childish
inclinations; that decency and propriety of dress are pleasing, but
that foppery is disgusting. Above all, they told him that the Christian
is ordered to be "clothed with humility, and to put on the ornament of
a meek and quiet spirit." Such passages, whenever they were suggested
to him, checked all the little vanities of his heart, and made him
ashamed of what he had just before so eagerly desired.
The irritable passions, where lay his weakest side, were conquered in
the same way. His friends once carried him to the House of Commons, to
hear a debate on the slave trade, which Colonel Tarlton defended with
some warmth. When Naimbanna came out of the house, he exclaimed, with
great vehemence and indignation, that he would kill that man wherever
he met him; for he told stories of his country. He told people that his
countrymen would not work, and that was a great story. His countrymen
would work; but Englishmen would not buy work; they would buy only men.
His friends told him that he should not be angry with Colonel Tarlton,
for perhaps he had been misinformed, and knew no better. Besides,
they told him that, at any rate, he had no right to kill him: for the
Almighty says, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord." This
calmed him in a moment; and he never afterward expressed the least
indignation toward Colonel Tarlton; but he would have been ready to
show him any friendly office if it had fallen in his way.
At another time, when he saw a drayman using his horse ill, he became
enraged, and declared he would get a gun and shoot that fellow
directly. But his anger was presently assuaged by this or some similar
passage of Scripture: "Be ye angry, and sin not; let not the sun go
down upon your wrath." He showed so much tenderness of conscience that
he seemed anxious about nothing but to know what his religion required
him to do.
When he could determine the rectitude of an action, he set an example
even to Christians, by showing that he thought there was no difficulty
in the performance. He said his father had ordered him, when he arrived
in England, never to drink more at one time than a single glass of
wine; and he considered his father's injunction as sacred. On this
head, therefore, all the instruction which he wanted was to turn his
temperance into a Christian virtue, by practising it with a sincere
desire to please God.
In the gay scenes which often presented themselves to his view, he
never mixed. His friends were very solicitous to keep him from all
dissipation, which might have corrupted the beautiful simplicity of
mind that was so characteristic in him. He was fond of riding on
horseback, but when he got upon a horse, it was difficult to govern
his desire for rapid motion. After remaining in England a year and a
half, and being carefully instructed in the Christian religion, he only
waited for an opportunity of returning home, which did not occur for
five or six months afterward.
In the meantime, two great points were the burden of his thoughts,
and gave him much distress. The first related to his father, whose
death he heard had happened about a year after he left the country.
The principal cause of his solicitude was his uncertainty whether his
father had died a Christian. He knew that he had been well disposed
toward Christianity, but he had never heard whether he had fully
embraced it.
His other difficulty regarded himself. He had now attained the end
at which he had aimed. He had been instructed in a religion which he
was convinced would promote the happiness of his people if it could
be established among them. But how was that to be done? With regard
to himself, he had had wise and learned men to instruct him. But what
could his abilities do in such a work--especially considering the wild
and savage manners of his countrymen? In every light, the greatness of
the attempt perplexed him.
With a mind distressed by these difficulties, he took an affectionate
leave of his kind friends in England, and embarked for Africa in one of
the Company's ships, which was named after him, the Naimbanna. Though
he had shown great affection for his own country and relations, yet
the kindness which he had received from his friends in England had
impressed him strongly; and it was not without a great struggle that he
broke away from them at last.
The distress he felt was increased by the society he mixed in at
sea--being very different from that which he had left behind. The
profligate manners and licentious language of the ship's company
shocked him exceedingly. The purity of his mind could not bear it. He
had hoped, that in a Christian country he should always find himself
among Christians, but he was greatly disappointed.
The company he was in appeared to him as ignorant and uninformed as his
own countrymen, and much less innocent in their manners. At length, the
oaths and abominable conversation which he continually heard, affected
him so much that he complained to the captain of the ship, and desired
him to put a stop to so indecent language. The captain endeavored
to check it, but with little effect, which gave Naimbanna increased
distress.
But still the great burden of his mind, was the difficulty which he
foresaw in the attempt to introduce Christianity among his countrymen.
Many were the schemes he thought of; but insuperable obstacles seemed
to arise on every side. All this perplexity, which his active and
generous mind underwent, recoiled upon himself.
His thoughts were continually on the stretch, and this, it was
supposed, at length occasioned a fever, which seized him when his
voyage was nearly at an end. His malady increasing, it was attended
with delirium, which left him only a few lucid intervals. In these, his
mind always shone out full of religious hope and patient resignation to
the will of God.
In one of these intervals, he told Mr. Graham, a fellow-passenger with
whom he was most intimate, that he began to think he should be called
away before he had an opportunity to tell his mother of the mercies of
God toward him, and of his obligations to the Sierra Leone Company. He
then desired him to write his will, which he began in the presence of
Captain Wooles and James Cato, a servant that attended Naimbanna.
When Mr. Graham had written a considerable part, as particularly
directed, manifesting the feelings and generosity of his heart,
Naimbanna complained of fatigue, and said he would finish it after he
had taken a little rest. But his fever came on with increased violence,
and his delirium scarcely ever left him afterward.
The night after, the vessel, though close to the African coast, durst
not attempt to land, as the wind was contrary, and there was danger of
running on the Scarries bank. Next morning, though, the wind continued
contrary, Mr. Graham went off to the settlement in an open boat to
procure medical aid. But when the physician came on board, Naimbanna
was just alive; and in that state he was carried to the settlement, the
next morning, July 17th, 1793, when the ship came to anchor.
On the first account of his illness, an express was sent to inform his
friends at Robanna; and soon after he was landed, his mother, brothers,
sisters, and relatives came to the settlement. The distracted looks of
his mother, and the wildness of his sisters' grief, affected everyone.
His cousin Henry, an ingenuous youth, who stood among them, attracted
the attention of all by the solemn sorrow of his countenance, which
seemed to discover a heart full of tenderness and woe. In the meantime,
the dying youth appeared every moment drawing nearer the close of life.
His voice failing more and more, the little he said was with difficulty
understood. Once or twice, those who stood around him caught hold of
something like our Saviour's words: "Many are called, but few chosen."
About an hour before he died, his voice wholly failed. He was awhile
restless and uneasy, till, turning his head on his pillow, he found an
easier posture, and lay perfectly quiet.
About seven in the evening of the day on which he was brought on shore,
he expired without a groan. When his mother and other relatives found
his breath was gone, their shrieks and agonizing cries were distressing
beyond measure. Instantly, in a kind of frantic madness, they snatched
up his body, hurried it into a canoe, and went off with it to Robanna.
Some of the gentlemen of the factory immediately followed in boats,
with a coffin.
When the corpse was laid decently into it, Mr. Horne, the clergyman,
read the funeral service over it, amid a number of people, and finished
with an extempore prayer. The ceremony was conducted with so much
solemnity, and performed in so affecting a manner, that the impression
was communicated throughout the whole crowd. They drew closer and
closer, as Mr. Horne continued to speak; and though they understood not
a syllable of what he said, they listened to him with great attention,
and bore witness, with every mark of sorrow, to the powers of sympathy.
After the ceremony was over, the gentlemen of the factory retired to
their boats, leaving the corpse, as his friend desired, to be buried
according to the custom of the country.
ZILPAH MONTJOY.
In the year 1821, died, in the city of New York, an aged woman of
color, named Zilpah Montjoy; whose pious circumspect life rendered her
an object of peculiar interest to many of her acquaintances; to some of
these, whose friendly notice she had experienced, she more than once
related the following circumstance:--
Being a slave, inured to hard labor, she was brought up in such extreme
ignorance as to have no idea that she was an accountable being--that
there was a future state--not even that death was universal, until the
sixteenth year of her age, when a girl of her own color dying in the
neighborhood, she was permitted to attend the funeral.
The minister's text was, "Man that is born of a woman is of few days
and full of trouble: he cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down: he
fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not!" by which and subsequent
remarks, she understood that all were to die; that there was a state of
existence after death, a preparation for which was necessary while here.
She was much affected, and returned home in great agitation. Revolving
these things in her mind for several days, she at length asked her
mistress whether she had understood right, that all must die. The reply
was, "Go to your work." She continued thus exercised for a considerable
time, earnestly desiring to know what she had to do, but had no one to
give her instruction.
In this tried state, the Lord was pleased to reveal Himself, and
impress on her untaught mind a belief in an omnipotent and omniscient
Being, and that His law was written on the heart. Thus, gradually
becoming calm and settled, her confidence was made strong in Him, who,
hiding His counsels from the wise and prudent in their own eyes, "hath
revealed them unto babes." And it is believed she was from that time
guarded and careful in her conduct.
She married, and had two daughters, one of whom was taken at an early
age, and placed at so great a distance from her that she never saw her
after. The other died when about grown, and being also bereaved of her
husband, she was very lonely. But under these trials she appears to
have been sustained, as was David when he could say, "Thy rod and thy
staff they comfort me."
She was a member of the Methodist Church, and a diligent attender
of their meetings as long as her strength permitted. When she was
(as near as can be ascertained) about sixty-eight years old, the
Clarkson Association for teaching colored women to read and write was
established.
And when she received the information, she offered herself as a
scholar, but the teachers endeavored to dissuade her, telling her she
was too old to begin, as she did not know a letter, and her sight was
so impaired as to require two pairs of spectacles; she however urged
admittance, stating that her only motive was a desire to be able to
read the Bible, and she believed "the Lord would help her," adding, "We
are never too old to do good."
And being admitted, she was very diligent in her attendance, and by
great perseverance became able to read a little in the New Testament;
and one with large print being given her, she prized it very highly,
and would frequently open it and read one of the chapters contained in
Christ's sermon on the mount, calling it "the blessed chapter."
But notwithstanding her great desire to learn, she did not allow her
studies to interfere with her religious engagements; and the time
for meeting with her class being fixed on one of the afternoons that
the school was taught, it was inconvenient to her; but as the school
commenced at three o'clock, and the meeting at four, the hour between
she generally spent at the school, staying as long as it would do,
and then going as quickly as she could, to be punctual to the time.
Sometimes she has been seen running, when she heard the clock strike
and found herself a little too late.
She was industrious and frugal, but liberated late in life, she barely
procured a subsistence; and for the last two or three years, being
nearly past labor, she was dependent on the benevolence of others: but
at no time, however destitute and tried, did she lose her confidence in
the power of Him "who provideth for the raven his food," often saying
at such seasons, "The Lord has been my helper, and I trust in Him."
And when any favor was conferred on her, she feelingly expressed her
gratitude, yet mostly with reference to the Great Supreme, for giving
her friends so kind.
At a certain time, a friend, being unusually thoughtful about her,
went to see how she was situated, taking with her a loaf of bread. She
found her unable to go out, and without provision; and querying with
her, "Zilpah, art thou here alone?" she replied, "No, I am never alone;
my Master is with me. When I awake in the night season he talks with
me. He has promised to take care of me, and He has done it; He has now
sent me that loaf of bread." At another time, she said to a person who
visited her, "How good the Lord is; I have always something to eat, for
if I take my last morsel, some one comes and brings me more before I
want again."
Her understanding failed, so that for several weeks before her death
she knew very little; but her conversation was innocent, sometimes
saying, "If it is the Lord's will to take me, I am willing to go, but I
must wait His time." And He was pleased to release her, after a short
confinement, without any apparent disease but the decline of nature,
about the seventy-ninth year of her age.
BELINDA LUCAS.
A woman of color, living in Chrystie street, New York, is now, 1825,
about one hundred years old. She retains her faculties remarkably well,
and she recently gave the following account of herself: "When I was a
small child in Africa, being one day at play in the woods, some people
came along; one of whom catched me, and throwing me over his shoulder,
ran away with me. After he had gone some distance, he put me down and
whipped me to make me run.
"When we came to the water, they put me into the ship and carried me
to Antigua. Soon after, the captain of a vessel from New York, taking
a liking to me, bought me, and brought me here. I was then so little,
that I slept sometimes at my mistress's feet. I think there was only
one house for worship in the city then; and I remember very well that
up Broadway there were only a few small houses; and where the college
(in Park Place) stands it was woods.
"I was sold several times, married twice, and had one child that died
young. I was baptized in St. Paul's church, not long after it was
built; and when I was about forty years old, I bought my freedom for
twenty pounds. Not long after I married my last husband, I paid for
his freedom, and we went to Charleston. After living there about seven
years, he died; and knowing I had many friends and acquaintances in New
York, I came back.
"I brought a hundred dollars with me, which I put into the church
stock. From that I have received seven dollars every year, and with it
I buy my winter firewood. By working early and late, besides my day's
work, I earned money, and got a life lease of this spot of ground, and
built this house; and in this room" (which is on the first floor) "I
have lived many years.
"The upper part I rent; but sometimes the people have been poor, and
could not pay me; then I lost it; but these people pay me very well. I
have been asked many times to sell it, but I think it is much better
for me to stay quietly here than to be moving about: and besides, I
let Mr. ---- have fifty dollars, and when he failed, I lost it; and the
bad folks have several times taken money out of my chest; and I was
afraid, if I did sell, I should lose that also, and then I should be
very bad off.
"As I have no relation of my own, when I am gone, and don't want these
things any more, they are to be divided among my husband's folks." A
person present told her she should have a writing drawn, to tell how
they should be divided; saying, "Perhaps they will quarrel about it."
She said, "I have told them if they did, them that quarrelled must not
have anything."
When asked if she could read, she answered, "Yes; when I was young I
learned to spell a little, but I did not know how to put the words
together, till I went to the Clarkson school. There I learned to read;
and though I can't read all the hard words in the Bible, I can read
Matthew and John very well." A representation of the crucifixion of
Christ hanging over the chimney-piece, she pointed to it, and explained
it very intelligibly, remarking that, "To Mary, who was kneeling near
the cross, it was said, 'Woman, behold thy Son,' and to one of those
standing by, 'Behold thy Mother.'"
This representation appeared to afford her much interest in
contemplating it, though she looked only to the Lord for consolation,
and several times, while giving this account, testified of His goodness
and mercy to her; saying, "It is the Lord's will that I should be so
comfortably provided for. When I was younger, and worked so steadily,
the people used to say, 'Belinda, what do you work so hard for, and lay
up money? you have no children to take it when you are gone.'
"I did not know then, but the Lord knew that I was to live a great
while, and He put it into my heart to do so, and now I have plenty, and
trouble nobody for a living. I am unwell this morning, but by and by,
when I feel better, I intend to clean up. I used to live very snug and
comfortable; I can't get anybody now to put up my things for me so well
as I can do it for myself." Her bed had curtains, and appeared to have
comfortable covering on it. She had a looking-glass, an arm-chair, a
carpet on her floor, and other necessary furniture.
She further said, "When I was able, I went often to see the sick, and
the suffering poor, and do something for them, and I sometimes prayed
by their bedside;" and added, "I believe the Lord heard my prayers."
Placing her hands in an attitude of supplication, and turning her eyes
upward, "I often pray now, and I leave it to Him, and He gives me
what I pray for. If He thinks it best for me to live longer yet, I am
willing to stay; and if He thinks best to take me away, I am ready to
go."
On being asked how old she was, she replied, "When Peter Williams was
going to Hayti, and he came to see me and bid me farewell, he said,
'Belinda, I have been calculating your age, as near as I can from
circumstances, and I believe you are about a hundred years old.' I
thought I was older, but I suppose he must be correct.
"I used to work for the rich folks, and they seemed to love me, and
treated me very kindly. Mrs. T----, and Mrs. H----, and many others,
have been to see me a great many times. Mr. Livingston, the lawyer, who
died at Washington, you remember--with his first wife's father, Mr.
Kittletas, I lived, and of him I bought my freedom. And when I went to
Mr. Livingston's, he would say, 'Why, Belinda, you have a long life of
it here.' I would say, 'Yes, master, the Lord knows, but I don't, why I
stay so long'--but, dear man, he is gone!"
On being asked why she lived alone, she said, "If I have somebody with
me, they will want other company, and that will make more noise than
I like. I love to be still; then I can think. And when I am sick, the
people up stairs are kind to me, and do what little I want done."
When speaking of reading, she said, "I met with a bad accident lately;
I dropped my spectacles in the fire, and it spoiled them: when I can
get into the Bowery, to Mr. ----'s store, I can get another pair;
but nobody can get them for me--they would not know how to suit my
eyes--and then I always pay cash for what I get--I have found it the
best way. In all my life long, there has never anybody had the scratch
of a pen against me. I have been saving too: them plates there"
(pointing to her closet), "I brought them with me from Charleston
before Washington's war."
In this unpolished narrative, we see the benefit of acquiring steady
habits in early life--of honest, persevering industry--and frugality in
the use of what was so obtained. From the one hundred dollars put into
church stock, she has in fifty years received three hundred and fifty
dollars; and in such a way as to be particularly useful to her. Her
pious care of the sick; her quiet, decent, and comely way of living;
and her exertions in learning to read, even at the advanced age of
eighty years, are also worthy of particular notice.
GUSTAVUS VASSA.
TAKEN FROM HIS NARRATIVE, WRITTEN ABOUT THE YEAR 1787.
"I offer here neither the history of a saint, a hero, nor a tyrant. I
believe there are few events in my life, which have not happened to
many; but when I compare my lot with that of many of my countrymen,
I acknowledge the mercies of Providence in the occurrences that have
taken place.
"That part of Africa known by the name of Guinea, to which the trade
for slaves is carried on, extends along the coast above 3,400 miles,
from Senegal to Angola, and includes a variety of kingdoms. The most
considerable of these is Benin, as it respects its extent, wealth, and
richness of soil. It is bounded on the sea 170 miles, and its interior
seems only terminated by the empire of Abyssinia, near 1,500 miles from
its first boundaries.
"In one of the most remote and fertile provinces of this kingdom I was
born, in the year 1745. As our country is one where nature is prodigal
of her favors, our wants, which are few, are easily supplied. All our
industry is turned to the improvement of those blessings, and we are
habituated to labor from our early years; and by this means we have no
beggars.
"Our houses never exceed one story, and are built of wood, thatched
with reeds, and the floors are generally covered with mats. The dress
of both sexes consists of a long piece of calico or muslin, wrapped
loosely round the body; our beds are also covered with the same kind
of cloth; this the women make when they are not engaged in labor with
the men. Our tillage is in a large common, and all the people resort
thither in a body and unite in the labor.
"My father being a man of rank, had a numerous family; his children
consisted of one daughter, and a number of sons, of which I was the
youngest. As I generally attended my mother, she took great pains in
forming my mind, and training me to exercise. In this way, I grew up to
about the eleventh year of my age, when an end was put to my happiness
in the following manner:
"One day, when all our people were gone to their work, and only my dear
sister and myself were left to watch the house, two men and a woman
came, and seizing us both, stopped our mouths that we should not make a
noise, and ran off with us into the woods, where they tied our hands,
and took us some distance, to a small house, where we stayed that night.
"The next morning, after keeping in the woods some distance, we came
to an opening, where we saw some people at work, and I began to cry
for assistance; but this made them tie us faster, and again stop our
mouths; and they put me into a sack until we had got out of sight of
these people. When they offered us food we could not eat. Often bathing
each other in tears, our only respite was sleep; but alas! even the
privilege of weeping together was soon denied us. While enclosed in
each other's arms we were torn asunder, and I was left in a state of
distress not to be described.
"After travelling a great distance, suffering many hardships, and being
sold several times, one evening my dear sister was brought to the same
house. We were both so overcome that we could not speak for some time,
but clung to each other and wept. And when the people were told that we
were brother and sister, they indulged us with being together; and one
of the men at night lay between us, and allowed us to hold each other's
hand across him.
"This comfort, small as it may appear to some, was not so to us: but it
was of short duration; when morning came, we were again separated, and
I never saw her more. I remember the happiness of our childish sports,
the indulgence of maternal affection; and fear that her lot would be
still harder than mine, fixed her image so indelibly on my mind, that
neither prosperity nor adversity has ever erased it.
"I once attempted to run away; but when I had got into the woods, and
night came on, I became alarmed with the idea of being devoured by wild
beasts, and with trembling steps, and a sad heart, I returned to my
master's house, and laid down in his fireplace, where I was found in
the morning. Being closely reprimanded by my master, he ordered me to
be taken care of, and I was soon sold again. I then travelled through a
very fertile country, where I saw cocoa-nuts and sugar-cane.
"All the people I had hitherto seen, resembled my own; and having
learned a little of several languages, I could understand them pretty
well; but now, after six or seven months had passed away, from the time
I was kidnapped, I arrived at the sea-coast, and I beheld that element
which before I had no idea of. It also made me acquainted with such
cruelties as I can never reflect upon but with horror. The first object
that met my sight was a _slave ship_ riding at anchor, _waiting for her
cargo_!
"When I was taken on board, being roughly handled and closely examined
by these men, whose complexion and language differed so much from any I
had seen or heard before, I apprehended I had got into a world of bad
spirits, which so overcame me that I fainted and fell. When I came to,
their horrible looks and red faces frightened me again exceedingly. But
I had not time to think much about it, before I was, with many of my
poor country people, put under deck in a loathsome and horrible place.
In this situation we wished for death, and sometimes refused to eat,
and for this we were beaten.
"After enduring more hardships than I can relate, we arrived at
Barbadoes, in the West Indies. When taken on shore, we were put into
a pen like so many beasts, and thence sold and separated--husbands
and wives, parents and children, brothers and sisters, without any
distinction. Their cries excited some compassion in the hearts of those
who were capable of feeling, but others seemed to feel no remorse,
though the scene was so affecting.
"I, with some others, was sent to America: when we arrived in Virginia,
we were also sold and separated. Not long after, Captain Pascal, coming
to my master's, purchased me, and sent me on board his ship, called the
Industrious Bee. I had not yet learned much of the English language,
so I could not understand their conversation; and some of them made
me believe I was going home to Africa. This pleased me very much, and
the kind treatment I received made me happy; but when we came in sight
of England, I found they had deceived me. It was on board this ship I
received the name of Gustavus Vassa.
"Having often seen my master, and a lad named Richard Baker, who was
very kind to me, reading in books, I had a desire to do so, that I
might find out how all things had a beginning. For that purpose, I
often took a book, talked to it, and then placed it to my ear to hear
what it would say; but when I found it remained silent, I was much
concerned.
"The summer of 1757, I was taken by a press-gang, and carried on board
a man-of-war. After passing about a year in this service, on the coast
of France and in America, on my return to England, I received much
kindness, and was sent to school, where I learned to read and write. My
master receiving the office of lieutenant on board one of those ships,
took me with him up the Mediterranean. My desire for learning induced
some of my shipmates to instruct me, so that I could read the Bible;
and one of them, a sober man, explained many passages to me.
"As I had now served my master faithfully several years, and his
kindness had given me hopes that he would grant my freedom when we
arrived in England, I ventured to tell him so; but he was offended, for
he had determined on sending me to the West Indies. Accordingly, at the
close of the year 1762, finding a vessel bound thither, he took me on
board, and gave me in charge of the captain.
"I endeavored to expostulate with him, by telling him he had received
my wages and all my prize money, but it was to no purpose. Taking my
only coat from my back, he went off in his boat. I followed them with
aching eyes, and a heart ready to burst with grief, until they were out
of sight. The captain, whose name was Doran, treated me very kindly,
but we had a tempestuous voyage.
"When we came in sight of Montserrat, remembering what I had seen on
my first arrival from Africa, it chilled me to the heart, and brought
nothing to my view but misery, stripes, and chains: and to complete my
distress, two of the sailors robbed me of about eight guineas, which I
had collected by doing little jobs on board the ships of war, and which
I hid when my master took my coat.
"Having unladed the ship, and laded her again for sea, the captain sent
for me: when, with trembling steps and a faltering heart, I came to
him. I found him sitting with Robert King, a Quaker, and a merchant:
and after telling me the charge he had to get me a good master, he said
he had got me one of the best on the island. Mr. King also said he had
bought me on account of my good character (to maintain which I found to
be of great importance), and that his home was in Philadelphia, where
he expected soon to go, and he did not intend to treat me hard.
"He asked me what I could do. I answered, I can shave and dress hair
pretty well; and that I have learned to refine wines; I could write,
and understood arithmetic as far as the Rule of Three. The character
Captain Doran had given of my master, I found to be correct. He
possessed an amiable disposition, and was very charitable and humane.
"In passing about the island, I had an opportunity of seeing the
dreadful usage, and wretched situation of the poor slaves; and it
reconciled me to my condition, and made me thankful for being placed
with so kind a master. He was several times offered a great price for
me, but he would not sell me. Having obtained three pence, I began a
little trade, and soon gained a dollar, then more; with this I bought
me a Bible.
"Going in a vessel of my master's to Georgia and Charleston, a small
venture I took on my return answered a very good purpose. In 1765, my
master prepared for going to Philadelphia. With his crediting me for
some articles, and the little stock of my own, I laid in considerable,
which elated me much; and I told him I hoped I should soon obtain
enough to purchase my freedom, which he promised me I should have when
I could pay him what he gave for me.
"Between Montserrat and several ports in America we made many trips.
One circumstance occurred when I was in Georgia that was a serious
one to me. Being in a yard with some slaves one evening, their master
coming home drunk, and seeing me, a stranger, he, with a stout man to
help him, beat me so that I could not go aboard the ship, which gave
the captain much anxiety. When he found me, and saw the situation I
was in, he wept; but by his kind attention, and that of a skilful
physician, I was in a few weeks able to go on board and attend to my
business.
"Thus, passing from one port to another, with my kind master's and
captain's indulgence, and my own indefatigable industry and economy,
I obtained the sum required for my liberty. So, one morning, while
they were at breakfast, I ventured to remind my master of what he had
promised, and to tell him I had got the money--at which he seemed
surprised. The captain told him I had come honestly by it, and he must
now fulfil his promise.
"Upon which he told me to get a manumission drawn, and he would sign
it. At this intelligence my heart leaped for joy. When the whole was
finished, and I was in reality free, I felt like another being--my joy
was indescribable. My master and Captain Doran entreated me not to
leave them, and gratitude induced me to stay, though I longed to see
Captain Pascal, and let him know I was _free_.
"I now hired as a sailor, and our next voyage was to Savannah. When we
were preparing to return, and were taking some cattle on board, one of
them butted the captain in the breast, which affected him so that he
was unable to do duty, and he died before we reached our port. This was
a heavy stroke to me, for he had been my true friend, and I loved him
as a father.
"The winter following, I sailed again for Georgia, with a new captain,
in the Nancy: but steering a more westerly course than usual, we soon
got on the Bahama banks, where our vessel was wrecked, but no lives
were lost. Getting on one of the islands, with some salt provision we
had saved, we remained there many days, and suffered much for want of
fresh water.
"When we were almost famished with hunger and thirst, we were found and
carried to New Providence, where we were kindly treated. Thence we were
taken to Savannah, so to Martinico and Montserrat, having been absent
about six months, and experienced the delivering hand of Providence
more than once, when all human means seemed hopeless.
"After relating to Mr. King the loss of the Nancy, and the various
hardships we had endured, I again told him my desire to go to England;
and although he wished me to remain in his service, he consented, and
gave me the following certificate:--'The bearer hereof, Gustavus Vassa,
was my slave upward of three years; during which time he always behaved
himself well, and discharged his duty with honesty and assiduity.--R.
KING.'
"Obtaining this certificate, I soon parted with my kind master, and
arrived in England. When I here received my wages, I had thirty-seven
guineas. I soon found my old captain, Pascal, who was surprised to see
me, and asked how I came back. I told him, 'In a ship.' To which he
replied, 'I suppose you did not _walk_ on the _water_.'
"I now set my mind on getting more learning, and attending school
diligently. My money not being sufficient, I hired myself to service a
while; but having a desire to go again to the Mediterranean, I engaged
on board a ship, where the mate taught me navigation. While at Smyrna,
I saw many caravans from India. Among other articles, they brought
great quantities of locusts, and a kind of pulse resembling French
beans, though larger; they are sweet and palatable.
"In the spring of 1773, an expedition was fitted out to explore a
northwest passage to India. Dr. Irving concluding to go, I accompanied
him, and we went on board one of the vessels the 24th of May; and about
the middle of June, by the use of the doctor's apparatus for making
salt water fresh, we distilled from twenty-six to forty gallons a day.
On the 28th we reached Greenland, where I found the sun did not set.
"We found large fields of ice, and to one of them, about eighty yards
thick, we made our vessel fast: but we soon became so surrounded with
ice that we could not move, and were in danger of being crushed to
pieces. In this perilous situation we remained eleven days, when the
weather becoming more mild, and the wind changing, the ice gave way,
and in about thirty hours, with hard labor, we got into open water,
to our great joy, and arrived at Deptford, after an absence of four
months, wherein we had experienced imminent dangers.
"Rejoicing to be again in England, I entered into service, and remained
a considerable time; during which I began to reflect seriously on the
many dangers I had escaped, particularly in my last voyage, and it
made a serious impression on my mind; and my reflections were often
turned to the awfulness of eternity.
"In this state, I took to my Bible, rejoicing that I could read it for
myself, and I received encouragement. While my mind was thus seriously
impressed, I went several voyages to Spain, and being often led to look
over the occurrences of my past life, I saw there had been the hand of
Providence to guide and protect me, though I knew it not; and when I
considered my obligations to the Lord for His goodness, I wept.
"On our return, the last voyage, we picked up eleven Portuguese. Their
vessel had sunk, with two of the crew, and they were in a small open
boat, without victuals, compass, water, or anything else, and must soon
have perished. As soon as they got on board our vessel, they fell on
their knees and thanked God for their deliverance. Thus I saw verified
what was written in the 107th Psalm.
"From the year 1777 to 1784, I remained more quiet; but about the
latter period I made a trip to New York, and one to Philadelphia. At
the latter place, I was very much pleased to see the worthy Quakers
easing the burdens of my oppressed countrymen. It also rejoiced my
heart when one of these people took me to the free school, and I saw
the children of my color instructed, and their minds cultivated to fit
them for usefulness.
"Not long after my return, I found government was preparing to make
a settlement of free people of color on the coast of Africa, and that
vessels were engaged to carry such as wished to go to Sierra Leone.
I engaged as commissary, and we set sail with 426 persons. But the
time of our arrival there, the rainy season having commenced, proved
unfavorable, and some of us soon returned to England; where, since
that period, I have been doing what I could for the relief of my
much-injured country people.
"Having been early taught to look for the hand of God in minute
circumstances, they have been of consequence to me; and aiming at
simple truth in relating the incidents of my life, I hope some of my
readers will gather instruction from them."
Gregorie, in his Inquiry into the Intellectual and Moral Faculties
of the Negroes, states, that after thirty years of a wandering and
stormy life, Vassa established himself in London, where he married, and
published his memoirs, which have been several times reprinted--the
last edition in 1794; and it is proved by the most respectable
testimony that he was the author. In 1789, he presented a petition to
parliament for the suppression of the slave trade.
He also says, that a son of his, named Sancho, having received a
good education, was an assistant librarian to Sir Joseph Banks, and
secretary to the committee for vaccination. And he concludes with
this remark: "If Vassa still lived, the bill which was lately passed,
prohibiting the slave trade, would be consoling to his heart, and to
his old age."
BILLY AND JENNY.
About the year 1738, a man and his wife, named Tom and Caty, who were
in bondage to Thomas Bowne, on Long Island, had a little son whom they
called Billy. This little boy, when old enough to work, was sold to
a farmer in the neighborhood; who, according to the custom of those
days, went with his servants into the field, and allotted to each one
his portion of labor. By this means, Billy became acquainted with the
different branches of husbandry, and was inured to industry.
With this farmer, he was pretty comfortably cared for, and kept to his
daily labor until the thirty-first year of his age. About the year
1744, the master of one of those ships employed in bringing the poor
Africans from their native land, among others brought away a little
girl--too young, alas! to tell even by what means, or in what way she
was taken.
This little girl, after suffering all the hardships attendant on her
situation, and a long confinement on shipboard, was landed in New York,
and sold according to the custom of that time. She was bought by Samuel
Underhill, and taken to Long Island to wait on his wife and children
and they called her Jenny. As she advanced in age, she became more and
more useful in her master's family, and satisfied with her situation.
Her mistress being a woman of an uncommonly amiable disposition,
having known the subjugation of her own will, by the operation of
that principle which brings into harmony all the discordant passions,
and one of that description also, that "looked well to the ways of
her household, and ate not the bread of idleness," she was qualified
to govern her family with mildness and discretion, and to set them an
example of economy, sobriety, cheerfulness, and industry.
Jenny, being placed under the tuition of such a mistress, in due time
became qualified to fill the station allotted her with propriety,
as an honest, sober, industrious, and useful servant. When she had
arrived at about the twentieth year of her age, she was visited by the
before-mentioned Billy, in the character of a suitor. After mature
deliberation, and their affections becoming more strongly fixed, with
the approbation of those concerned, the marriage ceremony was performed.
Thus were they united, not only in the bonds of wedlock, but those of
sincere affection, which abundantly manifested itself in their conduct
toward and respect for each other, during a long and laborious life,
and in their care of their numerous offspring, which consisted of nine
sons and one daughter.
Time passing on with them, they partook of such a share of happiness
as their situation in life would permit, until the year 1769, when the
master of Jenny, having purchased a farm in Westchester county, was
preparing to remove his family thither. This circumstance became a very
close trial to this affectionate pair, who by this time had several
children.
The thoughtfulness and anxiety felt by them on this occasion being
reciprocated by their masters, a proposition was made for an exchange.
The wife of one of Billy's fellow-servants being in the family with
Jenny, accommodations were soon made, and Billy was admitted a resident
in the family with his beloved partner: when they all proceeded to
their new settlement, where they lived in harmony and concord for many
years, and until their master's children were all married and settled.
During this period, Billy and Jenny, with all their children, were
liberated by their master, and such of them as were old enough, were
placed where they might be brought up to habits of industry, and be
prepared to provide for themselves a comfortable subsistence; but Billy
and Jenny remained with him.
Age and infirmity at length put a period to their kind master's life.
And his family, being thus deprived of his care and exertions, were
induced to leave their abode. The mistress, who had long exercised an
affectionate care over her household, finding herself lonely, retired
to live with her children. And with her youngest son, she remained to
an advanced age, and was then gathered into rest, as a shock of corn in
its season.
Billy and Jenny having a house provided for them, remained under the
care of their former master's descendants, and with their own industry,
and the generosity of their friends, they were comfortably situated.
But when Billy was so disabled by infirmity, that he could not work as
a day-laborer, he cultivated a little garden, and did some light jobs
for his neighbors.
Their children being out, while Jenny's health and strength remained,
she went out to washing and housecleaning. Billy generally waited on
her to the place of destination, and then, returning to his habitation,
nursed his garden and poultry until toward evening, when he would go to
accompany her home. More genuine politeness and unremitting attention,
between a man and his wife, are rarely to be found, in city or country,
than were manifested by this sable pair.
Thus they lived several years; but Jenny at length became enfeebled
by age, and her sight failed, so that she was no longer capable of
laboring abroad, or using her spinning-wheel at home, as heretofore,
which made it necessary for them to be placed in a different situation.
One winter, while they remained at housekeeping, there came a very
severe snow-storm, with high wind, so that passing from one place to
another was rendered very difficult for several days.
As soon as practicable, their friend, who had the care of them, and
supplied their wants, went to see how they fared; when Jenny, meeting
him at the door, and being asked how they were, etc., said, "Oh, Master
Richard, I am wonderful glad to see thee--if the storm had lasted much
longer, I believe we should have froze to death; our wood was 'most
gone, and Billy is one of the honestest niggers in the world; for he
had rather freeze to death than steal a rail from the fence." This
circumstance is recorded as one specimen of their honest simplicity.
In the spring of 1815, they were removed to the habitation of one of
their sons, where they were boarded; and there they remained, until
death, the destroyer of all earthly comforts, put a period to Jenny's
life, after a few days' severe illness, about the seventy-eighth year
of her age.
The same affectionate attachment that pervaded her mind in youth and in
health, remained unshaken to the last. Her sight, as before remarked,
being almost gone, when lying on her bed, she frequently inquired for
Billy; but when she was told he was lying behind her, or sitting by
her, she was satisfied.
Thus she closed a long and laborious life, beloved and respected for
her many good qualities, and her consistent conduct. Billy died at
Scarsdale, Westchester county, New York, on the 4th of Third month,
1826, after a few days' illness, aged about eighty-seven years, and was
decently interred by the side of Jenny, on the 6th of the same month.
GEORGE HARDY.
During the winter of 1832, the writer of the narrative of which this
account is an abridgment, became acquainted with Hannah Hardy, an
interesting old colored woman, and her son George. They were the
suffering tenants of a miserable garret, lighted only by a few panes of
glass, and ill-secured from the inclemencies of the weather.
Hannah had been an industrious woman, who supported herself comfortably
for many years, until her sight, which had long been declining, so
nearly left her as to disqualify her for all kinds of work. George, who
was her youngest son, disclosed in his earliest years great quickness
of discernment and readiness of apprehension. He could read the Bible
when only four years old; and he continued to be remarkable for
docility, and for preferring his books and other profitable employments
to the idle sports of children.
When about eleven years old, he was placed from home, where he remained
until four years since, when he became so much diseased with scrofula
as to make it necessary for him to return to his mother. From that
time, she became his constant and only nurse, and evinced, through
numberless privations and difficulties, the most unwearied attention
and patient endurance.
When he was able to sit up and use his arms, he made rope-mats; by
which, with casual help from his friends, he supported his mother and
paid her rent. He always mended his own and her clothes, and allowed
no time to pass away in idleness, which he was able to employ; and so
cheerful, so thankful, and so happy did this interesting couple appear,
that it afforded a lesson of instruction to be with them.
Hannah, who could only distinguish the glare of noon from the gloom
of darkness, had lived so long in the forlorn tenement they then
inhabited, and knew so well all the turnings of its steep and dangerous
stairs, that she could not bear to hear the proposal from some of her
friends to provide one more comfortable. Through the latter part of the
winter, and the commencement of the spring, George's sufferings greatly
increased; he was wholly confined to his bed, and so emaciated with
pain and disease, that although he was seventeen years of age, his arms
were not thicker than an infant's.
He had been a diligent reader of the Holy Scriptures; and though he
told me they had been to him a sealed book, until he was brought to
that bed of suffering, yet it was evident that his mind had long been
enabled to appropriate to his own necessities many of their precious
precepts. Though he labored under the combined effects of scrofula and
dropsy, in their highest degrees of virulence, yet I never heard him
repine; and often, while suffering extreme bodily anguish, he would
speak of the relief it afforded the poor afflicted body, to have the
mind composed and tranquil, and would say, "O, I feel like a poor worm
in the fire; yet all I desire is, to be favored with patience to bear
all my pain, and with a willing mind to wait the Master's will to take
me away."
For many days and nights together he was able to obtain but little
sleep; yet he showed no marks of restlessness or discontent. Once,
calling me to his bedside, he said, "I am afraid I am not patient
enough; but I often feel very weary, and I fear I shall wear my poor
mother out. I am more concerned for her than for myself--what should
I do for a care-taker if she were gone? She is very kind to me, and I
have many kind friends. I am afraid I am not grateful enough for all my
favors. To some, this garret would look like a dull place, but it never
looks gloomy to me; I have had more pleasure in it than I could have
had in the nicest parlor."
Having called one day after he had passed a sleepless and languishing
night, I found him, with the Bible fixed before him, reading. He looked
animated, and said, "I always loved to read the Bible, but I never
understood it until very lately; now I understand it, and I find that
religion and pleasure are in no way inconsistent. I feel now that I
shall never recover. I am willing to die, and I shall be happy when
I am gone from earth--but the Lord is very merciful, and can make me
happy as long as He chooses that I should stay. I have trusted in Him
through pain and through want, and I believe He will never forsake
me. My Fifth has sometimes been closely tried, but I never let go my
confidence."
His disease now rapidly increased, and with it his suffering. On
the 23d of Fifth month, he conversed a long time with the doctor,
and seemed more comfortable than usual; but he passed a sleepless
and distressing night. The next day, he was able to take but little
nourishment, owing to the great soreness of his mouth and throat, but
he could converse intelligibly, and seemed anxious to do so. About two
o'clock this day, I found him in great pain, but quite tranquil in mind.
On my going to him, he said, "My sufferings are now nearly over; I
shall not live many days--not more than two. The Lord's time has nearly
come, and then He will take me where I shall never suffer any more. O,
how marvellous His mercy is, to look down upon such a polluted sinner
as I am!
'I the worst of sinners am,
But Jesus came to save me.'--
Yes, He will save me--I know it. I have a hope--a pretty certain
hope--O, it is a very certain hope--it is a very sure hope." He then in
a low and indistinct voice, supplicated for many minutes; after which
he said, "I have been talking to my Saviour."
Not expecting him to hear, I asked his mother if he had always been a
serious boy; but before she could reply, George said, "No! I was always
bad, always wicked; but since I was brought to this bed of sickness,
I have sought for repentance, and I have found it: my sins were as
scarlet, but now they are washed as white as snow. But it is all mercy,
pure mercy; we have no righteousness of our own to depend upon--no
works, no merit of our own will avail us at such a time as this. If
these were all we had to look to, we should never be saved. But this
is what Jesus came into the world for--to save us poor sinners; and
salvation belongs to Him alone."
After this, he desired me to read to him in the Bible--said he would
like to hear me read in the Psalms, where David deplored his sins. I
did so, and he afterward composed himself and slept a few minutes; but
the pain soon awoke him, and he said, "I hope my patience will hold
out--I must not get impatient so near the end."
On the 25th, his sufferings greatly increased, and on the afternoon of
the 26th, he was unable longer to speak, but he appeared to be sensible
of what was passing, and to know those about him. He several times
embraced his mother very tenderly and wept. The impress which the pain
and anguish of the preceding day had left upon his countenance, now
yielded to a placid and heavenly serenity; and his breath continued to
shorten, until he ceased to breathe.
LOTT CAREY.
PRINCIPALLY FROM GURLEY'S LIFE OF ASHMUN.
This interesting individual was born a slave, on the estate of William
A. Christian, in Charles City county, about thirty miles below
Richmond. In 1804, he was sent to that city, and hired out by the year
as a common laborer at the Shockoe warehouse. At that time, and for
two or three years after, he was excessively profane, and much addicted
to intoxication.
But God, who is rich in mercy, was pleased to awaken him to a sense of
his lost estate; and in the year 1807, he made open profession of his
faith in the Saviour. A sermon which he heard about that time, founded
on our Lord's interview with Nicodemus, awakened in him so strong a
desire to be able to read and write, that he obtained a Testament, and
commenced learning his letters, by trying to read the chapter in which
that interview is recorded.
He was occasionally instructed by young gentlemen at the warehouse,
though he never attended a regular school. In a little time, he was
able to read and write, so as to make dray tickets, and superintend
the shipping of tobacco. In this business, and in overseeing the labor
of the other hands in the warehouse, he was particularly useful; so
much so, that he received 800 dollars salary in 1820, the last year he
remained there; and he could have received a larger sum, if he would
have continued.
In the year 1813, he bought himself and his two little children (his
wife being dead) for 850 dollars, and thus became free. The manner
in which he obtained this sum of money to purchase himself and his
children, reflects much credit on his character. It will be seen from
the salary he received after he was free, and which he relinquished for
the sake of doing good in Africa, that his services at the warehouse
were highly estimated; but of their real value, no one except a dealer
in tobacco can form an idea. Notwithstanding the hundreds of hogsheads
that were committed to his charge, he could produce any one the instant
it was called for; and the shipments were made with a promptness and
correctness, such as no person has equalled in the same situation. For
this correctness and fidelity, he was highly esteemed, and frequently
rewarded by the merchant with a five-dollar note. He was allowed also
to sell for his benefit many small parcels of waste tobacco. It was
by saving the little sums obtained in this way, with the aid of a
subscription by the merchants to whose interests he had been attentive,
that he procured these 850 dollars which he paid for the freedom of
himself and children. When the colonists were fitted out for Africa,
he defrayed a considerable part of his own expense. With a design to
improve his condition, he emigrated to Africa among the first settlers
of Liberia, where he was the means of doing much good to both colonists
and natives.
In reply to one of his friends, who desired to know what inducement he
had for going to Africa, when he was already so comfortably situated,
he said, "I am an African; and in this country, however meritorious my
conduct and respectable my character, I cannot receive the credit due
to either. I wish to go to a country where I shall be estimated by my
merits, not by my complexion. And I likewise feel bound to labor for my
suffering race."
Soon after he made a profession of religion he commenced holding
meetings and exhorting among the colored people; and, though he had
scarcely any knowledge of books, and but little acquaintance with
mankind, he would frequently exhibit a boldness of thought, and a
strength of native intellect, which no acquirement could ever have
given him.
At the close of his farewell sermon, on his departure for Africa, he
remarked in substance as follows: "I am about to leave you; and I
expect to see your faces no more. I long to preach to the poor Africans
the way of life and salvation. I don't know what may befall me--whether
I may find a grave in the ocean, or among the savage men, or more
savage wild beasts, on the coast of Africa: nor am I anxious what may
become of me; I feel it my duty to go.
"I very much fear that many of those who preach the gospel in this
country will blush when the Saviour calls them to give an account of
their labors in His cause, and tells them, 'I commanded you to go into
all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.'" And with the
most forcible emphasis he exclaimed, "The Saviour may ask, 'Where have
you been? What have you been doing? Have you endeavored to the utmost
of your ability to fulfil the commands I gave you? or have you sought
your own gratification and your own ease, regardless of my commands?'"
In his new home, his intellectual ability, firmness of purpose,
unbending integrity, correct judgment, and disinterested benevolence,
caused him to be beloved and respected, and gave him great influence:
and he soon rose to honorable distinction. The interests of the colony,
and the cause of his countrymen, in both Africa and America, were
very near to his heart. For them he was willing to toil, and to make
almost any sacrifice; and he frequently declared that no possessions in
America could induce him to return.
He possessed a constitution peculiarily fitted for toil and exposure,
and he felt the effects of the climate perhaps less than any other
individual in the colony. During the sickly season of the year, he
was usually wholly employed in attending the sick; and for more than
a year, they had no other physician among them. The little medical
information he had obtained from Dr. Ayres and others on the coast,
together with several years' experience, enabled him successfully to
contend with the peculiar fevers of the climate.
Under date of March 12th, 1824, shortly after the arrival of the Cyrus
with 105 emigrants, he wrote: "The fever began about the 24th ult.,
and on the 28th we had thirty-eight cases; and by the 2d inst. we had
sixty-six under the operation of medicine; and at present, I have about
a hundred cases of fever to contend with; but we have been very much
favored, for they all appear to be on the recovery, and we have lost
none, saving three children. I have very little time to write to you,
myself being the only man that will venture to act in the capacity of
a physician."
The managers of the American Colonization Society, in 1825, invited
Carey to visit the United States, in the expectation that his
intelligent and candid statements, concerning the condition and
prospects of the colony and the moral wants of Africa, would exert
a beneficial influence on the opinions of the people of color, and
recommend the cause of the society to the public regard.
In the month of April, 1826, he made arrangements to embark in the
Indian Chief, on her return from taking a large number of emigrants
to the colony, and received from Ashmun testimonials of his worth and
services. The following is an extract from a letter from Ashmun to the
managers of the Colonization Society:
"The Rev. Lott Carey has, in my opinion, some claims on the justice of
the society, or the government of the United States, or both, which
merit consideration. These claims arise out of a long and faithful
course of medical services rendered to this colony. More than one-half
of his time has been given up to the care of the sick, from the day
I landed in Africa to the very moment of stating the fact. He has
personally aided, in every way that fidelity and benevolence could
dictate, in all the attentions which our sick have in so long a period
received.
"Several times have these disinterested labors reduced him to the very
verge of the grave. He has hitherto received no compensation, either
from the society or the government, for these services. I need _not_
add, that it has not been in his power to support himself and family,
by any use he could make of the remnants of the time left him, after
discharging the amount of duties devolving upon him. In addition, he
has the care of the liberated Africans."
Until near the time of the Indian Chief's departure, he cherished
the hope of embarking in her for America. But as there was no other
physician in the colony, it was finally thought best for him to
postpone his departure until another opportunity.
Notwithstanding he on one occasion manifested a disposition for
insubordination, yet, like a wise man and a Christian, he soon saw his
error, and acknowledged it with humility and submission. He was elected
in September, 1826, to the vice-agency of the colony, and discharged
the duties of that important office until his death.
In his good sense, moral worth, public spirit, courage, resolution, and
decision, the colonial agent had perfect confidence. He knew that in
times of difficulty or of danger, full reliance might be placed upon
the energy and efficiency of Carey.
When compelled, in the early part of 1828, to leave the colony, Ashmun
committed the administration of the colonial affairs into the hands of
the vice-agent, in the full belief that no interest would be betrayed,
but that his efforts would be constantly and anxiously directed to the
promotion of the public good.
Soon after Carey wrote thus: "Feeling very sensibly my incompetency
to enter upon the duties of my office, without first making all the
officers of the colony well acquainted with the principal objects which
should engage our attention, I invited them to meet at the Agency House
on the 27th, at nine o'clock, which was punctually attended to, and I
then read all the instructions left by Mr. Ashmun, without reserve,
and requested their co-operation. To get the new settlers located on
their lands, was a very important item in my instructions; and I trust,
through the blessing of the great Ruler of events, we shall be able to
realize all the expectations of Mr. Ashmun."
He soon purchased a large tract of land for the Colonization Society of
the native kings; and further said, "Captain Russell will be able to
give something like a fair account of the state of our improvements, as
he went with me to visit the settlements, and seemed pleased with the
prospect at Millsburg, Caldwell, and the Halfway Farms."
For about six months after the departure of Ashmun from the colony,
Carey stood at its head, and conducted himself with such energy and
wisdom as to do honor to his previous reputation, and fix the seal upon
his enviable fame. But, alas! he was suddenly and unexpectedly, and
in a distressing manner, forced from life, in all its vigor, by the
explosion of gunpowder, on the 8th of November, in which eight persons
lost their lives.
Carey was thrice married, and thrice he was left a widower. His first
wife died, as before related, previous to his becoming free. His second
wife died at Foura Bay, near Sierra Leone, shortly after arriving in
Africa. Of her triumphant death, he has given a most affecting account
in his journal of that date. His third wife died at Cape Montserado.
She was the daughter of Richard Sampson, from Petersburg.
It has been very well said of Carey, that he was one of nature's
noblemen. Had he possessed the advantages of education, few men of
his age would have excelled him in knowledge or genius. To found a
Christian colony which might prove a blessed asylum to his degraded
brethren in America, and enlighten and regenerate Africa, was, in his
view, an object with which no temporal good, not even life, could be
compared.
The strongest sympathies of his nature were excited in behalf of his
unfortunate people, and the divine promise cheered and encouraged him
in his labors for their improvement and salvation. A main pillar in the
society and church of Liberia has fallen! But we will not despond. The
memorial of his worth shall never perish. It shall stand in a clearer
light, when every chain is broken, and Christianity shall have assumed
her sway over the millions of Africa.
THE GOOD MASTER AND HIS FAITHFUL SLAVE.
Translated from the French.
Warner Mifflin, for his candor, affability, and knowledge, was ranked
among those who are an honor to their country and their age. He had
received from his father thirty-seven negroes, old and young. The day
that he had fixed upon for their emancipation being come, he called
one after another into his chamber, and this was the conversation that
passed with one of them:
"Well, my friend James, how old art thou?" "I am twenty-nine and a
half years old, master." "Thou shouldst have been free, as thy white
brethren are, at twenty-one. Religion and humanity enjoin me this day
to give thee thy liberty, and justice requires me to pay thee for
eight and a half years' service, at the rate of twenty-one pounds
and five shillings per annum, including in it thy food and raiment,
making altogether a sum of ninety-five pounds, twelve shillings, and
sixpence owing to thee; but as thou art young and healthy, thou hadst
better work for thy living: my intention is to give thee a bond for it,
bearing interest at the rate of seven per cent.
"Thou hast now no master but God and the laws. Go into the next room;
thou wilt find there thy late mistress and my nephew; they are engaged
in writing thy manumission. May God bless thee, James! Be wise and
industrious; in all thy trials, thou wilt find a friend in thy old
master."
James, surprised at a scene so new and affecting, shed many tears;
astonishment, gratitude, and a variety of feelings, shook his frame.
He shed a flood of tears, and could scarcely articulate these words:
"Ah, my master! why do you give me my liberty? I have always had what
I wanted: we have worked together in the fields, and I have worked as
much for myself as for you.
"I have eaten of the same food, and been clothed like you--and we have
gone together on foot to meeting. We have the Sabbath to ourselves: we
don't lack any thing. When we are sick, our good and tender mistress
comes to our bedside, always saying something consolatory to us. Ah, my
dear master! when I am free, where shall I go? and when I am sick--"
"Thou shalt be as the whites; thou shalt hire with those who will
give thee generous wages: in a few years, thou shalt purchase a piece
of land, marry a wife, wise and industrious as thyself, and rear up
children, as I have reared thee, in the fear of the Lord and love of
labor. After having lived free and happy, thou shalt die in peace.
"Thou _must_ accept liberty, James; it is a great while since it was
due to thee. Would to God, the Father of all men, that the whites had
never thought of trading in thy African brethren; may He inspire all
men with the desire of following our example. We, who regard liberty
as the first of blessings, why should we refuse it to those who live
among us?"
"Ah, my master! you are so good is the reason I wish not to leave
you--_I have never been a slave_. You have never spoken to me but as
you speak to white men; I have lacked nothing, either in sickness or in
health; I have never worked more than your neighbors, who have worked
for themselves.
"I have been richer than many whites--to some of whom I have lent
money. And my good and tender mistress never commands us to do
anything, but makes us do everything by only saying, 'Please to do it.'
How shall I leave you? give me by the year what you will, in the name
of a freeman or a slave, it is of little consequence to me--I shall
never be happy but with you--I will never leave you."
"Well, James, I consent to what thou desirest; after thy manumission
shall have passed through the necessary forms, I will hire thee by the
year; but take at least one of relaxation; it is a great epoch of thy
life; celebrate it with joy, and rest by doing whatsoever thou wilt."
"No master! it is seed time--I will take my pleasure another time--one
day only shall be a holiday in my family. Then, since you will have it
so, I will accept my liberty; and my first action, as a free man, is
to take your hand, my master, press it between mine, and lay it on my
heart, where the attachment and gratitude of James will not cease until
that ceases to beat; and until that moment be assured that no laborer
in the county of Kent will be more industrious than he who henceforth
shall be called FAITHFUL JAMES."
EZEKIEL COSTON.
Aged upwards of eighty-three years, related to Samuel Canby, of
Wilmington, Delaware, in 1825, the following circumstances of his
freedom from his master, the late Warner Mifflin, a Quaker: and it may
be observed, that he always supported an unblemished character:
That he was born a slave in the family of Daniel Mifflin, of Accomack
county, Virginia, with whom he lived until about twenty years of age;
about which period Warner Mifflin (son of Daniel) married a daughter
of John Kensey's, of West River, Maryland, and settled near Camden, in
the State of Delaware. Ezekiel, and five other slaves, were given him
by his father; there were also a number of slaves belonging to his wife
brought into the family.
He lived with Warner Mifflin about eighteen months, when he put him on
a plantation of his to work it, about six miles from his residence,
where he continued about four years a slave. At this period Ezekiel was
informed by his master that he had concluded to set his slaves free;
and very soon after his master came to his residence, and calling him
from the field where he was ploughing, they sat down together, when
he told Ezekiel his mind had long been uneasy with holding slaves, and
that he must let him go.
Ezekiel was so well satisfied with his present situation, that he told
his master he could not leave him. Their conversation on the subject
produced such feelings of tenderness that they _both wept much_.
Finally, as an inducement to comply, his master told him he might
remain on the farm, and they entered into a mutual engagement, which
was carried into effect, and Ezekiel continued to live on the farm
fourteen years, when his master gave him a piece of land, upon which he
built a house, where he remained until he came into the neighborhood
of Wilmington, where and in that town he has resided until the present
time.
After relating the foregoing narrative, he was inquired of respecting
the account entitled "The Good Master and his Faithful Slave"--a
circumstance which took place about the time of his being liberated,
and in the same family--to which he bore the following testimony,
shedding many tears while the reader was pursuing the theme, saying,
"It is just so, poor Jem and I lived together with master, and worked
together in harmony. How well I remember when Jem told me that Master
Mifflin had done the same by him as he had done for me.
"It is all true--mistress brought a number of slaves with her into the
family, after master married her--one of them was my wife--all the rest
of us, making, I suppose about thirty, were given by old master to
Master Warner, who is now an angel in heaven. Oh, how it comforts me
to believe that, after suffering a few more pains, I shall live with
him for ever in communion sweet! We were brought up children together,
slept together, eat at the same table, and never quarrelled."
The dear old man seems indeed like one waiting with Christian
resignation for an entrance into the heavenly kingdom. I have no doubt
of the correctness of his testimony. He appears to have as perfect
a recollection of the days of his childhood as though they had just
passed.
AN ANECDOTE,
Communicated to a Friend on the way from Charleston to Savannah by a
Fellow-Passenger.
A slave belonging to his grandmother was carried off when a boy by the
British, in the time of the revolutionary war, to Nova Scotia, where he
lived several years; but he did not forget his old home and friends,
and he returned to his mistress, giving himself up as a slave. But she,
not having employment for him, talked of selling him. He told her if
she did, he was determined to destroy himself, for that it was nothing
but his attachment to the family that brought him back. He was then
suffered to work out, paying a certain part of his wages to his owner.
The family soon after became embarrassed; and one of the grandsons was
sent to the West Indies to a relation. Just as he was embarking, the
faithful black put into his hand a purse containing all his little
earnings, and insisted upon his young master's taking it, saying he had
no use for the money himself, and his master might want it in a strange
country, away from his friends. The slave, still living in Charleston,
was suffered to work for himself. He has had repeated offers of his
liberty, but he prefers living in the family that brought him up.
THE COLORED FOUNDLING.
A poor, but honest and respectable old man, whose name was Hector,
resided in Philadelphia. He and his wife lived on the scanty earnings
of their own hands, in a very small cottage. One evening, at a late
hour, a woman of their own color, with an infant, stopped at their
dwelling and asked for a night's lodging, to which his wife answered,
"We can't lodge you, we got but one bed." "Oh," said the old man,
seeing her a stranger and in difficulty, "let her tag [stay], she sleep
in de bed with you, I go make a bed on de floor--must not turn her out
o' doors."
The woman accordingly stayed; and in the night, Hector was awakened
by the cries of the child. He arose to ascertain the cause of it, and
found the mother was gone; on which he aroused his wife, saying,
"Well, Sukey, you see de woman has gone off and lef' de child for you."
"Oh," said his wife, "what shall we do now? She never come again."
"Well," returned Hector, "then you must take care of him: who knows God
Almighty send him here for something--may be to take care of us in our
old age--must not turn him out o' doors."
So they fed and nourished it with milk from the market--the old man
going regularly to procure it. No one appearing, the child became their
adopted. When he had attained the age of eight or nine years, proving
an active lad, they put him to a chimney sweeper, as the most likely
way for him to become early useful, and he soon contributed a little to
his guardian's subsistence.
They at length grew quite infirm, and the wife died. After which, the
neighbors, thinking it too much for the lad to have the whole care of
the old man, prevailed on him to go to the Bettering House. When there
the boy did not forsake but frequently visited him, and continued to
add to his support until he died; a few days after which the lad died
also, having grown up beloved and respected.
THE GRATEFUL NEGRO.
Some years since, a gentleman, who was the possessor of considerable
property, from various causes became embarrassed in his circumstances
and was arrested by his creditors, and confined in the king's bench
prison; whence there was no probability of his being liberated, unless
some law proceedings (upon his succeeding in which the recovery of a
great part of his property depended) were decided in his favor.
Thus situated, he called a colored man who had for many years served
him with the greatest faithfulness, and said, "Robert, you have lived
with me many years, but I am now unable to maintain you any longer; you
must leave me, and endeavor to find another master."
The poor man, well remembering his master's kindness, replied, "No,
massa, me no leave you; you maintain me many years, me now try what
I can do for you." Robert then went and procured employment as a day
laborer, and regularly brought his earnings to his master; on which,
though small, they managed to subsist for some time, until the law-suit
was decided in the master's favor, and he thereby regained possession
of a very considerable property.
Mindful of his faithful servant, one of his first acts was to settle an
annuity upon him for the remainder of his life, sufficient to secure
to the poor fellow the enjoyment of those comforts he had so well
deserved. This little anecdote may afford instruction both to the
nominal and professing Christian: let the former inquire, Should I have
acted thus, if in a similar situation?
THE FAITHFUL NURSE.
FROM THE LADIES' MONTHLY MUSEUM.
In the dreadful earthquake which made such ravages in the island of St.
Domingo, in the year 1770, a colored nurse found herself alone in the
house of her master and mistress, with the youngest child, which she
nursed. The house shook to its foundation. Every one had taken flight;
she alone could not escape, without leaving her infant charge in danger.
She flew to the chamber, where it lay in the most profound sleep. At
the moment the walls of the house fell in, anxious only for the safety
of her foster child, she threw herself over it, and serving as a sort
of arch, saved it from destruction. The child was indeed saved; but the
unfortunate nurse died soon after, the victim of her fidelity.
COFFIN.
FROM DR. MOYES'S LECTURES.
During the late war a gentleman and his wife were going from the East
Indies to England. His wife died on the passage, and left two infants,
the charge of which fell to a colored boy about seventeen years of age.
The gentleman, for some reason which I do not recollect, went on board
the vessel of the commodore of the fleet in which they sailed. There
came on a violent storm, and the vessel which the children were on
board of was on the point of being lost.
They despatched a boat from the commodore's vessel, to save as many as
they could. They had almost filled the boat, and there was room enough
for the infants, or the negro boy. What did he do? He did not hesitate
a moment, but put the children into the boat, and said, "Tell my master
that Coffin has done his duty;" and that instant he was received into
the bosom of the ocean, never more to return. The queen requested the
celebrated poetess, Hannah Moore, to write an epic poem on it, but
she wisely declined it, saying that no art could embellish so noble a
sentiment.
JAMES DERHAM,
Originally a slave in Philadelphia, was sold by his master to a
physician, who employed him in his shop as assistant in the preparation
of drugs. During the war between America and England he was sold to a
surgeon, and by that surgeon to Dr. Robert Dove, of New Orleans. He
learned the English, French, and Spanish languages, so as to speak them
with ease.
He was received a member of the English church; and in the year 1788,
when he was about twenty-one years of age, he became one of the most
distinguished physicians in New Orleans. "I conversed with him on
medicine," says Dr. Rush, and "found him very learned. I thought I
could give _him_ information concerning the treatment of diseases, but
I learned more from him than he could expect from me."
The Pennsylvania Society, established in favor of the people of color,
thought it their duty, in 1789, to publish these facts, which are also
related by Dickson, page 184. In the Domestic Medicine of Buchan, and
in a work of Duplaint, we find accounts of a cure for the bite of the
rattlesnake. I know not whether Derham was its discoverer, but it is a
well-known fact that one of his color did make such a discovery, for
which he received, from the General Assembly of Carolina, his freedom
and an annuity of a hundred pounds sterling.
THE AFRICAN PRINCE.
In the most flourishing period of the reign of Louis XIV. two African
youths, the sons of a prince, being brought to the court of France,
the king appointed a Jesuit to instruct them in letters and in the
Christian religion; and gave to each of them a commission in his
guards. The elder, who was remarkable for candor and ingenuousness,
made great improvement, more particularly in the doctrines of religion.
A brutal officer, upon some dispute, insulted him with a blow. The
gallant youth never so much as offered to resent it. A person who was
his friend took an opportunity to talk with him that evening alone
upon his behavior, which he told him was too tame, especially in a
soldier. "Is there then," said the young African, "one revelation for
soldiers, and another for merchants and gownsmen? The good father to
whom I owe all my knowledge, has earnestly inculcated in me forgiveness
of injuries; assuring me that a Christian was by no means to retaliate
abuses of any kind."
"The good father," replied his friend, "may fit you for a monastery,
by his lessons, but never for the army and the rules of a court. In a
word," continued he, "if you do not call the colonel to an account, you
will be branded with the infamy of cowardice, and have your commission
taken from you." "I would fain," said the young man, "act consistently
in every thing; but since you press me with that regard to my honor
which you have always shown, I will wipe off so foul a stain; though I
must own I gloried in it before."
Immediately upon this, he desired his friend to go from him and appoint
the aggressor to meet him early in the morning. Accordingly, they met
and fought, and the brave African youth disarmed his adversary, and
forced him to ask his pardon publicly. This done, the next day he threw
up his commission, and desired the king's leave to return to his father.
At parting, he embraced his brother and his friends, with tears in his
eyes, saying that he had not imagined Christians to be so unaccountable
a people; that he could not apprehend their faith could be of any use
to them, if it did not influence their practice; and that, in his
country, they thought it no dishonor to act according to the principles
of their religion.
UNCLE HARRY.
FROM THE LITERARY AND EVANGELICAL MAGAZINE, 1824.
Late in the last autumn it was my privilege (says the author) to spend
a few hours in the hospitable mansion of the Rev. S. B. W., of F. I
arrived at his house very early in the morning, just before the family
assembled to perform their customary devotions. On the signal being
given, the children and domestics came into the room where we were
sitting.
Among the latter, there was a very aged colored man, whom every one
called Uncle Harry. As soon as he entered, I observed that Mr. W. and
his lady treated him with marked attention and kindness. The morning
was sharp and frosty, and Uncle Harry had a chair in the corner, close
to the fire.
The portion of Scripture selected for the service was the second
chapter of Luke. I observed that the attention of Harry was deeply
fixed, and he soon began to manifest strong emotions. The old man's eye
kindled as the reader went on, and when he came to the tenth verse,
Harry appeared as though his heart was tuned to the angelic song, and
he could hardly help uttering a shout of triumph.
There was not, however, the smallest ostentation of feeling, or
endeavor to attract attention. He only, in a gentle manner, turned his
face upward, strongly clasping his hands as they lay on his lap, and
expressing by his countenance the joy of his heart. By this time he had
interested me so highly that I could not keep my eyes from him.
I watched the varying expressions of his countenance, and saw that
every word seemed to strike on his heart, and produce a corresponding
emotion. I thought I would give the world, if I could _read_ the Bible
just as Harry _heard_ it. While I was thinking, and looking on with
intense interest, the reader came to the passage where old Simeon saw
the infant Saviour, took him in his arms, blessed God, and said,
"Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have
seen thy salvation."
Harry's emotion had become stronger and stronger, until the words
just quoted were read, when he was completely overpowered. Suddenly
turning on his seat, to hide as much as possible his feelings, he bent
forward and burst into a flood of tears; but they were tears of joy.
He anticipated his speedy peaceful departure and his final rest. This
state of feeling continued during the remainder of the service, and
when we rose from our knees, Uncle Harry's face seemed literally to
have been bathed in tears.
As soon as we had risen, the old man came toward me with a countenance
beaming with joy. "This," said Mr. W., addressing me, "is _Uncle
Harry_." He reached out his hand and said: "Oh, why did my God bring
me here to-day, to hear what I have heard, and see this salvation?" I
asked: "Are you as ready to depart, Uncle Harry, as good old Simeon
was, of whom we read in this chapter?" I shall never forget his look of
humble, joyful submission, when he replied, "Just when it shall please
my blessed Lord and Master." "You hope to go to heaven?" "Through
divine mercy, I do." "What is the foundation of that hope?" "The
righteousness of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ."
On perceiving that I wished to converse with the old man, Mr. W. said,
with a kindness which showed that he recognized Harry as a Christian
brother, and respected his age: "Come, take your seat again, Uncle
Harry, and sit up near the fire." He accepted the invitation, and I
entered into conversation, which afforded me higher pleasure than I
ever enjoyed in the circles of fashion, beauty, wit and learning. I
here send you some of the most interesting particulars.
"How old are you, Uncle Harry?" "Why, as nigh as I can tell, I am
eighty-nine or thereabout." "Where were you born?" "At Port Tobacco, in
Maryland." "And who had you to preach the gospel to you there?" "Ah, we
had no preacher of the gospel there at that time." "Then it was after
you left Port Tobacco that you embraced religion, was it?" "No, sir, it
was while I lived there, and I will tell you how it was: A great many
years ago there was one Dr. Whitefield, that travelled all through this
country, preaching the gospel everywhere; I dare say you have heard of
Dr. Whitefield, he was a most powerful preacher.
"Well, as I was saying, he went through Maryland, but his place of
preaching was so far off that I did not hear of it until he was gone.
But not long afterwards I met a man, an acquaintance of mine, who did
hear him. He told me about the sermon; and what I heard opened my eyes
to see that I was a poor lost sinner; and ever since that time I have
been determined to seek Jesus as my Saviour, and to spend my life in
His service."
Happy Whitefield! thought I, and greatly honored of thy Master, who
has used thee as His instrument in saving so many souls. "But," said I,
"how old were you then?" "Why, as nigh as I can guess, I was somewhere
about sixteen or seventeen years old." "And have you never repented of
this resolution?" "No, indeed, master; I have never repented of any
thing, but that I have served my blessed Saviour so poorly."
"But have you not met many trials and difficulties by the way?" "Yes,
indeed, master; but out of them all the Lord has delivered me; and
having obtained help of God, I continue to this day: blessed be His
name; He never will leave me or forsake me; I have good hope of that."
"Well, how did you obtain religious instruction where you lived, as you
say there was no preacher of the gospel in the neighborhood?" "Why, by
the mercy of my God, I learned to read the Bible; and that showed me
the way to Jesus. But now I think of it, when the Roman Catholics heard
that I was concerned about my soul, they sent for me, and tried hard to
get me to join them.
"There was a priest at Port Tobacco, whose name was Mr. O'Neal; he
talked to me a great deal. I remember he said to me one day, 'Harry,
now you are concerned about your soul, you must come and join the
Catholic church.' 'What for,' said I, 'Mr. O'Neal?' 'Because,' said
he, 'it is the true church.' 'Then,' said I, 'if the Catholic church
will lead me to Jesus, I will join it with all my heart, for that is
all I want;' and Mr. O'Neal said, 'If you will join the church, I
will warrant that you shall go to heaven.' 'How can you do that, Mr.
O'Neal?' said I.
"Then he told me that a great many years ago our Saviour came into the
world, and He chose twelve apostles, and made St. Peter their head;
and the Pope succeeded St. Peter; and so all that join the Pope belong
to the true church. 'Then,' said I, 'why, how do you know that, Mr.
O'Neal?' 'Because,' said he, 'our Saviour told Peter, I give you the
keys of the kingdom of heaven; and whatsoever you bind on earth shall
be bound in heaven, and whatsoever you loose on earth shall be loosed
in heaven.'
"And I said, 'The Lord knows how it is, Mr. O'Neal; I am a poor
ignorant creature, but it always did seem to me that Peter was nothing
but a man, like the other apostles;' but Mr. O'Neal said, 'No, he was
the head and chief of the apostles; for our Saviour said again, Thou
art Peter, and on this rock I will build My church; and the gates of
hell shall not prevail against it.' And I asked him, 'Now, do you think
Peter was that rock, Mr. O'Neal?' He answered, 'To be sure he was;' and
I said again, 'The Lord knows how it is; but it never did seem so to me.
"'Now I think it was just so--when Peter said, Thou art the Christ, the
Son of the living God, our Saviour told him, Thou _art Peter_,'" (while
the old man repeated the words, _Thou art Peter_, he pointed his finger
at me, and looked me directly in the face, but as soon as he began the
following part of the quotation he brought his hand briskly down to
his knee, saying with emphasis, as he looked at himself), "'and upon
this rock will I build My church; and that rock was Christ; for it is
written in another place, Behold, I lay in Zion a chief corner-stone,
elect, precious; and he that believeth on Him shall not be confounded;
and that corner-stone is Christ.'
"Then Mr. O'Neal said to me, 'Why, Harry, where did you learn that?' I
said, 'From my Bible.' 'Oh!' said he, 'you have no business with the
Bible; it will confuse and frustrate you.' But I said, 'It tells me of
my Saviour.' Then a gentleman, who was sitting by, said, 'Oh! you might
as well let him alone, Mr. O'Neal; you cannot make anything of him;'
and from that time I never had any desire to join the Roman Catholics."
The narrative, of the truth of which I could not entertain a moment's
doubt, showed a promptness of reply and an acquaintance with the
Scriptures which truly surprised me, and I remarked, "I suppose, Uncle
Harry, you take great pleasure in reading the Bible?" "Ah, master! when
I could read, it was the pleasure of my life. But I am old now; and my
book is so rubbed that the print is dim, and I can scarcely make out to
read a word."
On this, Mr. W. said, "Well, Uncle Harry, you shall have a new Bible.
Do you call on Mr. ----, when you go down town, and he will give you a
new one from the Bible Society." Harry bowed, and expressed gratitude
for the kindness, but did not manifest as much pleasure as I expected,
considering how highly he professed to value the Bible. While I was
wondering, and rather sorrowing on the account, I observed the old man
to be feeling, with an air of embarrassment, in his pocket.
At length he pulled out an old tattered case, which appeared to have
been long in use, and observed, "This new Bible will not be of much
use to me, because my spectacles are so bad that they help me very
little in reading." With that he opened his case, and showed a pair of
spectacles of the cheapest sort, of which one glass was broken, and the
other so scratched, that it was wonderful that he could see through it
at all.
Mr. W. no sooner observed this than he said, "Well, Uncle Harry, you
must have a new pair; do call at Mr. ----'s store, and tell him to let
you have a pair suited to your age, and I will settle with him about
it." On hearing this, Harry's eyes gleamed with joy, and he exclaimed,
"Thank God! God bless you, master! Now I shall have comfort again in
reading the Bible." And I never saw a happier, or a more grateful
countenance.
Presently, he said the wagon would soon call for him to take him home,
and he must go down town, and be getting ready: on which he again
thanked his friend, and invoked a blessing on him and his family. He
then affectionately and respectfully took me by the hand, and said, "I
never saw you before, and I never shall see you again in this world;
but I love you as a minister of my blessed Lord and Master, and I hope
that I shall meet you in the house above. Remember and pray for poor
old Harry."
I squeezed his hand, and assured him of my affectionate remembrance,
and requested that he would pray for me, and for the preachers of the
Gospel generally. "Oh!" said he, "may God Almighty bless all the dear
ministers of Christ, and enable them to call many poor sinners to the
dear Saviour! Oh! I do love to hear of souls coming to Christ; and it
is my daily prayer--Thy kingdom come, and Thy will be done on earth, as
it is done in heaven!" With that the old man took leave.
I confess that I have often since wished to see him and hold communion
with him. There was about him a spirit of piety and benevolence,
of humble zeal and fervent hope, of meekness and submission, which
I have rarely seen equalled. At the same time, there was a degree
of intelligence, an extent of religious knowledge, which, in his
condition, really surprised and delighted me.
I saw here one of the triumphs of divine grace. I was made to
appreciate the value and the excellence of that religion which could
take a poor slave, and so transform him, that he was well nigh fitted
to be a companion of saints in light, and of just men made perfect.
And since I saw him, I have often prayed that after the days of my
wandering shall be over, and all the sufferings of my life shall
be endured, I may obtain a share in the rest, and a lot in the
inheritance, which I have no doubt are prepared for Uncle Harry.
THE HOSPITABLE NEGRO WOMAN.
The enterprising traveller, Mungo Park, was employed by the African
Association to explore the interior regions of Africa. In this
hazardous undertaking, he encountered many dangers and difficulties.
His wants were often supplied, and his distress alleviated, by the
kindness and compassion of negroes. He gives the following lively and
interesting account of the hospitable treatment he received from a poor
negro woman:
"Being arrived at Sego, the capital of the kingdom of Bambarra,
situated on the banks of the Niger, I wished to pass over to that part
of the town in which the king resides; but from the number of persons
eager to obtain a passage, I was under the necessity of waiting two
hours. During this time the people who had crossed the river carried
information to Mansong, the king, that a white man was waiting for a
passage, and was coming over to see him.
"He immediately sent over one of his chief men, who informed me that
the king could not possibly see me until he knew what had brought me
into this country, and that I must not presume to cross the river
without the king's permission. He therefore advised me to lodge, for
that night, in a distant village, to which he pointed, and said that in
the morning he would give me further instruction how to conduct myself.
This was very discouraging. However, as there was no remedy, I set off
for the village; where I found, to my great mortification, that no
person would admit me into his house.
"From prejudices infused into their minds, I was regarded with
astonishment and fear; and I was obliged to sit the whole day without
victuals, in the shade of a tree. The night threatened to be very
uncomfortable; the wind rose, and there was great appearance of a heavy
rain. The wild beasts too were so numerous in the neighborhood, that I
should have been under the necessity of climbing up a tree, and resting
among the branches.
"About sunset, however, as I was preparing to pass the night in this
manner, and had turned my horse loose, that he might graze at liberty,
a negro woman, returning from the labors of the field, stopped to
observe me; and perceiving that I was weary and dejected, she inquired
into my situation. I briefly explained it to her; after which, with
looks of great compassion, she took up my saddle and bridle, and told
me to follow her. Having conducted me into her hut, she lighted a lamp,
spread a mat on the floor, and told me I might remain there for the
night.
"Finding I was very hungry, she went out to procure me something to
eat; and returned in a short time with a very fine fish, which, having
caused it to be half broiled upon some embers, she gave me for supper.
The rites of hospitality being thus performed toward a stranger in
distress, my worthy benefactress (pointing to the mat, and telling
me I might sleep there without apprehension), called to the female
part of her family, who had stood gazing on me all the while in fixed
astonishment, to resume their task of spinning cotton; in which they
continued to employ themselves a great part of the night.
"They lightened their labor by songs, one of which was composed
extempore; for I was myself the subject of it. It was sung by one of
the young women, the rest joining in a sort of chorus. The air was
sweet and plaintive, and the words, literally translated, were these:
'The winds roared, and the rain fell. The poor white man, faint and
weary, came and sat under our tree. He has no mother to bring him milk,
no wife to grind his corn.' _Chorus_: 'Let us pity the white man; no
mother has he to bring him milk, no wife to grind his corn.'[1]
"Trifling as these events may appear to the reader, they were to me
affecting in the highest degree. I was oppressed by such unexpected
kindness, and sleep fled from my eyes. In the morning, I presented to
my compassionate landlady two of the four brass buttons which remained
on my waistcoat; the only recompense it was in my power to make her."
FOOTNOTE:
[1] These simple and affecting sentiments have been very beautifully
versified.
1. The loud wind roar'd, the rain fell fast,
The white man yielded to the blast.
He sat him down beneath the tree,
For weary, sad, and faint was he:
And ah! no wife's or mother's care,
For him the milk or com prepare.
CHORUS.
The white man shall our pity share--
Alas! no wife's or mother's care
For him the milk or corn prepare.
2. The storm is o'er, the tempest past,
And Mercy's voice has hush'd the blast;
The wind is heard in whispers low,
The white man far away must go;
But ever in his heart will bear
Remembrance of the negro's care.
CHORUS.
Go, white man, go; but with thee bear
The negro's wish, the negro's prayer,
Remembrance of the negro's care.
GRATITUDE IN A LIBERATED SLAVE.
Some time in the year 1790 a member of the Manumission Society,
residing on Golden Hill (now called John Street) in New York, observed,
for a considerable time, his front porch to be scrubbed and sanded,
every Seventh-day morning before the family were up. He ordered a
servant to watch, and ascertain to whom he was indebted for this
singular mark of kindness.
At an early hour in the morning a colored woman was observed with her
pail, brush, cloth, soap and sand, carefully performing her accustomed
task. The domestic who had been on the watch followed her home, and
requested to know her inducements for performing this service. Her
reply was, "Massa got me free, and I can do no less than scrub off the
stoop." A gratitude so genuine and untainted is rarely found among the
most polished and refined minds.
AGNES MORRIS.
Another narrative, respecting a dying woman, displays a faith so
strong, a hope so full of immortality, as may lead the Christian reader
to exclaim, "Let my last hours be like those of this poor slave." Agnes
Morris, a poor negro woman, sent a pressing request to Mrs. Thwaites,
a lady residing in Antigua, to visit her: she was in the last stage of
dropsy.
This poor creature ranked among the lowest class of slaves. Her all
consisted of a little wattled[2] hut and a few clothes. Mrs. Thwaites,
finding her at the commencement of her illness in a very destitute
condition, mentioned her case to a friend, who gave her a coat. When
she paid her last visit, on her entering the door, Agnes exclaimed,
"Missis! you come! This tongue can't tell what Jesus do for me! Me
call my Saviour day and night; and He come"--laying her hand on her
breast--"He comfort me here."
On being asked if she was sure of going to heaven when she died,
she answered, "Yes, me sure. Me see de way clear, and shine before
me"--looking and pointing upward with a smiling face. "If di dis
minute, Jesus will take me home, me ready." Some hymns being sung,
she was in a rapture of joy; and in reference to the words of one of
them, exclaimed, "For me--for me--poor sinner!"--lifting up her swelled
hands--"what a glory! what a glory!"
Seeing her only daughter weeping, she said, "What you cry for? No
cry--follow Jesus--He will take care of you." And turning to Mrs.
Thwaites, she said, "Missis, show um de path:" meaning the path to
heaven. Many other expressions fell from her of a similar nature,
to the astonishment of those who heard her. It was understood she
continued praying and praising God to her latest breath.
This poor creature was destitute of all earthly comforts. Her bed was a
board, with a few plantain leaves over it. How many of these outcasts
will be translated from outward wretchedness to realms of glory, there
to mingle with the blessed, and sing praises to Hun who lives for ever!
FOOTNOTE:
[2] Plaited twigs.
EXTRAORDINARY EXERTIONS TO OBTAIN LIBERTY.
That human being who would run the gauntlet for freedom so desperately
as the poor African appears to have done, whose story is given below,
surely should never again be brought under the lash of a taskmaster.
The captain of a vessel from North Carolina called upon the police for
advisement respecting a slave he had unconsciously brought away in his
vessel, under the following curious circumstances:
Three or four days after he had got to sea he began to be haunted every
hour with tones of distress seemingly proceeding from a human voice in
the very lowest part of the vessel. A particular scrutiny was finally
instituted, and it was concluded that the creature, whatever or whoever
it might be, must be confined down in the run under the cabin floor;
and on boring a hole with an auger, and demanding, '_Who's there?_'
a feeble voice responded, '_Poor negro, massa!_' It was clear enough
then that some runaway negro had hid himself there before they sailed,
trusting to Providence for his ultimate escape.
Having discovered him, however, it was impossible to give him relief,
for the captain had stowed even the cabin so completely full of cotton
as but just to leave room for a small table for himself and the mate to
eat on; and as for unloading at sea, that was pretty much out of the
question. Accordingly, there he had to lie, stretched at full length,
for the tedious interval of _thirteen days_, till the vessel arrived in
port and unloaded, receiving his food and drink through the auger hole.
The fellow's story is, now he is released, that, being determined to
get away from slavery, he supplied himself with eggs, and biscuit, and
some jugs of water, which latter he was just on the point of depositing
in his lurking-place, when he discovered the captain at a distance
coming on board, and had to hurry down as fast as possible and leave
them; that he lived on nothing but his eggs and biscuit till discovered
by the captain, not even getting a drop of water, except what he had
the good fortune to catch in his hand one day, when a vessel of water
in the cabin was overset, during a squall, and some of it ran down
through the cracks of the floor over him.
WILLIAM BOWEN.
Died, near Mount Holly, New Jersey, 12th of sixth month, 1824, in the
90th year of his age, William Bowen, a man of color. The deceased
was one of those who have demonstrated the truth of that portion of
Scripture that, "in every nation, he that feareth God and worketh
righteousness is accepted with Him."
He was concerned in early life to do justly, love mercy, and walk
humbly with his God; and by closely attending to the light of Christ,
and faithfully abiding under the operation of that blessed spirit of
Divine Grace in his soul, he was enabled not only to bear many precious
testimonies, through his life, but to bring forth those fruits of the
Spirit which redound to the glory of God and to the salvation of the
soul.
He was an exemplary member of the religious Society of Friends. As he
lived so he died, a rare pattern of a self-denying follower of Jesus
Christ. He had no apparent disease either of body or mind; and as he
expressed himself, but a short time before his death, "he felt nothing
but weakness," which continued to increase until he gently breathed his
last, and no doubt entered into his Heavenly Father's rest. "Mark the
perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace."
ANTHONY BENEZET.
Died, on the 3d of fifth month, 1784, Anthony Benezet, aged 71 years, a
member of the Society of Friends. It was a day of sorrow. The afflicted
widow, the unprotected orphan, and the poor of all descriptions,
had lost the sympathetic mind of Benezet. Society lamented the
extinguishment of the brilliant light of his philanthropy.
The wandering tribes in the American wilderness, and the oppressed
Africans, were indeed bereft; for his willing pen and tongue had ceased
forever to portray the history of their injuries, or plead for the
establishment of their rights, before the sons of men.
At the interment of his remains, in Friends' burial ground in
Philadelphia, was the greatest concourse of people that had ever been
witnessed on such an occasion; being a collection of all ranks and
professions among the inhabitants; thus manifesting the universal
esteem in which he was held.
Among others who paid that last tribute of respect were many hundred
colored people, testifying, by their attendance and by their tears, the
grateful sense they entertained of his pious efforts in their behalf.
Having no children, by his will he bequeathed his estate to his wife
during her natural life. At her decease, he directed several small sums
to be paid to poor and obscure persons.
The residue he devised in trust to the overseers of the public
school, "to hire and employ a religious-minded person or persons to
teach a number of negro, mulatto or Indian children to read, write,
arithmetic, plain accounts, needle-work, etc. And it is my particular
desire, founded on the experience I have had in that service, that,
in the choice of such tutor, special care may be taken to prefer an
industrious, careful person, of true piety, who may be or become
suitably qualified, who would undertake the service from a principle of
charity, to one more highly learned not equally disposed."
He also bequeathed, as a special legacy, the sum of fifty pounds to the
Society in Pennsylvania for the promotion of the abolition of slavery.
Thus closed the life of this great and good man. Dispensing his
blessings with his own hand, he was too liberal to be a man of wealth.
He was a native of France; and in the ancient records of his family are
exhibited evidences of religious character in his predecessors.
Connected with the demise of his grandfather, the event is said to be,
"to the great affliction of his children, and the universal regret of
his relatives and friends, for he was a model of virtue and purity, and
lived in the constant fear of God." Attached to the birth-note of his
grandson Anthony, are these expressions: "May God bless him, in making
him a partaker of his mercies." Though virtue is not hereditary, it
must be admitted that example is powerful.
Among the productions of Anthony Benezet's pen, was, "An historical
account of Guinea, its situation, produce, and the general disposition
of its inhabitants; with an inquiry into the rise and progress of the
slave trade, its nature, and calamitous effects."
_Note from the Memoirs of A. Benezet._
The influence of this work, in giving an impulse to the mind of
the indefatigable and benevolent Thomas Clarkson, whose exertions
contributed so much toward bringing about the abolition of the slave
trade by the British Parliament, is certainly remarkable. In the year
1785, Dr. Peckard, vice-chancellor of the University of Cambridge,
proposed to the senior Bachelors of Arts, of whom Clarkson was one, the
following question for a Latin dissertation: viz. (in English), "Is it
right to make slaves of others against their will?"
Having in the former year gained a prize for the best Latin
dissertation, he resolved to maintain the classical reputation he
had acquired by applying himself to the subject; but it was one with
which he was by no means familiar, and he was at a loss what authors
to consult respecting it; "when going by accident," he says, "into a
friend's house, I took up a newspaper then lying on the table.
"One of the articles which attracted my notice, was an advertisement of
Anthony Benezet's historical account of Guinea. I soon left my friend
and his paper, and, to lose no time, hastened to London to buy it.
In this precious book I found almost all I wanted." The information
furnished by Benezet's book encouraged him to complete his essay, which
was rewarded with the first prize; and from that moment, Clarkson's
mind became interested with the great subject of the abolition.
EXTRAORDINARY MUNIFICENCE.
FROM THE GENIUS OF UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION--1825.
A paragraph has lately gone the round of the papers announcing that
a gentleman of Virginia had emancipated _upwards of eighty slaves_,
and chartered a vessel to send them at his own expense to Hayti, but
without giving the name of the author of so distinguished an act of
munificence.
"We think it due to justice," says the Norfolk Herald, "to supply
this deficiency, and to add the following facts, which have been
communicated to us by gentlemen familiar with them, as well as by
Captain Russell, one of the owners of the brig Hannah and Elizabeth, of
Baltimore, the vessel chartered.
"The gentleman who has thus distinguished himself, is David Minge,
of Charles City county, living near Sandy Point, on James River.
Captain Russell informs us that there were put on board the Hannah and
Elizabeth eighty-seven colored people of different ages, from three
months to forty years, being all the slaves Mr. Minge owned, except two
old men, whom he had likewise manumitted, but who, being past service,
he retains and supports them.
"The value of these negroes, at the prices now going, might be
estimated at about twenty-six thousand dollars! and Mr. Minge expended,
previous to their embarkation, about twelve hundred dollars in
purchasing ploughs, hoes, iron, and other articles of husbandry for
them; besides providing them with several suits of clothes to each,
provisions, groceries, cooking utensils, and everything which he
supposed they might require for their comfort during the passage, and
for their use after their arrival out. He also paid sixteen hundred
dollars for the charter of the vessel.
"But Mr. Minge's munificence does not end here. On the bank of the
river, as they were about to go on board, he had a peck of dollars
brought down, and calling them around him, under a tree, he distributed
the hoard among them, in such sums, and under such regulations, that
each individual did, or would, receive seven dollars.
"By this provision, Mr. Minge thought his emigrants would be enabled to
commence the cultivation of the soil immediately after their arrival,
without being dependent on President Boyer for any favor whatever,
unless the permission to improve the government lands be so considered.
"Mr. Minge is about twenty-four or twenty-five years of age, unmarried,
and unencumbered in every respect; possesses an ample fortune, and
received the benefits of a collegiate education at Harvard University.
"We have heard of splendid sacrifices at the shrine of philanthropy;
aged men, on quitting the stage of mortal existence, have bequeathed
large endowments to public charities, and princely legacies to
religious and moral institutions. But where shall we find an instance
of the kind attributable to a man of Mr. Minge's age? The case, we
believe, is without a parallel."
TEMPTATION RESISTED AND HONESTY REWARDED.
FROM DILLWYN'S ANECDOTES.
A poor chimney sweeper's boy was employed at the house of a lady of
rank to sweep the chimney of the room in which she usually dressed.
When finding himself on the hearth of a richly-furnished dressing room,
and perceiving no one there, he waited a few moments to take a view of
the beautiful things in the apartment.
A gold watch, richly set with diamonds, particularly caught his
attention, and he could not forbear taking it in his hand. Immediately
the wish rose in his mind, "Ah! if you had such a one!" After a pause,
he said to himself, "But if I take it I shall be a thief; and yet,"
continued he, "nobody would know it; nobody sees me--nobody! Does not
God see me, who is present everywhere?" Overcome by these thoughts, a
cold shivering seized him. "No," said he, putting down the watch, "I
would much rather be poor, and keep my good conscience, than rich and
become a rascal." At these words he hastened back into the chimney.
The lady, who was in the room adjoining, having overheard the
conversation with himself, sent for him the next morning, and thus
accosted him: "My little friend, why did you not take the watch
yesterday?" The boy fell on his knees, speechless and astonished. "I
heard every thing you said," continued her ladyship; "thank God for
enabling you to resist this temptation, and be watchful over yourself
for the future: from this moment you shall be in my service: I will
both maintain and clothe you: nay, more, procure you good instruction,
which will assist to guard you from the danger of similar temptations."
The boy burst into tears; he was anxious to express his gratitude, but
could not. The lady strictly kept her promise, and had the pleasure
of seeing this poor _chimney-sweeper_ grow up a good, pious and
intelligent man.
An Indian, being among his white neighbors, asked for a little tobacco
to smoke, and one of them, having some loose in his pocket, gave him
a handful. The day following the Indian came back, inquiring for the
donor, saying he had found a quarter of a dollar among the tobacco.
Being told that as it was given him he might as well keep it, he
answered, pointing to his breast, "I got a good man, and a bad man
here, and the good man say, 'It ain't yours; you must return it to its
owner:' the bad man say, 'Why, he gave it to you, and it is your own
now:' the good man say, 'That's not right; the tobacco is yours, not
the money:' the bad man say, 'Never mind, you got it, go buy some
dram:' the good man say, 'No, you must not do so:' so I don't know what
to do, and I think I go to sleep; but the good man and the bad keep
talking all night, and trouble me; and now I bring the money back I
feel good."
Another Indian related, that, having got some money, he was, on his
way home, tempted to stop at a tavern and buy some rum; "But," said
he, pointing to his breast, "I have a good boy and a bad boy here; and
the good boy say, 'John, don't you stop there: the bad one say, 'Poh,
John, never mind, you love a good dram:' the good boy say, 'No, John,
you know what a fool you made yourself when you got drunk there before,
don't do so again.' When I come to the tavern, the bad boy say, 'Come,
John, take one dram; it won't hurt you:' the good one say, 'No, John,
if you take one dram, then you take another:' then I don't know what to
do, and the good boy say, 'Run, John, hard as you can'--so I run away,
and then, be sure, I feel very glad."
THE GOOD OLD INDIAN.
Captain James Smith relates, that he was taken prisoner by the Indians
in the year 1755, and lived several years among them. At one time,
he lived with an old man named Tecaughretanego, and his little son,
Nunganny; they were quite alone, and there were not any inhabitants for
many miles around. The old man was too lame to go out hunting; it was
winter; they had no victuals; the snow was on the ground, and so frozen
as to make a great noise when walked on, which frightened away the
deer, and the captain could not shoot anything for some time.
He says: "After I had hunted two days without eating anything, and
had very short allowance for some days before, I returned late in the
evening, faint and weary. When I came into our hut, the old man asked
what success. I told him not any. He asked me if I was not very hungry.
I replied that the keen appetite seemed in some measure abated, but I
was both faint and weary.
"He commanded his little son to bring me something to eat; and he
brought me a kettle with some bones and broth. After eating a few
mouthfuls my appetite violently returned, and I thought the victuals
had a most agreeable relish, though it was only fox and wildcat bones,
which lay about the ground, which the ravens and turkey-buzzards had
picked; these Nunganny had collected, and boiled until the sinews that
remained on them would strip off. I speedily finished my allowance, and
when I had ended my _sweet_ repast the old man asked me how I felt. I
told him I was much refreshed.
"He then handed me his pipe and pouch, and told me to take a good
smoke. I did so. He then said he had something of importance to tell
me, if I was now composed and ready to hear it. I told him I was ready
to hear him. He said, 'The reason why I deferred my speech till now
is because few men are in a right humor to hear good talk when they
are very hungry, as they are then generally fretful and discomposed;
but as you now appear to enjoy calmness and serenity of mind, I will
communicate to you the thoughts of my heart, and those things I know to
be true.
"'Brother, as you have lived with the white people, you have not had
the same advantage of knowing that the great Being above feeds His
people, and gives them their meat in due season, as we Indians have,
who are frequently out of provisions, and yet are wonderfully supplied,
and that so frequently that it is evidently the hand of the Great
Spirit that does this; whereas, the white people have commonly large
stocks of tame cattle, that they can kill when they please; and they
also have barns and cribs, filled with grain, and therefore have not
the same opportunity of seeing that they are supported by the Ruler of
heaven and earth.
"'Brother, I know you are now afraid that we will all perish with
hunger, but you have no just reason to fear this. I have been young,
but I am now old. I have been frequently under the like circumstances
that we now are, and some time or another in almost every year of my
life; yet I have hitherto been supported, and my wants supplied in time
of need.
"'Brother, the Good Spirit sometimes suffers us to be in want, in order
to teach us our dependence on Him, and to let us know that we are to
love and serve Him; likewise to know the worth of the favors that we
receive, and also to make us thankful.
"'Brother, be assured that you will be supplied with food, and that
just in the right time: but you must continue diligent in the use of
means: go to sleep, and rise early in the morning, and go a hunting--be
strong, and exert yourself, like a man, and the Great Spirit will
direct your way.'"
The captain was thus encouraged to try again the next morning, though
much disheartened and extremely hungry. He went a great distance before
he could shoot anything; but at length he shot a buffalo cow; thus
finding, as the good old Indian had said, that the Great Spirit had
enabled him to provide for them just at the time of their distress.
FAITH OF A POOR BLIND WOMAN.
A person going to see a very aged woman of color, found a
respectable-looking white girl sitting by her, reading the Bible for
her. On inquiring of the old woman whether she could ever read, the
visitor was answered, "Oh, yes, mistress, and I used to read a great
deal in that book (pointing to a Bible very much worn that lay on the
table), but now I am most blind, and the good girls read for me; but
by and by, when I get on Zion's hill, I shall then see as well as
anybody."
The poor of this world are often found rich in faith, and their
confidence in the wisdom and goodness of a bountiful Creator, strong.
How frequently, on visiting the abodes of the aged and the infirm, do
we find this verified: one saying, when something is handed her, "The
Lord has sent me this;"--another, "The Lord put it into my heart to be
industrious, and lay up something for old age," etc.
AFRICAN SCHOOLS IN NEW YORK.
The Clarkson Association, for instructing adult females of color,
commenced in the spring of 1811, and was conducted ten or twelve years
by a number of young ladies of the Society of Friends. This was the
first institution that came under the appellation of Sabbath-school in
this city, where there are now so many.
It was taught on that day, because those people had generally more
leisure to attend than on other days of the week; but these benevolent
ladies soon appropriated also one afternoon in the middle of the week,
for such as were at liberty to attend. There were a considerable number
of aged women, as well as those in the prime of life, who learned to
read, and rejoiced greatly in the acquisition. There were also schools
kept by young men, for adults of color of the other sex.
"There is one remarkable fact connected with the effects of this
excellent school upon the moral condition of the colored people. At
every term of the Court of Sessions in this city, there are many
colored persons convicted of crimes, and sent to the State prison or
penitentiary. This school has now been in operation a number of years,
and several thousands of scholars have received the benefits of a
good thorough English education, _and but three persons who have been
educated here have been convicted in our criminal courts_."
Several girls, who have received their education at this school,
have gone with their parents to Hayti, where they will be capable of
teaching schools, and may be of singular benefit. Two interesting
letters, written in a very fair intelligible hand, by one of these
girls about fourteen years old, have been received by E. J. Cox;
extracts from which are here subjoined.
"REPUBLIC OF HAYTI, }
CITY OF ST. DOMINGO, Sept. 29, 1824. }
"DEAR TEACHER:--With pleasure I hasten to inform you of our safe
arrival in St. Domingo, after a passage of twenty-one days.
Mother and myself were very much afflicted with sea-sickness for
about nine or ten days, but after that we enjoyed a little of the
pleasures of our voyage.
"On our arrival, we were conducted by the captain of the port
to the governor's house, where we were received by him with all
the friendship that he could have received us with had we been
intimately acquainted for years. After informing him of our
intention of residing on the island, we were conducted to the
residence of the second general in command, where we had our names
registered.
"From thence we went to see the principal chapel in the city; to
give a description of which, it requires a far abler pen than
mine;" (she, however, mentions many particulars;) "but you cannot
form an idea of it, unless you could see for yourself. After
we had viewed the church throughout, we were conducted to our
lodging, at which place we are at present. Since we have been
here, my sampler and bench-cover have been seen by a number of
ladies and gentlemen, and have been very much admired by all who
have seen them.
"Dear teacher, notwithstanding we are hundreds of miles from each
other, I hope you will not think that I shall forget you, or those
kind friends (I mean the trustees), who have been so kind to me:
for had it not been for them and yourself, perhaps I never should
have known one half what I do, as respects my education; for
which, for them and you, to God I shall offer up my humble prayers
for your welfare, both in this life and that which is to come.
"I am, with respect, yours,
"SERENA M. BALDWIN."
THE INJURED AFRICANS.
FROM THE NEW YORK OBSERVER--1826.
In our paper of the 21st of January we inserted a communication from a
correspondent giving an account of an aged colored woman who emigrated
with her husband from New Orleans to this city last summer, bringing
with her another colored woman whom she had rescued from slavery at the
expense of _her little all_. The object of these poor people in coming
to New York was simply to enjoy the privileges of the gospel without
interruption.
A benevolent gentleman of our acquaintance whose feelings were much
interested in the account which we published, and who has since
repeatedly visited this interesting family, has put into our hands the
following particulars of their history for publication. The name of
the husband is _Reuben_, that of his wife, _Betsey_, and that of their
companion, _Fanny_.
_Reuben Madison_, the husband, was born in Virginia, near Port Royal,
about the year 1781. His parents, and all his connections in this
country, were slaves. His father died when he was about seven years
old. His mother is now living in Kentucky, enjoying freedom in her old
age, through the filial regard of Reuben, who purchased her liberty
for seventy dollars. She is seriously disposed, but not a professor of
religion.
He has now eight brothers and sisters living in Frankfort, Franklin
county, Kentucky, all slaves, and all, excepting one, members of a
Baptist church in that place. About a year after his conversion Reuben
was married to a slave, who had been kidnapped in Maryland and sold to
a planter in his neighborhood. She was also hopefully pious.
While they lived together she became the mother of two children; but
about four years after their marriage she and one of the children,
aged eight months, were sold without his knowledge, and transported to
a distant Spanish territory, and with so much secrecy that he had no
opportunity even to bid her a last farewell. "This," said he, "was the
severest trial of my life, a sense of sin only excepted. I mourned and
cried, and would not be comforted.
"After several months, however, the hope of meeting her and my children
again in the kingdom of God, when we should never be separated,
together with a promise from my master that I should at some future
time go to see her, in some measure allayed my grief, and permitted me
to enjoy the consolations of religion." The other child is now a slave
in Kentucky, though the father has often endeavored in vain to purchase
his freedom.
About six years since, having hired his time of his master for five
years previous, at 120 dollars a year, Reuben succeeded, by trafficking
in rags, and in other ways, in collecting a sum sufficient for the
purchase of his own freedom, for which he paid 700 dollars, and not
only so, but he was enabled, with his surplus earnings, to build a
brick house, and to provide it with convenient accommodations. By the
dishonesty of his former master, however, all was taken from him.
Thus stripped of his property, he left Kentucky and went to New
Orleans, that he might learn something from his wife, and, if possible,
find and redeem her; but he only succeeded in gaining the painful
intelligence that she was dead. He there formed an acquaintance with
his present wife, whose former name was Betsey Bond, and they were soon
married. The circumstances of her life were briefly these:
Betsey was born a slave, near Hobb's Hole, Essex county, Virginia,
about 1763, and was married to a slave at about the age of twenty
years. By him she had three children, one of which, together with
her husband, died a few years after their marriage. Soon after their
death, she was led to reflect on her lost state as a sinner, and after
about seven months of deep anxiety was enabled, as she trusts, to
resign herself into the hands of her Saviour, and experience those
consolations which He deigns to grant to the broken-hearted penitent.
She gained the confidence and attachment of her mistress, who treated
her with much kindness, and she was married to a pious servant of the
family, where she remained about nine years. At the close of this
period a planter from the vicinity of Natchez, coming to Alexandria in
Virginia, where she then lived, for slaves, she was sold, and carried,
with eight others, to his plantation, leaving her husband behind.
Her new master treated her with great severity, and she was compelled
to labor almost incessantly every day of the week, Sabbath not
excepted. With this man she lived nineteen years. He then died, and
left his slaves, by will, to another planter, who also dying soon
after, she was again sold and transported to New Orleans, where she
arrived about the year 1812.
At the end of two years this master also died; and when his slaves were
about to be sold, Betsey succeeded with some difficulty in hiring her
time, and in a little more than a year, by washing and other labor, she
acquired sufficient property to purchase her freedom, for which she
paid 250 dollars. Her youngest son and his wife being also slaves in
New Orleans, she hoped to obtain, by her industry and economy, money
sufficient to purchase them also; but their master refused to part with
them.
Several years after a large number of slaves were brought to New
Orleans from Virginia, and were about to be offered for sale, and Fanny
was among the number. Having accidentally become acquainted with her,
previous to the sale, and finding her a sister in Christ, Betsey's
feelings were deeply interested, and she resolved to purchase her, and
to treat her not as a slave, but as a child and companion.
This determination she communicated to Fanny, and with the aid of a
gentleman she succeeded in accomplishing her object. The price was 250
dollars. She paid 200, _her all_, and obtained a short credit for the
remainder. Soon after this her present husband, coming to New Orleans,
as before stated, they were married, and the payment for Fanny was then
completed.
By their united industry they were soon able to build a comfortable
house, in which they set apart a room for religious purposes. Here
they assembled with others every Sabbath, for the worship of God. But
being constantly exposed to disturbance in their worship, they felt a
great desire to go to a free State, where they might enjoy religious
privileges unmolested; where they could unite with Christian friends in
social prayer and conversation, without a soldier with a drawn sword
stationed at their door.
They fixed upon New York as the desired asylum; and having arranged
their concerns, rented their house, and collected their effects,
they engaged and paid their passage, which was seventy dollars, and
sailed from New Orleans about the 12th of July, 1825, with pleasing
anticipations, for a land of freedom and religious privileges.
They suffered much on the voyage, through the cruelty of the captain;
being exposed without shelter, during the whole of the passage, either
on deck or in the longboat. In consequence of this exposure, both of
the women were taken sick; and in this condition they arrived at New
York, and were landed on the wharf in a land of strangers, their money
almost expended, and none to commiserate their sufferings.
After a few days, however, Reuben succeeded in obtaining a miserable
cellar in Chapel Street, at sixty dollars annual rent, where he
remained for some time, supporting the family in their sickness, by his
labor as a shoemaker, and by the sale of some of his effects.
On his arrival at this port his first act was to grant entire freedom
to Fanny, giving her liberty to live with him, or to go where she
pleased. She chose to remain with him; and she assisted in the support
of the family by washing and other labor, and nursed her mistress, who
was evidently declining with the consumption, occasioned doubtless by
the severity of her treatment on the passage from New Orleans.
Not being able to pay their rent in advance, owing to their sickness
and other expenses, their landlord compelled them to quit their
residence; and they have since been obliged to put up with still more
miserable accommodations in a cellar in Elm Street.
They appeared to put their trust and confidence in God, and expressed
their entire belief that all their trials were designed for their
good. They seemed to be one in sentiment and feeling, and to manifest
a spirituality of mind rarely to be found. Every little attention was
most gratefully received, and the best of blessings were implored on
him who bestowed it.
With some assistance from the benevolent, and with what they may
receive from New Orleans for rent, it is believed they may be provided
with a comfortable house, and be introduced to those privileges which
they so ardently desire. No one of the family can read, though they are
all desirous to learn, and from a little attention which their friends
have given them it appears that they may be taught without difficulty.
It is an affecting thought, that the wrongs of this poor woman, which
commenced at her birth, and were inflicted without interruption during
the long years of slavery, still followed her on her passage to the
land of freedom, and have been finally consummated in this city, the
city of her hopes, her fancied asylum from the oppressor.
HENRY BOYD.
FROM THE ANTI-SLAVERY RECORD.
Henry Boyd was born a slave in Kentucky. Of imposing stature, well-knit
muscles, and the countenance of one of nature's noblemen. At the age of
eighteen he had so far won the confidence of his master, that he not
only consented to sell him the right and title to his freedom, but gave
him his own time to earn the money.
With a general pass from his master, Henry made his way to the Kenhawa
salt works, celebrated as the place where Senator Ewing, of Ohio,
chopped out his _education_ with his axe! And there, too, with his axe,
did Henry Boyd chop out his _liberty_. By performing double labor, he
got double wages. In the daytime he swung his axe upon the wood, and
for half the night he tended the boiling salt-kettles, sleeping the
other half by their side.
After having accumulated a sufficient sum, he returned to his master
and paid it over for his freedom. He next applied himself to learn the
trade of a carpenter and joiner. Such was his readiness to acquire the
use of tools, that he soon qualified himself to receive the wages of a
journeyman. In Kentucky prejudice does not forbid master mechanics to
teach colored men their trades.
He now resolved to quit the dominions of slavery and try his fortunes
in a free State, and accordingly directed his steps to the city of
Cincinnati. The journey reduced his purse to the last _quarter of a
dollar_; but, with his tools on his back and the consciousness of his
ability to use them, he entered the city with a light heart. Little did
he dream of the reception he was to meet. There was work enough to be
done in his line, but no master workman would employ a colored man.
Day after day did Henry Boyd offer his services from shop to shop, but
as often was he repelled, generally with insult, and once with a kick.
At last, he found the shop of an Englishman, too recently arrived to
understand the grand peculiarity of American feeling. This man put a
plane into his hand, and asked him to make proof of his skill. "This is
in bad order," said Boyd, and with that he gave the instrument certain
nice professional knocks with the hammer, till he brought it to suit
his practised eye.
"Enough," said the Englishman; "I see you can use tools." Boyd,
however, proceeded to dress a board in a very able and workmanlike
manner, while the journeymen from a long line of benches gathered
around with looks that bespoke a deep personal interest in the matter.
"You may go to work," said the master of the shop, right glad to employ
so good a workman. The words had no sooner left his mouth than his
American journeymen, unbuttoning their aprons, called, as one man, for
the settlement of their wages.
"What! what!" said the amazed Englishman, "what does this mean?" "It
means that we will not work with a _nigger_," replied the journeymen.
"But he is a first-rate workman." "But we won't stay in the same shop
with a _nigger_; we are not in the habit of working with _niggers_."
"Then I will build a shanty outside, and he shall work in that." "No,
no; we won't work for a _boss_ who employs _niggers_. Pay us up, and
we'll be off." The poor master of the shop turned with a despairing
look to Boyd--"You see how it is, my friend; my workmen will all leave
me. I am sorry for it, but I can't hire you."
Even at this repulse our adventurer did not despair. There might still
be mechanics in the outskirts of the city who had too few journeymen to
be bound by their prejudices. His quarter of a dollar had long since
disappeared, but, by carrying a traveller's trunk or turning his hand
to any chance job, he contrived to exist till he had made application
to every carpenter and joiner in the city and its suburbs. _Not one
would employ him._ By this time, the iron of prejudice, more galling
than anything he had ever known of slavery, had entered his soul.
He walked down to the river's bank below the city, and throwing himself
upon the ground, gave way to an agony of despair. He had found himself
the object of universal contempt; his plans were all frustrated, his
hopes dashed, and his dear-bought freedom made of no effect! By such
trials, weak minds are prostrated in abject and slavish servility, and
stronger ones are made the enemies and depredators of society; it is
only the highest class of moral heroes that come off like gold from the
furnace.
Of this class, however, was Henry Boyd. Recovering from his dejection,
he surveyed the brawny muscles that strung his Herculean frame. A new
design rushed into his mind, and new resolution filled his heart. He
sprang upon his feet and walked firmly and rapidly towards the city,
doubtless with aspirations that might have suited the words of the poet:
"Thy spirit, _Independence_, let me share,
Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye."
The first object which attracted his "eagle eye," on reaching the city,
was one of the huge river boats laden with pig iron, drawn up to the
landing. The captain of this craft was just inquiring of the merchant
who owned its contents for a hand to assist in unloading it. "I am the
very fellow for you," said Boyd, stripping off his coat, rolling up his
sleeves, and laying hold of the work. "Yes, sure enough, that _is_ the
very fellow for you," said the merchant.
The resolution and alacrity of Boyd interested him exceedingly,
and during the four or five days in which a flotilla of boats were
discharging their cargoes of pig iron with unaccustomed despatch,
he became familiar with his history, with the exception of all that
pertained to his trade, which Boyd thought proper to keep to himself.
In consequence, our adventurer next found himself promoted to the
portership of the merchant's store, a post which he filled to great
satisfaction.
He had a hand and a head for everything, and an occasion was not long
wanting to prove it. A joiner was engaged to erect a counter, but
failing, by a drunken frolic, the merchant was disappointed and vexed.
Rather in passion than in earnest, he turned to his faithful porter:
"Here, Henry, you can do almost anything, why can't _you_ do this job?"
"Perhaps I could, sir, if I had my tools and the stuff," was the reply.
"Your tools!" exclaimed the merchant in surprise, for till now he knew
nothing of his trade.
Boyd explained that he had learned the trade of a carpenter and joiner,
and had no objection to try the job. The merchant handed him the money,
and told him to make as good a counter as he could. The work was done
with such promptitude, judgment and finish that his employer broke off
a contract for the erection of a large frame warehouse, which he was
about closing with the same mechanic who had disappointed him in the
matter of the counter, and gave the job to Henry.
The money was furnished, and Boyd was left to procure the materials and
_boss_ the job at his own discretion. This he found no difficulty in
doing, and what is remarkable, among the numerous journeymen whom he
employed, were some of the very men who took off their aprons at his
appearance in the Englishman's shop! The merchant was so much pleased
with his new warehouse, that he proceeded to set up the intelligent
builder in the exercise of his trade in the city.
Thus Henry Boyd found himself raised at once almost beyond the reach
of the prejudice which had well-nigh crushed him. He built houses and
accumulated property. White journeymen and apprentices were glad to
be in his employment, and to _sit at his table_. He is now a wealthy
mechanic, living in his own house in Cincinnati; and his enemies who
have tried to supplant him have as good reason as his friends to know
that he is a man of sound judgment and a most vigorous intellect.
Without having received a day's schooling in his life, Henry Boyd
is well read in history, has an extensive and accurate knowledge of
geography, is an excellent arithmetician, and is remarkable for his
morality, generosity, and all those traits which mark a noble character.
QUAMINO BUCCAN,
A PIOUS METHODIST.
Quamino was born in the vicinity of New Brunswick, New Jersey, in 1762,
and was a slave. In his ninth year he was hired for a term of years
to a person named Schenk, who employed him as a house-servant, and
who soon after removing to Poughkeepsie, New York, took the lad with
him. The unsettled state of the country during the Revolutionary War,
prevented communication with his old master, and Quamino had no hope of
seeing his former friends; but in his eightieth year he was informed
that his master had sent for him. On his return to New Jersey his old
associates had so grown that he felt like a stranger in his old home.
When nearing the age of manhood he was steady in attending religious
meetings, walking several miles through all kinds of weather. His own
account of his motive in going was that he "liked to have the name of
being a good boy." But whatever his motive in going, the meetings were
a blessing to him. One Sabbath evening on reaching home he went to
the barn, where, after earnest exercise in prayer, he slept upon the
straw. Very early in the morning he went into the field to work, first
kneeling by the fence. Being in great distress, the gracious words of
the Saviour deeply impressed him: "_Let not your heart be troubled. Ye
believe in God, believe also in Me._" Yielding his whole heart and all
his powers to Him who was calling for the sacrifice, he felt that he
received the unspeakable gift.
He went to his work; "and oh," said he, "everything was glorious around
me--everything seemed to be praising God."
The change which had come over the boy was conspicuous to all around
him; he was quiet and diligent in attention to all his duties. From
this time Quamino understood the nature of that peace "which passeth
all understanding." On the Sabbath he would get the carriage ready,
and when his master had started he would walk several miles across the
fields to the Methodist meeting, but always left before the conclusion
of the services, as, if not at home in time to take the horses when the
family arrived, he was sure to be found fault with, if not punished.
At the age of twenty-six he married Sarah, a slave on a neighboring
place. She was soon sold to a distance of five miles, and for some
years they only met once a week. One Sabbath morning he went to see
her, and found that she and her infant had been sold, leaving her
little son, a boy nearly four years old. She now had a hard master;
but, through the efforts of her husband, she was purchased by a
neighbor, and, at length, by the removal of this purchaser, Quamino
induced his second master (to whom he had been sold when about thirty
years old) to buy her. Afterwards Dr. Griffith bought Quamino for $250,
and Sarah for $150.
At the death of Dr. Griffith his goods and chattels (including his
slaves) were advertised to be sold at public auction. The sale
commenced, and Quamino and Sarah became objects of much attention; but
a letter was received from Wm. Griffith, the son and executor of the
late master, directing that everything should be sold to the highest
bidder except the carriage and horse, and that with these Quamino
should bring Sarah to Burlington. "Oh, my dear friend," said he in
narrating it, "you do not know how I felt."
Wm. Griffith was not only an eminent lawyer but bore a part in
originating the New Jersey Abolition Society. For this excellent man,
whose "record is on high," Quamino worked to the best of his ability.
One day, as he was at work in the garden, he heard his name called, and
seeing his master beside him, he modestly said, "Sir!" We will describe
what took place in the good old man's words. Says he:
"Would you like to be free?" and I said, "I don't know, sir." He stood
in silence a little while, and I went on working the same as before. At
last he said, 'I've made up my mind to give you free;' and says I, 'you
give me free, master?' Oh, it all came on me so unexpected! And then
he up and told me all how he would do: 'When I call you, you must take
your wife by the hand and come into my office.' One day he called me to
bring my wife. I went in the kitchen, and said, 'Mother, Mr. Griffith
says you must come along with me to the office.' She stroked her
apron, and we went, and found the office full of gentlemen, and there
we stood as if we were just married. After answering some questions
they went back to their work, and their certificate of freedom was
recorded in the clerk's office in Burlington. They were then hired at
ten dollars a month. Quamino was then forty-four years old. When asked
by some of his old friends, if he was happier since he received his
freedom, he said, "I don't know much about freedom, but I would'nt be a
slave again if you'd give me the best farm in the Jarsies."
In the year 1842, when he was eighty years old, his wife died suddenly.
As the remains of Sarah were borne from their humble home, he stood
at the door, supported by his crutches, the tears streaming down his
cheeks. "Farewell," said he, "I shall see her no more, till we meet
within the Pearl Gates." Sarah was not inferior to her husband, to
whom she was a helper in spiritual and temporal things. He felt this
bereavement keenly, his situation without her was forlorn. Living
alone in his house, too feeble to dress himself, his son, who was out
at service, would put him to bed at night, and come in the morning to
dress him. Arrangements were made by several families to furnish him
with dinner, each taking a particular day; and this plan was pursued
for eight years. His landlord supplied his morning and evening meal,
until Quamino's sight entirely failed, when a faithful care-taker was
provided for him.
Charles Taber, a Friend and a Minister, from Canada, visited him one
morning, and was fervently engaged in prayer. When he rose from his
knees Quamino exclaimed, "Now I know that my prayer was heard. Dis
morning, after blessing and praising de Master for taking care of me
through de night, I asked Him to please to send me something to comfort
me through the day, and now He sent you to me, oh, my dear friend!"
Speaking of the evidence of evil around us, he said, "God is His own
interpreter and my comforter, and He will make all things plain."
Referring to his pains, he said, "The Lord is the physician--He has
a balm for every wound. It seems, as I sit here, I have a view over
Jordan. We must pass Jordan's swelling flood, and then we'll be in the
promised land."
In reference to his blindness, he said, that with his natural sight
and comprehension he had never been able to conceive the half of the
glory which should be revealed, or to form a conception of the "good
things" held in store even for so poor a creature as he felt himself to
be. "How long I have to remain in this state," he exclaimed, "the Lord
knows. I resign myself in His hands, and to His wisdom. Oh, the Lord
moves with me so beautiful! I trust the Lord has enabled me to seek and
to find His face and favor."
Being inquired of concerning his health, he replied, "That he could
not wish to be better--that he was so composed in mind, so calm and
peaceable. Oh, the glorious prospect I have in view. I can't see
anything of this world, but there seems to be a hovering around me. If
the heart is composed to His will, what can trouble us? Blessed Master,
please to give me an insight into Thy will." He spoke of the comfort
and strength which is afforded him to hear the Holy Scriptures read.
"Oh," said he, "if I could only find words to express the feelings I
have when I am alone--and yet I do not feel that I am alone either. He
cares for us and provides for us; but He is all in all, and over all;
He leads us by His spirit; He don't compel us, but enables us. Oh, my
blessed Saviour, teach me, oh, teach me the measure of my days, that I
may turn my thoughts more to it. But I trust in the Lord that He will
prepare me and keep me to the end."
Wm. J. Allinson called on him one morning. He found the old man, who
was 108 years of age, sitting in his chair; he gave his visitor an
earnest welcome, and his tongue was eloquent with rejoicing praises of
Him who had made him meet for an inheritance with the saints in light.
"Glory be to my blessed Master," he cried again and again, clasping his
hands like an artless and overjoyed child. On this occasion, and indeed
in almost every interview, he devoutly expressed his thankfulness that,
although deprived of sight, his reason and memory were spared him; and
this was remarkably the case to the last moment of existence.
"My dear friend has been to visit me once more," he exclaimed
repeatedly after this parting. This was his last conversation with any
one, except a few words to his son and his attendant. In the night
he called his son, and with his mental powers apparently clear to
the last, and conscious that his end had arrived, his purified and
enfranchised spirit deserted the clay tenement; and who can doubt his
welcome into the joy of the Lord?
A few weeks afterwards a sermon relating to Quamino was preached by
the pastor of the Methodist congregation to which this aged Christian
belonged. The text was, "This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him,
and delivered him out of all his troubles." Psalm xxxiv. 6.
"See thy Saviour bending o'er thee,
Even to old age the same,
Set life's one chief end before thee,
Still to glorify its name;
While on Himself is fixed thy sight,
At evening-time there shall be light."
EMANCIPATION IN NEW YORK.
The period fixed by law for the termination of slavery in the State of
New York was the 4th of July, 1827. According to the census of 1820,
there were 20,279 free persons of color, and 10,092 slaves in the
State; making in all 30,371.
THE FREEDMEN OF AMERICA.
During the four years' war commencing 1861 the colored people fled
from bondage, and gathered in large numbers around Washington, and in
those parts of Virginia which were in possession of the United States
Government. Sometimes one thousand refugees came to the freedmen's
settlement in a week, and most of them had travelled on foot for
several days, with scant food and clothing. They rejoiced greatly when
they arrived at a place of refuge, and became free men and women. The
able-bodied men were employed by the Government, but the sick and
aged, the women and children, were cared for by different benevolent
associations of the churches at the North and West. The Religious
Society of Friends always cherished a deep feeling for the enslaved
people of color, and after sending agents to ascertain the condition
of the freedmen in the camps and quarters assigned to them by the
Government, they earnestly labored to feed, clothe and teach those for
whom they had long solicited the boon of freedom.
Believing some incidents and anecdotes from letters received from the
agents of Friends will be interesting to many, the following extracts
are presented:
"It is difficult to make a connected account of our visit among the
freedmen at Washington and elsewhere. We went into their cabins, the
tents, and the hospitals, looking into the condition of the poor
people congregated there. Their stories may be considered almost
trifling in themselves, and yet summed up as a whole--a people's
history--they tell the oft-repeated tale of sorrow, degradation, and
oppression in slavery; of hunger and cold, of sickness and suffering,
patiently and uncomplainingly borne, in their great struggle for
freedom. Every sacrifice, every privation seems insignificant compared
to the blessed boon of liberty, to them and to their children. 'The
good Lord Jesus has at last heard our prayers and sent Uncle Abram to
set us free.'
"They come to the Union as little children would to a parent, with
perfect confidence that they will be helped. The younger women mostly
had their children with them, but the older ones had all come off 'wid
'lations and friends.' In a severe snow-storm one thousand arrived,
with only the clothes on their backs. Their utter poverty is terrible.
During this storm we had not clothes for the children, who were crying
to get out of bed. Nine hundred came yesterday--all ragged; their
masters had not given them clothes, some for a year, others for two
years. All beg for Bibles."
* * * * *
"The rope-walk is a very long building divided into cabins; it is where
the refugees come at first. In each cabin live four or five families.
It is the most interesting place to visit. There are over five hundred
people there, fresh from slave-life, and rejoicing over their freedom.
Not being able to read, they often burst out as we are reading to them
with, 'Well, I never heard that before.'
"The beautiful doctrine of the golden rule seems almost new to them. It
is true the religious element is very strong in them, but their manner
of receiving it is very different from our ideas. Although they may
be what they call converted, they need plain words of moral truth for
every-day life. They have plenty of faith and thankfulness, but not
Christ's law of love in their hearts to govern every action.
"We stopped at a church and witnessed one of their religious
excitements--women all rocking their bodies and singing weird choruses;
then some one getting excited above the others, and throwing herself
about, jumping and screaming. We stayed until they were out, and all
down the aisles they sang and shouted--real fine, full voices, and the
words more strange than all. All the women had that swaying motion so
peculiar to them.
"The boxes were handed over to me on the 19th of January. From that
date to the 7th of May, I have given out twenty-six hundred and twenty
garments, large and small. For the last ten days we have been very
busy. During the last engagement on the battle-field, hundreds have
come, more than can possibly find shelter here. I have witnessed some
of the arrivals at the depôt. At the sound of the whistle, many anxious
hearts and longing eyes are seeking their friends. Here mothers find
their long-lost children. Husbands and wives, brothers and sisters,
meet after long separation. One good old mother here found six of
her children in one group. One poor mother, with seven children, was
inquiring for her husband: the answer was, 'he is dead!' The small-pox
left that record for this poor mother.
"We saw one noble-looking man, not far from seven feet high, in mere
rags and bare feet. Our No. 12's looked like baby-shoes beside them;
but I heard of a pair of No. 19 at the Commissary, which they were
very glad to exchange. The old man had had a hard master, and had been
driven off 'without food enough to cover a pin.' But I never saw such
a flash of joy as when I said, 'But, uncle, you have such a _good,
kind_ master now, and such a beautiful home up in heaven.' 'Oh, missis,
it's _that_, it's jest _that_, that's 'stained me all along.' They all
seemed so grateful, and we had a happy day indeed."
* * * * *
"They learn surprisingly fast; they were very anxious to learn to
reckon. I said I would repeat the multiplication table if they would
try to remember it. I repeated the 2's once, and they said it after me
in concert. I then questioned them, and though they had never heard it
before, quite a number remembered the whole.
"One little fellow in the school being asked if he knew his letters,
said, promptly, 'Yes, ma'am.'
"Well, what else do you know?
"Drawing himself up to his full height, which might be about four feet,
he replied, 'I know a heap.'"
* * * * *
"Freedman's Village, near Arlington, is really an attractive-looking
place; comfortable houses, nicely white-washed; a school-house, capable
of accommodating two or three hundred children, and a 'Home' for the
aged and infirm. Fervor and earnestness pervade the sermons and prayers
of the colored people here. One gave thanks for 'the glorious privilege
that we ain't all dead and shut up in hell.'
"Some of us might not have realized before that it was a glorious
privilege to be still left on earth, either as faithful servants, to
do the Master's bidding, or to become reconciled to Him before we were
snatched away with no alternative but to be 'shut up in hell.'
"You would have been touched to witness their grief at the death of
our beloved President. Every tenanted hut was decked with some badge
of mourning. Thousands went to look at their emancipator, as he lay in
state in the White House. Aunt Cicily, who bore the yoke of slavery
one hundred and ten years, looked on Mr. Lincoln with a reverential
feeling, beautiful to behold in one so aged--'for the privilege,' she
says, 'that he gave me to die free.'"
"Some old men who had learned to read while in slavery, said, 'We
toted massa's children to school, stayed all day, and then toted them
back. We learned to read, and massa didn't know it; and now we can
read de blessed Book ourselves. De good people of de North have been
bery good, bery good to us. Jesus tell dem to help de poor slave:
by-and-by we can help ourselves. We tank you all bery much!' Mother,
child, and grandchild sometimes go hand-in-hand to the school-room. The
stimulating motive with most of the adults is a fervent desire to read
the Bible."
* * * * *
"The marriage record kept among the Freedmen, shows that a large
part of the marriages, especially at first, were of those who had
lived together as husband and wife, perhaps many years, without an
opportunity to be legally united. One old man, of almost three-score
and ten, was thus joined in lawful marriage to his venerable wife. At
the conclusion of the ceremony, when the pastor extended his hand with
the nuptial benediction, and dismissed them with a short prayer, they
dropped on their knees together, their eyes streaming with tears of
thankfulness, and still kneeling, the old man reached out both arms and
hugged her to his heart, saying aloud, 'My dear old woman, I bless God
that I can now, for the first time, kiss my own lawful wife.'"
An agent, under date 5th month, 1863, writes:
"When I first wrote to thee, the supply of excellent clothing,
furnished by New York Friends, and other quarters, seemed so ample
that, to my eyes, the subject of further need, did not suggest itself.
I thought the time must come when such wants must be satisfied. But
that time dawns not yet. The hospitals for colored people are a heavy
drain on the clothing. Now, that the army advances, there are daily
arrivals of freedmen; they come with only the clothing they have on,
and must have a change to preserve health."
LETTERS FROM A LADY AGENT IN RICHMOND, 1866.
"In my jaunt to Deep Creek, and to the poor cabins in Dismal Swamp,
I helped mend six bridges before our horse could cross, borrowing
rails from the fence. It was a very hard trip--no chance for a single
dinner while gone--but it paid. The same night I mended bridges, I
found work of a different kind. Going on business to the Bute Street
Church, I found a love-feast under full headway: about two hundred were
present; the excitement terrible among the young converts, who, in
their frantic leaps, broke lamps and windows, and filled the house with
perfect uproar. I found the new pastor dared not risk his popularity
by checking it. Courage was given me to make my way to the pulpit,
when I at once had permission to speak. All was still as need be, while
I appealed to their judgment, and the teachings of the Bible. I saw
I had the sympathy of most, and when at last, I said, 'wait till the
wind, and the earthquake, and the fire have all passed by, and then go
to your homes and listen to the still small voice by which God himself
will teach you; and oh, remember, my young sisters, that the proof
of your growth in grace is not the _feelings_ you have here tonight,
but the _life_ you will lead to-morrow.' There was such an earnest
'amen,' all over the house, as gave me hope again that they will rise
above this great delusion. Many came to thank me. 'It was just what we
needed, and they will hear it from you.'"
"Deeply impressed with the moral wants of these poor creatures,
especially the women, and their need of friendly counsel in their new
position, I have opened Mother's meetings--now held weekly, in each
of our three-school districts--where they are invited to come with
their work and their babies. I talk familiarly with them about their
household matters, the cheapest and most wholesome food, the best ways
of cooking it, and the right care of their children, and their duties
to their husbands--often being greatly helped out in my own stock of
knowledge by the practical experience of some nice old aunty, who tells
how she manages, till the whole group is at ease and can confide their
troubles and trials. Then I read, teach, or talk to them. Finally, all
lay aside their work, and the babies are hushed up, while they listen
to a chapter from the Bible; and the devotional pause at the close
is solemn and impressive. Those who cannot spare two or three hours,
hurry in at the last, and I hear them saying 'I'se just goin' over to
prayers, 'pears like it gives me _such_ a lift.'"
LOVE FOR THE BIBLE.
At a great fire in the city of New York a hundred houses had been
burned. Dr. Ely overtook a colored woman who was carrying under one arm
a bundle of wood, and under the other a large Bible.
"Poor woman," said he, "have you been burnt out too?" "Yes, sir," said
she, "but blessed be God, I'm alive." "You are very old to be turned
out of house and home." "I'm well stricken in years, but God does it."
"Have you saved nothing but the Bible?" "Nothing," said she, "but one
trunk of things; but this blessed Book is worth more than all the rest;
it makes me feel better than all the rest. So long as I keep this, I am
content."
HYMN.
SUNG AT CHRISTMAS BY THE SCHOLARS AT ST. HELENA'S ISLAND, S. C.
O none in all the world before
Were ever glad as we!
We're free on Carolina's shore,
We're all at home and free.
Thou Friend and Helper of the poor,
Who suffered for our sake,
To open every prison door,
And every yoke to break,
Bend low Thy pitying face and mild,
And help us sing and pray;
The hand that blessed the little child,
Upon our foreheads lay.
We hear no more the driver's horn,
No more the whip we fear;
This holy day that saw Thee born,
Was never half so dear.
The very oaks are greener clad,
The waters brighter smile;
O never shone a day so glad
On sweet St. Helen's isle.
We praise Thee in our songs to-day,
To Thee in prayer we call;
Make swift the feet and straight the way,
Of freedom unto all.
Come once again, O blessed Lord!
Come walking on the sea!
And let the main-lands hear the word
That sets the islands free.
J. G. WHITTIER.
A TEMPERANCE MEETING IN AFRICA.
James Backhouse, an English Friend and a minister, published a journal
of his mission in Africa, in which he says, under date of December 1st,
1838--
This is the memorable day in which slavery ceased in Cape Colony,
South Africa. We arrived at Hankey in time to join a considerable
congregation of those who had been in bondage--natives of Madagascar
and Mozambique, as well as home-born slaves; they had come from the
surrounding country to unite with those on the mission station in
praising God for their deliverance from bondage. In the evening a
meeting was held, when several Hottentots (natives of South Africa) and
freedmen addressed the congregation. The next day was "a Sabbath day,"
and truly "a high day." About five hundred freed slaves and Hottentots
assembled early in the morning; they held a prayer-meeting, in which
the language of thanksgiving was held forth by one lately in slavery,
and appropriate hymns were sung. I exhorted the liberated to seek,
through Jesus Christ, deliverance from that worst of bondage--slavery
to sin. In the evening of the third day a temperance tea-meeting was
held in the chapel. A suspended wheel-tire was struck for a bell, to
call them to assemble. The men sat at the tables on one side of the
chapel, and the women at the other side; tea and cakes were dealt
out by some of the women. All were remarkably clean, and conducted
themselves with sober cheerfulness and looks full of interest.
After the Missionary had returned thanks and made a brief address,
it was my privilege to follow him in recommending total abstinence
from intoxicating liquors. Several Hottentots and freed slaves then
addressed the meeting, which afterwards adjourned for a short interval
at milking time. On re-assembling, George W. Walker spoke at some
length, and several others.
At half-past ten the Missionary suggested that it would be unseasonable
to continue the meeting longer; he therefore opened a book of
signatures to the total-abstinence pledge, and one hundred and sixty
new names were received. As neither my companion, G. W. Walker, nor I
had hitherto signed such a pledge, we also added our names. A sweet
sense of the love of God overshadowed this meeting.
Some attention had been paid to temperance from the early institution
of this settlement. The children have so little idea of what
drunkenness is, that in 1842, when an Englishman appeared in a state
of intoxication, some of them ran away, thinking he was mad; others
thought he must be ill because he staggered, but others feared he was
blind, and offered to lead him.
At the expiration of a year from this period, only one of the persons
who signed the pledge on this day, was known to have broken it, and
that only to the amount of taking a single glass of wine.
LIBERTY TO THE CAPTIVE.
WRITTEN ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF BRITISH EMANCIPATION.
Oh, Holy Father! just and true
Are all thy works, and words, and ways;
And unto Thee alone are due
Thanksgiving and eternal praise!
As children of Thy gracious care,
We veil the eye--we bend the knee;
With broken words of praise and prayer,
Father and God, we come to Thee.
For Thou hast heard, O God of Right!
The sighing of the island slave,
And stretched for him the arm of might,
Not shortened that it could not save.
The laborer sits beneath his vine,
The shackled soul and hand are free--
Thanksgiving!--for the work is Thine!
Praise!--for the blessing is of Thee!
WHITTIER.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Narratives of Colored Americans" ***
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