



Produced by Suzanne Shell, Henry Flower and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)









    THE

    FREEDMEN'S BOOK.

    By L. MARIA CHILD.


    O dark, sad millions,--patiently and dumb
    Waiting for God,--your hour, at last, has come,
            And Freedom's song
    Breaks the long silence of your night of wrong.

                        JOHN G. WHITTIER.

    [Illustration]

    BOSTON:
    TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
    1865.




    Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by
    L. MARIA CHILD,
    in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District
    of Massachusetts.


    UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO.,
    CAMBRIDGE.




    _TO_

    THE LOYAL AND BRAVE

    CAPTAIN ROBERT SMALL,

    _Hero of the Steamboat Planter_,

    THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY

    L. MARIA CHILD.




TO THE FREEDMEN.


I have prepared this book expressly for you, with the hope that those of
you who can read will read it aloud to others, and that all of you will
derive fresh strength and courage from this true record of what <DW52>
men have accomplished, under great disadvantages.

I have written all the biographies over again, in order to give you as
much information as possible in the fewest words. I take nothing for my
services; and the book is sold to you at the cost of paper, printing,
and binding. Whatever money you pay for any of the volumes will be
immediately invested in other volumes to be sent to freedmen in various
parts of the country, on the same terms; and whatever money remains in
my hands, when the book ceases to sell, will be given to the Freedmen's
Aid Association, to be expended in schools for you and your children.

    Your old friend,
                    L. MARIA CHILD.




CONTENTS.


                                          AUTHOR.                PAGE

  IGNATIUS SANCHO                    _L. Maria Child_               1

  EXTRACT FROM THE TENTH PSALM                                     12

  PREJUDICE REPROVED                 _Lydia H. Sigourney_          13

  BENJAMIN BANNEKER                  _L. Maria Child_              14

  ETHIOPIA                           _Frances E. W. Harper_*       24

  THE HOUR OF FREEDOM                _William Lloyd Garrison_      25

  WILLIAM BOEN                       _L. Maria Child_              26

  ANECDOTE OF GENERAL WASHINGTON                                   31

  PRAYER OF THE SLAVE                _Bernard Barton_              32

  TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE              _L. Maria Child_              33

  THE ASPIRATIONS OF MINGO           _Mingo, a Slave_*             84

  BURY ME IN A FREE LAND             _Frances E. W. Harper_*       85

  PHILLIS WHEATLEY                   _L. Maria Child_              86

  A PERTINENT QUESTION               _Frederick Douglass_*         93

  THE WORKS OF PROVIDENCE            _Phillis Wheatley_*           94

  THE DYING CHRISTIAN                _Frances E. W. Harper_*       96

  KINDNESS TO ANIMALS                _L. Maria Child_              97

  JAMES FORTEN                       _L. Maria Child_             101

  THE MEETING IN THE SWAMP           _L. Maria Child_             104

  A REASONABLE REQUEST               _Peter Williams_*            110

  THE SLAVE POET                     _George Horton, a Slave_*    111

  RATIE                              _Mattie Griffith_            114

  THE KINGDOM OF CHRIST              _James Montgomery_           123

  PROGRESS OF EMANCIPATION IN THE
  BRITISH WEST INDIES                _L. Maria Child_             124

  THE LAST NIGHT OF SLAVERY          _James Montgomery_           146

  MADISON WASHINGTON                 _L. Maria Child_             147

  EXTRACT FROM THE VIRGINIA BILL OF RIGHTS                        154

  PRAISE OF CREATION                 _George Horton_*             155

  FREDERICK DOUGLASS                 _L. Maria Child_             156

  HOW THE GOOD WORK GOES ON                                       176

  DEDICATION HYMN                    _J. M. Whitefield_*          177

  A PRAYER                           _John G. Whittier_           178

  WILLIAM AND ELLEN CRAFTS           _L. Maria Child_             179

  SPRING                             _George Horton_*             205

  THE GOOD GRANDMOTHER               _Harriet Jacobs_*            206

  THE  MOTHER'S PRAYER                                     219

  WILLIAM COSTIN                                                  220

  EDUCATION OF CHILDREN              _L. Maria Child_             221

  THANK GOD FOR LITTLE CHILDREN      _Frances E. W. Harper_*      226

  SAM AND ANDY                       _Harriet Beecher Stowe_      227

  JOHN BROWN                         _L. Maria Child_             241

  THE AIR OF FREEDOM                 _Frances E. W. Harper_*      243

  EMANCIPATION IN THE DISTRICT
  OF COLUMBIA                        _James Madison Bell_*        244

  THE LAWS OF HEALTH                 _L. Maria Child_             246

  PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S PROCLAMATION
  OF EMANCIPATION                    _Frances E. W. Harper_*      250

  NEW-YEAR'S DAY ON THE ISLANDS
  OF SOUTH CAROLINA                  _Charlotte L. Forten_*       251

  SONG OF THE <DW64> BOATMEN AT
  PORT ROYAL, S. C.                  _John G. Whittier_           257

  EXTRACT FROM SPEECH TO <DW52>
  PEOPLE IN CHARLESTON               _Hon. Henry Wilson_          259

  EXTRACT FROM SPEECH TO <DW52>
  PEOPLE IN CHARLESTON               _Hon. Judge Kelly_           261

  BLACK TOM                          _A Yankee Soldier_           263

  LETTER FROM A FREEDMAN             _Jourdon Anderson_*          265

  COLONEL ROBERT G. SHAW             _Eliza B. Sedgwick_          268

  ADVICE FROM AN OLD FRIEND          _L. Maria Child_             269

  DAY OF JUBILEE                     _A. G. Duncan_               277

* The names of the  authors are marked with an asterisk.




THE FREEDMEN'S BOOK.




IGNATIUS SANCHO.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.


This was the name of a remarkable African, who excited a good deal of
interest in his day. His father and mother were stolen from Africa and
put on board a slave-ship in 1729, which was one hundred and thirty-six
years ago. He was born during the passage, and when the vessel arrived
at Carthagena, in South America, he was baptized by the name of
Ignatius. His mother died soon after, and his father, seeing no means of
escape from slavery, killed himself in a fit of despair. The man who
took possession of the little orphan, and claimed to be his master,
carried him to England, and gave him to three unmarried sisters who
lived at Greenwich. He was then about two years old, a bright, lively,
funny little creature. As he grew older, he showed such an inquisitive
mind, said so many droll things, and was so full of mischief, that the
ladies named him Sancho, after a very comical character in a famous old
Spanish novel. He was very eager in the pursuit of knowledge; but this
commendable disposition was not approved by the ladies. They thought
that all a black servant had occasion to know was how to obey orders,
and that it was not necessary or proper for him to learn to read and
write. But nature had given Ignatius a very lively mind, and a very
susceptible heart, and neither of them could be kept quiet. He early
plunged into love affairs, and was always overrunning with fun and
frolic. Doubtless he was a great trial to the respectable maiden ladies,
who were training him for a servant; and he, on his part, thought them
very sour, severe, and disagreeable. Sometimes, when they were angry
with him, they reminded him that he had been a slave, and threatened to
send him into slavery again. This excited uneasiness in his mind, and
kindled resentment.

The Duke of Montagu lived in the neighborhood, and his attention was
attracted by the bright, frank countenance of the black boy. He entered
into conversation with him occasionally, and was so much struck by his
intelligence and wit, that he told the ladies their servant was a
remarkable lad, and that his earnest desire to improve his mind ought to
be gratified. They persisted in their opinion that knowledge was a very
improper and dangerous thing for a black servant. But the Duke
introduced him to the Duchess, and they both encouraged him to learn to
read and write. They lent him books, and were greatly entertained by his
bright remarks concerning what he read.

It was a great grief to Ignatius when the friendly Duke died. He
besought the Duchess to receive him into her service, and she consented.
He remained in her household as long as she lived. At her death, she
left him an annuity of about one hundred and fifty dollars a year; and
he had three hundred and fifty dollars, which he had laid up from his
wages. He might have made this sum the foundation of a comfortable
little property. But nature had made him very full of fun and frolic. He
had such lively manners, and uttered so many pleasant jokes, that his
company was much sought for. This proved a temptation too strong for
him. He accepted invitations to go to taverns, where he gambled away his
earnings. He had a great passion for going to the theatre; and his
conduct with regard to women was far from being correct.

But he soon saw the error of his ways, and resolved to reform. He went
to the Chaplain of Montagu House, and begged to be taken into his
service, where he remained several months. The descendants of his old
friend, the Duke, encouraged him to persevere in his good resolutions;
and when the young Duke saw that he continued sober and industrious, he
took him into his employ. By the blessing of the Heavenly Father,
another saving influence came to help him into the paths of virtue. He
formed a serious attachment for a very worthy young woman from the West
Indies, to whom he was soon after married. He remained in the employ of
the Duke of Montagu until he was about forty-four years old. Frequent
attacks of the gout, and clumsiness resulting from an hereditary
tendency to corpulence, rendered him unfit to continue in the service to
which he had so long been accustomed. His good friend and patron the
Duke assisted him to establish a small shop for groceries. By economy
and industry, he and his good wife managed to rear and educate well a
numerous family of children.

He always retained his love of learning, and was such a diligent reader,
that he was well acquainted with the current literature of that time. He
was treated with respect and attention by many intelligent and educated
people. Though not so full of fun as he was in his younger days, his
conversation was entertaining. The letters he wrote to various persons
abound with good sense, and show that he was very affectionate and
devoted as a husband and father. He evidently regarded his wife as the
best blessing of his life. In one of his letters to a friend he says:
"The hot weather does not befriend Mrs. Sancho, but time will, I hope.
If true worth could plead exemption from pain and sickness, she would,
by right divine, enjoy the best of health." On another occasion he
writes: "I can compare her to nothing so properly as a diamond in the
dirt. But, my friend, that is Fortune's fault, not mine; for had I the
power, I would case her in gold." Years later, he writes: "Dame Sancho
would be better in health, if she cared less. I am her barometer. If a
sigh escapes me, it is answered by a tear in her eye. I often assume
gayety to illume her dear sensibility with a smile, which twenty years
ago almost bewitched me, and which still constitutes my highest
pleasure. May such be your lot, my friend. What more can friendship wish
you than to glide down the stream of time with a partner of congenial
principles and fine feelings, whose very looks speak tenderness and
sentiment."

After a severe illness he wrote to a friend: "I had excruciating pains
and great lack of patience. Mrs. Sancho had a week of it. Gout did not
sweeten my temper. It was washing week, and she had to attend the shop.
God bless her, and reward her. She is good; good in heart, good in
principle, good by habit."

The children appear to have been the delight of his heart. He called
them "Sanchonettas," which would be the Italian way of saying Little
Sanchos. He was never tired of describing their little winning ways. At
the end of a letter to one of his friends he wrote: "Lydia trots about
amazingly; and Kitty imitates her, with this addition, that she is as
mischievous as a monkey." But little William, his youngest, was
evidently his pet. To another of his friends he wrote: "You cannot
imagine what hold little Billy gets of me. He grows, he prattles, every
day he learns something new. The rogue is fond of me to excess. By his
good-will he would be always in the shop with me. The little monkey! He
clings round my legs; and if I chide him, or look sour, he holds up his
little mouth to kiss me."

Ignatius Sancho had a very kind heart. It hurt his feelings very much to
see any animal tormented. He tried to get some laws passed to prevent
cruel market-men from abusing their donkeys; and he always tried to be a
friend to everybody that was in distress. In one of his letters he says:
"The joy of giving and of making happy is almost the attribute of a god.
There is as much sweetness conveyed to the senses by doing a right
good-natured deed as our frame can consistently bear."

Such a disposition is better than a remarkable intellect. But he had a
quick intellect also, and generally took sensible views of things.
Writing to a young  friend, who had been somewhat wild, he
says:--

"Look round upon the miserable fate of almost all of our unfortunate
color. See slavery added to ignorance. See the contempt of the very
wretches who roll in affluence from our labors. Hear the ill-bred,
heart-racking abuse of the ignorant vulgar. If you tread as cautiously
as the strictest rectitude can guide you, you must suffer from this. But
if you are armed with truth and conscious integrity, you will be sure of
the plaudits and countenance of the good.

"You are a happy lad. You have kind benefactors, to whom you ought to
look up with reverence, and humbly beg the Almighty to give you strength
to imitate them in doing good. Your parts are as quick as most men's. If
you urge your speed in the race of virtue with the same zeal you have
exhibited in error, you will recover, to the satisfaction of your noble
patrons, and to the glory of yourself.

"Some philosopher, whose name I forget, wished for a window in his
breast, that the world might see his heart. I recommend him to your
imitation. Vice is a coward. To be truly brave, a man must be truly
good. You hate the name of cowardice; then detest a lie and shun liars.
Be above revenge. If others have taken advantage either of your guilt or
your distress, punish them only with forgiveness; and if you can serve
them at any future time, do it.

"I sincerely congratulate thee upon thy repentance. It is thy birthday
to real happiness."

To one of the white gentlemen who liked to correspond with him, he
wrote:--

"There is something so amazingly grand and affecting in contemplating
the works of the Divine Architect, either in the moral or the
intellectual world, that I think one may rightly call it the cordial of
the soul, the best antidote against pride and discontent. The friendly
warmth of that glorious planet the sun, the leniency of the air, the
cheerful glow of the atmosphere, make me involuntarily cry, 'Lord, what
is man, that thou, in thy mercy, art so mindful of him? or what is the
son of man, that thou so parentally carest for him?'

"Sometimes, when I endeavor to turn my thoughts inward, to review the
powers or properties the indulgent all-wise Father has endowed me with,
I am struck with wonder and with awe; poor, insignificant worm as I am,
in comparison with superior beings, mortal like myself. At the head of
our riches I reckon the power of reflection. Where doth it lie? Search
every member, from the toe to the nose,--they are all ready for action,
but they are all dead to thought. It is that breath of life which the
Sacred Architect breathed into the nostrils of the first man. We feel
and acknowledge it, but it is quite past the power of definition. Then
to think of the promise of never-ending existence! To rise, perhaps, by
regular progression from planet to planet, to behold the wonders of
immensity, to pass from good to better, increasing in goodness, in
knowledge, in love. To glory in our Redeemer, to joy in ourselves, to be
acquainted with prophets, sages, heroes, and poets of old times, and to
join in the symphony with angels."

To a white young friend, who had obtained a situation in India, he
wrote:--

"It is with sincere pleasure I hear you have a lucrative establishment.
Your good sense will naturally lead you to a proper economy, as distant
from frigid parsimony as from heedless extravagance. As you may have
some time for recreation, give me leave to obtrude my poor advice. I
have heard it more than once observed of fortunate adventurers, that
they come home rich in purse, but wretchedly barren in intellect. My
dear Jack, the mind wants food as well as the stomach. Why, then, should
not one wish to increase in knowledge as well as in money? The poet
Young says,--

    'Books are fair Virtue's advocates and friends.'

My advice to you is, to lay by something every year to buy a little
library. You have to thank God for strong natural parts; you have a
feeling, humane heart; you write with sense and discernment. Improve
yourself, my dear Jack. Then if it should please God to return you to
your friends with a fortune, the embellishments of your mind may be ever
considered as greatly superior to your riches, and only inferior to the
goodness of your heart. This is a good old adage: 'A few books and a few
friends, and those well chosen.'"

The same young friend wrote a letter to his father, from Bombay, in
India, in which he wrote: "The inhabitants here, who are chiefly blacks,
are a set of canting, deceitful people, of whom one must have great
caution."

Ignatius Sancho was always ready to defend the despised and the
oppressed, and his sympathy was all the more lively if they were of his
own color. He at once wrote to his young friend:--

"In one of your letters to your father, you speak with honest
indignation of the treachery and chicanery of the natives of India. My
good friend, you should remember from whom they learned those vices. The
first visitors from Christian countries found them a simple, harmless
people. But the cursed avidity for wealth urged those first visitors,
and all the succeeding ones, to such acts of deception and wanton
cruelty, that the poor, ignorant natives soon learned their knavish
arts, and turned them upon their teachers. As a resident of your
country, Old England, I love it. I love it for its freedom. For the many
blessings I enjoy in it England shall ever have my warmest wishes,
prayers, and blessings. But I must observe, and I say it with
reluctance, that the conduct of your country has been uniformly wicked
in the East Indies, in the West Indies, and on the coast of Guinea. The
grand object of English navigators, and indeed of all the navigators of
Christian nations, has been money, money, money. Commerce was meant by
the goodness of Deity to diffuse the various goods of the earth into
every part; to unite mankind with the blessed bonds of brotherly love
and mutual dependence. Enlightened Christians should diffuse the riches
of the Gospel of Peace together with the commodities of their respective
lands. If commerce were attended with strict honesty and religion for
companions, it would be a blessing to every shore it touched at.

"The poor wretched Africans are blessed with a most fertile and
luxuriant soil; but they are rendered miserable by what Providence meant
for a blessing. The abominable traffic in slaves, and the horrid cruelty
and treachery of the petty kings, is encouraged by their Christian
customers. They carry them strong liquors, powder, and bad fire-arms to
inflame them to madness, and to furnish them with the hellish means of
killing and kidnapping. It is a subject that sours my blood. I mention
these things to guard my friend from being too hasty in condemning a
people who have been made much worse by their Christian visitors.

"Wherever thou residest, make human nature thy study. Whatever may be
the religion or the complexion of men, study their hearts. Let
simplicity, kindness, and charity be thy guides; and with these, even
savages will respect you, while God will bless you."

The writings of the Rev. Laurence Sterne, who was living in England at
that time, were well calculated to inspire humanity toward animals and
kindly feelings toward the poor. These writings were very popular, and
two of the characters conspicuous in them, called Uncle Toby and
Corporal Trim, were great favorites with the public. Ignatius Sancho
especially delighted in the writings of Sterne; and in 1776, when he was
about forty-seven years old, he addressed a letter to him as follows:--

     "REVEREND SIR,--It would perhaps look like an insult upon your
     humanity to apologize for the liberty I am taking. I am one of
     those people whom the vulgar and illiberal call 'Negurs.' The first
     part of my life was rather unlucky, as I was placed in a family who
     judged ignorance to be the best and only security for obedience. By
     unwearied application I got a little reading and writing. Through
     God's blessing, the latter part of my life has been truly
     fortunate, for I have spent it in the service of one of the best
     families in the kingdom. My chief pleasure has been books. How very
     much, good sir, am I, among millions, indebted to you for the
     character of your amiable Uncle Toby! I declare I would walk ten
     miles, in dog-days, to shake hands with the honest Corporal. Your
     sermons have touched me to the heart, and I hope have amended it.
     In your tenth discourse I find this very affecting passage:
     'Consider how great a part of our species, in all ages, down to
     this, have been trodden under the feet of cruel and capricious
     tyrants, who would neither hear their cries nor pity their
     distresses. Consider Slavery, what a bitter draught it is, and how
     many millions are made to drink of it.'

     "I am sure you will forgive me if I beseech you to give some
     attention to Slavery, as it is practised at this day in the West
     Indies. That subject, handled in your striking manner, would
     perhaps ease the yoke of many; but if only of one, what a feast for
     a benevolent heart! and sure I am, you are an Epicurean[1] in acts
     of charity. You, who are universally read and as universally
     admired, could not fail. Dear sir, think that in me you behold the
     uplifted hands of thousands of my brother Moors. You pathetically
     observe that grief is eloquent. Figure to yourself their attitudes,
     hear their supplications, and you cannot refuse."

Mr. Sterne wrote the following reply:--

                                                 "July 27th, 1766.

     "There is a strange coincidence, Sancho, in the little events of
     this world, as well as the great ones. I had been writing a tender
     tale of the sorrows of a poor, friendless <DW64> girl, and my eyes
     had scarce done smarting with it, when your letter, in behalf of so
     many of her brethren and sisters, came to me. But why _her_
     brethren or _your_ brethren, Sancho, any more than _mine_? It is by
     the finest tints, and the most insensible gradations, that nature
     descends from the fairest face to the sootiest complexion. At which
     of these tints are the ties of blood to cease? and how many shades
     lower in the scale must we descend, ere mercy is to vanish with
     them?

     "It is no uncommon thing, my good Sancho, for one half of the world
     to _use_ the other half like brutes, and then endeavor to _make_
     them so. For my part, I never look Westward, when I am in a pensive
     mood, without thinking of the burdens our brothers and sisters are
     there carrying. If I could ease their shoulders from one ounce of
     them, I declare I would this hour set out upon a pilgrimage to
     Mecca for their sakes. It casts a sad shade upon the world, that so
     great a part of it are, and have so long been, bound in chains of
     darkness and chains of misery. I cannot but respect you and
     felicitate you, that by so much laudable diligence you have broken
     the chains of darkness, and that by falling into the hands of so
     good and merciful a family, you have been rescued by Providence
     from the chains of misery.

     "And so, good-hearted Sancho, adieu. Believe me, I will not forget
     your letter.

            "Yours,
                      "LAURENCE STERNE."

The last sickness of Ignatius Sancho was very painful, but he was
tenderly cared for by his good wife. He was fifty-two years old when he
died. After his death, a small volume was published, containing a number
of his letters, some articles he had written for newspapers, and an
engraved likeness of him, which looks very bright and good-natured. The
book was published by subscription, in which a large number of the
English nobility and some distinguished literary men joined.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] Epicureans were the followers of a philosopher in ancient Greece who
taught that pleasure was the great object in life,--an excellent
doctrine, if confined to the highest kind of pleasure, which consists in
doing good.




EXTRACT FROM THE TENTH PSALM.

"The wicked in his pride doth persecute the poor. He hath said in his
heart, God hath forgotten; He hideth his face; He will never see it.
Thou _hast_ seen it; for thou beholdest mischief and spite, to requite
it with thy hand. The poor committeth himself unto thee; thou art the
helper of the fatherless. Lord, thou hast heard the desire of the
humble. Thou wilt cause thine ear to hear; thou wilt prepare their heart
to judge the fatherless and the oppressed, that the man of the earth may
no more oppress."




PREJUDICE REPROVED.

BY LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.


    God gave to Afric's sons
      A brow of sable dye;
    And spread the country of their birth
      Beneath a burning sky.

    With a cheek of olive He made
      The little Hindoo child;
    And darkly stained the forest tribes,
      That roam our Western wild.

    To me He gave a form
      Of fairer, whiter clay;
    But am I, therefore, in his sight,
      Respected more than they?

    No;--'tis the hue of _deeds_ and _thoughts_
      He traces in his book;
    'Tis the complexion of the _heart_
      On which He deigns to look.

    Not by the tinted cheek,
      That fades away so fast,
    But by the color of the _soul_,
      We shall be judged at last.




BENJAMIN BANNEKER.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.


This remarkable man was born near the village of Ellicott's Mills,
Baltimore County, Maryland, in 1732. That was one hundred and
thirty-three years ago, when there were very few schools and very few
books in this country, and when it was not as easy as it now is for even
white people to obtain a tolerably good education. His parents were both
black, and though they were free, they were too poor to do much for
their bright boy. They sent him to a school in the neighborhood, where
he learned reading and writing and a little of arithmetic.

His father was a slave at the time of his marriage, but his wife was a
free woman; and she was so energetic and industrious, that she soon
earned money enough to buy his freedom. Then they worked together, and
earned enough to buy a few acres of land, and build a small cabin.

Benjamin was obliged to labor diligently when he was at home from
school, but every spare moment he could catch he was ciphering, and
planning how to make things. As his parents grew old, he had to work
early and late, to support himself and help them. His mother always
continued active enough to do the in-door work. When she was seventy
years old, if she wanted to catch a chicken she would run it down
without appearing to be tired. The place was thinly peopled, and the few
neighbors they had took no particular notice of Benjamin, though he had
the name of being a bright, industrious lad. His hands worked hard, but
his brain was always busy. He was particularly fond of arithmetic, and
was always working out sums in his head. He took notice of everything
around him, observed how everything was made, and never forgot one word
of what he had learned at school. In this way, he came to have more
knowledge than most of his white neighbors; and they began to say to one
another, "That black Ben is a smart fellow. He can make anything he sets
out to; and how much he knows! I wonder where he picked it all up."

At thirty years old, he made a clock, which proved an excellent
timepiece. He had never seen a clock, for nobody in that region had such
an article; but he had seen a watch, and it occupied his thoughts very
much. It seemed to him such a curious little machine, that he was very
desirous to make something like it. The watch was made of gold and
silver and steel; but Benjamin Banneker had only wood for material, and
the rudest kind of tools to work with. It was a long while before he
could make the hand that marked the hours, and the hand that marked the
minutes, and the hand that marked the seconds, correspond exactly in
their motions; but by perseverance he succeeded at last. He was then
about thirty years old. This was the first clock ever made in this
country. It kept time exactly, and people began to talk about it as a
wonderful thing for a man to do without instruction. After a while, the
Ellicott family, who owned the Mills, heard of it, and went to see it.
Mr. Elias Ellicott, a merchant in Baltimore, became very much interested
in the self-taught machinist. He lent him a number of books, among which
were some on astronomy,--a science which treats of the sun, moon, and
stars. Banneker was so interested in this new knowledge that he could
think of nothing else. He sat up all night to watch the planets, and to
make calculations about their motions. Mr. Ellicott went to see him to
explain to him how to use some of the tables for calculations contained
in the books he had lent him; but he found, to his great surprise, that
the earnest student had studied them all out himself, and had no need of
help. It was not long before he could calculate when the sun or the moon
would be eclipsed, and at what time every star would rise and set. He
was never known to make a mistake in any of his astronomical
calculations; and he became so exact, that he pointed out two mistakes
made by celebrated astronomers in Europe.

In order to pursue his favorite studies without interruption, he sold
the land which his parents had left him, and bought an annuity with the
money, on which he lived in the little cabin where he was born. He was
so temperate and frugal, that he needed very little to support him; and
when it was necessary to have more than his annuity, he could always
earn something by going out to work. But, as he was no longer seen in
the fields late and early, his ignorant white neighbors began to talk
against him. They peeped into his cabin and saw him asleep in the
daytime. They did not know that he had been awake all night watching the
stars, and ciphering out his calculations. In fact, they did not know
that the planets moved at all; and if he had told them that he could
calculate their movements exactly, they would only have laughed at him.
I suppose they felt some ill-will toward him because he was black, and
yet knew so much more than they did; and perhaps it excited their envy
that the Ellicott family and other educated gentlemen liked to go to
his cabin and talk with him about his studies and observations.

But Banneker was wise enough not to enter into any quarrels because they
called him a lazy, good-for-nothing fellow. He endeavored to live in
such a way that they could not help respecting him. He was always kind
and generous, ready to oblige everybody, and not at all inclined to
boast of his superiority.

When he was fifty-nine years old, he made an Almanac. It is a very
difficult job to calculate all about the changes of the moon, and the
rising and ebbing of the tides, and at what time the sun will rise and
set every day, all the year round; and it was a much more difficult task
then than it is now; because now there is a great improvement in
astronomical books and instruments. But notwithstanding Banneker's
limited means and scanty education, he made an excellent Almanac. It was
published by Goddard and Angell of Baltimore. In a Preface, they say:
"We feel gratified to have an opportunity of presenting to the public,
through our press, what must be considered an extraordinary effort of
genius,--a complete and accurate Ephemeris[2] for the year 1792,
calculated by a sable son of Africa. It has met the approbation of
several of the most distinguished astronomers of America; and we hope a
philanthropic public will give their support to the work, not only on
account of its intrinsic merit, but from a desire to controvert the
long-established illiberal prejudice against the blacks."

This was the first Almanac ever made in this country. It contained much
useful information of a general nature, and interesting selections in
prose and verse. Before it was printed, Banneker sent a manuscript
copy, in his own handwriting, to Thomas Jefferson, then Secretary of
State, and afterward President of the United States. After apologizing
for the liberty he took in addressing a person whose station was so far
above his own, he says:--

     "Those of my complexion have long been considered rather brutish
     than human,--scarcely capable of mental endowments. But, in
     consequence of the reports that have reached me, I hope I may
     safely admit that you are measurably friendly and well-disposed
     toward us. I trust that you agree with me in thinking that one
     Universal Father hath given being to us all; that He has not only
     made us all of one flesh, but has also, without partiality,
     afforded us all the same sensations, and endowed us all with the
     same faculties; and that, however various we may be in society or
     religion, however diversified in situation or color, we are all of
     the same family, and all stand in the same relation to Him. Now,
     sir, if this is founded in truth, I apprehend you will readily
     embrace every opportunity to eradicate the absurd and false ideas
     and opinions which so generally prevail with respect to us.

     "Suffer me, sir, to recall to your mind, that when the tyranny of
     the British crown was exerted to reduce you to servitude, your
     abhorrence thereof was so excited, that you publicly held forth
     this true and invaluable doctrine, worthy to be recorded and
     remembered in all succeeding ages: 'We hold these truths to be
     self-evident, that all men are created equal, and that they are
     endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights; that
     among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.'

     "Your tender feelings for yourselves engaged you thus to declare.
     You were then impressed with proper ideas of the great value of
     Liberty, and the free possession of those blessings to which you
     were entitled by nature. But, sir, how pitiable it is to reflect
     that, although you were so fully convinced of the benevolence of
     the Father of mankind, and of his equal and impartial distribution
     of those rights and privileges which He had conferred upon them,
     that you should at the same time counteract his mercies in
     detaining, by fraud and violence, so numerous a part of my brethren
     under groaning captivity and cruel oppression; that you should at
     the same time be found guilty of that most criminal act which you
     detested in others with respect to yourselves.

     "Sir, I freely and most cheerfully acknowledge that I am of the
     African race; and in that color which is natural to them I am of
     the deepest dye. But, with a sense of most profound gratitude to
     the Supreme Ruler of the universe, I confess that I am not under
     that state of tyrannical thraldom and inhuman captivity to which so
     many of my brethren are doomed. I have abundantly tasted of those
     blessings which proceed from that free and unequalled liberty with
     which you are favored.

     "Sir, I suppose your knowledge of the situation of my brethren is
     too extensive for it to need a recital here. Neither shall I
     presume to prescribe methods by which they may be relieved,
     otherwise than by recommending to you and others to wean yourselves
     from those narrow prejudices you have imbibed with respect to them,
     and to do as Job proposed to his friends,--'Put _your_ souls in
     _their_ souls' stead.' Thus shall your hearts be enlarged with
     kindness and benevolence toward them, and you will need neither the
     direction of myself nor others in what manner to proceed.

     "I took up my pen to direct to you, as a present, a copy of an
     Almanac I have calculated for the succeeding year. I ardently hope
     that your candor and generosity will plead with you in my behalf.
     Sympathy and affection for my brethren has caused my enlargement
     thus far; it was not originally my design.

     "The Almanac is the production of my arduous study. I have long had
     unbounded desires to become acquainted with the secrets of Nature,
     and I have had to gratify my curiosity herein through my own
     assiduous application to astronomical study; in which I need not
     recount to you the many difficulties and disadvantages I have had
     to encounter. I conclude by subscribing myself, with the most
     profound respect, your most humble servant,

                                      "B. BANNEKER."

To this letter Jefferson made the following reply:--

     "SIR,--I thank you sincerely for your letter, and for the Almanac
     it contained. Nobody wishes more than I do to see such proofs as
     you exhibit that Nature has given to our black brethren talents
     equal to those of the other colors of men, and that the appearance
     of a want of them is owing only to the degraded condition of their
     existence, both in Africa and America. I can add, with truth, that
     no one wishes more ardently to see a good system commenced for
     raising the condition, both of their body and mind, to what it
     ought to be, as fast as the imbecility of their present existence,
     and other circumstances which cannot be neglected, will admit. I
     have taken the liberty of sending your Almanac to Monsieur
     Condorcet, Secretary of the Academy of Sciences at Paris, and to
     members of the Philanthropic Society, because I considered it a
     document to which your whole color had a right, for their
     justification against the doubts which have been entertained of
     them. I am, with great esteem, sir, your most obedient servant,

                                      "THOMAS JEFFERSON."

In 1803, Mr. Jefferson invited the astronomer to visit him at
Monticello, but the increasing infirmities of age made it imprudent to
undertake the journey. His Almanacs sold well for ten years, and the
income, added to his annuity, gave him a very comfortable support; and
what was a still greater satisfaction to him was the consciousness of
doing something to help the cause of his oppressed people, by proving to
the world that Nature had endowed them with good capacities.

After 1802 he found himself too old to calculate any more Almanacs, but
as long as he lived he continued to be deeply interested in his various
studies.

He was well informed on many other subjects besides arithmetic and
astronomy. He was a great reader of history; and he kept a Journal,
which shows that he was a close observer of the vegetable world, of the
habits of insects, and of the operations of Nature in general. That his
busy mind drew inferences from what he observed is evident from the
following entry in his Journal:--

"Standing at my door to-day, I heard the discharge of a gun, and in four
or five seconds of time the small shots came rattling about me, which
plainly demonstrates that the velocity of sound is greater than that of
a common bullet."

After the Constitution of the United States was adopted, in 1789,
commissioners were appointed to determine the boundaries of the District
of Columbia. They invited Banneker to be present and assist them in
running the lines; and he was treated by them with as much respect as
if he had been of their own color. His Almanacs were much praised by
scientific men, and they often visited him in his humble little cabin.
But these attentions never made him pert and vain. He rejoiced in his
abilities and acquisitions, because he thought they might help to raise
the condition of his oppressed brethren; but he always remained modest
and unobtrusive in his manners.

He died in 1804, in the seventy-second year of his age. His friend, Mr.
Benjamin H. Ellicott, collected various facts concerning him, which have
been published. In a letter on this subject, Mr. Ellicott says: "During
the whole of his long life he lived respectably, and was much esteemed
by all who became acquainted with him; more especially by those who
could fully appreciate his genius and the extent of his acquirements.
His mode of life was extremely regular and retired. Having never
married, he lived alone, cooking his own victuals and washing his own
clothes. He was scarcely ever absent from home, yet there was nothing
misanthropic in his character. A gentleman who knew him speaks of him
thus: 'I recollect him well. He was a brave-looking, pleasant man, with
something very noble in his appearance. His mind was evidently much
engrossed in his calculations, but he was glad to receive the visits we
often paid him.' Another writes: 'When I was a boy, I became very much
interested in him. His manners were those of a perfect gentleman. He was
kind, generous, hospitable, humane, dignified, and pleasing. He abounded
in information on all the various subjects and incidents of the day, was
very modest and unassuming, and delighted in society at his own house.
Go there when you would, by day or night, there was constantly in the
middle of the floor a large table covered with books and papers. As he
was an eminent mathematician, he was constantly in correspondence with
other mathematicians in this country, with whom there was an interchange
of questions of difficult solution. His head was covered with thick
white hair, which gave him a venerable appearance. His dress was
uniformly of superfine drab broadcloth, made in the old style of a plain
coat with strait collar, a long waistcoat, and a broad-brimmed hat. His
color was not jet black, but decidedly <DW64>. In size and personal
appearance he bore a strong resemblance to the statue of Benjamin
Franklin, at the Library in Philadelphia.'"

The good which Banneker did to the cause of his  brethren did not
cease with his life. When the Abbe Gregoire pleaded for emancipation in
France, and when Wilberforce afterward labored for the same cause in
England, the abilities and character of the black astronomer were
brought forward as an argument against the enslavement of his race; and,
from that day to this, the friends of freedom have quoted him everywhere
as a proof of the mental capacity of Africans.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "They _found_ them slaves! but who that title _gave_?
    The God of Nature never formed a slave!
    Though fraud or force acquire a master's name,
    Nature and justice must remain the same;--
    Nature imprints upon whate'er we see,
    That has a heart and life in it, BE FREE!"

                                      COWPER.

FOOTNOTE:

[2] A daily journal of the state of the planets.




ETHIOPIA.

BY FRANCES E. W. HARPER.


    Yes, Ethiopia yet shall stretch
      Her bleeding hands abroad;
    Her cry of agony shall reach
      Up to the throne of God.

    The tyrant's yoke from off her neck,
      His fetters from her soul,
    The mighty hand of God shall break,
      And spurn the base control.

    Redeemed from dust and freed from chains,
      Her sons shall lift their eyes;
    From cloud-capt hills and verdant plains
      Shall shouts of triumph rise.

    Upon her dark, despairing brow
      Shall play a smile of peace;
    For God shall bend unto her woe,
      And bid her sorrows cease.

    'Neath sheltering vines and stately palms
      Shall laughing children play,
    And aged sires with joyous psalms
      Shall gladden every day.

    Secure by night, and blest by day,
      Shall pass her happy hours;
    Nor human tigers hunt for prey
      Within her peaceful bowers.

    Then, Ethiopia, stretch, O stretch
      Thy bleeding hands abroad!
    Thy cry of agony shall reach
      And find redress from God.




THE HOUR OF FREEDOM.[3]

BY WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON.


    The hour of freedom! come it must.
      O hasten it, in mercy, Heaven!
    When all who grovel in the dust
      Shall stand erect, their fetters riven;

    When glorious freedom shall be won
      By every caste, complexion, clime;
    When tyranny shall be o'erthrown,
      And _color_ cease to be a _crime_.



FOOTNOTE:

[3] Written in 1832.




WILLIAM BOEN.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.


William Boen was born in 1735, one hundred and thirty years ago. He was
the slave of a man who lived near Mount Holly, in New Jersey. His master
and most of the neighbors belonged to the Society of Friends, commonly
called Quakers. That Society made it a rule that none of their members
should hold a slave, long before the people of any other sect were
convinced that slavery was wrong. But at the time William Boen was born
some of the Quakers did hold slaves, though many of their members were
preaching against it.

They were a very friendly and conscientious people, and as William grew
up among them he naturally imbibed many of their ideas. However, like
most boys, he did not think very seriously about religion, until the
importance of it was impressed upon his mind by the following
circumstance. In the time of the old French war, when he was a mere lad,
his master sent him into the woods to cut down trees. The Indians were
fighting on the side of the French, and they often killed the Americans.
Some of them came into the neighborhood of Mount Holly; and when he went
home at night, after his day's work in the woods, he would often hear
that Indians had been lurking about in the neighborhood, and that
somebody had been shot by their sharp arrows. This made him very much
afraid to work alone in the woods. He was always thinking that Indians
might be hidden among the bushes; and if a bird flew off her nest it
sounded to him like the whizzing of an arrow. It was very still in the
forest, and it seemed very solemn to look up at the sky through the tall
trees. William thought to himself, "What if the Indians should kill me
before I have any time to think about it? Am I fit to die?" He thought
he was not fit to die, and he longed earnestly to know what he ought to
do to become fit to die. He had heard the Quakers talk about a light
which God had placed in the soul, to show men what was wrong. And he
said it went through his mind "like a flaming sword," that if he would
be fit to die he must follow this inward light in every particular, even
in the most trifling things. So he began to be very thoughtful about
every action of his life; and if he felt uneasy about anything he was
tempted to do, he said to himself, "This is the inward light, showing me
that the thing is wrong. I will not do it." Pursuing this course, he
became careful not to do anything which did not bring peace to his soul;
and as the soul can never be peaceful when it disobeys God, he was
continually travelling toward Zion while he strove to follow this inward
light in his soul; and the more humbly he tried to follow it, the
clearer the light became. He did not always keep in the straight path.
Sometimes he did or said something wrong; then peace went away from his
mind. But he confessed his sin before God, and prayed for strength not
to do wrong any more. By humility and obedience he again found the path
of peace. Religion comes in many different ways to human souls. This was
the way it came to William Boen.

All who knew him saw that his religious feeling was deep and sincere,
for it brought forth fruit in his daily life. He never made others
unhappy by indulging freaks of temper. He was extremely temperate,
scrupulously honest, and very careful never to say anything but the
exact truth. His character was so excellent that all the neighbors
respected and trusted him. Many said it was a shame to keep him in
slavery, and his master became uneasy about it. People said to him, from
time to time, "William, thy master talks of letting thee be free." He
heard it so often, that it became an old story, and he thought nothing
would ever come of it. But one day his master was walking with him as he
went to his work in the fields, and suddenly he inquired whether he
would like to be free. William was silent for a while, and then began to
talk about the work he was to do. But the question dwelt on his mind and
excited his hopes. He told one of his friends about it, and when he was
asked, "What didst thou say, William?" he replied, "I did not say
anything; for I thought he might _know_ I would like to be free."

When he was nearly twenty-eight years old his master offered to make a
contract with him by which he could obtain his freedom. He was soon
after married to a worthy young woman, and by industry and strict
economy they were able in a few years to buy a few acres of land, and
build a comfortable house. He led a peaceful and diligent life, doing
good to others whenever he could, and harming no one. His conscience was
extremely tender. He would never eat anything made of sugar manufactured
by slaves, and he never would wear any garments made of cotton raised by
slave labor. He thought Slavery was so wrong, that he did not feel easy
to connect himself with it, even in the remotest degree.

He was equally scrupulous about telling the truth. One of his
neighbors, a rich white man, was very much in the habit of borrowing his
tools. One day, when he had been using his grindstone, he thanked him
for it, and William answered, in the customary way, "Thou art welcome."
But soon he began to ask himself, "Was that the exact truth?" His mind
was troubled by doubts about it, and finally he went to his neighbor,
and said, "When I told thee thou wert welcome, I spoke mere
complimentary words, according to custom; for the truth is, I do
honestly think thou art better able to have a grindstone of thy own,
than I am."

He had also a very nice sense of justice with regard to the rights of
property. Nothing would induce him to use what belonged to another
person without first obtaining leave. One day, when he was mowing in the
meadows, he accidentally killed a fat partridge with his scythe. The
other workmen advised him to take it home for his wife to roast. But he
replied, "Nay, the partridge does not belong to me, it belongs to the
owner of the meadow." Accordingly he carried it to his employer. Another
time, when he was working with others in the woods, they found an empty
cabin, wherein they stowed their provisions, and lodged for a fortnight,
till they had finished cutting the timber. After William returned home
he took an early opportunity to tell the owner of the cabin what he had
done, and to offer payment for the accommodation.

He constantly attended Quaker meetings, and followed their peculiar
customs in dress and language; but he was not admitted into full
membership with that religious society till he was nearly eighty years
old, though he had made application to join it thirty years before.

He was scrupulously neat in his person. His linen was always very
white, and his light drab- clothes showed no speck of dirt. He
wore his beard long, and as he grew old it became very white; his curly
hair also was white as snow. His dark face was very conspicuous in the
midst of all this whiteness, and gave him an odd appearance. But he had
such a friendly, pleasant expression of countenance, and there was so
much modest dignity in his manners, that he inspired respect. A stranger
once said to one of his wealthy neighbors, "I wonder that boys and giddy
young folks don't ridicule that old black man, his dress and appearance
are so very peculiar." The neighbor replied, "William Boen is a
religious man, and everybody respects him. The light-minded are so much
impressed by his well-known character, that they are restrained from
making fun of his singular appearance."

He died in his ninetieth year; not from any disease, but the mere
weakness of old age. His faculties were clear, and his mind serene and
cheerful to the last. He spoke of his approaching death with the
greatest composure; saying that he had no wish about the manner of his
exit from this life, that he was resigned to the Divine will in all
things.

One of the last things he said was, "I am glad to see that the feeling
against slavery is growing among the Society of Friends. Once I felt as
if I was alone in my testimony against that wicked system."

After his death, the Society of Friends at Mount Holly wrote a Memorial
concerning his character, which was read in their Yearly Meeting. It
concluded thus: "In early life, he was concerned 'to do justly, love
mercy, and walk humbly with his God.' By close attention to the light of
Christ within, he was enabled, not only to bear many precious
testimonies faithfully to the end of his days, but also to bring forth
those fruits of the spirit which redound to the glory of God and the
salvation of the soul. As he lived, so he died,--a rare pattern of a
self-denying follower of Christ. 'Mark the perfect man, and behold the
upright; for the end of that man is peace.'"




ANECDOTE OF GENERAL WASHINGTON.


During the war of the Revolution, Primus Hall was the <DW52> servant of
Colonel Pickering, with whom General Washington often held long
consultations. One night, finding they must be engaged till late, he
proposed to sleep in the Colonel's tent, provided there was a spare
blanket and straw. Primus, who was always eager to oblige the
Commander-in-Chief, said, "Plenty of straw and blankets."

When the long conference was ended, the two officers lay down to rest on
the beds he had prepared. When he saw they were asleep, he seated
himself on a box, and, leaning his head on his hand, tried to take as
comfortable a nap as he could. General Washington woke in the night, and
seeing him nodding there, called out, "Primus!" The servant started to
his feet, and exclaimed, "What do you wish for, General?"

"You told me you had plenty of straw and blankets," replied Washington;
"but I see you are sitting up all night for the sake of giving me your
bed."

"It is no matter about me," rejoined Primus.

"Yes, it is," replied General Washington. "If one of us must sit up, I
will take my turn. But there is no need of that. The blanket is wide
enough for two. Come and lie down with me."

Primus, who reverenced the Commander-in-Chief as he did no other mortal,
protested against it. But Washington threw open the blanket, and said,
"Come and lie down, I tell you! There is room enough for both, and I
insist upon it."

The tone was too resolute to admit of further parley, and the General
and his  friend slept comfortably under the same blanket till
morning.




PRAYER OF THE SLAVE.

BY BERNARD BARTON.


    O Father of the human race!
      The white, the black, the bond, the free,
    Thanks for thy gift of heavenly grace,
      Vouchsafed through Jesus Christ to me.

    This, 'mid oppression's every wrong,
      Has borne my sinking spirits up;
    Made sorrow joyful, weakness strong,
      And sweetened Slavery's bitter cup.

    Hath not a Saviour's dying hour
      Made e'en the yoke of thraldom light?
    Hath not thy Holy Spirit's power
      Made bondage freedom? darkness bright?

    Thanks then, O Father! for the gift
      Which through thy Gospel thou hast given,
    Which thus from bonds and earth can lift
      The soul to liberty and heaven.

    But not the less I mourn their shame,
      Who, mindless of thy gracious will,
    Call on the holy Father's name,
      Yet keep their brethren bondmen still.

    Forgive them, Lord! for Jesus' sake;
      And when the slave thou hast unbound,
    The chains which bind the oppressor break!
      Thus be thy love's last triumph crowned.




TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE.

          "Everywhere thy name shall be
    Redeemed from color's infamy;
    And men shall learn to speak of thee
    As one of earth's great spirits, born
    In servitude and nursed in scorn,
    Casting aside the weary weight
    And fetters of its low estate,
    In that strong majesty of soul
    Which knows no color, tongue, or clime,
    Which still hath spurned the base control
          Of tyrants, through all time."

                        JOHN G. WHITTIER.


On the western coast of Africa, a tribe called the Arradas are said to
be superior to most of the other tribes in intelligence and strength of
will. The son of their chief, named Gaou-Guinou, was seized by a
prowling band of slave-traders, one day when he was out hunting. He was
packed in the hold of a European ship, with a multitude of other
unfortunate victims, and carried to the island of Hayti to be sold. This
is one of the largest of the West India Islands, and lies between Cuba
and Porto Rico. It was first discovered by Spaniards, who found it
inhabited by mild-tempered Indians, leading a very simple and happy
life. These natives called their island Hayti, which in their language
signified a Land of Mountains. A lofty ridge of mountains runs across
it, and gives it a solemn, dreary appearance, when seen in the distance.
But it is a very beautiful and fertile island. The high, rocky
precipices, piled one above another, look down on broad flowery plains,
flowing with water, and loaded with tropical fruits. When the Spaniards
established a colony there, they introduced the cultivation of sugar,
cotton, and coffee, to supply the markets of Europe. They compelled the
native Indians to work so hard, and treated them so badly, that the poor
creatures died off very fast. Then they sent men in ships to Africa to
steal <DW64>s to work for them. They founded a city in the eastern part
of the island, and named it St. Domingo; and the whole island came to be
called by that name by European nations.

The French afterward took possession of the western part of the island.
Their principal city was named Cap Francois, which means French Cape.
The African prince Gaou-Guinou was sold in the market of that city. He
was more fortunate than slaves generally are. He was bought by the
manager of a sugar plantation belonging to a French nobleman, named the
Count de Breda. He was kind-hearted, and was very careful to employ none
but humane men to take charge of his laborers. The condition of the
young African was also less desolate than it would have been, by reason
of his finding on the Breda estate several members of the Arradas tribe,
who, like him, had been stolen from their homes. They at once recognized
him as the son of their king, and treated him with the utmost respect.
In process of time he married a black slave, who is said to have been
handsome and virtuous. They joined the Roman Catholic Church, which was
the established religion of France and the French islands. Of their
eight children, the oldest, born in 1743, one hundred and twenty-two
years ago, was named Toussaint. The day of his birth is not certainly
known. It has been said to have been on the 20th of May. But, from his
name, it seems more likely that it was on the 1st of November. In
Catholic countries, almost every day of the year is set apart to the
worship of some saint; and a child born on the day of any particular
saint is very apt to receive his name from that day. The first of
November is a festival of the church, called All Saints' Day; and
Toussaint, in the French language, means All Saints.

In the neighborhood of Gaou-Guinou lived a very honest, religious old
black man, named Pierre Baptiste. He had been in the service of Jesuit
missionaries, and had there learned to read and write, also a little of
geometry. By help of the Catholic Prayer-Book he learned some prayers in
Latin, and found out their meaning in French. This man stood godfather
for Toussaint at his baptism, and as the boy grew older it was his
pleasure to teach him what little he himself knew. The language of the
Arradas tribe was always spoken in the family of Gaou-Guinou, but from
his godfather Toussaint learned to speak tolerably good French, which
was the language of the whites in the western part of St. Domingo. It is
said that Gaou-Guinou was allowed to cultivate a little patch of ground
for his family, and that some of his fellow-slaves were permitted to
assist him occasionally. This indulgence indicates that he stood well in
his master's opinion. But, in common with other slaves, it is probable
that he and his wife toiled early and late in the fields or the
sugar-house, and that their family were huddled together in a hut too
small to allow of their observing the laws of cleanliness or modesty.

For several years Toussaint was so feeble and slender that his parents
called him by a name which signified "The Little Lath." But he gained
strength as he grew older; and by the time he was twelve years old he
could beat all the boys in running, jumping, and leaping.

It was the business of young slaves to tend the flocks and herds. They
generally neglected and abused the creatures under their care, because
they themselves were accustomed to hard treatment. But Toussaint was of
a kindly disposition, and there was less violence on his master's
plantation than elsewhere. It was remarked in the neighborhood that he
differed from other boys in his careful and gentle treatment of the
animals under his care. He was naturally a silent and thoughtful child,
and probably this tendency was increased by being much alone, watching
the browsing cattle in the stillness of the great valleys. Perhaps also
the presence of the mountains and the sky made him feel serious and
solemn. His pious godfather told him legends of Catholic saints, which
he had heard among the missionaries. All these things combined to give
him a religious turn of mind, even in his boyhood. From his own father
he learned a great deal about Africa and the customs that prevailed in
the tribe of his grandfather, King of the Arradas; also the medicinal
qualities of many plants, which afterward proved very useful to him.
Nothing is recorded of the moral and intellectual character of his
father; but Toussaint always respected him highly, and when he was
himself an old man he spoke of him as a good parent, who had trained him
well by lessons of honor and virtue.

Toussaint Breda, as he was called, from the name of the estate on which
he worked, early acquired a reputation for intelligence, sobriety, and
industry. The Manager of the estate, M. Bayou de Libertas, was so much
pleased with his conduct and manners that he made him his coachman, a
situation much coveted by the slaves, as being more easy and pleasant
than most of their tasks. His kindness to animals fitted him for the
care of horses, and he was found as faithful in this new business as he
had been while he was herds-boy. He was afterward promoted to an office
of greater trust, being made steward of the sugar-house.

Having arrived at manhood, he began to want a home of his own. Most of
the slaves took up together without any form of marriage, that being one
of the bad customs which grows out of Slavery. But Toussaint was
religious, and it would have troubled his conscience to live in that bad
way. He had become attached to a widow named Suzan, who had one little
son called Placide. She was not handsome, but he loved her for her good
sense, good temper, and modest manners. They were married according to
the ceremonies of the Catholic Church. He adopted her little boy, and
brought him up as tenderly as he did his own children. The Manager
allowed him a small patch of ground for vegetables, and all the hours
they could snatch from plantation labors he and his wife devoted to the
cultivation of their little garden. M. Bayou de Libertas was such a
humane and considerate man that life in his service seems to have been
as happy as the condition of slaves can be. Long afterward, Toussaint,
speaking of this period of his life, said: "My wife and I went hand in
hand to labor in the fields. We were scarcely conscious of the fatigues
of the day. Heaven always blessed our toil. We had abundance for
ourselves, and the pleasure of giving to other blacks who needed it. On
Sundays and festival days my wife, my parents, and myself went to
church. Returning to our cottage we had a pleasant meal, passed the
remainder of the day in family intercourse, and closed it by prayer, in
which all took part."

Thus contented in his humble station, and faithfully performing its
duties, he gained the respect and confidence of both blacks and whites.
Many of the slaves in the French colonies were cruelly treated, as is
always the case wherever Slavery exists. Toussaint could not avoid
seeing a great deal of wrong and suffering inflicted on people of his
color, and he was doubtless grateful to God that his lot was so much
better than theirs. But he was too intelligent and thoughtful not to
question in his own mind why either he or they should be held in bondage
merely on account of the complexion which it had pleased God to give
them. He was fond of reading, and M. Bayou de Libertas, contrary to the
usual custom, allowed him the use of his books. He read one volume at a
time, and tried to understand it thoroughly. He devoted every spare
moment to it, and while he was at work he was busily thinking over what
he had read. It took complete possession of his soul for the time, and
he would repeat extracts from it to his companions for weeks after. In
this earnest way he read several books of ancient history, biography,
and morals, and a number of military books. There was a French author,
called the Abbe Raynal, who was much opposed to Slavery. In some way or
other, one of his books fell into the hands of Toussaint Breda, and made
a deep impression on him. It contained the following sentence: "What
shall be done to overthrow Slavery? Self-interest alone governs kings
and nations. We must look elsewhere. A courageous chief is all the
<DW64>s need. Where is he? Where is that great man whom Nature owes to
her vexed, oppressed, and tormented children? He will doubtless appear.
He will come forth and raise the sacred standard of Liberty. This
venerable signal will gather round him his companions in misfortune.
More impetuous than the torrents, they will everywhere leave the
indelible traces of their just resentment. Everywhere people will bless
the name of the hero who shall have re-established the rights of the
human race."

When the Abbe Raynal wrote those prophetic words, he did not foresee
that they would meet the eye of the very man he called for; and the
humble slave, when he read them, did not hear in them the voice of his
own destiny.

While he was diligently toiling for his humane masters, and seizing
every opportunity to increase his small stock of knowledge, the island
of St. Domingo was growing very rich by agriculture and commerce. The
planters acquired enormous wealth, built splendid houses, and lived in
luxury, laziness, and dissipation, upon the toil of the poor unpaid
<DW64>s. Twenty thousand slaves were imported from Africa every year, to
make up the deficiency of those who were killed by excessive toil and
cruel treatment. These new victims, men and women, had the name of their
purchaser branded on their breast-bones with red-hot iron.

But men never violate the laws of God without suffering the
consequences, sooner or later. Slavery was producing its natural fruits
of tyranny and hatred, cruelty and despair. The reports of barbarity on
one side and suffering on the other attracted attention in Europe; and
benevolent and just men began to speak and write against Slavery as a
wicked and dangerous institution. The Abbe Gregoire, a humane Bishop of
the Catholic Church, introduced the agitating question into the French
Assembly, a body similar to our Congress. He also formed a society
called _Les Amis de Noirs_, which means "The Friends of the Blacks." Of
course, this was very vexatious to slaveholders in the French colonies.
They knew very well that if the facts of Slavery were made known, every
good man would cry out against it. Political parties were formed in St.
Domingo. Some of the planters wanted to secede from France, and set up
an independent government. Others wanted to increase their political
power by having a Colonial Assembly established in the island, by means
of which they could mainly manage their own concerns as they chose. For
this purpose they sent deputies to France. But their request gave rise
to the question who should have the right to be members of such an
Assembly; and, for the following reasons, that question was very
annoying to the haughty slaveholders of St. Domingo.

In the United States of America, slaveholders made a law that "the child
shall follow the condition of the _mother_"; consequently, every child
of a slave-woman was born a slave, however light its complexion might
be. This was a very convenient arrangement for white fathers, who wanted
to sell their own children. In the French colonies, the law was, "the
child shall follow the condition of its _father_." The consequence was,
that all the children the planters of St. Domingo had by their slaves
were born free. This was, of course, a numerous class. In fact, their
numbers were two thirds as great as those of the whites. There were at
that time in St. Domingo thirty thousand whites, twenty thousand free
mulattoes, and five hundred thousand black slaves. Not unfrequently the
white planters sent their mulatto children to France to be educated like
gentlemen. Many of them acquired great wealth and held numerous slaves.
But they were a class by themselves. However rich and educated they
might be, they were kept trampled down in a degraded and irritating
position, merely on account of their color. They despised the <DW64>
slaves, from whom they had descended on the mother's side; and they in
their turn were despised by the whites, whose children they were,
because their color connected them with the enslaved race. They were not
allowed to be doctors, lawyers, or priests; they could hold no public
office; they could not inherit the name or the property of their
fathers; they could not attend school with white boys, or sit at a white
man's table, or occupy the same portion of a church with him, or be
buried in the same graveyard. They were continually insulted by whites,
but if they dared to give a blow in return, the penalty was to have the
right hand cut off. This class of free mulattoes claimed that, being
numerous and wealthy, and the payers of taxes, they had a right to send
representatives to the Colonial Assembly to look after their interests.
They had the more hopes of gaining this point, because a great
Revolution was then going on in France, and the friends of liberty and
equality were daily growing stronger there. When the white planters sent
deputies to France, the mulattoes sent deputies also, with a present of
more than a million of dollars, and an offer to mortgage a fifth part of
all their property toward the payment of the French national debt. All
they asked in return was that the law should put them on an equality
with white men. Being slaveholders, they manifested the same selfishness
that white slaveholders did. They declared that they asked redress of
grievances only for oppressed _freemen_; that they had no wish to change
the condition of the <DW64>s, who were slaves.

This petition was drawn up in 1790, and sent to Paris by a wealthy
<DW52> man named Oge. It excited lively discussion in the National
Assembly of France. One of the members, named Lamoth, who owned large
estates in St. Domingo, said: "I am one of the largest proprietors in
that island; but I would lose all that I possess there rather than
disown principles which justice and humanity have consecrated. I am not
only in favor of admitting men of color into the Colonial Assemblies,
but I also go for the emancipation of the <DW64> slaves." After animated
discussion, the reply received by the mulatto deputies from the
President of the Assembly was: "No portion of the French nation shall in
vain claim its rights from the representatives of the French people."

When the white planters of St. Domingo heard of this, they were filled
with wrath. In one place, a mulatto named Lacombe, whose only crime was
that he had signed the petition, was seized and hung. In another place,
the mob seized a highly respected old white magistrate and cut off his
head, because he had drafted for the mulattoes a very moderate petition,
begging to be released from some of the hardships under which they had
so long suffered. When the  deputy Oge returned from France and
demanded that mulattoes should have the rights of citizenship, which had
been decreed to them by the French Assembly, soldiers were sent to seize
him, and he was sentenced to have all his limbs broken on a wheel, and
then to have his head cut off.

Besides the classes of which I have spoken there was another class in
St. Domingo called _petit blancs_, which means small whites. They were
so called to distinguish them from the large landed proprietors. They
occupied a position not unlike that of the class known as "poor whites"
in the slaveholding portion of the United States. They were ready
instruments to carry out the vengeance of the infuriated planters. They
seized every opportunity to insult the free mulattoes, and to inflict
cruelty and outrage on the <DW64> slaves. They went about as patrols,
traversing the plantations, and bursting into <DW64> huts at all times of
night, under the pretence that they were plotting insurrection. The poor
ignorant slaves did not understand what all this mobbing and murdering
was for; but finding themselves so much suspected and abused without
cause, they became weary of their lives. Many committed suicide, others
tried to poison their tormentors. At Port au Prince an attempt was made
to get up an insurrection. Fifty slaves, suspected of being connected
with it, were beheaded, and their heads, stuck on poles, were set up by
the hedges in a row.

While the fire was thus kindling under their feet the white planters
came out in open defiance of the French government, and refused to take
the oath of allegiance. They called on the English for aid, and offered
to make the island over to Great Britain. The mulattoes were filled with
dismay, for the French government was their only hope. They had hitherto
kept aloof from the <DW64>s; but now, seeing the necessity of curbing
the power of the white planters, at all hazards, they instigated the
already exasperated slaves to seize this favorable moment of commotion
and rise against their masters. They did rise, on the 22d of August,
1791. All at once the sky was red with the reflection of burning houses
and cane-fields. The cruelties which they had witnessed or suffered,
they now, in their turn, inflicted on white men, women, and children. It
was a horrible scene.

Toussaint was working as usual on the Breda estate, when he heard that
the planters had called in the aid of the English, and that four
thousand <DW64>s had risen in insurrection. He exerted his great
influence with his fellow-slaves to prevent the destruction of houses
and cane-fields on the Breda estate. For a month, he kept the insurgents
at bay, while he helped M. Bayou de Libertas to convey a cargo of sugar
on board a Baltimore ship, for the support of his family, and aided his
mistress to collect such articles of value as could conveniently be
carried away. Then he secretly conveyed them to the same ship; and it
was an inexpressible relief to his heart when he saw them sailing away,
bound for the shores of the United States.

The armed <DW64>s increased in numbers, and marshalled themselves under
an intelligent leader named Jean Francois. When the French governor in
St. Domingo called upon them to lay down their arms, their leaders
replied for them: "We have never thought of failing in the respect and
duty we owe to the representatives of the King of France. The king has
bewailed our lot and broken our chains. But those who should have proved
fathers to us have been tyrants, monsters, unworthy the fruits of our
labors. Do you ask the sheep to throw themselves into the jaws of the
wolf? To prove to you, excellent sir, that we are not so cruel as you
may think, we assure you that we wish for peace with all our souls; but
on condition that all the whites, without a single exception, leave the
Cape. Let them carry with them their gold and their jewels. All we seek
is our liberty. God grant that we may obtain it without shedding of
blood. Believe us, it has cost our feelings very much to have taken this
course. But victory, or death for freedom, is our profession of faith;
and we will maintain it to the last drop of our blood."

The <DW64>s were mistaken in supposing that Louis XVI., king of France,
had broken their chains, or that the king's party, called Royalists,
were trying to do anything for their freedom. It was the revolutionary
party in France, called Republicans, who had declared themselves in
favor of emancipating the <DW64> slaves, and giving the free mulattoes
their civil rights. The main body of the <DW64>s had been kept in the
lowest ignorance, and of course could not understand the state of
political parties. The world was ringing with French doctrines of
liberty and equality, to be applied to men of all colors; and they could
not help hearing something of what was so universally talked of. The
Spaniards in the eastern part of St. Domingo were allies of the French
king, and they wanted the <DW64>s to help them fight the French
planters, who were in rebellion against the king. In order to give them
a strong motive for doing so, they told them that Louis XVI. had been
cast into prison in France, and that they were going to kill him,
because he wanted to emancipate the slaves in his colonies. They readily
believed that it was so, because they saw their masters in arms against
the king. Therefore they called their regiments "The King's Own," and
carried flags on which were inscribed, "Long live the King," "The
Ancient System of Government."

The slaveholders mounted the English cockade, and entered into alliance
with Great Britain, while their revolted slaves joined the Spanish. The
war raged horribly on both sides. Jean Francois was of a gentle
disposition, and disposed to be merciful; but the two other leaders of
the <DW64>s, named Jeannot and Biassou, were monsters of revenge and
cruelty. The bleeding heads of white men surrounded their camps, and the
bodies of black men hung on trees round the camps of the planters.

This state of things shocked the soul of Toussaint Breda. Much as he
desired the freedom of his own race, he was reluctant to join an
enterprise marked by so many cruelties. Conscience forbade him to enlist
on the side of the slaveholders, and he would gladly have remained
neutral; but he found that men of his own color were suspicious of him,
because he had adhered so faithfully to M. Bayou de Libertas. He joined
the black insurgents; but, resolved not to take part in their
barbarities, he occupied himself with healing the wounded,--an office
for which he was well qualified by his tender disposition and knowledge
of medicinal plants.

After a while, however, the <DW64>s were compelled to retreat before the
superior discipline of the white troops; and feeling greatly the need of
intelligent officers, they insisted upon making Toussaint aide-de-camp
to Biassou, under the title of Brigadier. He desired, above all things,
that hostilities should cease, that the <DW64>s should return to their
work, and that the planters should consent to cease from oppressing
them. A very little justice and kindness would have pacified the
revolted slaves; but the slaveholders were so full of rage and pride,
that if a slave attempted to return to his master, however sincere he
might be, he was instantly put to death. Three commissioners came from
France to try to negotiate a peace between the contending parties. The
blacks sent deputies to the Colonial Assembly to help the French
commissioners in this good work; but the planters treated their
overtures with haughtiness and contempt.

It is said that Toussaint wept when he saw the hopes of peace vanish.
It was plain that his people must resist their tyrants, or be forever
hopelessly crushed. He was then fifty years old, in the prime of his
bodily and mental strength. By becoming a leader he felt that he might
protect the ignorant masses, and restrain those who were disposed to
cruelty. Perhaps he remembered the prediction of the Abbe Raynal, and
thought that he was the appointed deliverer,--a second Moses, sent by
God to bring his people out of bondage. From that time henceforth he
made it the business of his life to conquer freedom for his race; but
never in a bloodthirsty spirit.

Biassou was so enraged by the contemptuous manner in which their
deputies had been treated, that he gave orders to put to death all the
white prisoners in their camps. But Toussaint remonstrated, and
succeeded in saving their lives. His superior intelligence gave him
great influence, and he always exerted it on the side of humanity. He
also manifested extraordinary courage and sagacity in the very difficult
position in which he was placed. He was surrounded by conflicting
parties, fighting against each other, agreeing only in one thing, and
that was hostility to the <DW64>s; all of them ready to make the fairest
promises, and to break them as soon as they had gained their object.
France was in a state of revolutionary confusion, and rumors were very
contradictory. One thing was certain,--their former masters were
fighting against the king of France; and instinct led them to take the
other side. Toussaint deemed it wisest to keep under the protection of
their Spanish allies, and fight with them for the king's party. By a
succession of battles, he gained possession of several districts in the
mountains, where he entrenched his forces strongly, and tried to bring
them under regular military discipline. He was very strict, and allowed
no disobedience of orders. He forbade his soldiers to go about
plundering, or revenging past injuries. His motto was, "No
Retaliation,"--a noble, Christian motto, totally disregarded by men
whose opportunities for enlightened education were a thousand times
greater than his. When he felt himself secure in the mountain districts,
he invited the white planters of that region to return and cultivate the
estates which they had abandoned in their terror. He promised them that
their persons and property should be protected; and he faithfully kept
his word. In his language and in his actions he was always saying to the
whites, "Why will you force us to fight? I cherish no revenge against
you. All I want is the freedom of my race." His energy and ingenuity in
availing himself of every resource and supplying every deficiency were
truly wonderful. On one occasion a map was greatly needed, in order to
plan some important campaign, and no map could be procured. Toussaint,
having made diligent inquiries of various persons well acquainted with
the portion of country to be traversed, employed himself in making a
map. By help of the little geometry taught him by his godfather, he
projected a map, and marked down the important towns, mountains, and
rivers, with the distances between them.

No trait in the character of Toussaint Breda was stronger than his
domestic affections. He was devotedly attached to his wife and children,
and he had not seen them for seven months. At last an interval of quiet
enabled him to visit the Spanish part of the island, whither he had sent
them for security. The Spanish authorities, in acknowledgment of his
services, received him with the greatest distinction. Toussaint thanked
them, but humbly ascribed his successes to a superintending Providence.
Always strict in religious observances, he went to the church to offer
prayers. His general, the Spanish Marquis Hermona, seeing him kneel to
partake of the communion, said: "In this lower world God visits no purer
soul than his."

But the Spaniards had no regard for the rights and welfare of the
<DW64>s. They used them while they had need of their help, and were
ready to oppress them when it served their own interests. News came from
France that the Republican party were triumphant, and that the king had
been beheaded. The Spanish had nothing further to gain by adhering to
the defeated Royalist party. Accordingly, Spain and Great Britain
entered into a league to divide the island of St. Domingo between them,
and restore Slavery. On the contrary, the Republican party in France,
assembled in convention at Paris, February, 1794, proclaimed freedom to
the slaves in all the French colonies; and as the government was now in
their hands, there was no doubt of their having power to protect those
they had emancipated. Under these circumstances, there was but one
course for Toussaint to take. He left the Spanish and joined the French
forces, by whom he was received with acclamation. His rude bands of
untaught <DW64>s had now become a well-disciplined army. They were proud
of their commander, and almost worshipped him. Under his guidance, they
performed wonders, proving themselves equal to any troops in the world.
Toussaint was on horseback night and day. It seemed as if he never
slept. Wherever he was needed, he suddenly appeared; and as he seemed to
be wanted in twenty places at once, his followers thought he had some
powers of witchcraft to help him. But the witchcraft consisted in his
superior intelligence, his remarkable activity, his iron constitution,
and his iron will. His heart was never of iron. In the midst of constant
warfare he paid careful attention to the raising of crops; and if women
and children, black or white, were suffering with hunger, he caused them
to be supplied with food. He and his brave officers and troops
everywhere drove the English before them. The French general Laveaux
appointed him second to himself in command; and, in his proclamation to
that effect, he declared: "This is the man whom the Abbe Raynal foretold
would rise to be the liberator of his oppressed race."

One day, when he had gained some important advantage, a white officer
exclaimed, "General Toussaint makes an opening everywhere." His black
troops heard the words, and feeling that he had made an opening for
_them_, from the dungeon of Slavery to the sunlight of Freedom, they
shouted, "_L'Ouverture_," "_L'Ouverture_"; which, being translated into
English, means The Opening. From that day henceforth he was called
Toussaint l'Ouverture.

The English general Maitland, finding him so formidable, wished to have
a conference with him to negotiate terms of accommodation. The request
was granted; and such was his confidence in the black chieftain that he
went to his camp with only three attendants, through miles of country
full of armed <DW64>s. One of the French officers wrote to General
Toussaint that it would be an excellent opportunity to take the English
commander prisoner. General Maitland was informed of this while he was
on his way; but he said, "I will trust General Toussaint. He never
breaks his promise." When he arrived, General Toussaint handed him two
letters, saying, "There is a letter I have received, advising me to
detain you as prisoner; and there is my reply. I wish you to read them
before we proceed to business, that you may know I am incapable of such
a base action." The answer he had written was, "I have promised this
Englishman my protection, and he shall have it."

The English, seeing little prospect of conquering him by force, or
outwitting him by stratagem, tried to bribe him to their interest. They
offered to make him king of St. Domingo, to establish him with a
sufficient naval force, and give freedom to the blacks, if he would come
over to their side. But the English still held slaves in the neighboring
islands, while the French had proclaimed emancipation in all their
colonies. He felt grateful to the Republican government of France, and
he resolved to stand by it. The only crown he coveted was the freedom of
his race. He pursued the English vigorously, till he drove them from the
island. Yet he had no desire to harm them, any further than was
inevitable for the protection of his people. An English naval officer,
named Rainsford, being driven on the coast of St. Domingo by a violent
storm, was arrested as a spy. A court-martial was held, at which General
Christophe presided, in the absence of General Toussaint. Rainsford was
convicted, and sentenced to die. He was put into a dungeon to wait till
the sentence was signed by General Toussaint. The women of the island
pitied the stranger, and often sent him fruit and sweetmeats. When
Toussaint returned, he examined into the case, and said: "The trial
appears to have been fair, and the sentence just, according to the rules
of war. But why should we execute this stranger? He is alone, and can do
us no harm. His death would break his mother's heart. Let us have
compassion on her. Let us send him home, that he may tell the English
what sort of people we are, and advise them not to attempt to reduce us
to Slavery."

Having cleared the island of foreign enemies, Toussaint exerted all his
abilities to restore prosperity. He discharged the greater part of the
regular troops, and sent them to till the soil. At that time, men were
afraid to trust to immediate, unconditional emancipation; they had not
then learned by experiment that it is the wisest policy, as well as the
truest justice. Toussaint feared that when the former slaves were
disbanded from the army they would sink into laziness and vice, and thus
cause the name of freedom to be evil spoken of. Therefore, with the view
of guarding public morals, he instituted a kind of apprenticeship. He
ordained that they should work five years for their masters, on
condition of receiving one fourth of the produce, out of which the cost
of their subsistence was to be defrayed. Regulations were made by which
the laborers became a sort of proprietors of the soil; but I do not know
what were the terms. He did everything to encourage agriculture, and
tried to impress on the minds of the blacks that the permanence of their
freedom depended in a great measure upon their becoming owners and
cultivators of land. He proclaimed a general amnesty to men of all
colors and all parties, even to those who had fought with the English
against their own country. He invited the return of all fugitives who
were willing to become good citizens, and by public discourses and
proclamations promised them pardon for the past and protection for the
future. Before any important measure was carried into execution, he
summoned all the people to church, where, after prayers were offered,
he discoursed to them upon the prospects of the republic, and what he
considered essential to its future peace and prosperity. He ordered
prayers to be said night and morning at the head of the regiments. The
discipline of the army was so strict, that some accused him of severity.
But the soldiers almost idolized him, which I think they would not have
done, if he had not proved to them that he was just as well as strict.
After such a long period of foreign and civil war, it required a very
firm and judicious hand to restore order and security. His troops, once
lawless and savage, had become perfectly orderly under his regulations.
They committed no thefts on the plantations and no pillage in the
cities. He opened to all nations an unrestricted commerce with St.
Domingo; and he has the honor of being the first ruler in the world who
introduced a system of free trade. In the distribution of offices, he
sought out the men that were best fitted, without regard to complexion.
In many things he seemed to favor the whites more than the blacks;
probably from his extreme fear of not being impartial; perhaps also
because he knew the whites distrusted him and needed to be conciliated,
while people of his own color had entire confidence in him. But the most
obstinate prejudices gradually gave way before the wisdom and
uprightness of his government. White planters, who had been accustomed
to talk of him as a revolted slave and a lawless brigand, began to
acknowledge that he was a conscientious man and a wise legislator. A
general feeling of security prevailed, activity in business was
restored, and wealth began to flow in through its former channels.

But, with all his prudence and efforts at universal conciliation, he
could not at once heal the old animosities that had so long rankled in
the breasts of men. Some of the returned French planters resumed their
old habits of haughtiness and contempt toward the <DW64>s. Some of the
proprietors, both white and black, in their haste to grow rich,
overworked their laborers; and, in addition to these causes of
irritation, it was whispered round that the whites were influencing the
French government to restore Slavery. In one of the northern districts a
proposition was made to disband the black troops. This excited
suspicion, and they rose in rebellion. Buildings were fired, and three
hundred whites slaughtered. Toussaint hastened to the scene of action,
and by assurances and threats quelled the tumult. The command of that
district was in the hands of General Moyse, the son of Toussaint's
brother Paul. He disliked the system of conciliation pursued toward the
whites, and had expressed his opinions in terms less respectful than was
proper toward a man of his uncle's age and character. The agricultural
returns from his district had been smaller than from other portions of
the island; and when Toussaint remonstrated with him for neglecting that
department, he replied: "Whatever my old uncle may see fit to do, I
cannot consent to be the executioner of my race, by causing them to be
worked to death. All your orders are given in the name of France. But to
serve France is to serve the interests of the whites; and I shall never
love the whites till they give me back the eye I lost in battle." When
the insurrection broke out in his district, the relatives of the
slaughtered whites complained to General Toussaint that his nephew had
not taken any efficient measures to put down the riot; and the black
insurgents excused themselves by saying General Moyse approved of their
rising. A court-martial was held, and General Moyse and several of the
ringleaders were condemned to be shot. The execution of this sentence
excited a good deal of ill-feeling toward Toussaint. He was loudly
accused of favoring the whites more than he did his own color; and to
this day it is remembered against him in the island. It certainly is the
harshest action recorded of Toussaint l'Ouverture. But it must be
remembered that he had invited the whites to come back, and had given
them promises of protection, because he thought the peace and prosperity
of the island could best be promoted in that way; and having done so, it
was his duty to see that their lives and property were protected.
Moreover, he knew that the freedom of his race depended upon their good
behavior after they were emancipated, and that insurrections would
furnish the French government with a pretext for reducing them to
Slavery again. If he punished any of the ringleaders with death, he
could not, without partiality, pardon his own nephew, who had been
condemned by the same court-martial. In this matter it is fair to judge
Toussaint by his general character, and that leaves no room to doubt
that severity was painful to him, and that when he resorted to it he was
actuated by motives for the public good.

That he could forgive offences against himself was shown by his
treatment of the mulattoes, who made trouble in the island about the
same time. They had never been pleased to see one of the black slaves,
whom they had always despised, placed in a situation which made him so
much superior to any of themselves. They manifested their
dissatisfaction in a variety of ways. They did their utmost to increase
the feeling that he showed partiality to the whites. In several
instances attempts were made to take his life. At one time, the plume
in his military cap was shot away. On another occasion, balls passed
through his carriage, and his coachman was killed; but he happened to be
riding off on horseback in another direction. This hostile feeling led
the mulattoes into an extensive conspiracy to excite rebellion against
his government. Toussaint was forewarned of it, and the attempt was put
down. Eleven of the leaders were carried to the Cape and imprisoned.
Toussaint called a meeting of the civil and military authorities, and
ordered the building to be surrounded by black troops while the mulatto
prisoners were brought in under guard. They looked extremely dejected,
expecting nothing but death. But he announced to them that, deeming the
forgiveness of injuries a Christian duty, he pardoned what they had
attempted to do against him. He gave them money to defray their
travelling expenses, told them they were at liberty to return to their
homes, and gave orders that they should be protected on the way. As he
passed out of the building, they showered blessings on his head, and the
air was filled with shouts of "Long live Toussaint l'Ouverture."

These outbreakings of old hatreds were local and short-lived. The
confidence in Toussaint's goodness and ability was almost universal; and
his popularity was so great with all classes, that he might have made
himself emperor, if he would. But through all the changes in France he
had been faithful to the French government; and now to the habit of
loyalty was added gratitude to that government for having proclaimed
freedom to his race. Next to the emancipation of his people, he sought
to serve the interests of France. Personal ambition never tempted him
from the path of duty. When the affairs of the colony seemed to be
arranged on a secure basis, he manifested willingness to resign the
authority which he had used with so much wisdom and impartiality. He
published a proclamation, in which he said:--

"Penetrated with that which is set forth in our Lord's Prayer, 'forgive
us our transgressions, as we forgive those who transgress against us,' I
have granted a general amnesty. Fellow-citizens, not less generous than
myself, endeavor to have the past forgotten. Receive misled brethren
with open arms, and let them in the future be on their guard against the
snares of bad men. Civil and military authorities, my task is
accomplished. It now belongs to you to take care that harmony is no more
disturbed. Allow no one to reproach those who went astray, but have now
returned to their duty. But, notwithstanding my proclamation of amnesty,
watch bad men closely, and do not spare them if they excite disturbance.
A sense of honor should guide you all. A true, confiding peace is
necessary to the prosperity of the country. It must be your work to
establish such a peace. Take no rest until you have accomplished it."

The people refused to accept the resignation of their "friend and
benefactor," as they styled him. He replied: "If I undertake the
administration of civil affairs, I must have a solid rock to stand on;
and that rock must be a constitutional government." Feeling the
necessity of laws and regulations suited to the altered state of the
country, he called a meeting of deputies from all the districts to draft
a constitution. Of these nine deputies eight were white and one a
mulatto. They were selected for their learning and ability. Very likely
Toussaint's habitual caution led him to choose men from the two classes
that had been hostile to him, that there might be no pretext for saying
he used his popularity with the blacks to carry any measure he wished.

Among other things, this constitution provided that Slavery should never
more exist in St. Domingo; that all who were born there were free
citizens of the French republic. It also provided that offices were to
be distributed according to virtue and ability, without regard to color.
The island was to be ruled by one governor, appointed for five years,
with a proviso that the term might be prolonged as a reward for good
conduct. But "in consideration of the important services rendered to the
country by General Toussaint l'Ouverture," he was named governor for
life, with power to appoint his successor. This was early in the summer
of 1800. The constitution, approved by Toussaint and published, was
accepted by the people with solemn formalities and demonstrations of
joy. This new colonial government was to go into operation
provisionally, until it should receive the sanction of the authorities
in France.

General Napoleon Bonaparte was then at the head of the French
government, under the title of First Consul. Governor Toussaint wrote to
him, that, in the absence of laws, after the revolution in St. Domingo,
it had been deemed best to draft a constitution. He added: "I hasten to
lay it before you for your approbation, and for the sanction of the
government which I serve. All classes of citizens here have welcomed it
with joy, which will be renewed when it is sent back with the sanction
of the French government."

Some writers have accused Toussaint of personal ambition because he
consented to be governor for life. He himself said it was because
circumstances had given him influence, which he could exert to unite a
divided people; and that he deemed changes of administration might be
injurious until the new order of things had become more settled.

He assumed all the outward style that had been considered befitting the
rank of governor and commander-in-chief. He had an elegant carriage and
a number of handsome horses. When he rode out, he was followed by
attendants in brilliant military dress, and he himself wore a rich
uniform. On stated days, he gave reception-parties, to which
magistrates, military officers, distinguished strangers, and influential
citizens were invited. There was a good deal of splendor in the dresses
on such occasions; but he always appeared in the simple undress uniform
of a general officer. At these parties, whites, blacks, and mulattoes
mingled together with mutual politeness, and it is said that the style
of manners was easy and elegant. All rose when the Governor entered, and
none seated themselves until he was seated. This was a strange
experience for a black man, who was formerly a slave; and it had been
brought about, under the blessing of God, solely by the strength and
excellence of his own character. All prejudices gave way before his
uncommon intelligence, well-tried virtues, and courteous dignity of
manner.

Every evening he gave free audience to all the people who chose to call.
His dress was such as the landed proprietors usually wore. However weary
he might be, he made the circuit of the rooms, and said something to
each one on the subjects most likely to interest them. He talked with
mothers about their children, and urged upon them the great importance
of giving them religious instruction. Not unfrequently he examined the
children in their catechisms, and gave a few words of fatherly advice to
the young folks.

He has been accused of vanity for assuming so much pomp in his equipage
and gentility in his dress. Doubtless he had some vanity. No human being
is free from it. But I believe very few men, of any color, could have
passed through such extraordinary changes as he did, and preserved their
balance so well. In the style he assumed he was probably somewhat
influenced by motives of policy. He was obliged to receive many
distinguished French gentlemen, and he knew they attached great
importance to dress and equipage. The blacks also were fond of splendor,
and it gratified them to see their great chieftain appear in princely
style. The free mulattoes, who despised his mean birth, would have
spared no ridicule if he had been neglectful of outward appearances; and
in his peculiar situation it was important to command respect in every
way. His person also needed every borrowed advantage that it could
obtain. His figure was short and slim, and his features were homely,
though his bright, penetrating eyes gave his face an expression of
animation and intelligence. With these disadvantages, and a deficiency
of education, betrayed by imperfect grammar, it is wonderful how he
swayed assemblies of men whenever he addressed them. The secret lay in
his great earnestness. Whatever he said, he said it with his whole soul,
and therefore it took possession of the souls of others.

Though he paid so much attention to external show in public, his own
personal habits were extremely simple and frugal. There was a large
public house at the Cape, called The Hotel of the Republic, frequented
by whites and blacks, officers and privates. Toussaint l'Ouverture often
took a seat at the table in any chair that happened to be vacant. If any
one rose to offer him a higher seat, he would bow courteously, and
reply, "Distinctions are to be observed only on public occasions." His
food consisted of vegetable preparations, and he drank water only. He
had a wonderful capacity of doing without sleep. During the years that
so many public cares devolved upon him, it is said he rarely slept more
than two hours out of the twenty-four. He thought more than he spoke,
and what he said was uttered in few words. Surrounded as he was by
inquisitive and treacherous people, this habit of reserve was of great
use to him. Enemies accused him of being deceitful. The charge was
probably grounded on the fact that he knew how to keep his own secrets;
for there are many proofs that he was in reality honest and sincere. It
is singular how he escaped the contagion of impurity which always
pollutes society where Slavery exists. But his respect and affection for
his wife was very constant, and he was always clean in his manners and
his language. A <DW52> lady appeared at one of his reception-parties
dressed very low at the neck, according to the prevailing Parisian
fashion. When he had greeted her, he placed a handkerchief on her
shoulders, and said in a low voice, "Modesty is the greatest ornament of
woman."

His ability and energy as a statesman were even more remarkable than his
courage and skill as a military leader. He was getting old, and he was
covered with the scars of wounds received in many battles; but he
travelled about with wonderful rapidity, inspecting everything with his
own eyes, and personally examining into the conduct of magistrates and
officers. Often, after riding some distance in a carriage, he would
mount a swift horse and ride off in another direction, while the coach
went on. In this way, he would make his appearance suddenly at places
where he was not expected, and ascertain how things went on in his
absence. It was a common practice with him to traverse from one hundred
to one hundred and fifty miles a day. After giving his evening audience
to the people, he sat up late into the night answering letters, of which
he received not less than a hundred daily. He dictated to five
secretaries at once, so long that he tired them all; and he examined
every letter when finished, that he might be sure his dictation had not
been misunderstood.

The eastern part of the island had been ceded to the French by treaty,
but had never been given up by the Spanish, who still held slaves there.
Complaints were brought to General Toussaint that the Spaniards
kidnapped both blacks and mulattoes from the western part of the island,
where all were free, and carried them off to sell them to slave-traders.
Resolved to destroy Slavery, root and branch, throughout the island, in
January, 1801, he marched into the Spanish territory at the head of ten
thousand soldiers. The Spanish blacks were desirous to come under French
dominion, in order to secure their freedom, and the whites offered but
slight resistance. Having taken possession of the territory in the name
of the French republic, he issued a proclamation, in which he declared
that all past offences should be forgotten, and that the welfare and
happiness of Spaniards and Frenchmen should be equally protected. He
then assembled his troops in the churches and caused prayers of
thanksgiving to be offered for the success of their enterprise, almost
without bloodshed. Most of the wealthy Spanish slaveholders made
arrangements to depart to Cuba and other neighboring islands. But the
main body of the people received General Toussaint with the greatest
distinction. As he passed through the principal towns, he was everywhere
greeted with thunder of artillery, ringing of bells, and loud
acclamations of the populace.

Under his wise and watchful administration all classes were protected,
and all parts of the country became prosperous. The desolations
occasioned by so many years of warfare were rapidly repaired. Churches
were rebuilt, schools established, waste lands brought under
cultivation, and distances shortened by new and excellent roads. The
French commissioner Roume was struck with admiration of his plans, and
pronounced him to be "a philosopher, a legislator, a general, and a good
citizen." The Frenchman, Lavoque, who was well acquainted with him and
the condition of the people, said to Bonaparte, "Sire, let things remain
as they are in St. Domingo. It is the happiest spot in your dominions."
The historian Lacroix, though prejudiced against blacks, wrote, "That
the island was preserved to the French government was solely owing to an
old <DW64>, who seemed to bear a commission from Heaven." Strangers who
visited St. Domingo expressed their surprise to see cities rising from
their ashes, fields waving with harvests, and the harbors filled with
ships. Planters, who had fled with their families to various parts of
the world heard such good accounts of the activity of business, and the
security of property, that many of them so far overcame their repugnance
to be governed by a <DW64> as to ask permission to return. This was
easily obtained, and they were received by the Governor without anything
on his part which they might deem offensive familiarity, but with a
dignified courtesy which prevented familiarity, or airs of
condescension, on their side. He had annually sent some token of
remembrance to M. Bayou de Libertas, then residing in the United
States. He now wrote to invite him to return to St. Domingo. The
invitation was gladly accepted. When he arrived, he was received with
marked kindness, but with dignified reserve. Governor Toussaint
evidently did not wish bystanders to be reminded of the former relation
that existed between them as overseer and slave. "Return to the
plantation," said he, "and take care of the interests of the good old
master. See that the blacks do their duty. Be firm, but just. You will
thus advance your own prosperity, and at the same time increase the
prosperity of the colony."

This return of the old slaveholders excited some uneasiness among the
black laborers. But Toussaint, who often spoke to them in simple
parables, sprinkled a few grains of rice into a vessel of shot, and
shook it. "See," said he, "how few grains of white there are among the
black."

At that time General Napoleon Bonaparte had become very famous by his
victories, and had recently been made ruler of France. There were many
points of resemblance between his career and that of the hero of St.
Domingo; and it was a common thing for people to say, "Napoleon is the
First of the Whites, and Toussaint l'Ouverture is the First of the
Blacks." If General Toussaint had known the real character of Napoleon,
he would not have felt flattered by being compared with such a selfish,
tyrannical, and treacherous man. But, like the rest of the world, he was
dazzled by his brilliant reputation, and felt that it was a great honor
to him to be called the "The Black Napoleon." The vainest thing that is
recorded of him is that on one of his official letters to Bonaparte he
wrote, "To the First of the Whites, from the First of the Blacks." It
was a departure from his usual habits of dignity, and was also poor
policy; for Bonaparte had been rendered vain by his great success, and
he was under the influence of aristocratic planters from St. Domingo,
who would have regarded it as a great insult to couple their names with
a <DW64>. General Toussaint soon had reason to suspect he had been
mistaken in the character of the famous man, whom he had so much
admired. He wrote several deferential letters to Bonaparte, on official
business; but the First Consul never condescended to make any reply. It
was soon rumored abroad that proprietors of estates in St. Domingo,
residing in France, were urging him to send an army to St. Domingo to
reduce the blacks again to Slavery. Governor Toussaint could not believe
that the French government would be persuaded to break the solemn
promises it had made to the colony. But when he sent General Vincent to
Paris to obtain Bonaparte's sanction to the new constitution, the wicked
scheme was found to be making rapid progress. In vain General Vincent
remonstrated against it as a measure cruel and dangerous. In vain he
represented the contented, happy, and prosperous state of the island. In
vain did many wise and good men in Paris urge that such a step would be
unjust in itself and very disgraceful to France. The First Consul turned
a deaf ear to all but the haughty old planters from St. Domingo. The
Legislative Assembly in France, though still talking loudly about
liberty and the rights of man, were not ashamed to propose the
restoration of Slavery and the slave-trade in the colonies; and the
wicked measure was carried by a vote of two hundred and twelve against
sixty-five. In May, 1801, Bonaparte issued a decree to that effect. But
he afterwards considered it prudent to announce that the islands of St.
Domingo and Guadaloupe were to be excepted.

When this news reached St. Domingo, the people were excited and alarmed.
They asked each other anxiously, "How long shall we be excepted?" On
that point no assurances were given, and all suspected that the French
government was dealing with them hypocritically and treacherously. The
soul of Toussaint was on fire. If the names of the men who voted for the
restoration of Slavery were mentioned in his presence, his eyes flashed
and his whole frame shook with indignation. He published a proclamation,
in which he counselled obedience to the mother country, unless
circumstances should make it evident that resistance was unavoidable. In
private, he said to his friends: "I took up arms for the freedom of my
color. France proclaimed it, and she has no right to nullify it. Our
liberty is no longer in her hands; it is in our own. We will defend it,
or perish."

General Toussaint had sent his two eldest sons to Paris to be educated.
As a part of the plan of deception, General Bonaparte invited the young
men to visit him. He spoke of their father as a great man, who had
rendered very important services to France. He told them he was going to
send his brother-in-law, General Le Clerc, with troops to St. Domingo;
but he assured them it was not for any hostile purpose; it was merely to
add to the defence of the island. He wished them to go with General Le
Clerc and tell their father that he intended him all protection, glory,
and honor. The next day Bonaparte's Minister of Marine invited the young
men to a sumptuous dinner, and at parting presented each with a splendid
military uniform. The inexperienced youths were completely dazzled and
deceived.

In January, 1802, General Le Clerc sailed with sixty ships and thirty
thousand of Bonaparte's experienced troops. When Governor Toussaint
received tidings that a French fleet was in sight, he galloped to the
coast they were approaching, to take a view of them. He was dismayed,
and for a moment discouraged. He exclaimed, "All France has come to
enslave St. Domingo. We must perish." He had no vessels, and not more
than sixteen thousand men under arms. But his native energy soon
returned. The people manifested a determination to die rather than be
enslaved again. He resolved to attempt no attack on the French, but to
act wholly on the defensive. Le Clerc's army attacked Fort Liberty,
killed half the garrison, and forced a landing on the island. Toussaint
entrenched himself in a position where he could harass the invaders; and
the peaceful, prosperous island again smoked with fire and blood. Le
Clerc, still aiming to accomplish Bonaparte's designs by hypocrisy,
scattered proclamations among the blacks of St. Domingo, representing
that Toussaint kept them in a kind of Slavery on the plantations, but
that the French had come to set them wholly free. This did not excite
the rebellion which he intended to provoke, but it sowed the seeds of
doubt and discontent in the minds of some. At the same time that he was
playing this treacherous game, he sent Toussaint's two sons to their
father, accompanied by their French tutor, to deliver a letter from the
First Consul, which ought to have been sent three months before. The
letter was very complimentary to General Toussaint; but it objected to
the constitution that had been formed, and spoke in a very general way
about the liberty which France granted to all nations under her control.
It counselled submission to General Le Clerc, and threatened punishment
for disobedience. The tone of the letter, though apparently peaceful and
friendly, excited distrust in the mind of General Toussaint, which was
increased by the fact that the letter had been so long kept from him.
Knowing the strength of his domestic affections, orders had been given
that if he surrendered, his sons should remain with him, but if he
refused they were to return to the French camp as hostages. Though his
heart yearned toward his children, from whom he had been so long
separated, he said to their tutor: "Three months after date you bring me
a letter which promises peace, while the action of General Le Clerc is
war. I had established order and justice here; now all is confusion and
misery. Take back my sons. I cannot receive them as the price of my
surrender. Tell General Le Clerc hostilities will cease on our part when
he stops the progress of his invading army." His sons told him how
kindly they had been treated by Bonaparte, and what promises he had made
concerning St. Domingo,--promises which had been repeated in the
proclamation brought by General Le Clerc. Toussaint had had too severe
an experience to be easily deceived by fair words. He replied: "My sons,
you are no longer children. You are old enough to decide for yourselves.
If you wish to be on the side of France, you are free to do so. Stay
with me, or return to General Le Clerc, whichever you choose. Either
way, I shall love you always." Isaac, his oldest son, had been so
deceived by flattery and promises, that he declared his wish to return
to the French camp, feeling very sure that his father would be convinced
that Bonaparte was their best friend. But Placide, his step-son, said:
"My father, I will remain with you. I dread the restoration of Slavery,
and I am fearful about the future of St. Domingo." Who can tell what a
pang went through the father's heart when he embraced Isaac and bade him
farewell?

General Le Clerc was very angry when he found that his overtures were
distrusted. He swore that he would seize Toussaint before he took his
boots off. He forthwith issued a proclamation declaring him to be an
outlaw. When General Toussaint read it to his soldiers, they cried out
with one accord, "We will die with you." He said to his officers: "When
the rainy season comes, sickness will rid us of our enemies. Till then
there is nothing before us but flame and slaughter." Orders were given
to fire the towns as the French army approached, and to deal destruction
upon them in every way. He gathered his army together at the entrance of
the mountains, and, aided by his brave generals Christophe and
Dessalines, kept up active skirmishing with the enemy. Horrible things
were done on both sides. The Bay of Mancenille was red with the blood of
<DW64> prisoners slaughtered by the French. The blacks, infuriated by
revenge and dread of Slavery, killed white men, women, and children
without mercy. General Dessalines was of a savage temper, and incited
his troops to the most ferocious deeds.

But the natural kindliness of the <DW64> character was manifested on many
occasions, even in the midst of this horrible excitement. In many cases
they guided their old masters to hiding-places in the mountains or
forests, and secretly conveyed them food.

Toussaint, with only a plank to sleep on and a cloak to cover him, was
constantly occupied with planning attacks and ambuscades, and preaching
on Sundays, exhorting the people, with fiery eloquence, to remember
that the cause of Liberty was the cause of God. General Le Clerc,
meanwhile, was disappointed to find so many difficulties in the way of
his wicked project. His troops wilted under the increasing heat of the
climate, and began to murmur. He issued proclamations, promising, in the
most solemn manner, that the freedom of all classes in St. Domingo
should be respected. These assurances induced several black regiments to
go over to the French. Toussaint's brother Paul, and two of his ablest
generals, Bellair and Maurepas, did the same. Still the
Commander-in-Chief, aided by Christophe and Dessalines, kept up a stout
resistance. But news came that fresh troops were coming from France, and
Christophe and Dessalines had an interview with General Le Clerc, in
which, by fair promises, he succeeded in gaining them over to the French
side. A messenger was then sent to ask for a conference with General
Toussaint. Solemn assurances were repeated that the freedom of the
blacks should be protected; and a proposition was made that he should be
colleague with General Le Clerc in the government of the island, and
that his officers should retain their rank in the army. With
reinforcements coming from France, and with his best generals gained
over, Toussaint had no longer hopes of defeating the invaders, though he
might send out skirmishers to annoy them. He had too little faith in the
promises of General Le Clerc to consent to take an oath of office under
him. He therefore replied: "I might remain a brigand in the mountains,
and harass you with perpetual warfare, so far as your power to prevent
it is concerned. But I disdain fighting for mere bloodshed; and, in
obedience to the orders of the First Consul, I yield to you. For myself,
I wish to live in retirement; but I accept your favorable terms for the
people and the army."

With four hundred armed horsemen he set out for the Cape, to hold the
proposed conference with General Le Clerc. On the way, the people,
thinking peace was secured without the sacrifice of their freedom,
hailed him as their benefactor. Girls strewed flowers in his path, and
mothers held up their children to bless him. General Le Clerc received
him with a salute of artillery, and made a speech in which he highly
complimented his bravery, magnanimity, and good faith, and expressed a
hope that, though he chose to live in retirement, he would continue to
assist the government of the island by his wise counsels. In the
presence of the troops on both sides, he took an oath on the cross to
protect the freedom of St. Domingo. With the same solemn formalities,
General Toussaint promised that the treaty of peace should be faithfully
observed.

The next day, he explained fully to his officers and soldiers what were
the terms of the treaty, and impressed upon their minds that such a
promise could not be violated without committing the sin of perjury. He
thanked them all for the courage and devotedness they had shown under
his command, embraced his officers, and bade them an affectionate
farewell. They shed tears, and expressed the greatest reluctance to part
with him; but he told them that such a course would best conduce to
public tranquillity. The soldiers were inconsolable. They followed him,
calling out in the saddest tones, "Have you deserted us?" He replied:
"No, my children. Do not be uneasy. Your officers are all under arms,
and at their posts."

Twelve years had passed since he was working on the Breda estate, and
seeing houses and cane-fields on fire in every direction, had said to
his wife, "The slaves have risen." Since that time, his life had been
one scene of excitement, danger, ceaseless exertion, and overwhelming
responsibility. He had been commander-in-chief of the armies of St.
Domingo during five years, and governor of the island about one year.
Now, with a heart full of anxiety for his people, but cheered by hopes
of domestic happiness, he retired, far from the scene of his official
splendor, to Ennery, a beautiful valley among the mountains. Surrounded
by his family, he busied himself with clearing up the land and
cultivating oranges, bananas, and coffee. The people round about often
came to him for advice, and he freely assisted his neighbors in making
repairs and improvements. Strangers often visited him, and when he rode
abroad he was greeted with every demonstration of respect.

General Le Clerc, meanwhile, was attacked by a new and terrible enemy.
His troops, unused to the climate, were cut down by yellow fever, as a
mower cuts grass. In this situation, had Toussaint excited the blacks
against them, they might have been exterminated; but he had sworn to
observe the treaty, and he was never known to break his word. The
kind-hearted <DW64>s, in many cases, took pity on the suffering French
soldiers; they carried them many little comforts, and even took them
into their houses, and nursed them tenderly.

Meanwhile, General Le Clerc's difficulties increased. His troops were
dying fast under the influence of the hot season; provisions were
getting scarce; he wanted to disband the <DW64> troops that had joined
him, but they were wide awake and suspicious on the subject of Slavery,
and he dared not propose to disarm them. He was so treacherous himself
that he could not believe in the sincerity of others. He was always
suspecting that Toussaint would again take command of the blacks and
attack the remnant of his army while it was enfeebled by disease.
Bonaparte also felt that the popularity of Toussaint stood much in the
way of his accomplishing the design of restoring Slavery. It was
desirable to get him out of the way upon some pretext. The French
officers made him the object of a series of petty insults, and wantonly
destroyed the fruit on his grounds. By these means they hoped to provoke
him to excite an insurrection, that they might have an excuse for
arresting him. His friends warned him that these continual insults and
depredations foreboded mischief, and that he ought not to submit to
them. He replied, "It is a sacred duty to expose life when the freedom
of one's country is in peril; but to rouse the people to save one's own
life is inglorious."

Finding private remonstrances of no use, he reported to the French
head-quarters that he and his neighbors were much annoyed by the conduct
of the French troops, and that the people in the valley were made very
uneasy by their rude manners and their depredations on property. He
received a very polite answer from General Brunet, inviting him to come
to his house to confer with him on that and other matters connected with
the public tranquillity. The letter closed with these words: "You will
not find all the pleasures I would wish to welcome you with, but you
will find the frankness of an honorable man, who desires nothing but the
happiness of the colony, and your own happiness. If Madame Toussaint,
with whom it would give me the greatest pleasure to become acquainted,
could accompany you, I should be gratified. If she has occasion for
horses, I will send her mine. Never, General, will you find a more
sincere friend than myself."

Toussaint, who was sincerely desirous to preserve the public peace, and
who was too honest to suspect treachery under such a friendly form, went
to General Brunet's head-quarters, with a few attendants, on the 10th of
June, 1802. He was received with the greatest respect and cordiality.
His host consulted with him concerning the interests of the colony; and
they examined maps together till toward evening, when General Brunet
left the room. An officer with twenty armed men entered, saying: "The
Captain-General has ordered me to arrest you. Your attendants are
overpowered. If you resist, you are a dead man." Toussaint's first
impulse was to defend himself; but seeing it would be useless against
such numbers, he resigned himself to his hard fate, saying, "Heaven will
avenge my cause."

His papers were seized, his house rifled and burned, his wife and
children captured, and at midnight they were all carried on board the
French ship Hero, without being allowed to take even a change of
clothing. His wrists were chained, he was locked in a cabin guarded by
soldiers with fixed bayonets, and not permitted to hold any
communication with his family. As the vessel sailed away from St.
Domingo, Toussaint, gazing on the outline of its mountains for the last
time, said, "They have cut down the tree of Liberty; but the roots are
many and deep, and it will sprout again."

Toussaint l'Ouverture was even then incapable of imagining the base
designs against him. He supposed that he had been accused of something,
and was to be carried to France for trial. Conscious of uniform fidelity
to the French government, he felt no uneasiness as to the result, though
the treachery and violence with which he had been treated in return for
his great services made him very sad. Arrived on the shores of France,
he was removed to another vessel, and allowed only a few moments to say
farewell to his wife and children. They embraced him with tears, and
begged him to remember them, who had always loved him so dearly.

From the vessel, instead of being carried to Paris for trial, as he
expected, he was hurried into a carriage, and, followed by a strong
guard, was carried to the dismal Castle of Joux, near the borders of
Switzerland. That ancient castle stands among the mountains of Jura, on
the summit of a solid rock five hundred feet high. He was placed in a
deep, dark dungeon, from the walls of which the water dripped
continually. This was in August, 1802. But though it was summer
elsewhere, it was damp and cold in Toussaint's dreary cell. The keeper
was allowed about four shillings a day to provide food for him; and one
faithful servant, who had accompanied the family from St. Domingo, was
allowed to remain with him.

His spirits were kept up for some time with the daily expectation of
being summoned to attend his trial. But time passed on, and he could
obtain no tidings from the French government, or from his family. In a
letter to General Bonaparte, beseeching him to let him know of what he
was accused, and to grant him a trial, he wrote:--

"I have served my country with honor, fidelity, and integrity. All who
know me will do me the justice to acknowledge this. At the time of the
revolution, I spent all I had in the service of my country. I purchased
but one small estate, on which to establish my wife and family. I
neglected nothing for the welfare of St. Domingo. I made it my duty and
pleasure to develop all the resources of that beautiful colony. Since I
entered the service of the republic I have not claimed a penny of my
salary. I have taken money from the treasury only for public use. If I
was wrong in forming a constitution, it was through my great desire to
do good, and thinking it would please the government under which I
served. I have had the misfortune to incur your displeasure; but I am
strong in the consciousness of integrity and fidelity; and I dare affirm
that among all the servants of the state no one is more honest than
myself."

This letter is still in existence, and some of the words are blotted out
by tears that fell while the noble captive was writing it. Bonaparte
paid no attention to this manly appeal. After weary waiting, Toussaint
wrote again:--

"First Consul, it is a misfortune to me that I am not known to you. If
you had thoroughly known me while I was in St. Domingo, you would have
done me more justice. I am not learned; I am ignorant: but my heart is
good. My father showed me the road to virtue and honor, and I am very
strong in my conscience in that matter. If I had not been so devoted to
the French government I should not be here. All my life I have been in
active service, and now I am a miserable prisoner, without power to do
anything, sunk in grief, and with health impaired. I ask you for my
freedom, that I may labor for the support of my family. For my venerable
father, now a hundred and five years old, who is blind, and needs my
assistance; for my dearly loved wife, who, separated from me, cannot, I
fear, endure the afflictions that overwhelm her; and for my cherished
family, who have made the happiness of my life. I call on your
greatness. Let your heart be softened by my misfortunes."

This touching appeal met with the same fate as the first. Bonaparte even
had the meanness to forbid the prisoner's wearing an officer's uniform.
When he asked for a change of clothing, the cast-off suit of a soldier
and a pair of old boots were sent him. There seemed to be a deliberate
system of heaping contempt upon him. The daily sum allowed for his food
was diminished, and the cold winds of autumn began to howl round his
dungeon. They doubtless thought that so old a man, accustomed to
tropical warmth, and the devotion of a loving family, would die under
the combined influence of solitude, cold, and scanty food. But his iron
constitution withstood the severe test. The next step was to deprive him
of his faithful servant, Mars Plaisir. Seeing him weep bitterly,
Toussaint said to him: "Would I could console thee under this cruel
separation. Be assured I shall never forget thy faithful services. Carry
my last farewell to my wife and family."

The farewell never reached them. Mars Plaisir was lodged in another
prison, lest he should tell of the slow murder that was going on in the
Castle of Joux. Toussaint's supply of food was gradually diminished,
till he had barely enough to keep him alive,--merely a little meal
daily, which he had to prepare for himself in an earthen jug. The walls
sparkled with frost, and the floor was slippery with ice, except
immediately around his little fire. Thus he passed through a most
miserable winter. He was thin as a skeleton; but still he did not die.
As a last resort, the governor of the castle went away and took the keys
of the dungeon with him. He was gone three days; and when he returned,
Toussaint was lying stiff and cold on his heap of straw. Doctors were
called in to examine him, and they certified that he died of apoplexy.
This was in April, 1803, after he had been more than eight months in
that horrid dungeon, and when he was a little more than sixty years old.
The body was buried in the chapel under the castle. It was given out to
the world that the deceased prisoner was a revolted slave, who had been
guilty of every species of robbery and cruelty; and that he had been
thrown into prison for plotting to deliver the island of St. Domingo
into the hands of the English.

When the family of Toussaint l'Ouverture were informed of his death,
they were overwhelmed with grief, though they had no idea of the horrid
circumstances connected with it. The two oldest sons tried to escape
from France, but were seized and imprisoned. The French government
feared the consequences of their returning to St. Domingo. The youngest
son soon after died of consumption. Madame Toussaint sank under the
weight of her great afflictions. Her health became very feeble, and at
times her mind wandered. When the power of Bonaparte was overthrown, and
a new government introduced into France, a pension was granted for her
support, and her two sons were released from prison. She died in their
arms in 1816.

       *       *       *       *       *

There was great consternation in St. Domingo when it was known that
Toussaint l'Ouverture had been kidnapped and carried off. There was an
attempt at mutiny among the black soldiers; but the leaders were shot by
the French, and the spirit of insurrection was put down for a time. No
tidings could be obtained from Toussaint, and after a while he was
generally believed to be dead. But his prediction was fulfilled. The
tree of Liberty, that had been cut down, did sprout again. Bonaparte
sent new troops to St. Domingo to supply the place of those cut off by
yellow fever. The French officers frequently subjected black soldiers to
the lash, a punishment which had never been inflicted upon them since
the days of Slavery. An active slave-trade was carried on with the other
French colonies, where Slavery had been restored, and people were
frequently smuggled away from St. Domingo and sold. The mulattoes found
out that people of their color were sold, as well as blacks. They had
formerly acted against their mothers' race, not because they were worse
than other men, but because they had the same human nature that other
men have. Being free born, and many of them educated and wealthy, and
slaveholders also, they despised the blacks, who had always been slaves;
but when Slavery touched people of their own color, they were ready to
act with the <DW64>s against the whites. Toussaint's generals, though
they still held their old rank in the army, grew more and more
distrustful of the French. When General Christophe accepted an
invitation to dine with General Le Clerc, he ordered his troops to be in
readiness for a sudden blow. The French officer who sat next him at
table urged him to drink a great deal of wine; but Christophe was on his
guard, and kept his wits about him. At last he repulsed the offer of
wine with great rudeness, whereupon Le Clerc summoned his guard to be in
readiness, and began to accuse Toussaint of treachery to the whites.
"Treachery!" exclaimed the indignant Christophe. "Have you not broken
oaths and treaties, and violated the sacred rights of hospitality? Those
whose blood flows for our liberty are rewarded with prison, banishment,
death. Friends, soldiers, heroes of our mountains, are no longer around
me. Toussaint, the pride of our race, the terror of our enemies, whose
genius led us from Slavery to Liberty, who adorned peace with lovely
virtues, whose glory fills the world, was put in irons, like the vilest
criminal!"

General Le Clerc deemed it prudent to preserve outward composure, for
General Christophe had informed him that troops were in readiness to
protect him. But notwithstanding many ominous symptoms of discontent
among the blacks and mulattoes, he blindly persevered in carrying out
the cruel policy of Bonaparte. Shiploads of slaves were brought into St.
Domingo and openly sold. Then came a decree authorizing slaveholders to
resume their old authority over the blacks. Bitterly did Toussaint's
officers regret having trusted to the promises of the French
authorities. The consciousness of having been deceived made the fire of
freedom burn all the more fiercely in their souls. The blacks were
everywhere ready to die rather than be slaves again. In November, 1803,
General Christophe published a document in which he said:--

"The independence of St. Domingo is proclaimed. Toward men who do us
justice we will act as brothers. But we have sworn not to listen with
clemency to any one who speaks to us of Slavery. We will be inexorable,
perhaps even cruel, toward those who come from Europe to bring among us
death and servitude. No sacrifice is too costly, and all means are
lawful, when men find that freedom, the greatest of all blessings, is to
be wrested from them."

The closing scenes of the revolution were too horrible to be described.
General Rochambeau, who commanded the French army after the death of
General Le Clerc, was a tyrannical and cruel tool of the slaveholders.
Everywhere <DW52> men were seized and executed without forms of law.
Maurepas, who had been one of Toussaint's most distinguished generals,
was seized on suspicion of favoring insurrection. His epaulets were
nailed to his shoulders with spikes, he was suspended from the yard-arm
of a vessel, while his wife and children, and four hundred of his black
soldiers, were thrown over to the sharks before his eyes. The trees were
hung with the corpses of <DW64>s. Some were torn to pieces by
bloodhounds trained for the purpose; some were burnt alive. Sixteen of
Toussaint's bravest generals were chained by the neck to the rocks of an
uninhabited island, and left there to perish. Most of these victims were
firm in the midst of their tortures, and died with the precious word
Freedom on their lips. A mother, whose daughters were going to be
executed, said to them: "Be thankful. You will not live to be the
mothers of slaves."

I am happy to record that all the whites were not destitute of feeling.
Some sea-captains, who were ordered to take <DW64>s out to sea and drown
them, contrived to aid their escape to the mountains, or landed them on
other shores.

The blacks, driven to desperation, became as cruel as their oppressors.
They visited upon white men, women, and children all the barbarities
they had seen and suffered. The wife of General Paul, brother of
Toussaint, was dragged from her peaceful home, and drowned by French
soldiers. This murder made him perfectly crazy with revenge. Though
naturally of a mild disposition, he thenceforth had no mercy on anybody
of white complexion. His old father, Gaou-Guinou, who survived Toussaint
about a year, was filled with the same spirit, and the last words he
uttered were a malediction on the whites. The spirit of the infernal
regions raged throughout all classes, and it was all owing to the
wickedness of Slavery.

On the last day of November, 1803, little more than a year after the
abduction of Toussaint, the French were driven from the island, never
more to return. The colony, which might have been a source of wealth to
them, if Toussaint had been allowed to carry out his plans, was lost to
France forever. St. Domingo became independent, under its old name of
Hayti; and General Christophe, who was as able as Toussaint, but more
ambitious, was proclaimed emperor. A law was passed, and still remains
in force, that no white man should own a foot of soil on the island. But
white Americans and Europeans reside there, and transact various kinds
of business under the protection of equal laws.

Perhaps it sometimes seemed to Toussaint, in the loneliness of his
dungeon, as if all his great sacrifices and efforts for his oppressed
race had been in vain. But they were not in vain. God raised him up to
do a great work, which he faithfully performed; and his spirit is still
"marching on." Slavery becomes more and more odious in the civilized
world, and nation after nation abolishes it. Fifty years after the death
of Toussaint all the slaves in the French colonies were emancipated. How
his spirit must rejoice to look on the West Indies now!

In 1850 the grave of Toussaint l'Ouverture was discovered by some
engineers at work on the Castle of Joux. His skull was placed on a shelf
in the dungeon where he died, and is shown to travellers who visit the
place.

For a long while great injustice was done to the memory of Toussaint
l'Ouverture, and also to the blacks who fought so fiercely in resistance
of Slavery; for the histories of St. Domingo were written by prejudiced
French writers, or by equally prejudiced mulattoes. But at last the
truth is made known. Candid, well-informed persons now acknowledge that
the blacks of St. Domingo sinned cruelly because they were cruelly
sinned against; and Toussaint l'Ouverture, seen in the light of his own
actions, is acknowledged to be one of the greatest and best men the
world has ever produced. A very distinguished English poet, named
Wordsworth, has written an admirable sonnet to his memory. The
celebrated Harriet Martineau, of England, has made him the hero of a
beautiful novel. Wendell Phillips, one of the most eloquent speakers in
the United States, has eulogized his memory in a noble lecture,
delivered in various parts of the country, before thousands and
thousands of hearers. And James Redpath has recently published in Boston
a biography of Toussaint l'Ouverture, truthfully portraying the pure and
great soul of that martyred hero.

Well may the Freedmen of the United States take pride in Toussaint
l'Ouverture, as the man who made an opening of freedom for their
oppressed race, and by the greatness of his character and achievements
proved the capabilities of Black Men.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is better to be a lean freeman than a fat slave.--_A Proverb in
Hayti._




THE ASPIRATIONS OF MINGO.


A slave in one of our Southern States, named Mingo, was endowed with
uncommon abilities. If he had been a white man, his talents would have
secured him an honorable position; but being , his great
intelligence only served to make him an object of suspicion. He was
thrown into prison, to be sold. He wrote the following lines on the
walls, which were afterward found and copied. A Southern gentleman sent
them to a friend in Boston, as a curiosity, and they were published in
the Boston Journal, many years ago. The night after Mingo wrote them, he
escaped from the slave-prison; but he was tracked and caught by
bloodhounds, who tore him in such a shocking manner that he died. By
that dreadful process his great soul was released from his enslaved
body. His wife lived to be an aged woman, and was said to have many of
his poems in her possession. Here are the lines he wrote in his agony
while in prison:--

    "Good God! and must I leave them now,
    My wife, my children, in their woe?
    'Tis mockery to say I'm sold!
    But I forget these chains so cold,
    Which goad my bleeding limbs; though high
    My reason mounts above the sky.
    Dear wife, they cannot sell the rose
    Of love that in my bosom glows.
    Remember, as your tears may start,
    They cannot sell the immortal part.
    Thou Sun, which lightest bond and free,
    Tell me, I pray, is liberty
    The lot of those who noblest feel,
    And oftest to Jehovah kneel?
    Then I may say, but not with pride,
    I feel the rushings of the tide
    Of reason and of eloquence,
    Which strive and yearn for eminence.
    I feel high manhood on me now,
    A spirit-glory on my brow;
    I feel a thrill of music roll,
    Like angel-harpings, through my soul;
    While poesy, with rustling wings,
    Upon my spirit rests and sings.
    _He_ sweeps my heart's deep throbbing lyre,
    Who touched Isaiah's lips with fire."

May God forgive his oppressors.




BURY ME IN A FREE LAND.

BY FRANCES E. W. HARPER.


    Make me a grave where'er you will,
    In a lowly plain or a lofty hill;
    Make it among earth's humblest graves,
    But not in a land where men are slaves.

    I ask no monument proud and high,
    To arrest the gaze of the passers by;
    All that my yearning spirit craves
    Is, Bury me not in a Land of Slaves.




PHILLIS WHEATLEY.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.


Phillis Wheatley was born in Africa, and brought to Boston,
Massachusetts, in the year 1761,--a little more than a hundred years
ago. At that time the people in Massachusetts held slaves. The wife of
Mr. John Wheatley of Boston had several slaves; but they were getting
too old to be very active, and she wanted to purchase a young girl, whom
she could train up in such a manner as to make her a good domestic. She
went to the slave-market for that purpose, and there she saw a little
girl with no other clothing than a piece of dirty, ragged carpeting tied
round her. She looked as if her health was feeble,--probably owing to
her sufferings in the slave-ship, and to the fact of her having no one
to care for her after she landed. Mrs. Wheatley was a kind, religious
woman; and though she considered the sickly look of the child an
objection, there was something so gentle and modest in the expression of
her dark countenance, that her heart was drawn toward her, and she
bought her in preference to several others who looked more robust. She
took her home in her chaise, put her in a bath, and dressed her in clean
clothes. They could not at first understand her; for she spoke an
African dialect, sprinkled with a few words of broken English; and when
she could not make herself understood, she resorted to a variety of
gestures and signs. She did not know her own age, but, from her shedding
her front teeth at that time, she was supposed to be about seven years
old. She could not tell how long it was since the slave-traders tore her
from her parents, nor where she had been since that time. The poor
little orphan had probably gone through so much suffering and terror,
and been so unable to make herself understood by anybody, that her mind
had become bewildered concerning the past. She soon learned to speak
English; but she could remember nothing about Africa, except that she
used to see her mother pour out water before the rising sun. Almost all
the ancient nations of the world supposed that a Great Spirit had his
dwelling in the sun, and they worshipped that Spirit in various forms.
One of the most common modes of worship was to pour out water, or wine,
at the rising of the sun, and to utter a brief prayer to the Spirit of
that glorious luminary. Probably this ancient custom had been handed
down, age after age, in Africa, and in that fashion the untaught mother
of little Phillis continued to worship the god of her ancestors. The
sight of the great splendid orb, coming she knew not whence, rising
apparently out of the hills to make the whole world glorious with light,
and the devout reverence with which her mother hailed its return every
morning, might naturally impress the child's imagination so deeply, that
she remembered it after she had forgotten everything else about her
native land.

A wonderful change took place in the little forlorn stranger in the
course of a year and a half. She not only learned to speak English
correctly, but she was able to read fluently in any part of the Bible.
She evidently possessed uncommon intelligence and a great desire for
knowledge. She was often found trying to make letters with charcoal on
the walls and fences. Mrs. Wheatley's daughter, perceiving her
eagerness to learn, undertook to teach her to read and write. She found
this an easy task, for her pupil learned with astonishing quickness. At
the same time she showed such an amiable, affectionate disposition, that
all members of the family became much attached to her. Her gratitude to
her kind, motherly mistress was unbounded, and her greatest delight was
to do anything to please her.

When she was about fourteen years old, she began to write poetry; and it
was pretty good poetry, too. Owing to these uncommon manifestations of
intelligence, and to the delicacy of her health, she was never put to
hard household work, as was intended at the time of her purchase. She
was kept constantly with Mrs. Wheatley and her daughter, employed in
light and easy services for them. Her poetry attracted attention, and
Mrs. Wheatley's friends lent her books, which she read with great
eagerness. She soon acquired a good knowledge of geography, history, and
English poetry; of the last she was particularly fond. After a while,
they found she was trying to learn Latin, which she so far mastered as
to be able to read it understandingly. There was no law in Massachusetts
against slaves learning to read and write, as there have been in many of
the States; and her mistress, so far from trying to hinder her, did
everything to encourage her love of learning. She always called her
affectionately, "My Phillis," and seemed to be as proud of her
attainments as if she had been her own daughter. She even allowed her to
have a fire and light in her own chamber in the evening, that she might
study and write down her thoughts whenever they came to her.

Phillis was of a very religious turn of mind, and when she was about
sixteen she joined the Orthodox Church, that worshipped in the
Old-South Meeting-house in Boston. Her character and deportment were
such that she was considered an ornament to the church. Clergymen and
other literary persons who visited at Mrs. Wheatley's took a good deal
of notice of her. Her poems were brought forward to be read to the
company, and were often much praised. She was not unfrequently invited
to the houses of wealthy and distinguished people, who liked to show her
off as a kind of wonder. Most young girls would have had their heads
completely turned by so much flattery and attention; but seriousness and
humility seemed to be natural to Phillis. She always retained the same
gentle, modest deportment that had won Mrs. Wheatley's heart when she
first saw her in the slave-market. Sometimes, when she went abroad, she
was invited to sit at table with other guests; but she always modestly
declined, and requested that a plate might be placed for her on a
side-table. Being well aware of the common prejudice against her
complexion, she feared that some one might be offended by her company at
their meals. By pursuing this course she manifested a natural
politeness, which proved her to be more truly refined than any person
could be who objected to sit beside her on account of her color.

Although she was tenderly cared for, and not required to do any
fatiguing work, her constitution never recovered from the shock it had
received in early childhood. When she was about nineteen years old, her
health failed so rapidly that physicians said it was necessary for her
to take a sea-voyage. A son of Mr. Wheatley's was going to England on
commercial business, and his mother proposed that Phillis should go with
him.

In England she received even more attention than had been bestowed upon
her at home. Several of the nobility invited her to their houses; and
her poems were published in a volume, with an engraved likeness of the
author. In this picture she looks gentle and thoughtful, and the shape
of her head denotes intellect. One of the engravings was sent to Mrs.
Wheatley, who was delighted with it. When one of her relatives called,
she pointed it out to her, and said, "Look at my Phillis! Does she not
seem as if she would speak to me?"

Still the young poetess was not spoiled by flattery. One of the
relatives of Mrs. Wheatley informs us, that "not all the attention she
received, nor all the honors that were heaped upon her, had the
slightest influence upon her temper and deportment. She was still the
same single-hearted, unsophisticated being."

She addressed a poem to the Earl of Dartmouth, who was very kind to her
during her visit to England. Having expressed a hope for the overthrow
of tyranny, she says:--

    "Should you, my Lord, while you peruse my song,
    Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,--
    Whence flow these wishes for the common good,
    By feeling hearts alone best understood,--
    I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate,
    Was snatched from Afric's fancied happy state.
    What pangs excruciating must molest,
    What sorrows labor in my parent's breast!
    Steeled was that soul, and by no misery moved,
    That from a father seized his babe beloved.
    Such was my case; and can I then but pray
    Others may never feel tyrannic sway."

The English friends of Phillis wished to present her to their king,
George the Third, who was soon expected in London. But letters from
America informed her that her beloved benefactress, Mrs. Wheatley, was
in declining health, and greatly desired to see her. No honors could
divert her mind from the friend of her childhood. She returned to Boston
immediately. The good lady died soon after; Mr. Wheatley soon followed;
and the daughter, the kind instructress of her youth, did not long
survive. The son married and settled in England. For a short time
Phillis stayed with a friend of her deceased benefactress; then she
hired a room and lived by herself. It was a sad change for her.

The war of the American Revolution broke out. In the autumn of 1776
General Washington had his head-quarters at Cambridge, Massachusetts;
and the spirit moved Phillis to address some complimentary verses to
him. In reply, he sent her the following courteous note:--

     "I thank you most sincerely for your polite notice of me in the
     elegant lines you enclosed. However undeserving I may be of such
     encomium, the style and manner exhibit a striking proof of your
     poetical talents. In honor of which, and as a tribute justly due to
     you, I would have published the poem, had I not been apprehensive
     that, while I only meant to give the world this new instance of
     your genius, I might have incurred the imputation of vanity. This,
     and nothing else, determined me not to give it a place in the
     public prints.

     "If you should ever come to Cambridge, or near head-quarters, I
     shall be happy to see a person so favored by the Muses,[4] and to
     whom Nature had been so liberal and beneficent in her
     dispensations.

        "I am, with great respect,
            "Your obedient, humble servant,
                "GEORGE WASHINGTON."

The early friends of Phillis were dead, or scattered abroad, and she
felt alone in the world. She formed an acquaintance with a <DW52> man
by the name of Peters, who kept a grocery shop. He was more than
commonly intelligent, spoke fluently, wrote easily, dressed well, and
was handsome in his person. He offered marriage, and in an evil hour she
accepted him. He proved to be lazy, proud, and harsh-tempered. He
neglected his business, failed, and became very poor. Though unwilling
to do hard work himself, he wanted to make a drudge of his wife. Her
constitution was frail, she had been unaccustomed to hardship, and she
was the mother of three little children, with no one to help her in her
household labors and cares. He had no pity on her, and instead of trying
to lighten her load, he made it heavier by his bad temper. The little
ones sickened and died, and their gentle mother was completely broken
down by toil and sorrow. Some of the descendants of her lamented
mistress at last heard of her illness and went to see her. They found
her in a forlorn situation, suffering for the common comforts of life.
The Revolutionary war was still raging. Everybody was mourning for sons
and husbands slain in battle. The country was very poor. The currency
was so deranged that a goose cost forty dollars, and other articles in
proportion. In such a state of things, people were too anxious and
troubled to think about the African poetess, whom they had once
delighted to honor; or if they transiently remembered her, they took it
for granted that her husband provided for her. And so it happened that
the gifted woman who had been patronized by wealthy Bostonians, and who
had rolled through London in the splendid carriages of the English
nobility, lay dying alone, in a cold, dirty, comfortless room. It was a
mournful reverse of fortune; but she was patient and resigned. She made
no complaint of her unfeeling husband; but the neighbors said that when
a load of wood was sent to her, he felt himself too much of a gentleman
to saw it, though his wife was shivering with cold. The descendants of
Mrs. Wheatley did what they could to relieve her wants, after they
discovered her extremely destitute condition; but, fortunately for her,
she soon went "where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the
weary are at rest."

Her husband was so generally disliked, that people never called her Mrs.
Peters. She was always called Phillis Wheatley, the name bestowed upon
her when she first entered the service of her benefactress, and by which
she had become known as a poetess.

FOOTNOTE:

[4] The ancient Greeks supposed that nine goddesses, whom they named
Muses, inspired people to write various kinds of poetry.




A PERTINENT QUESTION.

BY FREDERICK DOUGLASS.


"Is it not astonishing, that while we are ploughing, planting, and
reaping, using all kinds of mechanical tools, erecting houses and
constructing bridges, building ships, working in metals of brass, iron,
and copper, silver and gold; that while we are reading, writing, and
ciphering, acting as clerks, merchants, and secretaries, having among us
lawyers, doctors, ministers, poets, authors, editors, orators, and
teachers; that while we are engaged in all manner of enterprises common
to other men, digging gold in California, capturing the whale in the
Pacific, breeding sheep and cattle on the hillside; living, moving,
acting, thinking, planning; living in families as husbands, wives, and
children; and, above all, confessing and worshipping the Christian's
God, and looking hopefully for immortal life beyond the grave;--is it
not astonishing, I say, that we are called upon to prove that we are
_men_?"




THE WORKS OF PROVIDENCE.

BY PHILLIS WHEATLEY.

     [Written at sixteen years of age.]


      Arise, my soul! on wings enraptured rise,
    To praise the Monarch of the earth and skies,
    Whose goodness and beneficence appear,
    As round its centre moves the rolling year;
    Or when the morning glows with rosy charms,
    Or the sun slumbers in the ocean's arms.
    Of light divine be a rich portion lent,
    To guide my soul and favor my intent.
    Celestial Muse, my arduous flight sustain,
    And raise my mind to a seraphic strain!

      Adored forever be the God unseen,
    Who round the sun revolves this vast machine;
    Though to his eye its mass a point appears:
    Adored the God that whirls surrounding spheres,
    Who first ordained that mighty Sol[5] should reign,
    The peerless monarch of th' ethereal train.
    Of miles twice forty millions is his height,
    And yet his radiance dazzles mortal sight,
    So far beneath,--from him th' extended earth
    Vigor derives, and every flowery birth.
    Vast through her orb she moves, with easy grace,
    Around her Phoebus[6] in unbounded space;
    True to her course, the impetuous storm derides,
    Triumphant o'er the winds and surging tides.

      Almighty! in these wondrous works of thine,
    What power, what wisdom, and what goodness shine!
    And are thy wonders, Lord, by men explored,
    And yet creating glory unadored?

      Creation smiles in various beauty gay,
    While day to night, and night succeeds to day.
    That wisdom which attends Jehovah's ways,
    Shines most conspicuous in the solar rays.
    Without them, destitute of heat and light,
    This world would be the reign of endless night.
    In their excess, how would our race complain,
    Abhorring life! how hate its lengthened chain!
    From air, or dust, what numerous ills would rise!
    What dire contagion taint the burning skies!
    What pestilential vapor, fraught with death,
    Would rise, and overspread the lands beneath!

      Hail, smiling Morn, that, from the orient main
    Ascending, dost adorn the heavenly plain!
    So rich, so various are thy beauteous dyes,
    That spread through all the circuit of the skies,
    That, full of thee, my soul in rapture soars,
    And thy great God, the cause of all, adores!
    O'er beings infinite his love extends,
    His wisdom rules them, and his power defends.
    When tasks diurnal tire the human frame,
    The spirits faint, and dim the vital flame,
    Then, too, that ever-active bounty shines,
    Which not infinity of space confines.
    The sable veil, that Night in silence draws,
    Conceals effects, but shows th' Almighty Cause.
    Night seals in sleep the wide creation fair,
    And all is peaceful, but the brow of care.
    Again gay Phoebus, as the day before,
    Wakes every eye but what shall wake no more;
    Again the face of Nature is renewed,
    Which still appears harmonious, fair, and good.
    May grateful strains salute the smiling morn,
    Before its beams the eastern hills adorn!

FOOTNOTES:

[5] _Sol_ is the word for sun in Latin, the language spoken by the
ancient Romans.

[6] Phoebus was the name for the sun, in the language of the ancient
Greeks.




THE DYING CHRISTIAN.

BY FRANCES E. W. HARPER.


    The silver cord was loosened,
      We knew that she must die;
    We read the mournful token
      In the dimness of her eye.

    Like a child oppressed with slumber,
      She calmly sank to rest,
    With her trust in her Redeemer,
      And her head upon his breast.

    She faded from our vision,
      Like a thing of love and light;
    But we feel she lives forever,
      A spirit pure and bright.




KINDNESS TO ANIMALS.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.


There are not many people who are conscientious about being kind in
their relations with human beings; and therefore it is not surprising
that still fewer should be considerate about humanity to animals. But
the Father of all created beings made dumb creatures to enjoy existence
in their way, as he made human beings to enjoy life in their way. We do
wrong in his sight if we abuse them, or keep them without comfortable
food and shelter. The fact that they cannot speak to tell of what they
suffer makes the sad expression of their great patient eyes the more
touching to any compassionate heart. Fugitive slaves, looking out
mournfully and wearily upon a cold, unsympathizing world, have often
reminded me of overworked and abused oxen; for though slaves were
endowed by their Creator with the gift of speech, their oppressors have
made them afraid to use it to complain of their wrongs. In fact, they
have been in a more trying situation than abused oxen, for they have
been induced by fear to use their gift of speech in professions of
contentment with their bondage. Therefore, those who have been slaves
know how to sympathize with the dumb creatures of God; and they, more
than others, ought to have compassion on them. The great and good
Toussaint l'Ouverture was always kind to the animals under his care, and
I consider it by no means the smallest of his merits.

It is selfish and cruel thoughtlessness to stand laughing and talking,
or to be resting at ease, while horses or oxen are tied where they will
be tormented by flies or mosquitos. Last summer I read of a horse that
was left fastened in a swamp, where he could not get away from the swarm
of venomous insects, which stung him to death, while his careless,
hard-hearted driver was going about forgetful of him. It would trouble
my conscience ever afterward if I had the death of that poor helpless
animal to answer for.

There is a difference in the natural disposition of animals, as there is
in the dispositions of men and women; but, generally speaking, if
animals are bad-tempered and stubborn, it is owing to their having been
badly treated when they were young. When a horse has his mouth hurt by
jerking his bridle, it irritates him, as it irritates a man to be
violently knocked about; and in both cases such treatment produces an
unwillingness to oblige the tormentor. Lashing a horse with a whip, to
compel him to draw loads too heavy for his strength, makes him angry and
discouraged; and at last, in despair of getting any help for his wrongs,
he stands stock still when he finds himself fastened to a heavy load,
and no amount of kicking or beating will make him stir. He has
apparently come to the conclusion that it is better to be killed at once
than to die daily. Slaves, who are under cruel taskmasters, also
sometimes sink down in utter discouragement, and do not seem to care for
being whipped to death. The best way to cure the disheartened and
obstinate laborer is to give him just wages and kind treatment; and the
best way to deal with the discouraged and stubborn horse is to give him
light loads and humane usage.

It is a very bad custom to whip a horse when he is frightened. It only
frightens the poor creature all the more. Habits of running when
frightened, or of sheering at the sight of things to which they are not
accustomed, is generally produced in horses by mismanagement when they
are colts. By gentle and rational treatment better characters are
formed, both in animals and human beings. There was a gentleman in the
neighborhood of Boston who managed colts so wisely, that all who were
acquainted with him wanted a horse of his training. He was very firm
with the young animals; he never allowed them to get the better of him;
but he was never in a passion with them. He cured them of bad tricks by
patient teaching and gentle words; holding them tight all the while,
till they did what he wanted them to do. When they became docile, he
rubbed their heads, and patted their necks, and talked affectionately to
them, and gave them a handful of oats. In that way, he obtained complete
control over them. He never kicked them, or jerked their mouths with the
bridle; he never whipped them, or allowed a whip to be used; and the
result was that they learned to love him, and were always ready to do as
he bade them.

I have read of a horse that was so terrified by the sound of a drum,
that if he heard it, even from a distance, he would run furiously and
smash to pieces any carriage to which he was harnessed. In consequence
of this, he was sold very cheap, though he was a strong, handsome
animal. The man who sold him said he had whipped and whipped him, to
cure him of the trick, but it did no good. People laughed at the man who
bought him, and said he had thrown money away upon a useless and
dangerous creature; but he replied, "I have some experience in horses,
and I think I can cure him."

He resolved to use no violence, but to deal rationally and humanely with
the animal, as he would like to be dealt with if he were a horse.

He kept him without food till he had become very hungry, and then he
placed a pan of oats before him on the top of a drum. As soon as he
began to eat, the man beat upon the drum. The horse reared and plunged
and ran furiously round the enclosure. He was led back to the stable
without any provender. After a while, oats were again placed before him
on the top of a drum. As soon as the drum was beaten, the horse reared
and ran away. I suppose he remembered the terrible whippings he had had
whenever he heard a drum, and so he thought the thing that made the
noise was an enemy to him. The third time the experiment was tried, he
had become excessively hungry. He pricked up his ears and snorted when
he heard the sound of the drum; but he stood still and looked at the
oats wistfully, while the man played a loud, lively tune. Finding the
noise did him no harm, he at last ventured to taste of the oats, and his
owner continued to play all the while he was eating. When the breakfast
was finished, he patted him on the neck and talked gently to him. For
several days his food was given to him in the same way. He was never
afraid of the sound of a drum afterward. On the contrary, he learned to
like it, because it made him think of sweet oats.

The fact is, reasonable and kind treatment will generally produce a
great and beneficial change in vicious animals as well as in vicious
men.




JAMES FORTEN.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.


James Forten was born in 1766, nearly a hundred years ago. His ancestors
had lived in Pennsylvania for several generations, and, so far as he
could trace them, they had never been slaves. In his boyhood the war of
the American Revolution began. The States of this Union were then
colonies of Great Britain. Being taxed without being represented in the
British Parliament, they remonstrated against it as an act of injustice.
The king, George the Third, was a dull, obstinate man, disposed to be
despotic. The loyal, respectful petitions of the Colonies were treated
with indifference or contempt; and at last they resolved to become
independent of England. When James Forten was about fourteen years old
he entered into the service of the Colonial navy, in the ship Royal
Louis, commanded by Captain Decatur, father of the celebrated commodore.
It was captured by the British ship Amphion, commanded by Sir John
Beezly. Sir John's son was on board, as midshipman. He was about the
same age as James Forten; and when they played games together on the
deck, the agility and skill of the brown lad attracted his attention.
They became much attached to each other; and the young Englishman
offered to provide for the education of his <DW52> companion, and to
help him on in the world, if he would go to London with him. But James
preferred to remain in the service of his native country. The lads shed
tears at parting, and Sir John's son obtained a promise from his father
that his friend should not be enlisted in the British army. This was a
great relief to the mind of James; for his sympathies were on the side
of the American Colonies, and he knew that <DW52> men in his
circumstances were often carried to the West Indies and sold into
Slavery. He was transferred to the prison-ship Old Jersey, then lying
near New York. He remained there, through a raging pestilence on board,
until prisoners were exchanged.

After the war was over, he obtained employment in a sail-loft in
Philadelphia, where he soon established a good character by his
intelligence, honesty, and industry. He invented an improvement in the
management of sails, for which he obtained a patent. As it came into
general use, it brought him a good deal of money. In process of time, he
became owner of the sail-loft, and also of a good house in the city. He
married a worthy woman, and they brought up a family of eight children.
But though he had served his country faithfully in his youth, though he
had earned a hundred thousand dollars by his ingenuity and diligence,
and though his character rendered him an ornament to the Episcopal
Church, to which he belonged, yet so strong was the mean and cruel
prejudice against his color, that his family were excluded from schools
where the most ignorant and vicious whites could place their children.
He overcame this obstacle, at great expense, by hiring private teachers
in various branches of education.

By the unrivalled neatness and durability of his work, and by the
uprightness of his character, he obtained extensive business, and for
more than fifty years employed many people in his sail-loft. Being near
the water, he had opportunities, at twelve different times, to save
people from drowning, which he sometimes did at the risk of his own
life. The Humane Society of Philadelphia presented him with an
engraving, to which was appended a certificate of the number of people
he had saved, and the thanks of the Society for his services. He had it
framed and hung in his parlor; and when I visited him, in 1835, he
pointed it out to me, and told me he would not take a thousand dollars
for it. He likewise told me of a vessel engaged in the slave-trade, the
owners of which applied to him for rigging. He indignantly refused;
declaring that he considered such a request an insult to any honest or
humane man. He always had the cause of the oppressed <DW52> people
warmly at heart, and was desirous to do everything in his power for
their improvement and elevation. He early saw that colonizing free
blacks to Africa would never abolish Slavery; but that, on the contrary,
it tended to prolong its detestable existence. He presided at the first
meeting of <DW52> people in Philadelphia, to remonstrate against the
Colonization Society. He was an earnest and liberal friend of the
Anti-Slavery Society; and almost the last words he was heard to utter
were expressions of love and gratitude to William Lloyd Garrison for his
exertions in behalf of his oppressed race. He never drank any
intoxicating liquor, and was a steadfast supporter of the Temperance
Society. Being of a kindly and humane disposition, he espoused the
principles of the Peace Society. His influence and pure example were
also given to those who were striving against licentiousness. Indeed, he
was always ready to assist in every good word and work.

He died in 1842, at the age of seventy-six years. His funeral procession
was one of the largest ever seen in Philadelphia; thousands of people,
of all classes and all complexions, having united in this tribute of
respect to his character.




THE MEETING IN THE SWAMP.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.


In 1812 there was war between the United States and Great Britain; and
many people thought it likely that a portion of the British army would
land in some part of the Southern States and proclaim freedom to the
slaves. The more intelligent portion of the slaves were aware of this,
and narrowly watched the signs of the times.

Mr. Duncan, of South Carolina, was an easy sort of master, generally
thought by his neighbors to be too indulgent to his slaves. One evening,
during the year I have mentioned, he received many requests for passes
to go to a great Methodist meeting, and in every instance complied with
the request. After a while, he rang the bell for a glass of water, but
no servant appeared. He rang a second time, but waited in vain for the
sound of coming footsteps. Thinking over the passes he had given, he
remembered that all the house-servants had gone to Methodist meeting.
Then it occurred to him that Methodist meetings had lately been more
frequent than usual. He was in the habit of saying that his slaves were
perfectly contented, and would not take their freedom if he offered it
to them; nevertheless the frequency of Methodist meetings made him a
little uneasy, and brought to mind a report he had heard, that the
British were somewhere off the coast and about to land.

The next morning, he took a ride on horseback, and in a careless way
asked the slaves on several plantations where was the Methodist meeting
last night. Some said it was in one place, and some in another,--a
circumstance which made him think still more about the report that the
British were going to land. He bought a black mask for his face, and a
suit of <DW64> clothes, and waited for another Methodist meeting. In a
few days his servants again asked for passes, and he gave them. When the
last one had gone, he put on his disguise and followed them over field
and meadow, through woods and swamps. The number of dark figures
steering toward the same point continually increased. If any spoke to
him as they passed, he made a very short answer, in the words and tones
common among slaves. At last they arrived at an island in the swamp,
surrounded by a belt of deep water, and hidden by forest-trees matted
together by a luxuriant entanglement of vines. A large tree had been
felled for a bridge, and over this dusky forms were swarming as thickly
as ants into a new-made nest. After passing through a rough and
difficult path, they came out into a large level space, surrounded by
majestic trees, whose boughs interlaced, and formed a roof high
overhead, from which hung down long streamers of Spanish moss. Under
this canopy were assembled hundreds of black men and women. Some were
sitting silent and thoughtful, some eagerly talking together, and some
singing and shouting. The blaze of pine torches threw a strong light on
some, and made others look like great black shadows.

Mr. Duncan felt a little disturbed by the strange, impressive scene, and
was more than half disposed to wish himself at home. For some time he
could make nothing out of the confused buzz of voices and chanting of
hymns. But after a while a tall man mounted a stump and requested
silence. "I suppose most all of ye know," said he, "that at our last
meeting we concluded to go to the British, if we could get a chance; but
we didn't all agree what to do about our masters. Some said we couldn't
keep our freedom without we killed the whites, but others didn't like
the thoughts of that. We've met again to-night to talk about it. An'
now, boys, if the British land here in Caroliny, what shall we do about
our masters?"

As he sat down, a tall, fierce-looking mulatto sprang upon the stump, at
one leap, and exclaimed: "Scourge _them_, as they have scourged _us_.
Shoot _them_, as they have shot _us_. Who talks of mercy to our
masters?"

"I do," said an aged black man, who rose up tottering, as he leaned both
hands on a wooden staff,--"I do; because the blessed Jesus always talked
of mercy. They shot my bright boy Joe, an' sold my pretty little Sally;
but, thanks to the blessed Jesus! I feel it in my poor old heart to
forgive 'em. I've been member of a Methodist church these thirty years,
an' I've heard many preachers, white and black; an' they all tell me
Jesus said, Do good to them that do evil to you, an' pray for them that
spite you. Now I say, Let us love our enemies; let us pray for 'em; an'
when our masters flog us, let us sing,--

        'You may beat upon my body,
        But you cannot harm my soul.
    I shall join the forty thousand by and by.'"

When the tremulous chant ceased, a loud altercation arose. Some cried
out for the blood of the whites, while others maintained that the old
man's doctrine was right. Louder and louder grew the sound of their
excited voices, and the disguised slaveholder hid himself away deeper
among the shadows. In the midst of the confusion, a young man of
graceful figure sprang on the stump, and, throwing off a coarse cotton
frock, showed his back and shoulders deeply gashed by a whip and oozing
with blood. He made no speech, but turned round and round slowly, while
his comrades held up their torches to show his wounds. He stopped
suddenly, and said, with stern brevity, "Blood for blood."

"Would you murder 'em all?" inquired a timid voice. "Dey don't _all_
cruelize us."

"Dar's Massa Campbell," pleaded another. "He neber hab his boys flogged.
You wouldn't murder _him_, would you?"

"No, no," shouted several voices; "we wouldn't murder _him_."

"I wouldn't murder _my_ master," said one of Mr. Duncan's slaves. "I
don't want to work for him for nothin'; I'se done got tired o' that; but
he sha'n't be killed, if I can help it; for he's a good master."

"Call him a good master if ye like," said the youth with the bleeding
shoulders. "If the white men don't cut up the backs that bear their
burdens, if they don't shoot the limbs that make 'em rich, some are
fools enough to call 'em good masters. What right have they to sleep in
soft beds, while we, who do all the work, lie on the hard floor? Why
should I go in coarse rags, to clothe my master in broadcloth and fine
linen, when he knows, and I know, that we are sons of the same father?
Ye may get on your knees to be flogged, if ye like; but I'm not the boy
to do it." His high, bold forehead and flashing eye indicated an
intellect too active, and a spirit too fiery, for Slavery. The listeners
were spell-bound by his superior bearing, and for a while he seemed
likely to carry the whole meeting in favor of revenge. But the aged
black, leaning on his wooden staff, made use of every pause to repeat
the words, "Jesus told us to return good for evil"; and his gentle
counsel found response in many hearts.

A short man, with roguish eyes and a laughing mouth, rose up and looked
round him with an expression of drollery that made everybody begin to
feel good-natured. After rubbing his head a little, he said: "I don't
know how to talk like Bob, 'cause I neber had no chance. But I'se
_thought_ a heap. Many a time I'se axed myself how de white man always
git he foot on de black man. Sometimes I tink one ting, and sometimes I
tink anoder ting; and dey all git jumbled up in my head, jest like seed
in de cotton. At last I finds out how de white man always git he foot on
de black man." He took from his old torn hat a bit of crumpled
newspaper, and smoothing it out, pointed at it, while he exclaimed:
"_Dat's_ de way dey do it! Dey got de _knowledge_; and dey don't let
poor <DW65> hab de knowledge. May be de British lan', and may be de
British no lan'. But I tell ye, boys, de white man can't keep he foot on
de black man, ef de black man git de knowledge. I'se gwine to tell ye
how I got de knowledge. I sot my mind on larning to read; but my ole
boss he's de most begrudgfullest massa, an' I knows he wouldn't let me
larn. So when I sees leetle massa wid he book, I ax him, 'What you call
dat?' He tell me dat's A. So I take ole newspaper, an' ax missis, 'May I
hab dis to rub de boots?' She say yes. Den, when I find A, I looks at
him till I knows him bery well. Den I ax leetle massa, 'What you call
dat?' He say dat's B. I looks at him till I knows him bery well. Den I
find C A T, an' I ax leetle massa what dat spell; an' he tell me _cat_.
Den, after a great long time, I read de newspaper. An' dar I find out
dat de British gwine to lan'. I tells all de boys; and dey say mus' hab
Methodist meetin'. An' what you tink dis <DW65> did todder day? You know
Jim, Massa Gubernor's boy? Wal, I wants mighty bad to tell Jim dat de
British gwine to lan'; but he lib ten mile off, and ole boss nebber let
me go. Wal, Massa Gubernor come to massa's, an' I bring he hoss to de
gate. I makes bow, and says, 'How Jim do, Massa Gubernor?' He tells me
Jim bery well. Den I tells him Jim and I was leetle boy togeder, an' I
wants to sen' Jim someting. He tells me Jim hab 'nuff ob eberyting. I
says, 'O yes, Massa Gubernor, I knows you good massa, and Jim hab
eberyting he want. But Jim an' I was leetle boy togeder, and I wants to
sen' Jim some backy.' Massa Gubernor laugh an' say, 'Bery well, Jack.'
So I gibs him de backy in de bery bit ob newspaper dat tell de British
gwine to lan'. I marks it wid brack coal, so Jim be sure to see it. An'
Massa Gubernor hisself carry it! Massa Gubernor hisself carry it! I has
to laugh ebery time I tinks on't."

He clapped his hands, shuffled with his feet, and ended by rolling heels
over head, with peals of laughter. The multitude joined loudly in his
merriment, and it took some time to restore order. There was a good deal
of speaking afterward, and some of it was violent. A large majority were
in favor of being merciful to the masters; but all, without exception,
agreed to join the British if they landed.

With thankfulness to Heaven, Mr. Duncan again found himself in the open
field, alone with the stars. Their glorious beauty seemed to him clothed
in new and awful power. Groups of shrubbery took startling forms, and
the sound of the wind among the trees was like the unsheathing of
swords. He never forgot the lesson of that night. In his heart he could
not blame his bondmen for seeking their liberty, and he felt grateful
for the merciful disposition they had manifested toward their
oppressors; for alone that night, in the solemn presence of the stars,
his conscience told him that Slavery _was_ oppression, however mild the
humanity of the master might make it. He did not emancipate his slaves;
for he had not sufficient courage to come out against the community in
which he lived. He felt it a duty to warn his neighbors of impending
danger; but he could not bring himself to reveal the secret of the
meeting in the swamp, which he knew would cause the death of many
helpless creatures, whose only crime was that of wishing to be free.
After a painful conflict in his mind, he contented himself with advising
the magistrates not to allow any meetings of the <DW52> people for
religious purposes until the war was over.

I have called him Mr. Duncan, but I have in fact forgotten his name.
Years after he witnessed the meeting in the swamp, he gave an account of
it to a gentleman in Boston, and I have stated the substance of it as it
was told to me.




A REASONABLE REQUEST.


We are natives of this country; we ask only to be treated _as well_ as
foreigners. Not a few of our fathers suffered and bled to purchase its
independence; we ask only to be treated _as well_ as those who fought
against it. We have toiled to cultivate it, and to raise it to its
present prosperous condition; we ask only to share _equal_ privileges
with those who come from distant lands to enjoy the fruits of our
labor.--REV. PETER WILLIAMS, _colored Rector of St. Philip's Church, New
York_, 1835.




THE SLAVE POET.


Mr. James Horton, of Chatham County, North Carolina, had a slave named
George, who early manifested remarkable intelligence. He labored with a
few other slaves on his master's farm, and was always honest, faithful,
and industrious. He contrived to learn to read, and every moment that
was allowed him for his own he devoted to reading. He was especially
fond of poetry, which he read and learned by heart, wherever he could
find it. After a time, he began to compose verses of his own. He did not
know how to write; so when he had arranged his thoughts in rhyme, he
spoke them aloud to others, who wrote them down for him.

He was not contented in Slavery, as you will see by the following verses
which he wrote:--

    "Alas! and am I born for this,
      To wear this slavish chain?
    Deprived of all created bliss,
      Through hardship, toil, and pain?

    "How long have I in bondage lain,
      And languished to be free!
    Alas! and must I still complain,
      Deprived of liberty?

    "O Heaven! and is there no relief
      This side the silent grave,
    To soothe the pain, to quell the grief
      And anguish of a slave?

    "Come, Liberty! thou cheerful sound,
      Roll through my ravished ears;
    Come, let my grief in joys be drowned,
      And drive away my fears.

    "Say unto foul oppression, Cease!
      Ye tyrants, rage no more;
    And let the joyful trump of peace
      Now bid the vassal soar.

    "O Liberty! thou golden prize,
      So often sought by blood,
    We crave thy sacred sun to rise,
      The gift of Nature's God.

    "Bid Slavery hide her haggard face,
      And barbarism fly;
    I scorn to see the sad disgrace,
      In which enslaved I lie.

    "Dear Liberty! upon thy breast
      I languish to respire;
    And, like the swan unto her nest,
      I'd to thy smiles retire."

George's poems attracted attention, and several were published in the
newspaper called "The Raleigh Register." Some of them found their way
into the Boston newspapers, and were thought remarkable productions for
a slave. His master took no interest in any of his poems, and knew
nothing about them, except what he heard others say. Dr. Caldwell, who
was then President of the University of North Carolina, and several
other gentlemen, became interested for him, and tried to help him to
obtain his freedom. In 1829 a little volume of his poems, called "The
Hope of Liberty," was printed in Raleigh, by Gales and Son. The pamphlet
was sold to raise money enough for George to buy himself. He was then
thirty-two years old, in the prime of his strength, both in mind and
body. He was to be sent off to Liberia as soon as he was purchased; but
he had such a passion for Liberty, that he was willing to follow her to
the ends of the earth; though he would doubtless have preferred to have
been a freeman at home, among old friends and familiar scenes. He was
greatly excited about his prospects, and eagerly set about learning to
write. When he first heard the news that influential gentlemen were
exerting themselves in his behalf, he wrote:--

    "'Twas like the salutation of the dove,
    Borne on the zephyr through some lonesome grove,
    When spring returns, and winter's chill is past,
    And vegetation smiles above the blast.

    "The silent harp, which on the osiers hung,
    Again was tuned, and manumission sung;
    Away by hope the clouds of fear were driven,
    And music breathed my gratitude to Heaven."

It would have been better for him if his hopes had not been so highly
excited. His poems did not sell for enough to raise the sum his master
demanded for him, and his friends were not sufficiently benevolent to
make up the deficiency. In 1837, when he was forty years old, he was
still working as a slave at Chapel Hill, the seat of the University of
North Carolina. It was said at that time that he had ceased to write
poetry. I suppose the poor fellow was discouraged. If he is still alive,
he is sixty-seven years old; and I hope it will comfort his poor,
bruised heart to know that some of his verses are preserved, and
published for the benefit of those who have been his companions in
Slavery, and who, more fortunate than he was, have become freemen before
their strength has left them.




RATIE:

A TRUE STORY OF A LITTLE HUNCHBACK.

BY MATTIE GRIFFITH.


I want to tell you a story of a poor little slave-girl who lived and
died away down South.

This little girl's name was Rachel, but they used to call her Ratie. She
was a hunchback and a dwarf, with an ugly black face, coarse and
irregular features, but a low, pleasant voice, and nice manners. Nobody
ever scolded Ratie, for she never deserved it. She always did her
work--the little that was assigned her--with a cheerful heart and
willing hand. This work was chiefly to gather up little bits of chips in
baskets, or collect shavings from the carpenters' shops, and take them
to the cabins or the great kitchen, where they were used for kindling
fires. She had a sweet, gentle spirit, and a low, cheery laugh that
charmed everybody. Even the white folks who lived up at the great house
loved her, and somehow felt better when she was near.

Ratie used to go out into the fields on summer days, or in the early
spring, and pick the first flowers. Later in the season she caught the
butterflies or grasshoppers, but she never hurt them. She would look at
the bright spangled wings of the butterflies, or the green coats of the
pretty, chirping grasshoppers, with an eye full of admiration; and she
always seemed sorry when she gave them up. The lambs used to run to her,
and eat from her hands. If she went into the park, the deer came to her
side lovingly, and the young fawns sported and played around her. No one
harmed Ratie or expected harm from her.

Poor little hunchback! Many an idle traveller has paused in his slow
wanderings to listen to her song, as she sat on the wayside stump,
knitting stockings for the work-people, and singing old snatches of
songs, and airs that bring back to the heart glimpses of the paradise of
our lost childhood! No broad-throated robin ever poured out a wilder,
fuller gush of melody than the songs of this untaught child!

Little Ratie's days were passed in the same even routine, without
thought or chance of change. Up at the house they loved her; and her
young mistresses used to supply her with cast-off ribbons and shawls and
fancy trappings from their own wardrobes, which she prized very
much,--delighting to deck out her odd little person with these old
fineries.

Once, as she sat singing on an old stile, and knitting a stocking, a
rough sort of gentleman, driving by in his neat little tilbury, stopped
and listened to Ratie's song. When he looked at the strange child he
felt a little shocked; but he called out in a loud voice, "Halloo,
Dumpey Blackie! here is a fip for your song"; and he tossed her a small
coin. "Take that, and give me another song."

The child was pleased with the gift, took it up from where it had rolled
on the ground at her feet, and soon began another of her wild little
ditties. As she sang on, she forgot the exact words, and put in some of
her own, which harmonized just as well with the air. The stranger was so
much pleased, that he gave her another fip, and called for another
song, and still another. At length, he asked the child to whom she
belonged. She told him that she belonged to her old master.

"And what is your old master's name?" asked the gentleman.

Ratie, who had never been two miles beyond the borders of the
plantation, laughed, thinking it a fine joke that anybody should not
know the name of her "old master"; for, to her, he was the most
important personage in the world. So she only laughed and shook her head
derisively in answer.

"Will you not tell me his name?" again asked the stranger.

But the child smiled still more incredulously; so the gentleman deemed
it best to follow her home, which he accordingly did, and found that
Colonel Williams, a rich old planter, was the owner of this little
melodious blackbird.

The stranger alighted and asked to see Colonel Williams. After a little
conversation he proposed to buy Ratie from her master. Colonel Williams
had never thought of selling the little deformity. He kept her on the
place more through charity than aught else. The extent of her musical
genius was unappreciated, and even unknown to him; but as she was a
happy little creature, much liked by all the family, and was only a
trifling expense, he had never thought of parting with her. Now,
however, when a handsome price was offered, she assumed something like
importance and interest in his eyes. He called her into the house, and
she obeyed with great alacrity, coming in neatly dressed, with a fresh
white apron, and sundry bits of bright- ribbons tied round her
head and neck.

"Give us one of your best songs, Ratie," said her master.

The girl broke out in a wild, warbling strain, clear, bird-like, and
musical, filling the long room with gushes of melody, until the lofty
arches echoed and re-echoed with the wild notes. When she had finished,
the enthusiastic stranger exclaimed, "That throat is a mint of gold!"

And so little hunchback Ratie sang song after song, until she exhausted
herself; when her master sent her off to the slave-quarters, where she
continued her ditties out under the broad, soft light of the low-hanging
southern moon.

The gentlemen sat up late that night, talking upon different subjects;
but, before they parted, it was arranged that the stranger should buy
Ratie at the high price he offered.

The next morning, long before the sun rose, little Ratie was up, walking
through the quarter. She stooped down to look at every drop of dew that
glittered and sparkled on the green leaves and shrubs; and when the
great, round, golden sun began to creep up the eastern sky, and set it
all ablaze with red and gold and purple clouds, glorious as the pavilion
of the prophet, Ratie's little spirit danced within her, and broke forth
in hymns of music such as the wise men long ago--eighteen hundred years
past--sang at the foot of a little manger in a stable in Bethlehem of
Judaea.

The child was too young and ignorant to know the meaning of the emotions
which fluttered and set on fire her own soul, but she was none the less
happy for this ignorance. God is very good!

As Ratie wandered on, singing to herself, she grew so happy that the
rush of passionate fervor half frightened her. Tears came to her eyes,
and choked the song in her throat. She paused in her walk, and seated
herself on a little rock that lay in one corner of the quarter. As she
sat there alone, she continued to sing and weep; wherefore she could not
tell. By and by the great, rusty bell of the quarter rang out from its
hoarse, iron tongue the morning summons for the slaves to assemble.
Ragged, tattered, unshorn and unshaven, dirty, ill and angry-looking,
the <DW64>s--men, women, and children, in large numbers--collected in
the quarter-yard, where the overseer, an ugly, harsh white man, with a
pistol in his belt, knife at his side, and whip in hand, stood to call
the roll. At the mention of each name, a slave came forward, saying with
a bow, "Here I am, massa."

Ratie, who had no particular work to do, went limping on past the place
of the roll-call, when she saw her master and the strange gentleman
coming toward her. She did not, however, notice them. They were talking
together quite earnestly, and looking at her. Her master called out,
"Stop, Ratie; come this way."

She obeyed the order with pleasing readiness.

"Ratie," said the master, "how do you like this gentleman?"

The child smiled, but made no answer in words. The master also smiled as
he added: "He thinks that you sing very prettily, and he has bought you.
He will be very kind and good to you; and as soon as you have had
breakfast, you must get your things ready to go off with him. Here is a
present for you"; and he tossed her a bright, shining, silver coin.

The child seized the money, but did not seem to comprehend her master's
words. To be sold to her implied some sort of disgrace or hardship,
which she did not think she deserved; besides, she had always lived on
the "old plantation." She knew no other home; she did not want to leave
"the people" of the quarter; nor did she feel happy in going away from
the "white folks," particularly the "young mistresses," who had always
been so kind to her. She had also some vague yearning of heart to be
close to her mammy's grave, rough as it was; and near also to Grandpap's
cabin, where she roasted apples and potatoes on winter nights.

She looked around upon the familiar quarter, the well-known people, the
row of cabins; and strained her gaze far away to the rolling fields in
the distance, where the <DW64>s, like a swarm of crows, were busy at
their morning's work; and as she gazed, the whole landscape flushed with
the bloom and beauty of the risen sun. Then the wild, pealing horn
called the "sons of toil" from their morning hour's work to their frugal
breakfast.

Ratie's little heart began to beat in its narrow limits as the word
"sold" wrote itself there, and broke through her comprehension with all
its horrors. She started quickly after her master, and, with the freedom
of a petted slave, caught hold of the skirt of his coat. Colonel
Williams turned suddenly round; and there, crouching on the earth at his
feet, was the hunchback child. She held up the money which he had given
her, and, in a sweet, tremulous voice, asked: "Massa, why has you sold
me? I has not behaved bad, as de boys did dat you sold last year. I
doesn't steal nor tell lies. Is it bekase I'se lazy? I do all de work
dey gives me to do. I'll do more. I'll go into de fields. I'll plant and
pick de cotton. Please don't sell me. I doesn't want to leave de ole
place. Mammy is buried here; so I wants to be when I dies. I wants
allers to live here."

The stranger and Colonel Williams were much moved. They did not venture
to speak to the child, but tried to get away from the sound of her
plaintive cries.

When the <DW64>s drew around their morning meal, and learned that Ratie
was sold, they were unhappy, and refused to eat anything. They looked
sorrowfully at one another, and turned away from their untasted food.
"Poor Ratie!" exclaimed the old <DW64>s, as they shook their heads in
mournful discontent, "we shall not hear any more her sweet songs in de
evenin' time."

The young mistresses came to Ratie with kind gifts and kinder words.
They told her, with tears in their eyes, how sorry they were to part
with her, how good they knew she had been, and how much they wished
their papa would allow her to stay. Words and acts like these softened
the blow to the unfortunate child, and strengthened her for the coming
trial. She looked up smilingly through her tears, as she said to her
young mistresses: "Please not to cry for me. God is good, and de
preacher says he is everywhar; so I shall not be fur from de ole
plantation."

When she was starting away, each of the <DW64>s brought her some little
gift, such as cotton handkerchiefs, old ribbon-ends, bright-
glass beads, or autumn berries, dried and strung on threads for neck
ornaments. Each of these humble little tokens possessed an individual
interest which touched some spring in Ratie's little heart. When the
hour of separation came, she had nerved herself to the highest courage
of which she was capable. She took leave of each of the slaves, all of
them calling down the blessings of God upon her life. An old, lame <DW64>
man, whom the slaves addressed as Grandpap, hobbled from his cabin, on a
broken crutch, to utter his farewell.

"Good by, Ratie," he began, and his voice choked with emotion; "good by,
little Ratie, and may de good Lord be wid you. Him dat keres fur de
poor, de lowly, and de despised, up yonder, way fur and high up dere, is
a God dat loves all of his chillens alike. He doesn't kere fur de color
ob de skin or de quality ob de hair. In his sight, wool is jist as good
as de fair, straight hair. He loves de heart, and looks straight and
deep into dat, and keres fur nothin' else. Never you be afeard, Ratie,
Him'll take kere ob you, an' all sich as you, bekase He loves dem dat He
smites and afflicts. Now, He didn't break your poor little back for
nothin'. Him has Him's eye upon you. You is a lamb ob de fold, dat de
great Shepherd will go fur and long to look arter. Him holds you in the
holler ob Him's hand, an' He'll keep you dar. Mind what I tell you. Good
by, Ratie. God bless you. Allers trust Him. 'Member my last words; dat
is, Allers trust Him. Look to Him, and He'll never forget you."

As he uttered these words, in a slow, oracular manner, he brushed a tear
from his eye with the back of his old, hard hand, and looking tenderly
toward the child, his lips moved slowly, and the words seemed to melt
unheard in the thin, morning air. He turned from her and hobbled off in
the direction of his cabin.

The other slaves were more passionately demonstrative in their
farewells; but little Ratie bore up with a beautiful and proud
composure.

       *       *       *       *       *

The new owner proved very kind to the gentle little creature; but her
heart had received a blow from which it could not recover.

The master took her to New Orleans, intending to have her taught music,
that she might make money for him; but the poor child pined for "de ole
plantation" and "de ole folks at home,"--the kind people--"my people,"
as she fondly called them--with whom she had been brought up.

In the great city of New Orleans she was literally lost. She missed the
free country air, the green trees, the sweet singing-birds, the fields
blooming with early flowers, the meadows and the running brooks. It was
easy to see that the little hunchback was not happy. She grew thinner
and thinner, and her voice lost its flexible sweetness, its clear and
liquid roundness of tone. At last she fell away to a mere skeleton; then
sharp, burning fever set in, and little Ratie was taken down to her bed.
Day and night, in the delirium of fever, she raved for "de ole
plantation" and her own people.

The new master promised, when she got better, to take her back to her
old home,--at least for a little while. But, alas! she never grew any
better. She faded slowly away, until one evening, just at sundown, in
the gay city of New Orleans, little Ratie breathed her last.

Just before she died, she lifted her head from the pillow, and, resting
on her hand, she pointed eastward, saying: "Over dar is de ole
plantation. Don't you see? How pretty and nice it looks! Dar is all de
peoples at work. How busy dey is! But I'se not gwine dar. I doesn't want
to, any more. Dere up dar is God's plantation, and it is betterer far.
Dere is no slaves dar, but all is free and happy,--loving friends; and
it is dar dat I wants to go; and I hopes dat all de plantation folks
will come to me."

And so little Ratie died.

                    _From the New York Independent._




THE KINGDOM OF CHRIST.

BY JAMES MONTGOMERY.


    Hail to the Lord's anointed!
      Great David's greater Son!
    Hail, in the time appointed,
      His reign on earth begun!
    He comes to break oppression,
      To set the captive free,
    To take away transgression,
      And rule in equity.

    He comes, with succor speedy,
      To those who suffer wrong;
    To help the poor and needy,
      And bid the weak be strong;
    To give them songs for sighing,
      Their darkness turned to light,
    Whose souls, condemned and dying,
      Were precious in his sight.

    To him shall prayer unceasing,
      And daily vows ascend;
    His kingdom still increasing,--
      A kingdom without end.
    The tide of time shall never
      His covenant remove;
    His name shall stand forever,--
      That name to us is Love.




THE BEGINNING AND PROGRESS OF EMANCIPATION IN THE BRITISH WEST INDIES.


Nothing has ever been done in this world more wicked and cruel than the
slave-trade on the coast of Africa. But the temptation to carry it on
was very great; for hundreds of men and women could be bought for a cask
of poor rum or a peck of cheap beads, and could be sold in the markets
of America or the West Indies for thousands of dollars. A hundred years
ago men were not at all ashamed of growing rich in this bad way. They
were respected in society as much as other men. They were often members
of churches and professed to be very pious. Perhaps they deceived
themselves, as well as others, and really thought they were pious,
because they observed all the ritual forms of religion. But, above all
their prayers, God heard the groans and the cries of the poor tortured
Africans. He put it into the heart of a young Englishman, named Thomas
Clarkson, to inquire into the wicked business, that was going on under
the sanction of the government, and unreproved by the Church. In the
course of his investigations, this young man discovered that the most
shocking cruelties were habitually practised. He found that poor
creatures stolen from their homes were packed close, like bales of
goods, in the dark holds of ships, where they were half choked by bad
odors from accumulated filth, and where they could hardly breathe for
want of air. The food allotted them was merely enough to keep them
alive. Many died of grief and despair, and still more of burning fevers
and other diseases. Living and dead often remained huddled together for
hours, and when the corpses were removed they were thrown out to the
sharks. But the sea-captains engaged in this horrid traffic were selfish
as well as cruel. They did not like to have their victims die, because
every one they lost on the passage diminished the dollars they expected
to get by selling them. So at times they brought the poor half-dead
wretches on deck and drove them round with a whip for exercise, and
insulted their misery by compelling them to dance, and sing the songs
they had sung in their native land.

Thomas Clarkson called public attention to the subject by publishing
these things in a pamphlet. More than thirty years before, the humane
sect called Quakers had forbidden any of its members to be connected
with the slave-trade. But though the abominable traffic had been carried
on more than two hundred and fifty years by various nations calling
themselves Christian, there had been no attempt to excite general
attention to the subject till Clarkson published his pamphlet in 1786,
seventy-nine years ago. He became so much interested in the question
that he gave up all other pursuits in life, and wrote, and lectured, and
talked about it incessantly. The assembled representatives of the people
which we call a Congress, is called a Parliament in Great Britain.[7] He
tried to bring the subject before that body, and succeeded in gaining
the attention of some members, among whom the most conspicuous was the
benevolent William Wilberforce. He soon joined Mr. Clarkson in the
formation of a Society for the Abolition of the Slave-trade. This of
course gave great offence to the sea-captains and merchants engaged in
the profitable traffic. Clarkson met with all manner of insult and
abuse, and his life was sometimes in danger. The British government did
as governments are apt to do,--it sided with the rich and powerful as
long as it was politic to do so. But, though many of the aristocracy
were haughty and selfish, the generality of the common people were ready
to sympathize with the poor and the oppressed. When they became aware of
the outrages committed in the slave-trade, they determined that a stop
should be put to it. They wrote, and talked, and petitioned Parliament,
till the government was compelled to pay some attention to their
demands. When the friends of the infernal traffic found that a
resolution to abolish it was likely to be passed, they contrived to get
the word "gradual" inserted into the resolution, and thus defeated the
will of the people; for the gradual abolition of crime is no abolition
at all. It was as absurd as it would have been for them to say they
would abolish murder gradually. But though the law was insufficient to
accomplish the desired purpose, public opinion against the trade exerted
an increasing influence. The friends of those who were engaged in it
began to apologize for it as a necessary branch of trade, and pleaded
that laborers could not be supplied in the hot climate of the West
Indies in any other way. They were even shameless enough to defend it
and praise it as a benevolent scheme to bring savages away from heathen
Africa and make good Christians of them. Mr. Boswell, a well-known
English writer of that period, went so far as to pronounce it "a trade
which God had sanctioned"; and he declared that "to abolish it would be
to shut the gates of mercy on mankind." Such pretences deceived some.
But the English people have a great deal of good common sense; and it
was not easy to convince them that stealing men, women, and children
from their homes, torturing them on the ocean, and selling them in
strange lands, to be whipped to incessant toil without wages, was a
pious missionary enterprise.

Clarkson, Wilberforce, and others continued their unremitting labors to
suppress the unrighteous traffic; the kindly sect of Quakers everywhere
assisted them; and benevolent people in other sects became more and more
convinced that it was their duty to do the same. All manner of obstacles
were put in the way of the desired reformation; but at last, after
twenty-two years of violent agitation, the slave-trade was entirely
abolished by Great Britain, at the commencement of the year 1808.
Sixteen years later, it was decreed by law that any British subject
caught in the traffic should be punished as a pirate.

The king, George the Third, was opposed to the abolition, and so were
all the royal family, except the Duke of Gloucester. The nobility and
wealthy people, with a few honorable exceptions, took the same side. The
measure was carried by the good sense and good feeling of the common
people of Great Britain.

There were no slaves in Great Britain. It had been decided by law that
any slave who landed in that country became free the moment he touched
the shore. But many of the West India islands, lying between North and
South America, were under the British government, and the laborers there
were held in Slavery. The English people knew very little what was going
on in those distant colonies. When West India planters visited their
relatives and friends in Great Britain, they made out a very fair story
for themselves. They said none but <DW64>s could work in such a hot
climate, that sugar must be made, and <DW64>s would not work unless they
were slaves. They represented themselves as very kind masters, and
described their bondmen as a very contented and merry class of laborers.
These planters were generally dashing men, who spent freely the money
they did not earn; and their fine manners and smooth talk gave the
impression that they must be _gentle_ men.

People were slow to believe the accounts of cruelties practised in the
West Indies by these polished gentlemen. But more and more facts were
brought to light to prove that there was little to choose between the
slave-trade and the system of Slavery. When the honest masses of the
British people became convinced that the slaves in the West Indies were
entirely subject to the will of their masters, however licentious that
will might be, and that they were kept in such brutal ignorance they
could not read the Bible, they said at once that such a system ought to
be abolished. They sent missionaries to the West Indies to teach the
<DW64>s. The planters considered this an impertinent interference with
their affairs. They said if slaves were instructed they would rise in
rebellion against their masters. The English people replied that it must
be a very bad system which made it dangerous for human beings to read
the Bible. The more closely they inquired into the subject, the more
their indignation was roused. Brown faces and yellow faces among the
slaves told a shameful story of licentious masters, while the chains and
whips and other instruments of torture found on every plantation proved
that severe treatment was universal. Again the honest masses of the
English people rose up in their moral majesty and said that wrong
should be righted. The government was unfavorable to the abolition of
Slavery, and the aristocracy, with a few honorable exceptions,
sympathized with the slaveholders. The West-Indian planters were boiling
over with rage. They pulled down the chapels where the <DW64>s met
together to hear the words of Jesus; they mobbed the missionaries, they
thrust them into dungeons, and two or three of them were killed. Some of
the planters thought Slavery was a bad system, but they had to be very
cautious in expressing such an opinion; for if they were even suspected
of favoring abolition, their neighbors were sure to make them suffer for
it in some way. Even women seemed to be filled with the spirit of
Furies, whenever the subject of Slavery was mentioned. One of them said,
if she could get hold of Mr. Wilberforce she would tear his heart out.
Everywhere one heard mournful predictions of the ruin and desolation
that would follow emancipation. They insisted that <DW64>s would not
work unless they were slaves, and of course no crops could be raised;
and what was still more to be dreaded, they would murder all the whites
and set fire to the towns. Sometimes they would present the subject from
a benevolent point of view, and urge that it would be the greatest
unkindness to the <DW64>s to give them freedom; for when they had no
kind masters to take care of them they would certainly starve.

The slaves of course found out that something in their favor was going
on in England. They watched eagerly for the arrival of vessels; they
took notice of everything that was said; if they could get hold of a
scrap of newspaper they hid it away, and those who could read would read
it privately to the others. If their masters were unusually cross, or
swore more than common, they would wink at each other and say, "There's
good news for us from England."

The masters, on their part, watched the slaves closely. If they were
more silent than common, or if they appeared to be in better spirits
than common, they suspected them of plotting insurrections. But the
<DW64>s did more wisely than that. They believed that good people in
England were working for them, and they tried to be patient till they
were emancipated by law. There was but one exception to this. The
planters in Jamaica were more bitter and furious than in the other
islands. They formed societies to uphold Slavery, and made flaming
speeches against the people and Parliament of Great Britain for "setting
the slaves loose upon them," as they called it. They did not reflect
that their <DW52> servants, as they passed in and out, heard this
violent language and had sense enough to draw conclusions from it. But
they did draw from it a conclusion very dangerous to their masters. They
had heard talk of emancipation for several years, and it seemed to them
that the promised freedom was a long time coming. In 1832, the speeches
of the planters were so furious against the doings in Parliament, that
the slaves received the idea that the British government had already
passed laws for their freedom, and that their masters were cheating them
out of the legal rights that had been granted them. It was a sad mistake
for the poor fellows, and brought a great deal of suffering upon
themselves and others. They rose in insurrection, and it is said
destroyed property to the amount of six millions of dollars. But instead
of being protected by the British government, as they had expected,
soldiers were sent over to put down the insurrection, and many of the
<DW64>s were shot and hung.

Meanwhile their friends in England were working for them zealously. They
published pamphlets and papers and made speeches, and urgently
petitioned Parliament to "let the people go." One petition alone was
signed by eight hundred thousand women. One of the members, pointing to
the enormous roll, said: "There is no use in trying longer to resist the
will of the people. When all the women in Great Britain are knocking at
the doors of Parliament, something must be done."

The government and the aristocracy were very reluctant to comply with
the demand of the people. But at last, after eleven years of more
violent struggle than it had taken to suppress the African slave-trade,
Slavery itself was abolished in the British West Indies forever. The
decree was to go into effect on the 1st day of August, 1834. Up to the
very last day, the planters persisted in saying that the measure would
ruin the islands. They said the emancipated slaves would do no work, but
would go round in large gangs, robbing, stealing, murdering the whites,
burning the houses, and destroying the fields of sugar-cane. If the
<DW64>s had been revengeful, they might have done a great deal of
mischief; for there were five times as many <DW52> people in the
islands as there were whites. But they were so thankful to get their
freedom at last, that there was no room in their hearts for bad
feelings. The tears were in their eyes as they told each other the good
news, and said, "Bress de Lord and de good English people."

But many of the masters really believed their own alarming prophesies.
When they found that emancipation could not be prevented, numbers left
the islands. Some of those who remained did not dare to undress and go
to bed on the night of the 31st of July; and those who tried to sleep
were generally restless and easily startled.

But while masters and mistresses were dreading to hear screams and
alarms of fire, their emancipated slaves were flocking to the churches
to offer up prayers and hymns of thanksgiving.

In the island of Antigua there were thirty thousand slaves when the
midnight clock began to strive twelve, on the 31st of July, 1834; and
when it had done striking they were all free men and free women. It was
a glorious moment, never to be forgotten by them during the remainder of
their lives. The Wesleyan Methodists kept watch-night in all their
chapels. One of the missionaries who exhorted the emancipated people and
prayed with them thus described the solemn scene:--

"The spacious house was filled with the candidates for liberty. All was
animation and eagerness. A mighty chorus of voices swelled the song of
expectation and joy; and as they united in prayer, the voice of the
leader was drowned in the universal acclamations of thanksgiving and
praise and blessing and honor and glory to God, who had come down for
their deliverance. In such exercises the evening was spent, until the
hour of twelve approached. The missionary then proposed that when the
cathedral clock should begin to strike, the whole congregation should
fall on their knees, and receive the boon of freedom in silence.
Accordingly, as the loud bell tolled its first note, the crowded
assembly prostrated themselves. All was silence, save the quivering,
half-stifled breath of the struggling spirit. Slowly the tones of the
clock fell upon the waiting multitude. Peal on peal, peal on peal,
rolled over the prostrate throng, like angels' voices, thrilling their
weary heartstrings. Scarcely had the _last_ tone sounded, when
lightning flashed vividly, and a loud peal of thunder rolled through the
sky. It was God's pillar of fire. His trump of jubilee. It was followed
by a moment of profound silence. Then came the outburst. They shouted
'Glory! Hallelujah!' They clapped their hands, they leaped up, they fell
down, they clasped each other in their free arms, they cried, they
laughed, they went to and fro, throwing upward their unfettered hands.
High above all, a mighty sound ever and anon swelled up. It was the
utterance of gratitude to God.

"After this gush of excitement had spent itself, the congregation became
calm, and religious exercises were resumed. The remainder of the night
was spent in singing and prayer, in reading the Bible, and in addresses
from the missionaries, explaining the nature of the freedom just
received, and exhorting the people to be industrious, steady, and
obedient to the laws, and to show themselves in all things worthy of the
high boon God had conferred upon them.

"The 1st of August came on Friday; and a release from all work was
proclaimed until the next Monday. The great mass of the <DW64>s spent
the day chiefly in the churches and chapels. The clergy and missionaries
throughout the island actively seized the opportunity to enlighten the
people on all the duties and responsibilities of their new relation. The
day was like a Sabbath. A Sabbath, indeed, when 'the wicked ceased from
troubling and the weary were at rest.'

"The most kindly of the planters went to the chapels where their own
people were assembled, and shook hands with them, and exchanged hearty
good wishes.

"At Grace Hill, a Moravian missionary station, the emancipated <DW64>s
begged to have a sunrise meeting on the 1st of August, as they had been
accustomed to have at Easter; and as it was the Easter morning of their
freedom, the request was granted. The people all dressed in white, and
walked arm in arm to the chapel. There a hymn of thanksgiving was sung
by the whole congregation kneeling. The singing was frequently
interrupted by the tears and sobs of the melted people, until finally
they were overwhelmed by a tumult of emotion.

"There was not a single dance by night or day; not even so much as a
fiddle played. There were no drunken carousals, no riotous assemblies.
The emancipated were as far from dissipation and debauchery as they were
from violence and carnage. Gratitude was the absorbing emotion. From the
hill-tops and the valleys the cry of a disenthralled people went upward,
like the sound of many waters: 'Glory to God! Glory to God!'"

Mr. Bleby, one of the Methodist missionaries in Jamaica, thus describes
the same night in that island:--

"The church where the emancipated people assembled, at ten o'clock at
night, was very large; but the aisles, the gallery stairs, the
communion-place, the pulpit stairs, were all crowded; and there were
thousands of people round the building, at every open door and window,
looking in. We thought it right and proper that our Christian people
should receive their freedom as a boon from God, in the house of prayer;
and we gathered them together in the church for a midnight service. Our
mouths had been closed about Slavery up to that time. We could not quote
a passage that had reference even to _spiritual_ emancipation, without
endangering our lives. The planters had a law of 'constructive treason,'
that doomed any man to death who made use of language tending to excite
a desire for liberty among the slaves; and they found treason in the
Bible and sedition in the hymns of Watts and Wesley, and we had to be
very careful how we used them. You may imagine with what feelings I saw
myself emancipated from this thraldom, and free to proclaim 'liberty to
the captive, and the opening of prison doors to them that were bound.' I
took for my text, 'Proclaim liberty throughout all the land, unto all
the inhabitants thereof. It shall be a jubilee unto you.'

"A few minutes before midnight, I requested all the people to kneel down
in silent prayer to God, as befitting the solemnity of the hour. I
looked down upon them as they knelt. The silence was broken only by sobs
of emotion, which it was impossible to repress. The clock began to
strike. It was the knell of Slavery in all the British possessions! It
proclaimed liberty to eight hundred thousand human beings! When I told
them they might rise, what an outburst of joy there was among that mass
of people! The clock had ceased to strike, and they were slaves no
longer! Mothers were hugging their babes to their bosoms, old
white-headed men embracing their children and husbands clasping their
wives in their arms. By and by all was still again, and I gave out a
hymn. You may imagine the feelings with which these people, just
emerging into freedom, shouted

    'Send the glad tidings o'er the sea!
    His chains are broke, the slave is free!'"

But though the dreaded 1st of August passed away so peacefully and
pleasantly, the planters could not get rid of the idea that their
laborers would not work after they were free. Mr. Daniell, who managed
several estates in Antigua, talking of the subject, two years
afterward, with an American gentleman from Kentucky, said: "I expected
some irregularities would follow such a prodigious change in the
condition of the <DW64>s. I supposed there would be some relaxation from
labor during the week that followed emancipation; but on Monday morning,
I found all my hands in the field, not one missing. The same day I
received a message from another estate, of which I was proprietor, that
the <DW64>s, to a man, had refused to go into the field. I immediately
rode to the estate, and found the laborers, with hoes in their hands,
doing nothing. Accosting them in a friendly manner, I inquired, 'What is
the meaning of this? How is it that you are not at work this morning?'
They immediately replied, 'It's not because we don't want to work,
massa; but we wanted to see you, first and foremost, to know what the
_bargain_ would be.' As soon as that matter was settled, the whole body
of <DW64>s turned out cheerfully." Another manager declared that the
largest gang he had ever seen in the field, on his property, turned out
the week after emancipation. And such in fact was the universal
testimony of the managers throughout Antigua.

In the days of Slavery, it had always been customary to order out the
militia during the Christmas holidays, when the <DW64>s were in the
habit of congregating in large numbers, to enjoy the festivities of the
season. But the December after emancipation, the Governor issued a
proclamation, that, "_in consequence of the abolition of Slavery_,"
there was no further need of taking that precaution. And it is a fact
that there have been no soldiers out at Christmas from that day to this.

Unfortunately the British government had been so far influenced by the
representations of the planters, that the plan of emancipation they
adopted was a gradual one. All children under six years old were
unconditionally free, the magistrates alone had power to punish, and no
human being could be sold. But the slaves, under the new name of
apprentices, were obliged to work for their masters six years longer
without wages, except one day and a half in the week, which the law
decreed should be their own. The number of hours they were to work each
day was also stipulated by law. This was certainly a great improvement
in their condition; but it was not all they had expected. They were
peaceable, and worked more cheerfully than they had done while they were
slaves; for now a definite date was fixed when they should own all their
time, and they knew that every week brought them nearer to it. Still
they felt that entire justice had not been done to them. Sometimes white
men asked them if they would work when they were entirely free. They
answered, "In Slavery time we work; now we work better; den how you tink
we work when we _free_, when we get _paid_ for work!" Sometimes people
said to them, "I suppose you expect to do just as you please when you
are your own masters?" They replied: "We 'spect to 'bey de law. In oder
countries where dey is all free dey hab de law. We couldn't get along
widout de law. In Slavery time, massa would sometimes slash we when we
do as well as we could; but de law don't do harm to anybody dat behaves
himself. 'Prenticeship is bad enough; but we know de law make it so, and
for peace' sake we will be satisfy. But we murmur in we minds."

In the island of Antigua, planters rejected the plan of apprenticeship.
They said, "If the <DW64>s _must_ be free, let them be free at once,
without any more fuss and trouble." The result proved that they judged
wisely for their own interest, as well as for the comfort and
encouragement of their laborers. When the <DW64>s found that they were
paid for every day's work, they put their whole hearts into it. So
zealous were they to earn wages, that they sometimes worked by
moonlight, or by the light of fires kindled among the dry cane-stalks.
In all respects, the change from the old order of things to the new went
on more smoothly in Antigua than it did anywhere else.

In the islands where apprenticeship was tried, the irritability of the
masters made it work worse than it would otherwise have done. All that
most of them seemed to care for was to get as much work out of their
servants as they could, during the six years that they were to work
without wages, and it vexed them that they could not use the lash
whenever they pleased. They took away various little privileges which
they had been accustomed to grant; while during four days and a half of
the week the apprentices received no wages to compensate them for the
loss of those privileges. Being deprived of the power to sell the
children, they refused to supply them with any food. In fact, they
contrived every way to make the <DW52> people think they had better
have remained slaves. But if they called out, "Work faster, you black
rascal, or I'll flog you!" the apprentices would sometimes lose
patience, and answer, "You can't flog we now." That would make the
master very angry, and he would send the apprentice to a magistrate to
be punished for impudence. The magistrates were the associates of the
planters; they ate their good dinners, and rode about in their
carriages. Consequently, they were more inclined to believe them than
they were to believe their servants. The laborers became so well aware
of this, that they were accustomed to say to each other, "It's of no use
for us to apply to the magistrates. They are so poisoned by massa's
turtle-soup." It has been computed by missionaries that, in the course
of two years, sixty thousand apprentices received, among them all, two
hundred and fifty thousand lashes, besides fifty thousand other
legalized punishments, such as the tread-mill and the chain-gang.

The planters were full of complaints to travellers who visited the West
Indies. If they were asked, "Why don't you emancipate your laborers
entirely, and give them wages, as they do in Antigua,--they have no such
troubles there?" the prejudiced men would shake their heads and answer:
"<DW64>s will not work without being flogged. We must get what we can
out of them before 1840; for when they are their own masters they will
rob, murder, or starve, rather than labor."

Planters who manifested a more kind and considerate disposition had
pleasanter relations with their servants, and they never found any
difficulty in procuring as much labor as they wanted. Some made it easy
for their apprentices to buy the remainder of their time; and it was
soon observed that those who owned all their time worked faster and
better than those who were without that stimulus. The idea gained ground
that unconditional emancipation would be better both for masters and
servants. The Marquis of Sligo, the humane Governor of Jamaica, set a
good example by emancipating all his apprentices. People in England
began to petition Parliament to abolish the apprenticeship, on the
ground that it proved unsatisfactory and troublesome to all parties. The
result was that all the apprentices in the British West Indies were
made entirely free on the 1st of August, 1838. Mr. Phillippo, a Baptist
missionary in Jamaica, thus describes the observance of the day in that
island: "On the preceding evening, the missionary stations throughout
the island were crowded with people, filling all the places of worship.
They remained at their devotions till the day of liberty dawned, when
they saluted it with joyous acclamations. Then they dispersed through
the towns and villages, singing 'God save the queen,' and rending the
air with their shouts,--'Freedom's come!' 'We're free! we're free!' 'Our
wives and children are free!' During the day, the places of worship were
crowded to suffocation. The scenes presented exceeded all description.
Joyous excitement pervaded the whole island. At Spanish Town, the
Governor, Sir Lionel Smith, addressed the emancipated people, who formed
a procession of seven thousand, and escorted the children of the
schools, about two thousand in number, to the Government House. They
bore banners and flags with various inscriptions, of which the following
are samples: 'Education, Religion, and Social Order'; 'August First,
1838,--the Day of our Freedom'; 'Truth and Justice have at last
prevailed.' The children sang before the Government House, and his
Excellency made a speech characterized by simplicity and kindness, which
was received with enthusiastic cheers. The procession then escorted
their pastor to his house. In front of the Baptist Chapel were three
triumphal arches, decorated with leaves and flowers, and surmounted by
flags bearing the inscriptions, 'Freedom has come!' 'Slavery is no
more!' 'The chains are broken, Africa is free!' There were many flags
bearing the names of their English benefactors,--Clarkson, Wilberforce,
Sligo, Thompson, etc. When these were unfurled, the enthusiasm of the
multitude rose to the highest pitch. For nearly an hour the air rang
with exulting shouts, in which the shrill voices of two thousand
children joined, singing, 'We're free! we're free!' Several of the
kindly disposed planters gave rural _fetes_ to the laborers. Long tables
were spread in the lawns, arches of evergreens were festooned with
flowers, and on the trees floated banners bearing the names of those who
had been most conspicuous in bringing about this blessed result. Songs
were sung, speeches made, prayers offered, and a plentiful repast eaten."
Mr. Phillippo says: "The conduct of the newly emancipated peasantry
would have done credit to Christians of the most civilized country in
the world. They were clean in their persons, and neat in their attire.
Their behavior was modest, unassuming, and decorous in a high degree.
There was no crowding, no vulgar familiarity, but all were courteous and
obliging to each other, as members of one harmonious family. There was
no dancing, gambling, or carousing. All seemed to have a sense of the
obligations they owed to their masters, to each other, and to the civil
authorities. The masters who were present at these _fetes_ congratulated
their former dependents on the boon they had received, and hopes were
mutually expressed that all past differences and wrongs might be
forgiven."

On some of the estates where these festivals were held the laborers,
with few individual exceptions, went to work as usual on the following
day. _Many of them gave their first week of free labor as an offering of
good-will to their masters._ Thus the period from which many of the
planters had apprehended the worst consequences passed away in peace and
harmony.

It is now twenty-seven years since the laborers in the British West
Indies have been made entirely free; and the missionaries, the
magistrates, and even the masters agree that the laborers are much more
faithful and industrious under the new system than they were under the
iron rule of Slavery. It is true, some of the old planters growled as
long as they lived. They had always predicted that freedom would bring
ruin on all classes, and it vexed them to see the <DW64>s behaving so
well. They, however, made the most of the fact that there was less sugar
made than in former years. It was their own fault. The emancipated
slaves wanted to stay and work on the plantations where they had always
lived. But the masters could not give up their old habits of meanness
and tyranny. Their laborers could scarcely support life with the very
small wages they received; and yet they took from them the little
patches of provision-ground which they had formerly had, and charged
them enormously high rent for their miserable little huts. It seemed as
if they wanted to drive them to robbery, that they might say, "We told
you it would be so, if you set them free."

But the freedmen disappointed them. Under all discouragements, they
persisted in behaving well. When they found that they could not get a
living on the old plantations where they wanted to stay, they went to
work on railroads, and wherever they could find employment. They laid up
as much as they could of their wages, and bought bits of land, on which
they built comfortable cabins for themselves, and laid out little
gardens. Their wives and children raised poultry and tended a cow, and
carried vegetables and butter and eggs to market, in baskets poised on
their heads. With the money thus earned they bought more land and added
to their little stock of furniture. Though the men received only from
eighteen to twenty-four cents a day, out of which they boarded
themselves, they were so industrious and saving that in four years the
freedmen in Jamaica alone had bought and paid for one hundred thousand
acres of land, and put up dwellings thereon. Mr. Phillippo states, that
during that time as many as two hundred new villages of freedmen were
formed. These villages generally received the names of benefactors, such
as Clarkson, Wilberforce, Thompson, &c. To their own little homes they
also gave names indicative of their gratitude and contentment. They
called them "Save Rent," "A Little of My Own," "Heart's Love," "Liberty
and Content," "Happy Retreat," "Jane's Delight," "Thank God to see It,"
&c.

Mr. Phillippo says:--

"These free villages are regularly laid out. The houses are small, many
of them built of stone or wood, with shingled roofs, green blinds, and
verandahs, to shield them from the sun. Most of them are neatly
thatched, and generally plastered and whitewashed both outside and in.
They now have looking-glasses, chairs, and side-boards decorated with
pretty articles of glass and crockery. Each dwelling has its little plot
of vegetables, generally neatly kept; and many of them have
flower-gardens in front, glowing with all the bright hues of the
tropics. The groups often presented are worthy of the painter's pencil
or the poet's song. Amid the stillness of a Sabbath evening, many
families, after their return from the house of God, may be seen gathered
together in the shadow of the trees, which overhang their cottages,
singing hymns, or listening to the reading of the Scriptures, with none
to molest or make them afraid."

Mr. Charles Tappan of Boston, who visited Jamaica several years after
emancipation, writes:--

"On landing at Kingston, I must confess I was half inclined to believe
the story so industriously circulated, that the emancipated slave is
more idle and vicious than any other of God's intelligent creatures; but
when I rode through the valleys and over the mountains, and found
everywhere an industrious, sober people, I concluded all the vagabonds
of the island had moved to the sea-shore, to pick up a precarious living
by carrying baggage, begging, &c.; and such, upon inquiry, I found to be
the fact. Wherever I went in the rural districts, I found contented men
and women, cultivating sugar-cane, and numerous vegetables and fruits,
on their own account. Their neat, well-furnished cottages compared well
with the dwellings of pioneers in our own country. I found in them
mahogany furniture, crockery and glass ware, and shelves of useful
books. I saw Africans, of unmixed blood, grinding their own sugar-cane
in their own mills, and making their own sugar.

"I attended a large meeting called to decide the question about inviting
a schoolmaster to settle among them. There was only one man who doubted
the expediency of taking the children from work and sending them to
school. One said, 'My little learning enabled me to see that a note,
given to me in payment for a horse was not written according to
contract.' Another said, 'I should have been wronged out of forty pounds
of coffee I sold in Kingston the other day, if I hadn't known how to
cipher.' Another said, 'I shall not have much property to leave my
children; but if they have learning they can get property.' Another
said, 'Those that can read will be more likely to get religion.' All
these people had been slaves, or were the children of slaves. I saw no
intoxicated person in Jamaica; and when it is considered that every man
there can make rum, it strikes me as very remarkable."

One of the most striking characteristics of this  peasantry is
their desire to obtain education for themselves and their children.
After a hard day's work, women would often walk miles, with babies in
their arms, to learn the alphabet. With the first money they can spare
they build school-houses and chapels and hire teachers. They also form
charitable societies and contribute money to help the aged and sick
among them. In the days of Slavery they herded together like animals;
but now it is considered disreputable and wrong to live together without
being married. In the days of Slavery they wore ragged and filthy
garments, but freedom has made them desirous of making a neat
appearance. Their working-clothes are generally well mended and clean,
and they keep a pretty suit to attend meeting and other festival
occasions. They are very careful of their best clothes. When they go to
dances, or social gatherings, they carry them in a basket, nicely folded
and covered up, and put them on when they arrive; and when they are
about to return home they again pack them up carefully. When they have
far to walk to meeting, over rough and dusty roads, they carry their
shoes and stockings till they come in sight of the church.

This is not at all like what the old planters prophesied, when they said
that if the <DW64>s were freed they would skulk in the woods and steal
yams to keep them from starving. But all that silly talk has passed
away. Everybody in the British West Indies acknowledges that
emancipation has proved a blessing both to the white and the black
population. There is not a planter to be found there who would restore
Slavery again, if his own wish could do it.

FOOTNOTE:

[7] The northern part of Great Britain is called Scotland, the southern
part England. The entire people are called British.




THE LAST NIGHT OF SLAVERY.

BY JAMES MONTGOMERY.


          Let the floods clap their hands!
            Let the mountains rejoice!
          Let all the glad lands
            Breathe a jubilant voice!
    The sun, that now sets on the waves of the sea,
    Shall gild with his rising the land of the free!

          Let the islands be glad!
            For their King in his might,
          Who his glory hath clad
            With a garment of light,
    In the waters the beams of his chambers hath laid,
    And in the green waters his pathway hath made.

          Dispel the blue haze,
            Golden Fountain of Morn!
          With meridian blaze
            The wide ocean adorn!
    The sunlight has touched the glad waves of the sea,
    And day now illumines the land of the FREE!




MADISON WASHINGTON.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.


This man was a slave, born in Virginia. His lot was more tolerable than
that of many who are doomed to bondage; but from his early youth he
always longed to be free. Nature had in fact made him too intelligent
and energetic to be contented in Slavery. Perhaps he would have
attempted to escape sooner than he did, had he not become in love with a
beautiful octoroon slave named Susan. She was the daughter of her
master, and the blood of the white race predominated in several of her
ancestors. Her eyes were blue, and her glossy dark hair fell in soft,
silky ringlets. Her lover was an unmixed black, and he also was
handsome. His features were well formed, and his large dark eyes were
very bright and expressive. He had a manly air, his motions were easy
and dignified, and altogether he looked like a being that would never
consent to wear a chain.

If he had hated Slavery before, he naturally hated it worse after he had
married Susan; for a handsome woman, who is a slave, is constantly
liable to insult and wrong, from which an enslaved husband has no power
to protect her. They laid plans to escape; but unfortunately their
intention was discovered before they could carry it into effect. To
avoid being sold to the far South, where he could have no hopes of ever
rejoining his beloved Susan, he ran to the woods, where he remained
concealed several months, suffering much from privation and anxiety. His
wife knew where he was, and succeeded in conveying some messages to him,
without being detected. She persuaded him not to wait for a chance to
take her with him, but to go to Canada and earn money enough to buy her
freedom, and then she would go to him.

He travelled only in the night, and by careful management, after a good
deal of hardship, he reached the Northern States, and passed into
Canada. There he let himself out to work on the farm of a man named
Dickson. He was so strong, industrious, intelligent, and well behaved,
that the farmer hoped to keep him a long time in his employ. He never
mentioned that he was born a slave; for the idea was always hateful to
him, and he thought also that circumstances might arise which would
render it prudent to keep his own secret. He showed little inclination
for conversation, and occupied every leisure moment in learning to read
and write. He remained there half a year, without any tidings from his
wife; for there are many difficulties in the way of slaves communicating
with each other at a distance. He became sad and restless. His employer
noticed it, and tried to cheer him up. One day he said to him: "Madison,
you seem to be discontented. What have you to complain of? Do you think
you are not treated well here? Or are you dissatisfied with the wages I
give you?"

"I have no complaint to make of my treatment, sir," replied Madison.
"You have been just and kind to me; and since you manifest so much
interest in me, I will tell you what it is that makes me so gloomy."

He then related his story, and told how his heart was homesick for his
dear Susan. He said she was so handsome that they would ask a high price
for her, and he had been calculating that it would take him years to
earn enough to buy her; meanwhile, he knew not what might happen to her.
There was no law to protect a slave, and he feared all sorts of things;
especially, he was afraid they might sell her to the far South, where he
could never trace her. So he said he had made up his mind to go back to
Virginia and try to bring her away. Mr. Dickson urged him not to attempt
it. He reminded him of the dangers he would incur: that he would run a
great risk of getting back into Slavery, and that perhaps he himself
would be sold to the far South, where he never would be able to
communicate with his wife. But Madison replied, "I am well aware of
that, sir; but freedom does me no good unless Susan can share it with
me."

He accordingly left his safe place of refuge, and started for Virginia.
He had free-papers made out, which he thought would protect him till he
arrived in the neighborhood where he was known. He also purchased
several small files and saws, which he concealed in the lining of his
clothes. With these tools he thought he could effect his escape from
prison, if he should be taken up on the suspicion of being a runaway
slave. Passing through the State of Ohio, he met several who had
previously seen him on his way to Canada. They all tried to persuade him
not to go back to Virginia; telling him there were nine chances out of
ten that he would get caught and carried back into Slavery again. But
his answer always was, "Freedom does me no good while my wife is a
slave."

When he came to the region where he was known, he hid in woods and
swamps during the day, and travelled only in the night. At last he came
in sight of his master's farm, and hid himself in the woods near by.
There he remained several days, in a dreadful state of suspense and
anxiety. He could not contrive any means to obtain information
concerning his wife. He was afraid they might have sold her, for fear
she would follow him. He prowled about in the night, in hopes of seeing
some old acquaintance, who would tell him whether she was still at the
old place; but he saw no one whom he could venture to trust. At last
fortune favored him. One evening he heard many voices singing, and he
knew by their songs that they were slaves. As they passed up the road,
he came out from the woods and joined them. There were so many of them
that the addition of one more was not noticed. He found that they were
slaves from several plantations, who had permits from their masters to
go to a corn-shucking. They were merry, for they were expecting to have
a lively time and a comfortable supper. Being a moonless evening, they
could not see Madison's face, and he was careful not to let them
discover who he was. He went with them to the corn-shucking; and,
keeping himself in the shadow all the time, he contrived, in the course
of conversation, to find out all he wanted to know. Susan was not sold,
and she was living in the same house where he had left her. He was
hungry, for he had been several days without food, except such as he
could pick up in the woods; but he did not dare to show his face at the
supper, where dozens would be sure to recognize him. So he skulked away
into the woods again, happy in the consciousness that his Susan was not
far off.

He resolved to attempt to see her the next night. He was afraid to tap
at her window after all the people in the Great House were abed and
asleep; for, as she supposed he was in Canada, he thought she might be
frightened and call somebody. He therefore ventured to approach her room
in the evening. Unfortunately, the overseer saw him, and called a number
of whites, who rushed into the room just as he entered it. He fought
hard, and knocked down three of them in his efforts to escape. But they
struck at him with their bowie-knives till he was so faint with loss of
blood that he could resist no longer. They chained him and carried him
to Richmond, where he was placed in the jail. His prospects were now
dreary enough. His long-cherished hope of being reunited to his dear
wife vanished away in the darkness of despair.

There was a slave-trader in Richmond buying a gang of slaves for the
market of New Orleans. Madison Washington was sold to him, and carried
on board the brig Creole, owned by Johnson and Eperson, of Richmond, and
commanded by Captain Enson. The brig was lying at the dock waiting for
her cargo, which consisted of tobacco, hemp, flax, and slaves. There
were two separate cabins for the slaves: one for the men and the other
for the women. Some of the poor creatures belonged to Johnson and
Eperson, some to Thomas McCargo, and some to Henry Hewell. Each had a
little private history of separation and sorrow. There was many a
bleeding heart there, beside the noble heart that was throbbing in the
bosom of Madison Washington. His purchasers saw that he was intelligent,
and they knew that he was sold for having escaped to Canada. He was
therefore chained to the floor of the cabin and closely watched. He
seemed quiet and even cheerful, and they concluded that he was
reconciled to his fate. On the contrary, he was never further from such
a state of mind. He closely observed the slaves who were in the cabin
with him. His discriminating eye soon selected those whom he could
trust. To them he whispered that there were more than a hundred slaves
on board, and few whites. He had his saws and files still hidden in the
lining of his clothes. These were busily used to open their chains,
while the captain and crew were asleep. They still continued to wear
their chains, and no one suspected that they could slip their hands and
feet out at their pleasure.

When the Creole had been nine days out they encountered rough weather.
Most of the slaves were sea-sick, and therefore were not watched so
closely as usual. On the night of November 7, 1841, the wind was blowing
hard. The captain and mate were on deck, and nearly all the crew. Mr.
Henry Hewell, one of the owners of the cargo of slaves, who had formerly
been a slave-driver on a plantation, was seated on the companion,
smoking a cigar. The first watch had just been summoned, when Madison
Washington sprang on deck, followed by eighteen other slaves. They
seized whatever they could find to use as weapons. Hewell drew a pistol
from under his coat, fired at one of the slaves and killed him. Madison
Washington struck at him with a capstan-bar, and he fell dead at his
feet. The first and second mates both attacked Madison at once. His
strong arms threw them upon the deck wounded, but not killed. He fought
for freedom, not for revenge; and as soon as they had disarmed the
whites and secured them safely, he called out to his accomplices not to
shed blood. With his own hands he dressed the wounds of the crew, and
told them they had nothing to fear if they would obey his orders. The
man who had been a chained slave half an hour before was now master of
the vessel, and his grateful companions called him Captain Washington.
Being ignorant of navigation, he told Merritt, the first mate, that he
should have the freedom of the deck, if he would take an oath to carry
the brig faithfully into the nearest port of the British West Indies;
and he was afraid to do otherwise.

The next morning Captain Washington ordered the cook to prepare the best
breakfast the store-room could furnish, for it was his intention to give
all the freed slaves a good meal. The women, who had been greatly
frightened by the tumult the night before, were glad enough to come out
of their close cabin into the fresh air. And who do you think was among
them? Susan, the beautiful young wife of Madison, was there! She had
been accused of communicating with her husband in Canada, and being
therefore considered a dangerous person, she had been sold to the
slave-trader to be carried to the market of New Orleans. Neither of them
knew that the other was on board. With a cry of surprise and joy they
rushed into each other's arms. The freed slaves threw up their caps and
hurrahed again and again, till the sea-gulls wondered at the noise. O,
it was a joyful, joyful time! Captain Washington was repaid for all he
had suffered. He had gained his own liberty, after having struggled for
it in vain for years; he had freed a hundred and thirty-four of his
oppressed brethren and sisters; and he had his beloved Susan in his
arms, carrying her to a land where the laws would protect their domestic
happiness. He felt richer at that moment than any king with a golden
crown upon his head.

There had been but two lives lost. One white man was killed in the
affray, and he was the slave-driver who shot down one of the slaves.
Captain Enson and others who were wounded were kindly cared for by
Captain Washington. They proved ungrateful, and tried to regain
possession of the vessel and the slaves. The blacks were so exasperated
by this attempt, that they wanted to kill all the whites on board. But
Captain Washington called out to them: "We have got our liberty, and
that is all we have been fighting for. Let no more blood be shed! I have
promised to protect these men. They have shown that they are not worthy
of it; but let us be magnanimous."

Next morning the Creole arrived at Nassau, in the island of New
Providence. Captain Washington and his companions sprang out upon free
soil. There he and his beloved Susan are living under the protection of
laws which make no distinctions on account of complexion.




EXTRACT FROM THE VIRGINIA BILL OF RIGHTS.


"The election of members to serve as representatives of the people in
Assembly ought to be free; and all men having sufficient evidence of
permanent common interest with, and attachment to, the community have
the right of suffrage; and they cannot be taxed, or deprived of their
property for public uses, without their own consent, or that of their
representatives so elected; nor can they be bound by any law to which
they have not assented, in like manner, for the public good."

The Virginia Bill of Rights was unanimously adopted by the people, in
June, 1776; and when they met, in January, 1830, to amend the
constitution of the State, they voted that the Bill of Rights needed no
amendment.




PRAISE OF CREATION.

BY GEORGE HORTON.


    Creation fires my tongue!
      Nature, thy anthems raise,
    And spread the universal song
      Of thy Creator's praise.

    When each revolving wheel
      Assumed its sphere sublime,
    Submissive Earth then heard the peal,
      And struck the march of time.

    The march in heaven begun,
      And splendor filled the skies,
    When Wisdom bade the morning sun
      With joy from chaos rise.

    The angels heard the tune
      Throughout creation ring;
    They seized their golden harps as soon,
      And touched on every string.

    When time and space were young,
      And music rolled along,
    The morning stars together sung,
      And heaven was drowned in song.




FREDERICK DOUGLASS.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.


Captain Anthony owned two or three farms on the eastern shore of
Maryland, and held about thirty slaves. One of them, a black woman named
Betsy, married a free black man named Isaac Baily; and they had a
numerous family of children, all of whom were, of course, slaves to
Captain Anthony. When she became an old widow she lived in a hut
separate from the other slaves, and was principally employed in nursing
troops of babies, which her children brought into the world for the
benefit of their master. Somewhere about the year 1817, Harriet, the
youngest of her five daughters, gave birth to a boy, on whom she
bestowed the high-sounding name of Frederick Augustus Washington Baily.
As she could not be spared from field-work, baby Frederick joined the
band of little slaves that were under his grandmother's care. Her hut
was made of logs, with no windows, a clay floor, and a mud chimney. But
the children were as well satisfied with it as if it had been a palace.
They were too young to know that they were slaves, and they were as
happy as little wild animals. They imitated the noises made by cats,
dogs, pigs, and barn-yard fowls, and rolled over and over on the ground,
laughing at their own fun. If the mud or dust made them uncomfortable,
they walked into the river without undressing; for the short tow shirt,
which was their only garment, was washed by swimming, and soon dried in
the sunshine. There was a wood close by, and it was one of their
greatest pleasures to watch the squirrels as they frisked about, or sat
on the stumps eating nuts. Near the hut was a well, with its beam placed
between the boughs of an old tree, and so well balanced that the
children could easily help themselves to water. Down in a valley, not
far off, was a water-mill, where people went to get their corn ground.
It was capital sport to play at fishing in the mill-pond, with thread
lines, and hooks made of bent pins; and they were never tired of seeing
the big wheel turn round, throwing off great drops of water that
sparkled in the sunshine. They lived mostly on corn mush, which they ate
from a big wooden tray, with oyster-shells for spoons. But they were as
healthy as little pigs, and enjoyed their coarse food as well.

The greatest of their blessings was their good grandmother, who nursed
them kindly and did all she could to make them happy. They loved her
dearly; and when she was obliged to leave them for a short time, they
greeted her return with merry shouts. She was advanced in years, and the
hair that peeped from under the folds of her turban was very gray. But
she was remarkably strong for her age, straight in her figure, and quick
in her motions. She was very expert at catching fish, and sometimes
spent half the day in the water. She also made excellent nets to catch
shad and herring; and, as these nets sold extremely well, Captain
Anthony still found the old slave profitable. She had the name of being
born to good luck, because whatever business she undertook prospered in
her hands. She raised such excellent sweet potatoes that people often
sent for her to plant for them, saying, "If Gran'ma Betty touches them
they'll be sure to flourish." But the secret of her good luck was her
intelligence and carefulness. When she dug potatoes she took pains not
to cut or bruise them; and in winter she protected them from frost in a
hole under her hearth.

Freddy's poor mother was not allowed the comfort of being with her
child. She was let out to work in the fields, twelve miles off. Whenever
she went to see her little boy she had to walk over all those miles
twice in the night-time, after a hard day's work; for if she was not
back in the field by sunrise she was severely whipped. Freddy saw her
but four or five times, and never by daylight. Sometimes she would lie
down beside him and talk to him till he fell asleep, but when he woke
she was always gone. He always remembered that she once took him on her
knee and gave him a cake in the shape of a heart. Her rare visits made
such an impression on him that he never forgot her personal appearance.
She was tall and finely proportioned, with regular features and a deep
black glossy complexion. Her manners were very sedate, her countenance
downcast, and her eyes very sad. When he was nearly seven years old she
died; but he knew nothing about it till long afterward. In later years
he heard that she could read, and that she was the only one of all the
slaves in the neighborhood who possessed that advantage. He never
discovered how she had learned. When she died he was too young to have
heard anything from her lips concerning his father. He was always told
that he was the son of a white man, and some whispered the name of his
master. But he never knew who was his father, and could only conjecture
why the eyes of his poor mother had such a sad expression.

Captain Anthony did not carry on any of his own farms. He employed
overseers for that purpose; and however cruelly the slaves might be
treated by the overseers, they never could obtain any protection by
applying to the "old master," as they called him. All the interest he
took in them was to have as much work as possible forced out of them,
and to sell one every year to add to his income. He himself managed the
affairs of Colonel Lloyd, a wealthy gentleman with numerous plantations
and a thousand slaves. His home-plantation, on the river Miles, where he
resided with his family, was about twelve miles from the hut where
Frederick had been nursed. His manager, Captain Anthony, lived in a
house on the same plantation, and was personally a stranger to his own
little slaves. But the children had seen and heard of things which made
the name of the "old master" a terror to them. Frederick's first great
trouble was when he discovered that he was a slave, and that, as soon as
he was big enough to work, he would have to go to "old master." Nothing
could exceed his dread of leaving the dear old home, and being separated
from the kind friend of his childhood. When he was about eight years
old, Captain Anthony sent for him; but his grandmother kept it a secret,
knowing how it would frighten him. One bright summer morning she told
him she was going to Colonel Lloyd's plantation, and invited him to go
with her. He had a curiosity to see the grand place of which he had
heard so much; so she took him by the hand and led him away from the
happy home of his childhood, to which he never returned. She carefully
concealed from him how her heart was swelling, and her tender ways did
not lead him to suspect it. When the unconscious little boy began to be
overcome with fatigue she "toted" him on her strong shoulders. She
scarcely seemed to feel the burden, and insisted upon carrying him a
long way; but he felt too much of a man to permit it. He was, however,
a little afraid as they walked through the thick, dark woods; for
sometimes the old knotted and gnarled stumps, when seen from a distance,
looked like creatures with eyes and legs; and he kept a tight hold of
her gown till the monstrous things were safely passed.

It was afternoon before they reached the famous Home Plantation of
Colonel Lloyd. There he found everything very different from the
solitude and poverty to which he had been accustomed. The plantation
seemed like a village, there were so many large houses, and stables, and
out-buildings, and mechanics' shops, and such a long row of huts for the
"slaves' quarters." Children were shouting and singing, and a great many
men and women were hoeing in the fields. The children came crowding
round Frederick, and asked him to go and play with them. He looked in
his grandmother's face, and seeing that she seemed very sad, he begun to
suspect that he was going to live with the "old master." He was
unwilling to lose sight of her for a moment; but she patted him on the
head, and said, "Be a good boy, and go and play with the children. That
one is your brother Perry, that is your sister Sarah, and that is your
sister Eliza." He had heard of these brothers and sisters before, but he
had never seen them, and they seemed like strangers. He kept close to
his grandmother; but at last she persuaded him to follow the children to
the back part of the house. He felt so shy that he stood leaning against
the wall, looking on, while the others played. After a while, a little
boy, who had been left in the kitchen, ran up to him, exclaiming, "Fed!
Fed! Grandmammy's gone!" He rushed after her, and when he found that she
was gone far out of sight, he threw himself on the ground and sobbed.
His brother and sisters brought him peaches and pears, but he flung them
away, and continued sobbing, till, overcome with sorrow and fatigue, he
fell into a deep sleep.

As Colonel Lloyd's plantation was not near any town, the barrels,
wheels, shoes, and cloth that were needed by the numerous slaves were
manufactured by themselves. Large crops of grain and tobacco were raised
and shipped for Baltimore. All the business of twenty or thirty other
farms was transacted at this plantation, which was distinguished by the
name of "The Great House Farm"; and as Captain Anthony was overseer of
all the overseers, he was kept very busy all the time. He took no notice
of Freddy at first, but when told who the newcomer was, he patted him on
the head and said, "You are my little Indian boy." Occasionally when he
met him he would speak affectionately to him; but he was a
violent-tempered man, and Freddy soon learned to watch him closely when
he saw him coming. If he was shaking his head or muttering to himself,
he hastened to get out of his way, lest he should catch a blow without
knowing what it was for. The slave children had no one to care for them
but cross Katy, the cook, who cuffed them about, and kept all, except
her own children, in such a half-starved condition, that Freddy often
had a tussle with the dogs and cats for the bones that were thrown to
them. Summer and winter, they had no clothing but a coarse tow shirt
that reached to the knees. They were provided with two a year; and if
they wore out before allowance-day came round, they went naked. They
slept anywhere on the floor without covering. Freddy suffered much from
cold. His naked feet were cracked open in great gashes in the winter.
When he could get a chance, he would creep into the meal-bag at night.
So much for the care taken of their bodies; and it fared no better with
their souls. All the instruction they received was from Uncle Isaac, a
crippled slave, who, being unable to work, taught the children to say
the Lord's Prayer after him by rote, and switched them whenever they
made a mistake.

But Freddy was at an age to bear privations and troubles lightly, and to
enjoy thoughtlessly whatever pleasant things came in his way. He had
never seen anything so grand as The Great House, in which Colonel Lloyd
resided. It was a large white building, with piazza and columns in
front, surrounded by arbors, and grain-houses, and turkey-houses, and
pigeon-houses, interspersed with grand old trees. There was an extensive
lawn, kept as smooth as velvet, and ornamented with flowering shrubs.
The carriage-road to and from the house made a circle round the lawn,
and was paved with white pebbles from the beach. Outside of this
enclosed space were extensive parks, where rabbits, deer, and other wild
animals frisked about. Flocks of red-winged blackbirds made the trees
look gay, and filled the air with melody. Vessels on their way to
Baltimore were continually in sight, and a sloop belonging to Colonel
Lloyd lay in the river, with its pretty little boat bobbing about in the
sparkling water. There was a windmill not far off, and the little slaves
were never tired of watching the great wings go whirling round. There
was a creek to swim in, and crabs and clams and oysters to be got by
wading and digging and raking for them. Freddy was glad enough to catch
them when he had a chance, for he never had half enough to eat. He had
one friend at The Great House. Daniel Lloyd, the Colonel's youngest
son, liked to have him assist in his sports. He protected him when
bigger boys wanted to make war upon him, and sometimes he gave him a
cake. Captain Anthony's family consisted of a son, Andrew, and a
daughter, Lucretia, who had married Captain Thomas Auld. Mrs. Lucretia
took a fancy to bright little Freddy. She liked to hear him sing, and
often spoke a kind word to him. This emboldened him so much, that when
he was very hungry he would go and sing under the window where she sat
at work, and she would generally give him a piece of bread, sometimes
with butter on it. That was a great treat for a boy who was fed all the
time on corn mush, and could not get half enough of that. His business
was to clean the front yard, to keep fowls out of the garden, to drive
the cows home from pasture, and to run of errands. He had a good deal of
time to play with his little relatives, and with the young slaves at
Colonel Lloyd's, who called him "Captain Anthony Fed." He was such a
mere boy, that it is no wonder so many new people and things soon cured
him of homesickness for his grandmother, who could very seldom get time
to trudge twelve miles to see him.

But though his slave-life was not without gleams of enjoyment, he saw
and heard much that was painful. At one time he would see Colonel Lloyd
compel a faithful old slave get down upon his knees to be flogged for
not keeping the hair of his horses sufficiently smooth. At another time,
the overseer would shoot a slave dead for refusing to come up to be
whipped. Ever and anon some of them were sold to Georgia slave-traders,
and there was weeping and wailing in the families they left behind. On
the premises of his own master, he was not unfrequently wakened in the
night by the screams and groans of slaves who were being lashed. One of
Captain Anthony's slaves, named Esther, was the sister of Freddy's
mother. She had a pretty face and a graceful shape. She and a handsome
young slave of Colonel Lloyd's were much attached, and wished to marry.
But her old master, for reasons of his own, forbade her to see her
lover, and if he suspected them of meeting he would abuse the poor girl
in a most shocking manner. Freddy was too young at the time to
understand the full significance of this cruel treatment; but when he
thought of it in after years, it explained to him why his poor mother
had always looked so downcast and sad. As for himself, he managed to
escape very severe punishment, though Captain Anthony not unfrequently
whipped him for some carelessness or mischief. But when he saw the
plantation-laborers, even of so rich a man as Colonel Lloyd, driven out
to toil from early morning to dusk, shivering in the cold winds, or
dripping with rain, with no covering but a few coarse tow rags, he could
not help thinking that such was likely to be his fate when he was older.
Young as he was, he had a great dread of being a field-hand. Therefore
he was rejoiced when Mrs. Lucretia told him he was to be sent to
Baltimore, to live with her husband's brother, Mr. Hugh Auld. She told
him if he would make himself very clean, she would give him a pair of
new trousers. The prospect of exchanging his little tow shirt for new
trousers delighted him so much that he was ready to scrub his skin off
to obtain them. He was, moreover, very eager to see Baltimore; for
slaves who had been there told fine stories about the grand houses and
the multitude of ships. He had been only two years at Captain Anthony's,
and he had formed no attachment so strong as that he had felt for his
old grandmother. It was with a joyful heart that he went forth to view
the wonders of the city. When he arrived in Baltimore, his new mistress
met him at the door with a pleasant smile. She said to her son, "There's
little Freddy, who has come to take care of you"; and to him she said,
"You must be kind to little Tommy." Mrs. Sophia Auld had earned her own
living before her marriage, and she had not yet acquired the ways of
slaveholders toward servants. While her own little Tommy was on her
knee, Freddy was often seated by her side, and sometimes her soft hand
would rest upon his head in a kind, motherly way. He had never been
treated so since he left his good old grandmother. In a very short time
he loved her with all his heart, and was eager to do anything to please
her. It was his business to go of errands and take care of Tommy. The
boys became as much attached to each other as if they were brothers.
There was nothing to remind Freddy of being a slave. He had plenty of
wholesome food to eat, clean clothes to wear, and a good straw bed with
warm covering. Mrs. Auld was much in the habit of singing hymns and
reading the Bible aloud; and Freddy, who was not at all afraid of "Miss
Sophy," as he called her, said to her one day that he wished she would
teach him to read. She consented; and he was so quick at learning that
he was soon able to spell small words. His kind mistress was so much
pleased with his progress, that she told her husband about it, and
remarked, with much satisfaction, that Freddy would soon be able to read
the Bible. Mr. Auld was displeased, and forbade her giving any more
lessons. "It is contrary to law to teach a <DW65> to read," said he. "It
is unsafe, and can only lead to mischief. If you teach him to read the
Bible, it will make him discontented, and there will be no keeping him.
Next thing, he will be wanting to learn to write; and then he'll be
running away with himself." This was said in the presence of Freddy, and
it set his active mind to thinking. He had often before wondered why
black children were born to be slaves; and now he heard his master say
that if he learned to read it would spoil him for a slave. He resolved
that he _would_ learn to read. He carried a spelling-book in his pocket
when he went of errands, and persuaded some of the white boys who played
with him to give him a lesson now and then. He was soon able to read.
With some money that he earned for himself, he bought a book called "The
Columbian Orator." It contained many speeches about liberty. The reading
of them made him discontented. He was no longer light-hearted and full
of fun. He became thoughtful and serious. When he played with white
boys, he would ask, "Why haven't I as good a right to be free, and go
where I please, as you have?" And sometimes a generous-hearted boy would
answer, "I believe, Fred, you _have_ just as good a right to be free as
I have."

He knew that his present situation was uncommonly favorable; but the
idea of being a slave for life became more and more hateful to him. He
had not been in Baltimore quite four years when an event occurred which
proved to him the extreme uncertainty of a slave's condition, even when
circumstances seemed the most favorable. His old master, Captain
Anthony, died; and his slaves were to be divided between his son Andrew
and his daughter Mrs. Lucretia Auld. Frederick was in terror lest it
should be decided that he belonged to Andrew, who was a confirmed
drunkard, and excessively cruel to the slaves. It was a month before the
division of the estate was decided by law; and the anxiety of his mind
was so great that it seemed to him half a year. He felt as if saved from
sentence of death, when he was informed that he belonged to Mrs.
Lucretia, who had been kind to him in his hungry boyhood. As she had no
occasion for his services, it was agreed that he should remain in Mr.
Hugh Auld's family; a circumstance which pleased Master Tom and his
mother about as much as it did Freddy.

But in a short time he was again painfully reminded of the uncertainty
of his condition. Mrs. Lucretia and her brother Andrew both died, each
of them leaving one child. Neither Captain Anthony nor his children left
any of the slaves free. Even Frederick's old grandmother, who had nursed
her master when he was a baby, waited upon him through his boyhood,
worked faithfully for him during all her life, and reared up a multitude
of children and grandchildren to toil for him,--even she was left in
Slavery, with no provision made for her. The children she had tended so
lovingly were sold, or let out in distant places; all were unable to
write to inform her where they had gone; all were unable to help her,
because they were not allowed to have their own earnings. When her old
master and his children were dead, the owners of the property thought
Gran'ma Betty was too old to be of any further use; so they put up a hut
with a mud chimney in the woods, and left her there to find food for
herself as she could, with no mortal to render her any service in her
dying hour. This brutal proceeding increased the bitterness of
Frederick's feeling against Slavery.

By the blessing of God the consolations of religion came to him, and
enabled him to look beyond this troubled and transitory world. A pious
<DW52> man, called Uncle Lawson, became interested in him. They
attended prayer-meetings together, and Frederick often went to his house
on Sundays. They had refreshing times together, reading the Bible,
praying, and singing hymns. Uncle Lawson saw that his young friend had
uncommon intelligence, and he often said to him, "The Lord has a great
work for you to do, and you must prepare yourself for it." Frederick
replied that he did not see how a slave could prepare himself for any
great work; but the pious old man always answered, "Trust in the Lord.
He will bring it about in his own good time. You must go on reading and
studying Scripture." This prophecy inspired him with hope, and he seized
every opportunity to improve himself. But he had many obstacles to
contend with. His master, Mr. Hugh Auld, was made irritable by an
increasing love for brandy. When he found out that Frederick read and
spoke at religious meetings, he threatened to flog him if he continued
to do it. His kind mistress, who used to pat him on the head and call
him "Little Freddy," was changed by the habit of having slaves and
talking with slaveholders. The pleasant, motherly expression of her face
had become severe. She watched Frederick very closely, and if she caught
him with a book or newspaper in his hand, she would rush at him in a
great rage and snatch it away. Master Tommy had grown to be a tall lad,
and began to feel that he was born to be a master and Fred to be a
slave. Frederick would probably have tried to run away, had it not been
for the friendships he had formed for Uncle Lawson and the religious
young men he met at the meetings. Notwithstanding his master's threat,
he contrived to find opportunities to read and pray with good Uncle
Lawson; and it had a blessed influence on his spirit, making him feel at
peace with all men. Now that he had a taste of knowledge, it was
impossible to prevent his getting more. His master sent him of errands
to the shipyard almost daily. He noticed that the carpenters marked
their boards with letters. He asked the name of the letters, and copied
them with a bit of chalk. When the family went from home, he diligently
copied from the writing-books Master Tommy had brought from school; and
his zeal was so great that in a short time he could write as well as his
master. He picked up bits of newspapers wherever he could find them, and
he listened attentively when he heard slaveholders talking about the
Northern States and cursing the Abolitionists. He did not at first know
what was the meaning of "abolitionists"; but when he read in a newspaper
that petitions were sent into Congress for the abolition of Slavery,
light dawned upon him. He told trustworthy  friends about it, and
they were comforted by the thought that there were people at the North
trying to help them out of bondage.

But a new blow fell upon him. Captain Thomas Auld married again, after
the death of his wife Mrs. Lucretia, and removed to St. Michael's,--an
old village, the principal business of which was oyster fishing. He got
into a quarrel with his brother, Mr. Hugh Auld of Baltimore, and
demanded that Frederick should be sent back to him. So he was put on
board a ship for St. Michael's. When swift steamboats on their way to
Philadelphia passed the sloop that carried him, he bitterly regretted
that he had not escaped to the Free States from Baltimore, where he
could have had so many more opportunities for doing it than he could at
the old fishing-village. Captain Thomas Auld and his new wife were both
great professors of religion. He was an exhorter and class-leader in the
Methodist Church. But their religion was not of a kind that taught them
humanity to their fellow-creatures. They worked their slaves very hard,
and kept them half fed and half clothed. Scolding and flogging were
going on incessantly. Frederick soon discovered that they were violently
opposed to <DW52> people's knowing how to read; but when a pious young
man in the neighborhood asked him to assist in a Sunday school for
<DW52> children, he resolved to seize the opportunity of being useful.
When his master found out what he was doing, he was very angry; and the
next Sunday he and two other Methodist class-leaders went to the school,
armed with clubs and whips, and drove off both teachers and scholars. It
was agreed that Frederick had been spoiled by living in Baltimore, and
that it was necessary to cure him of his dangerous thirst for knowledge.
For that purpose he was sent to a famous "<DW64>-breaker" in the
neighborhood named Covey. He was a great professor of religion, but a
monster of cruelty. Frederick was almost killed by hard labor, and not a
week passed without his being cruelly cut up with the whip. Escape was
impossible, for Covey was on the watch at all times of day and night.
Six months of such treatment wellnigh crushed all manhood out of him.
But cruelty was carried so far that at last he became desperate, and
when his master attempted to beat him, he struggled with him and threw
him down. He expected to be hung for it, according to the laws of
Maryland; but Covey prided himself on his reputation as a
"<DW64>-breaker," and he was ashamed to have it known that he had been
conquered by a lad of seventeen. Frederick's time was not out for six
months longer, but Covey never attempted to whip him again.

The next two years Frederick was let out to do field-work for Mr.
Freeland, who fed his slaves well, and never worked them beyond their
strength. Some of his slaves were intelligent, and desirous to learn to
read. On Sundays they had meetings in the woods, and twenty or thirty
young men were taught by Frederick. After a while they formed a plan of
escaping in a canoe. But some unknown men excited suspicion against
them, and they were seized and thrust into prison. They kept their
secrets so well, however, that no proof could be obtained against them,
and they were released without even a whipping. But some of the
neighboring slaveholders said Frederick was a dangerous fellow; that he
knew too much,--they would not have him tampering with their slaves; and
if he was not sent out of the neighborhood they would shoot him. Captain
Thomas Auld talked of selling him to Alabama; but he finally concluded
to let him out again to his brother Hugh, with a promise that if he
behaved well he should be free at twenty-five years old.

When he returned to Baltimore he was let out to work at calking vessels;
and he soon became so expert at the business that he earned from seven
to nine dollars a week. He was trusted to make his own contracts, but
was required to pay Mr. Hugh Auld his earnings every Saturday night. On
such occasions a sixpence or a shilling was sometimes given him, for
which he was expected to be grateful; but it naturally occurred to him
that the whole of the money rightfully belonged to him who earned it. He
was attached to a worthy girl named Anna, but he was reluctant to form
family ties while he was subject to the vicissitudes of Slavery. He
often thought of escaping to the Free States, but the regulations were
so strict that it seemed a hopeless undertaking, unless he had money.
When Captain Thomas Auld visited Baltimore, he tried to make a bargain
with him to buy his time for a specified sum each week, being free to
earn as much more as he could. The reply was, "You are planning to run
away. But, wherever you go, I shall catch you." The master then tried to
coax him with promises of freedom in the future; but Frederick thought
it very uncertain when they would be willing to give up a man who
brought them in nine dollars a week. He concluded to go to the Free
States. How he accomplished it he never told, for he was afraid of
bringing trouble upon those who helped him.

When he arrived in New York, he says he felt as he should suppose a man
would feel who had escaped from a den of hungry lions. But the joyful
feeling was soon checked. He met an acquaintance who had recently
escaped from Slavery. He told him the city was full of Southerners, who
had agents out in every direction to catch runaway slaves; and then he
hurried away, as if afraid of being betrayed. This made Frederick feel
very desolate. He was afraid to seek employment as a calker, lest spies
from his master should be on the watch for him. He bought a loaf of
bread, and hid away for the night among some barrels on a wharf. In the
morning, he met a sailor, who looked so good-natured and honest that he
ventured to tell him he was a fugitive slave, and to ask him for advice.
He was not deceived in the expression of the man's face. He invited him
to his house, and went in search of Mr. David Ruggles, a worthy <DW52>
man, well known as a zealous friend of his oppressed race. The fugitive
was kept hidden for a few days, during which time Anna was sent for, and
they were married. By help of Mr. Ruggles, employment at calking was
obtained in New Bedford, a large town in Massachusetts, where a great
many ships are constantly employed. There he found many intelligent
<DW52> people, not a few of whom had been slaves. They lived in
convenient houses, took newspapers, bought books, and sent their
children to good schools. They had various societies for improvement;
and when he attended their meetings, he was surprised to hear their
spirited discussions on various subjects. His bright mind was roused
into full activity by the influences around him. He changed his name to
Frederick Douglass. He was called Mr. Douglass now, and felt like it. He
worked hard, but that was a pleasure, now that he could enjoy his own
earnings. He felt safe; for there were so many Abolitionists and so many
intelligent <DW52> people in New Bedford, that slaveholders did not
venture to go there to hunt for fugitives. The cruel treatment he had
received from hypocritical professors of religion had not destroyed his
faith in the excellence of real religion. He joined a church of <DW52>
people, called Zion Methodists, and became a class-leader and preacher
among them. He took a newspaper called "The Liberator," edited by
William Lloyd Garrison, wherein he found the rights of the <DW52>
people vindicated with great zeal and ability. His wife proved a neat
and industrious helpmate, and a little family of children began to
gather round him. Thus furnished with healthy employment for his mind,
his heart, and his hands, he lived over three years in New Bedford.

At the end of that period, in the year 1841, a great Anti-Slavery
meeting was held in the vicinity, and Mr. Douglass went to hear Mr.
Garrison and others speak. He did not suppose that any one in the
meeting knew him; but a gentleman was present who had heard him preach
in Zion Church, and he went to him and urged him to address the
Anti-Slavery meeting. He was bashful about speaking before such a large
and intelligent audience; and when he was persuaded to mount the
platform he trembled in every limb. But what he said flowed right out
from the depths of his heart; and when people of any intelligence speak
in that way, they are always eloquent. The audience were greatly moved
by what he told them of his experiences. It was the beginning of a great
change in his life. The Anti-Slavery Society employed him to travel in
the Free States to lecture against Slavery; and that you may be sure he
could do with a will. Crowds went to hear him, and his ministration was
greatly blessed. The prophecy of good Uncle Lawson was fulfilled. The
Lord _had_ a great work for him to do; and in His own good time he had
brought it about.

People who were in favor of Slavery said he was an impostor; that he did
not look like a slave, or speak like a slave; and that they did not
believe he had ever been in the Southern States. To prove that he was
not an impostor he wrote and published an account of his life, with the
names of his masters and the places where they resided. The book was
ably written, and produced almost as great an effect as his lectures.
Slaveholders were very angry that one of their escaped chattels should
produce such an excitement. There was great danger that some of their
agents would kidnap him as he went about the country lecturing. It was
therefore concluded that he had better go to England. In 1845 he took
passage for Liverpool in the English steamship Cambria. He was invited
to deliver a lecture on deck. Some slaveholders from New Orleans and
Georgia, who were a little under the influence of brandy, swore they
would throw him overboard if he did; but the captain of the vessel
threatened to put them in irons if they behaved in a disorderly manner.
When they arrived in England they tried to injure Mr. Douglass by
publishing that he was an insolent, lying <DW64>; but their efforts only
served to make him famous. He delivered a great number of lectures, and
attracted crowds everywhere. In the Free States of his own country he
had been excluded from many places of improvement, and often insulted on
account of his color; but he had no such prejudice to encounter in
England. He behaved like a gentleman, and was treated like a gentleman.
Many distinguished and wealthy people invited him to their houses, as a
mark of respect for his natural abilities and the efforts he had made to
improve himself. But he felt that his labors were needed in America, in
behalf of his oppressed brethren, and he wanted to return. His friends
in England entered into negotiations with Captain Thomas Auld for the
purchase of his freedom, which they succeeded in obtaining for little
more than seven hundred dollars.

After an absence of two years he returned to the United States a
freeman. He established himself with his family in Rochester, New York.
There he edited a weekly newspaper, called "The North Star," and from
time to time travelled about the country to deliver lectures, which were
always fully attended. After he was free he wrote a spirited letter to
his old master, Captain Thomas Auld, in which he asks: "What has become
of my dear old grandmother, whom you turned out, like an old horse, to
die in the woods? If she is still alive, she must be near eighty years
old,--too old to be of any service to you. O, she was father and mother
to me, so far as hard toil for my comfort could make her so. Send her to
me at Rochester, and it shall be the crowning happiness of my life to
take care of her in her old age." I never heard that any answer was
received to this letter.

During the Rebellion Mr. Douglass labored zealously to raise 
regiments, and one of his sons enlisted in the service of the United
States. After the Proclamation of Emancipation he was invited to
Baltimore, where he delivered an address before a large audience of
respectable citizens. How different was free Maryland from the
Slavery-ridden State which he had left, secretly and in terror, nearly
thirty years before!




HOW THE GOOD WORK GOES ON.


In the spring of 1865 an association of <DW52> men was formed in
Baltimore for moral and intellectual improvement. They bought a building
formerly used by the Newton University, for which they paid sixteen
thousand dollars. In honor of their able pioneer, Frederick Douglass,
they named it "The Douglass Institute." On the day of its dedication he
delivered an address before the association in Baltimore, in the course
of which he said: "The mission of this institution is to develop
manhood; to build up manly character among the <DW52> people of this
city and State. It is to teach them the true idea of manly independence
and self-respect. It is to be a dispenser of knowledge, a radiator of
light. In a word, we dedicate this institution to virtue, temperance,
knowledge, truth, liberty, and justice."




DEDICATION HYMN.

BY J. M. WHITEFIELD.

     Written for the Vine Street Methodist Episcopal Church of <DW52>
     people, in Buffalo, N. Y.


    God of our sires! before thy throne
      Our humble offering now we bring;
    Deign to accept it as thine own,
      And dwell therein, Almighty King!
    Around thy glorious throne above
      Angels and flaming seraphs sing;
    Archangels own thy boundless love,
      And cherubim their tribute bring.

    And every swiftly rolling sphere,
      That wends its way through boundless space,
    Hymns forth, in chorus loud and clear,
      Its mighty Maker's power and grace.
    It is not ours to bear the parts
      In that celestial song of praise;
    But here, O Lord! with grateful hearts,
      This earthly fane to Thee we raise.

    O let thy presence fill this house,
      And from its portals ne'er depart!
    Accept, O Lord! the humble vows
      Poured forth by every contrite heart!
    No sacrifice of beast or bird,
      No clouds of incense here shall rise,
    But, in accordance with thy word
      We'll bring a holier sacrifice.

    Here shall the hoary-headed sire
      Invoke thy grace, on bended knee;
    While youth shall catch the sacred fire,
      And pour its song of praise to Thee.
    Let childhood, too, with stammering tongue,
      Here lisp thy name with reverent awe;
    And high and low, and old and young,
      Learn to obey thy holy law.

    And when our spirits shall return
      Back to the God who gave them birth,
    And these frail bodies shall be borne
      To mingle with their kindred earth,--
    Then, in that house not made with hands,
      New anthems to thy praise we'll sing,
    To Thee, who burst our slavish bands,
      Our Saviour, Prophet, Priest, and King.




A PRAYER.


        Grant, O Father, that the time
      Of earth's deliverance may be near,
    When every land and tongue and clime
      The message of Thy love shall hear;
    When, smitten as with fire from heaven,
      The captive's chain shall sink in dust,
    And to his fettered soul be given
      The glorious freedom of the just.

                  JOHN G. WHITTIER.




WILLIAM AND ELLEN CRAFTS.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.


William Crafts is a black man, born in Georgia. His master had the
reputation of being a humane man and a pious Christian. Yet, when some
of his slaves were getting old, he had no scruples about selling them
away from their families, and buying a young lot. Among those sold were
the father and mother of William. They were sold to different purchasers
from different places, and never saw each other again. They were much
attached to each other, and it was a consolation to their son to think
how happy would be their reunion in another world; for he says he never
knew people who more humbly placed their trust in God than his parents
did. William was apprenticed to a cabinet-maker, and his brother to a
blacksmith; because slaves who worked well at a trade could be let out
with more profit to their masters, and would also bring a higher price
if sold. Before their time was out, their master became hard pressed for
money. Accordingly, he sold the young blacksmith, and mortgaged William
and his sister, a girl of fourteen. When the time of the mortgage was
up, their master had no money to redeem them, and they were placed on
the auction-block, to be sold to the highest bidder. The girl was sold
first, and bought by a planter who lived some distance in the country.
William was strongly attached to his sister; and when he saw her put
into a cart, to be carried away from him forever, it seemed as if his
heart would burst. He knelt down and begged and entreated to be allowed
to go and speak to her before she was taken away; but they handled him
roughly, and ordered him to stay on the auction-block. As he stood there
awaiting his own fate, he saw the cart moving slowly away. The tears
were rolling down his sister's cheeks, and she stretched her hands
toward him with a movement of despair. The thought that he could do
nothing for her, and that they might never meet more, almost killed him.
His eyes were blinded with tears; and when he could see again, the cart
was gone.

He was bought by the man to whom he had been mortgaged, and ordered to
return to the cabinet-maker's shop to work. After a while his new master
took him to Macon, where he was let out to work at his trade. There he
became acquainted with a quadroon girl named Ellen, whom he afterward
married.

Ellen was the daughter of her master, but her mother was a slave. Her
handsome dark eyes were apt to attract attention; her hair was straight,
and her skin was so nearly white that strangers often mistook her for
one of her master's own white family. This was very vexatious to her
mistress, who treated her so harshly that the poor child had no comfort
of her life. When she was eleven years old she was given to a daughter
of her mistress, who was about to be married to a gentleman living in
Macon. It was painful to part from her poor mother, but she was glad to
get away from the incessant cruelty of her old mistress. Her new
mistress proved more humane. In her service Ellen grew up without being
exposed to some of the most degrading influences of Slavery.

She and the intelligent young cabinet-maker formed an attachment for
each other soon after they were acquainted. But Ellen had seen so much
of the separation of families in Slavery, that she was very reluctant to
marry. Whenever William said anything about it, she reminded him that
they were both slaves; and that if they were married either of their
masters could separate them whenever they chose. William remembered,
with bitterness of heart, how his father and mother and brother had been
sold, and how his sister had been torn from him without his being
allowed to bid her good by. He had not been tortured in his own person,
but he had seen other slaves cruelly whipped and branded with hot iron,
hunted and torn by bloodhounds, and even burned alive, merely for trying
to get their freedom. In view of these things, he had a great horror of
bringing children into the world to be slaves. He and Ellen often talked
together about escaping to the North and being married there. But they
reflected that they would have to travel a thousand miles before they
could reach any Free State. They knew that bloodhounds and slave-hunters
would be put upon their track; that if they were taken, they would be
subjected to terrible tortures; and that, even if they succeeded in
reaching the Free States, they would still be in danger of being
delivered up to their masters. They talked over a variety of plans; but
the prospect of escape seemed so discouraging, that at last they
concluded to ask their owner's consent to their marriage; and they
resolved to be as contented as they could in the situation to which they
were born. But they were too intelligent not to know that a great wrong
was done to them by keeping them in slavery. William shuddered to think
into what cruel and licentious hands his dear wife might fall if she
should be sold by her present owners; and Ellen was filled with great
anguish whenever she thought what might happen to her children, if she
should be a mother. They were always thinking and talking about freedom,
and they often prayed earnestly to God that some way of escape might be
opened for them.

In December, 1848, a bold plan came into William's mind. He thought that
if his wife were dressed in men's clothes she could easily pass for a
white gentleman, and that he could accompany her on her travels as her
<DW64> slave. Ellen, who was very modest and timid, at first shrank from
the idea. But, after reflecting more upon their hopeless situation, she
said: "It seems too difficult for us to undertake; but I feel that God
is on our side, and with His help we may carry it through. We will try."

It was contrary to law for white men in the Southern States to sell
anything secretly to slaves; but there were always enough ready to do it
for the sake of getting money,--especially as they knew that no <DW52>
man was allowed to testify against a white man. William was skilful and
diligent at his trade; and though his wages all went to his master, he
had contrived to lay up money by doing jobs for others in extra hours.
He therefore found little difficulty in buying the various articles of a
gentleman's dress, at different times and in different parts of the
town. He had previously made Ellen a chest of drawers, with locks and
key; and as she was a favorite and trusted slave, she was allowed to
keep it for her own use in the little room where she slept. As fast as
the articles were bought they were secretly conveyed to her, and she
locked them up. The next important thing was to obtain leave of absence
for a few days. It was near Christmas-time, when kind slaveholders
sometimes permit favorite slaves to be absent on a visit to friends or
relatives. But Ellen's services were very necessary to her mistress, and
she had to ask many times before she could obtain a written permission
to be gone for a few days. The cabinet-maker for whom William worked was
persuaded to give him a similar paper, but he charged him to be sure and
return as soon as the time was up, because he should need him very much.
There was still another difficulty in the way. Travellers were required
to register their names at the custom-houses and hotels, and to sign a
certificate for the slaves who accompanied them. When Ellen remembered
this, it made her weep bitterly to think that she could not write. But
in a few moments she wiped her eyes and said, with a smile, "I will
poultice my right hand and put it in a sling, and then there will be a
good excuse for asking the officers to write my name for me." When she
was dressed in her disguise, William thought she could easily pass for a
white gentleman, only she looked young enough for a mere boy; he
therefore bought a pair of green spectacles to make her look older. She,
on her part, was afraid that the smoothness of her chin might betray
her; she therefore resolved to tie a bandage round her face, as if she
were troubled with toothache.

In four days after they first thought of the plan, all was in readiness.
They sat up all night, whispering over to each other the parts they were
to act in case of various supposable difficulties. William cut off
Ellen's glossy black hair, according to the fashion of gentlemen. When
all was carefully arranged, they knelt together and prayed that God
would protect them through their perilous undertaking. They raised the
latch of the door very softly, and looked out and listened. Nobody was
stirring abroad, and all was still. But Ellen trembled and threw herself
on her husband's breast. There she wept for a few moments, while he
tried to comfort her with whispered words of encouragement, though he
also felt that they were going forth into the midst of terrible dangers.
She soon recovered her calmness, and said, "Let us go." They stepped out
on tiptoe, shook hands in silence, and parted to go to the railway
station by different routes. William deemed it prudent to take a short
cut across the fields, to avoid being recognized; but his wife, who was
now to pass for his young master, went by the public road. Under the
name of Mr. William Johnson, she purchased tickets for herself and slave
for Savannah, which was about two hundred miles off. The porter who took
charge of the luggage at the station had formerly wished to marry Ellen;
but her disguise was so complete that he called her "Young massa," and
respectfully obeyed her orders concerning the baggage. She gave him a
bit of money for his trouble, and he made his best bow.

The moment William arrived at the station, he hid himself in the "<DW64>
car" assigned to servants. It was lucky that he did so; for, just before
the train started, he saw upon the platform the cabinet-maker, who had
given him a pass for quite a different purpose than an excursion to
Savannah. He was looking round, as if searching for some one; and
William afterward heard that he suspected him of attempting to escape.
Luckily, the train started before he had time to examine the "<DW64>
car."

Ellen had a narrow escape on her part; for a gentleman who took the seat
beside her proved to be Mr. Cray, who frequently visited at her
master's house, and who had known her ever since she was a child. Her
first thought was that he had come to seize her and carry her back; but
it soon became evident that he did not recognize her in a gentleman's
dress, with green spectacles, bandaged face, and her arm in a sling.
After the cars started, he remarked, "It is a very fine morning, sir."
Ellen, being afraid that her voice would betray her, continued to look
out of the window, and made no reply. After a little while, he repeated
the remark in a louder tone. The passengers who heard him began to
smile, and Mr. Cray turned away, saying, "I shall not trouble that deaf
fellow any more." To her great relief, he left the cars at the next
station.

They arrived at Savannah early in the evening, and William having
brought his master something to eat, they went on board a steamer bound
for Charleston, South Carolina. Mr. Johnson, as Ellen was now called,
deemed it most prudent to retire to his berth immediately. William,
fearing this might seem strange to the other passengers, made a great
fuss warming flannels and opodeldoc at the stove, informing them that
his young master was an invalid travelling to Philadelphia in hopes of
getting cured. He did not tell them the disease was Slavery; he called
it inflammatory rheumatism. The next morning, at breakfast, Mr. Johnson
was seated by the captain of the boat, and, as his right hand was tied
in a sling, his servant, William, cut up his food for him. The captain
remarked, "You have a very attentive boy, sir; but I advise you to watch
him like a hawk when you get North. Several gentlemen have lately lost
valuable <DW65>s among them cut-throat Abolitionists."

A hard-looking slave-trader, with red eyes, and bristly beard, was
sitting opposite. He laid down a piece of chicken he was eating, and
with his thumbs stuck in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, said: "I
wouldn't take a <DW65> North under no consideration. Now, if you'd like
to sell that 'ere boy, I'll pay you for him in silver dollars, on this
'ere board. What do you say, stranger?" Mr. Johnson replied, "I do not
wish to sell him, sir; I could not get on well without him." "You'll
_have_ to get on without him, if you take him to the North," continued
the slave-trader. "I am an older cove than you are, and I reckon I have
had more dealings with <DW65>s. I tell you, stranger, that boy will
never do you any good if you take him across Mason and Dixon's line. I
can see by the cut of his eye that he is bound to run away as soon as he
can get a chance." Mr. Johnson replied, "I think not, sir. I have great
confidence in his fidelity." Whereupon the slave-trader began to swear
about <DW65>s in general. A military officer, who was also travelling
with a servant, said to Mr. Johnson: "Excuse me, sir, for saying I think
you are likely to spoil that boy of yours by saying 'thank you' to him.
The only way to make a <DW65> toe the mark, and to keep him in his
place, is to storm at him like thunder. Don't you see that when I speak
to my Ned, he darts like lightning? If he didn't, I'd skin him."

When the steamboat arrived at Charleston, the hearts of the fugitives
beat almost loud enough to be heard; they were so afraid their flight
had been discovered, and a telegraph sent from Savannah to have them
arrested. But they passed unnoticed among the crowd. They took a
carriage and drove to a fashionable hotel, where the invalid gentleman
received every attention befitting his supposed rank. He was seated at a
luxurious table in a brilliant dining-room, while William received some
fragments of food on a broken plate, and was told to go into the
kitchen. Mr. Johnson gave some pieces of money to the servants who
waited upon him; and they said to William, "Your massa is a big-bug. He
is de greatest gentleman dat has been dis way dis six months."

Notwithstanding the favorable impression he had made, Mr. Johnson found
some difficulty in obtaining tickets to Philadelphia for himself and his
slave. The master of the ticket-office refused to write the invalid
gentleman's name for him. But the military officer who had breakfasted
with him stepped up and said he knew the gentleman, and all was right.
The captain of the North Carolina steamer hearing this, and not wishing
to lose a passenger, said, "I will register the gentleman's name, and
take the responsibility upon myself." Mr. Johnson thanked him politely,
and the captain remarked: "No disrespect was intended to you, sir; but
they are obliged to be very strict in Charleston. Some Abolitionist
might take a valuable <DW65> along with him, and try to pass him off as
his slave."

They arrived safely at Wilmington, North Carolina, and took the cars to
Richmond, Virginia. On the way, an elderly lady in the cars, seeing
William on the platform, cried out, in great excitement, "There goes my
<DW65> Ned!" Mr. Johnson said, very politely, "No, madam, that is my
boy." But the lady, without paying any attention to what he said, called
out, "Ned, you runaway rascal, come to me, sir." On nearer inspection
she perceived that she was mistaken, and said to Mr. Johnson: "I beg
your pardon, sir. I was sure it was my Ned. I never saw two black pigs
look more alike."

From Petersburg, a Virginia gentleman with two handsome daughters were
in the same car with Mr. Johnson. Supposing him to be a rich,
fashionable young Southerner, they were very attentive and sympathizing.
The old gentleman told him he knew how to pity him, for he had had
inflammatory rheumatism himself. He advised him to lie down to rest;
which he was very willing to do, as a good means of avoiding
conversation. The ladies took their extra shawls and made a comfortable
pillow for his head, and their father gave him a piece of paper which he
said contained directions for curing the rheumatism. The invalid thanked
him politely; but not knowing how to read, and fearing he might hold the
paper upside down, prudently put it in his pocket. When they supposed
him to be asleep, one of the ladies said, "Papa, he seems to be a very
nice young gentleman"; and the other responded, "I never felt so much
for any gentleman in my life."

At parting the Virginian gave him his card and said: "I hope you will
call upon me when you return. I should be much pleased to see you, and
so would my daughters." He gave ten cents to William, and charged him to
be attentive to his master. This he promised to do, and he very
faithfully kept his word.

They arrived at Baltimore with the joyful feeling that they were close
upon the borders of a Free State. William saw that his master was
comfortably placed in one of the best cars, and was getting into the
servants' car when a man tapped him on the shoulder and asked where he
was going. William replied humbly, "I am going to Philadelphia, sir,
with my master, who is in the next car." "Then you had better get him
out, and be mighty quick about it," said the man; "for the train is
going to start, and no man is allowed to take a slave past here till he
has satisfied the folks in the office that he has a right to take him
along."

William felt as if he should drop down on the spot; but he controlled
himself, and went and asked his master to go back to the office. It was
a terrible fright. As Mr. Johnson stepped out he whispered, in great
agitation, "O William, is it possible we shall have to go back to
Slavery, after all we have gone through?" It was very hard to satisfy
the station-master. He said if a man carried off a slave that did not
belong to him, and the rightful owner could prove that he escaped on
that road, they would be obliged to pay for the slave. Mr. Johnson kept
up a calm appearance, though his heart was in his throat. "I bought
tickets at Charleston to pass us through to Philadelphia," said he;
"therefore you have no right to detain us here." "Right or no right, we
shall not let you go," replied the man. Some of the spectators
sympathized with the rich young Southerner, and said it was a pity to
detain him when he was so unwell. While the man hesitated, the bell rang
for the cars to start, and the fugitives were in an agony. "I don't know
what to do," said the man. "It all seems to be right; and as the
gentleman is so unwell, it is a hard case for him to be stopped on the
way. Clerk, run and tell the conductor to let this gentleman and his
slave pass."

They had scarcely time to scramble into the cars, before the train
started. It was eight o'clock in the evening, and they expected to
arrive in Philadelphia early the next morning. They did not know that on
the way the passengers would have to leave the cars and cross the river
Susquehanna in a ferry-boat. They had slept very little for several
nights before they left Georgia, and they had been travelling day and
night for four days. William, overcome with fatigue, and feeling that
their greatest dangers were now over, fell sound asleep on a heap of
baggage. When they arrived at the ferry, it was cold, dark, and rainy;
and for the first time during their hazardous journey the invalid found
no faithful servant at hand when the cars stopped. He was in great
distress, fearing that William had been arrested or kidnapped. He
anxiously inquired of the passengers whether they had seen his boy.
There were a good many Northerners on board, and, supposing his slave
had run away, they rather enjoyed his perplexity. One gruffly replied,
"I am no slave-hunter." Another smiled as he said, "I guess he is in
Philadelphia before now."

When they had crossed the ferry one of the guard found William still
sound asleep on the baggage, which had been rolled into the boat. He
shook him and bawled out: "Wake up, you boy! Your master has been half
scared to death. He thought you had run away." As soon as William was
enough awake to understand what had happened, he said, "I am sure my
good master does not think that of me." He hastened to explain to Mr.
Johnson how he happened to be out of the way. He was received with a
great leap of the heart; but the passengers only thought that the master
was very glad to recover his lost property. Some of them took a
convenient opportunity to advise William to run away when they reached
Philadelphia. He replied, "I shall never run away from such a good
master as I have." They laughed, and said, "You will think differently
when you get into a Free State." They told him how to proceed in case he
wanted to be free, and he thanked them. A <DW52> man also entered into
conversation with him, and told him of a certain boarding-house in
Philadelphia, the keeper of which was very friendly to slaves who
wanted their freedom.

On Christmas-day, just as morning was about to dawn, they came in sight
of the flickering lights of Philadelphia. William procured a cab as
quick as possible, hurried their baggage into it, and told the driver to
take them to the boarding-house which had been recommended to them.
While Ellen had been obliged to act the part of Mr. Johnson, she had
kept her mind wonderfully calm and collected. But now that she was on
free soil she broke down with the excess of her emotions. "Thank God,
William, we are safe, we are safe!" she exclaimed; and sinking upon her
husband's breast, she burst into a passion of tears. When they arrived
at the boarding-house, she was so faint she had no further occasion to
act being an invalid. As soon as a room was provided, they entered and
fastened the door. Then kneeling down side by side, folded in each
other's arms, with tears flowing freely, they thanked God for having
brought them safely through their dangerous journey, and having
permitted them to live to see this happy Sabbath day, which was
Christmas-day also.

When they had rested and refreshed themselves with a wash, Ellen put on
her womanly garments and went to the sitting-room. When the landlord
came at their summons, he was very much surprised and perplexed. "Where
is your master?" inquired he; and when William pointed to his wife, he
thought it was a joke; for he could not believe she was the same person
who came into the house in the dress of a gentleman. He listened to
their singular story with great interest and sympathy. He told them he
was afraid it would not be safe for them to remain in Philadelphia, but
he would send for some Abolitionists who knew the laws better than he
did. Friends soon came, and gave them a hearty welcome; but they all
agreed that it would not be safe for them to remain long in
Philadelphia, and advised them to go to Boston. Barclay Ivens, a
kind-hearted Quaker farmer, who lived some distance in the country,
invited them to rest a few weeks at his house. They went accordingly.
But Ellen, who had not been accustomed to receive such attentions from
white people, was a little flurried when they arrived. She had received
the impression that they were going to stay with <DW52> people; and
when she saw a white lady and three daughters come out to the wagon to
meet her, she was much disturbed, and said to William, "I thought they
were <DW52> people." "It is all the same as if they were," replied he.
"They are our good friends." "It is _not_ all the same," said Ellen,
decidedly. "I have no faith in white people. They will be sending us
back into Slavery. I am going right off." She had not then become
acquainted with the Abolitionists. She had heard her master and other
Southerners talk about them as very bad men, who would make slaves
believe they were their friends, and then sell them into distant
countries. The Quaker lady saw that she was afraid, and she went up to
her and took her very kindly by the hand, saying: "How art thou, my
dear? We are very glad to see thee and thy husband. We have heard about
thy marvellous escape from Slavery. Come in and warm thyself. I dare say
thou art cold and hungry after thy journey." Ellen thanked her, and
allowed herself to be led into the house. Still she did not feel quite
safe in that strange place, away from all her people. When Mrs. Ivens
attempted to remove her bonnet, she said, "No, I thank you. I am not
going to stop long." "Poor child!" said the good Quaker mother, "I
don't wonder thou art timid. But don't be afraid. Thou art among friends
who would as soon sell their own daughters into Slavery as betray thee.
We would not harm a hair of thy head for the world." The kindly face and
the motherly tones melted the heart of the poor frightened fugitive, and
the tears began to flow. They stayed several weeks in that hospitable
house, and the son and daughters took so much pains to teach them to
read and write, that before they left they could spell a little, and
write their names quite legibly. They were strongly urged to stay
longer, and would have done so had they not been very desirous to be
earning their own living. When they left this excellent family it seemed
like parting with near and dear relatives.

In Boston they were introduced to William Lloyd Garrison, Wendell
Phillips, Francis Jackson, Rev. Theodore Parker, and other good men, who
had for years been laboring for the emancipation of the slaves. The
fugitives made a favorable impression on strangers at first sight. They
both looked intelligent and honest. William had a very manly air, and
Ellen was modest and ladylike in her manners.

Their marriage in Georgia had been, like other slave marriages, without
a certificate; therefore they were desirous to have the ceremony
performed again, with all the forms of law, now that they were in a free
land. They were accordingly married by the Rev. Mr. Parker, at the house
of a respectable  citizen of Boston, named Lewis Hayden. Mr.
Crafts was employed at his trade, and his wife obtained work as a
seamstress. They lived in Boston two years, during which time they
established an excellent character by their honest industry and correct
deportment. They earned a comfortable living, and might have laid by
some money if circumstances had permitted them to remain in
Massachusetts.

But in 1850 the Congress of the United States, under the influence of
slaveholders, passed a very wicked act called the Fugitive Slave Bill.
There was in Boston at that time a celebrated lawyer named Daniel
Webster. He wanted to be President of the United States, and for many
years no man had been able to get elected to that office unless he
pleased the slaveholders. He accordingly used his great influence to
help the passage of the bill, and advised the people of Massachusetts to
get over their scruples about hunting slaves. He died without being
President; and I hope God forgave the great sin into which his ambition
led him. By that cruel act of Congress, everybody, all over the country,
was required to send back fugitive slaves to their masters. Whoever
concealed them or helped them in any way became liable to a year's
imprisonment and a fine of a thousand dollars, besides paying the price
of the slave. In all the Northern cities there were many honest,
industrious <DW52> people who had escaped from Slavery years before,
and were now getting a comfortable living. Many of them had married at
the North and reared families. But when slaveholders gained this victory
over the conscience of the North, they were compelled to leave their
business and their homes, and hide themselves wheresoever they could.
Mr. and Mrs. Crafts had many zealous friends in Boston, but the friends
of the slaveholders were more numerous. For some time past, Southerners
had been rather reluctant to hunt slaves in Massachusetts, because the
public opinion of the people was so much opposed to Slavery, that they
found it a difficult and disagreeable job. But after the passage of
that unrighteous bill, they and their pro-slavery accomplices at the
North became more bold.

One day, while Mr. Crafts was busy in his shop, he received a visit from
a man by the name of Knight, who used to work in the same shop with him
in Georgia. He professed to be much pleased to see William again, and
invited him to walk round the streets and show him the curiosities of
Boston. Mr. Crafts told him he had work to do, and was very busy. The
next day he tried again; but finding Mr. Crafts still too busy to walk
with him, he said: "I wish you would come to see me at the United States
Hotel, and bring your wife with you. She would like to hear from her
mother. If you want to send letters to Georgia, I will take them for
you." This was followed by a badly spelled note to Mr. Crafts, informing
him that he was going to leave Boston early the next morning, and if he
wanted to send a letter to Georgia he must bring it to him at the hotel
after tea. Mr. Crafts smiled that he should think him silly enough to
walk into such an open trap. Mr. Knight had told him that he came to
Boston alone; but when he questioned the hotel-servant who brought the
note, he was told that a Mr. Hughes from Georgia accompanied him. Mr.
Hughes was a notorious slave-catcher, and the jailer of Macon. Mr.
Crafts continued to work at his shop; but he kept the door locked, and a
loaded pistol beside him.

Finding that his intended victim was too much on his guard to be caught
by trickery, Mr. Hughes applied to the United States Court in Boston and
obtained a warrant to arrest William and Ellen Crafts as fugitive
slaves. This produced tremendous excitement. The Abolitionists were
determined that they should not be carried back into Slavery. They had
people everywhere on the watch, and employed lawyers to throw all manner
of difficulties in the way of the slave-hunters, whose persons and
manners were described in the newspapers in a way by no means agreeable
to them. The <DW52> people held large meetings, and passed various
spirited resolutions, among which was the following: "_Resolved_, Man
wills us slaves, but God wills us free. We will as God wills. God's will
be done." Two hundred of them armed themselves and vowed that they would
defend William and Ellen Crafts to the death. Mr. Crafts said very
calmly, but very resolutely, that they should never take him alive.
Hughes the slave-catcher swore: "I'll have 'em if I stay in Boston to
all eternity. If there a'n't men enough in Massachusetts to take 'em,
I'll bring men from Georgia." Merchants in Boston, thinking only of
their trade with the South, sympathized with those men engaged in such a
base calling; and the United States officials did all they could to help
them. But though they received countenance and aid from many influential
men in Boston, those hirelings of Slavery could not help feeling ashamed
of their business. They complained that the boys in the streets hooted
after them, and that wherever they made their appearance, people called
out, "There go the slave-hunters!" They heard that the Abolitionists
were preparing to arrest them and try them as kidnappers; and the number
of <DW52> people who watched their movements with angry looks made them
wish themselves back in Georgia. During all this commotion, the conduct
of Mr. Crafts excited universal admiration. He was resolute, but very
calm. If there had been any law to protect him, he would have appealed
to the law, rather than have harmed a hair of any man's head; but left
defenceless as he was among a pack of wolves hunting him and his
innocent wife, he was determined to defend his freedom at any cost.

Ellen was secretly conveyed out of the city. Mr. and Mrs. Ellis Gray
Loring of Boston were excellent people, always kind to the poor and true
friends to the oppressed slaves. They spent their summers in the
neighboring town of Brookline. A Boston physician, who was an
Abolitionist, carried Ellen to their house in the evening. Mr. and Mrs.
Loring were both absent from home for a few days, but a lady who was
staying in the house received her with great kindness. She stayed there
two days, assisting the lady very industriously and skilfully with her
needle. Her mind was full of anxiety about her husband, whom she had
left in the city exposed to the most fearful danger. She was very
wakeful through the night, listening to every noise. As soon as she
became drowsy, she would wake with a sudden start from some bad dream.
She dreamed that she and William were running from the Georgia
slave-catcher, and that Daniel Webster was close behind them, pointing a
pistol at them. It was a sad thing that a man of such intellectual
ability as Mr. Webster, and with so much influence in society, should
make such bad use of his great power that he haunted the dreams of the
poor and the oppressed. Ellen rose in the morning with a feeling of
weariness and a great load upon her heart. But she kept back the tears
that were ready to flow, and was so quiet and sweet-tempered that she
completely gained the hearts of her protectors. Early the next evening,
the same friend who carried Ellen from the city brought her husband to
her. He also had been sleepless, and was worn down with fatigue and
anxiety. They were advised to retire to rest immediately, to remain in
their room with the door locked, and be careful not to show themselves
at the window. They followed these directions, and the lady was hoping
they would both have peaceful and refreshing slumber, when Ellen came to
say that her husband wanted to speak with her. She found him standing by
the fireplace looking very sad, but with a dignified calmness that
seemed to her truly noble in the midst of such dreadful danger. As she
entered he said, "Ellen has just told me that Mr. and Mrs. Loring are
absent from home. If we should be found in his house, he would be liable
to imprisonment and a heavy fine. It is wrong for us to expose him to
this danger without his knowledge and consent. We must seek shelter
elsewhere." The lady replied: "Mr. Loring would feel troubled to have
you leave his house under such circumstances. He is the best and kindest
of men, and a great friend of the <DW52> people." "That makes it all
the more wrong for us to bring him into trouble on our account, without
his knowledge," replied Mr. Crafts. Ellen had kept up bravely all day,
but now her courage began to fail. She looked up with tears swimming in
her handsome eyes and said: "O William, it is so dark and rainy
to-night, and it seems so safe here! We may be seen and followed, if we
go out. You said you didn't sleep last night. I started up from a little
nap, dreaming that Daniel Webster was chasing us with a loaded pistol. I
thought of all manner of horrid things that might be happening to you,
and I couldn't sleep any more. Don't you think we might stay here just
this one night?" He looked at her with pity in his eyes, but said, very
firmly, "Ellen, it wouldn't be right." Without another word she
prepared to go, though the tears were falling fast. The lady, finding
his mind too fixed to be changed by her persuasions, sent a guide with
them to the house of Mr. Philbrick, a worthy, kind-hearted gentleman,
who lived about half a mile off. She herself told me the story; and she
said she never felt so much respect and admiration for any human beings
as she did for those two hunted slaves when she saw them walk out into
the darkness and rain because they thought it wrong to endanger, without
his consent, a friend of their persecuted people. She felt anxious lest
the slave-catcher or his agents might seize them on the road, and it was
a great relief to her mind when the guide returned and said Mr.
Philbrick received them gladly.

After a few more days of peril they were secretly put on board a vessel,
which conveyed them to England. They carried letters which introduced
them to good people, who contributed money to put them to school for a
while. Their intelligence, industry, and good conduct confirmed the
favorable impression made by their first appearance. In 1860, Mr. Crafts
published a little book giving an account of their "Running a Thousand
Miles for Freedom." They have now been living in England fifteen years.
By their united industry and good management they earned a comfortable
living, and laid by a little, year after year, until they had enough to
buy a small house in the village of Hammersmith, not far from the great
city of London. There they keep their children at the best of schools,
and pay taxes which help to support the poor in the country which
protected them in their time of danger and distress.

The honesty, energy, and good sense of Mr. Crafts inspired so much
respect and confidence in England, that the Quakers and other
benevolent people, who wish to do good to Africa, also merchants, who
want to open trade with that region, sent him out there with a valuable
cargo of goods, in November, 1862. The mission he is performing is very
important to the well-being of the world, as you will see by the
following explanation.

Africa is four thousand miles across the Atlantic Ocean from the United
States. It is inhabited by numerous tribes of black people, each tribe
with a separate government. These tribes vary in degrees of intelligence
and civilization; but they are generally of a peaceable and kindly
disposition, unless greatly provoked by wrongs from others. Where they
are safe from attack they live in little villages of huts, and raise
yams, rice, and other grain for food. They weave coarse cloth from
cotton, merely by means of sticks stuck in the ground, and in some
places they color it with gay patterns. They make very pretty baskets
and mats from grasses, and some of the tribes manufacture rude tools of
iron and ornaments of gold. But a constant state of warfare has hindered
the improvement of the Africans; for men have very little encouragement
to build good houses, and make convenient furniture, and plant grain, if
enemies are likely to come any night and burn and trample it all to the
ground. These continual wars have been largely caused by the
slave-trade. Formerly the African chiefs sold men into Slavery only in
punishment for some crime they had committed, or to work out a debt they
had failed to pay, or because they were prisoners taken in war. These
customs were barbarous enough, but they were not so bad as what they
were afterward taught to do by nations calling themselves Christians. In
various countries of Europe and America there were white people too
proud and lazy to work, but desirous to dress in the best and live on
the fat of the land. They sent ships out to Africa to bring them
<DW64>s, whom they compelled to work without wages, with coarse, scanty
food, and scarcely any clothing. They grew rich on the labor of these
poor creatures, and spent their own time in drinking, gambling, and
horse-racing. Slave-traders, in order to supply them with as many
<DW64>s as they wanted, would steal all the men, women, and children
they could catch on the coast of Africa; and would buy others from the
chiefs, paying them mostly in rum and gunpowder. This made the different
tribes very desirous to go to war with each other, in order to take
prisoners to sell to the slave-traders; and the more rum they drank, the
more full of fight they were. This mean and cruel business has been
carried on by white men four hundred years; and all that while African
villages have been burned in the night, and harvests trampled, and men,
women, and children carried off to hopeless Slavery in distant lands.
This continual violence, and intercourse with such bad white men as the
slave-traders, kept the Africans barbarous; and made them much more
barbarous than they would otherwise have been. Such a state of things
made it impossible for them to improve, as they would have done if the
nations called Christians had sent them spelling-books and Bibles
instead of rum, teachers instead of slave-traders, and tools and
machinery instead of gunpowder.

Of all the African chiefs the King of Dahomey is the most powerful. He
sends armed men all about the country to carry off people and sell them
to Europeans and Americans. In that bad way he has grown richer than
other chiefs, and more hard-hearted. Benevolent people in England have
long desired to stop the ravages of the slave-trade and to teach the
Africans better things. The dearth of cotton in the United States,
occasioned by the Rebellion of the planters, turned the attention of
English merchants in the same direction. It was accordingly agreed to
send Mr. Crafts to Dahomey to open a trade, and try to convince the king
that it would be more profitable to him to employ men in raising cotton
than to sell them for slaves. He was well received by the King of
Dahomey, who shows a disposition to be influenced by his judicious
counsels. This is a great satisfaction to Mr. Crafts, desirous as he is
of elevating people of his own color. Numbers who were destined to be
sold into foreign Slavery are already employed in raising cotton in
their native land. Wars will become less frequent; and the African
tribes will gradually learn that the arts of peace are more profitable,
as well as more pleasant. This will bring them into communication with a
better class of white men; and I hope that, before another hundred years
have passed away, there will be Christian churches all over Africa, and
school-houses for the children.

Mr. Crafts sold all the goods he carried out in the first vessel, and
managed the business so well that he was sent out with another cargo. He
is now one of the most enterprising and respected merchants in that part
of the world; and his labors produce better results than mere money, for
they are the means of making men wiser and better. How much would have
been lost to himself and the world if he had remained a slave in
Georgia, not allowed to profit by his own industry, and forbidden to
improve his mind by learning to read!

Mr. M. D. Conway, the son of a slaveholder in Virginia, but a very able
and zealous friend of the <DW52> people, recently visited England, and
sent the following letter to Boston, where it was read with great
interest by the numerous friends of William and Ellen Crafts:--

                                     "LONDON, October 29th, 1864.

     "A walk one pleasant morning across a green common, then through a
     quiet street of the village called Hammersmith, brought me to the
     house of an American whom I respect as much as any now in Europe;
     namely, William Crafts, once a slave in Georgia, then a hunted
     fugitive in Massachusetts, but now a respected citizen of England,
     and the man who is doing more to redeem Africa from her cruel
     superstitions than all other forces put together. He lately came
     home from Dahomey, the ship-load of goods that he had taken out to
     Africa from Liverpool having been entirely sold. The merchants who
     sent him are preparing another cargo for him, and he will probably
     leave the country this week. His theory is, that commerce is to
     destroy the abominations in the realm of Dahomey. He is very black,
     but he finds the color which was so much against him in America a
     leading advantage to him in Africa. Ellen, his wife, told us that
     she was too white to go with him. He was absent on business in
     Liverpool, and thus, to my regret, I missed the opportunity of
     seeing him. There was a pretty little girl, and three unusually
     handsome boys. They all inherit the light complexion and beauty of
     their mother. We found Mrs. Crafts busy packing her husband's trunk
     for his next voyage. She showed us a number of interesting things
     which he had brought from Africa. Among them were birds of bright
     plumage, a belt worn by the Amazons in war, a sword made by the
     Africans, breastpins, and other excellent specimens of work in
     metals. I remembered that years ago the sight of similar things
     inspired Clarkson with his strong faith in the improvability of the
     African race.

     "William and Ellen Crafts own the house in which they live. After
     that brave flight of a thousand miles for freedom, after the
     dangers which surrounded them in Massachusetts, it did my heart
     good to see them enjoying their own simple but charming home, to
     see them thus living under their own vine and fig-tree, none daring
     to molest or make them afraid.

                                            "M. D. CONWAY."

Mrs. Crafts has used her needle diligently to make garments for the
<DW52> people of the United States emancipated by President Lincoln's
Proclamation. She has had the pleasure of hearing that her mother is
among them, healthy, and still young looking for her years. As soon as
arrangements can be made she will go to England to rejoin her daughter,
whom she has not seen since her hazardous flight from Georgia.

I think all who read this romantic but true story will agree with me in
thinking that few white people have shown as much intelligence, moral
worth, and refinement of feeling as the fugitive slaves William and
Ellen Crafts.

       *       *       *       *       *

In February, 1861, the Emperor of Russia proclaimed freedom to
twenty-three millions of serfs. Finding their freedom was not secure in
the hands of their former masters, he afterward completed the good work
by investing the freedmen with civil and political rights; including the
right to testify in court, the right to vote, and the right to hold
office.




SPRING.

BY GEORGE HORTON.


    Hail, thou auspicious vernal dawn!
    Ye birds, proclaim that winter's gone!
        Ye warbling minstrels, sing!
    Pour forth your tribute as ye rise,
    And thus salute the fragrant skies,
        The pleasing smiles of spring!

    Coo sweetly, O thou harmless dove,
    And bid thy mate no longer rove
        In cold hybernal vales!
    Let music rise from every tongue,
    Whilst winter flies before the song
        Which floats on gentle gales.

    Ye frozen streams, dissolve and flow
    Along the valley sweet and slow!
        Divested fields, be gay!
    Ye drooping forests, bloom on high,
    And raise your branches to the sky;
        And thus your charms display!

    Thou world of heat! thou vital source!
    The torpid insects feel thy force,
        Which all with life supplies.
    Gardens and orchards richly bloom,
    And send a gale of sweet perfume,
        To invite them as they rise.

    Near where the crystal waters glide
    The male of birds escorts his bride,
        And twitters on the spray;
    He mounts upon his active wing,
    To hail the bounty of the spring,
        The lavish pomp of May.




THE GOOD GRANDMOTHER.

BY HARRIET JACOBS.


I had a great treasure in my maternal grandmother, who was a remarkable
woman in many respects. She was the daughter of a planter in South
Carolina, who, at his death, left her and her mother free, with money to
go to St. Augustine, where they had relatives. It was during the
Revolutionary War, and they were captured on their passage, carried
back, and sold to different purchasers. Such was the story my
grandmother used to tell me. She was sold to the keeper of a large
hotel, and I have often heard her tell how hard she fared during
childhood. But as she grew older she evinced so much intelligence, and
was so faithful, that her master and mistress could not help seeing it
was for their interest to take care of such a valuable piece of
property. She became an indispensable person in the household,
officiating in all capacities, from cook and wet-nurse to seamstress.
She was much praised for her cooking; and her nice crackers became so
famous in the neighborhood that many people were desirous of obtaining
them. In consequence of numerous requests of this kind, she asked
permission of her mistress to bake crackers at night, after all the
household work was done; and she obtained leave to do it, provided she
would clothe herself and the children from the profits. Upon these
terms, after working hard all day for her mistress, she began her
midnight bakings, assisted by her two oldest children. The business
proved profitable; and each year she laid by a little, to create a fund
for the purchase of her children. Her master died, and his property was
divided among the heirs. My grandmother remained in the service of his
widow, as a slave. Her children were divided among her master's
children; but as she had five, Benjamin, the youngest, was sold, in
order that the heirs might have an equal portion of dollars and cents.
There was so little difference in our ages, that he always seemed to me
more like a brother than an uncle. He was a bright, handsome lad, nearly
white; for he inherited the complexion my grandmother had derived from
Anglo-Saxon ancestors. His sale was a terrible blow to his mother; but
she was naturally hopeful, and she went to work with redoubled energy,
trusting in time to be able to purchase her children. One day, her
mistress begged the loan of three hundred dollars from the little fund
she had laid up from the proceeds of her baking. She promised to pay her
soon; but as no promise or writing given to a slave is legally binding,
she was obliged to trust solely to her honor.

In my master's house very little attention was paid to the slaves'
meals. If they could catch a bit of food while it was going, well and
good. But I gave myself no trouble on that score; for on my various
errands I passed my grandmother's house, and she always had something
to spare for me. I was frequently threatened with punishment if I
stopped there; and my grandmother, to avoid detaining me, often stood at
the gate with something for my breakfast or dinner. I was indebted to
her for all my comforts, spiritual or temporal. It was _her_ labor that
supplied my scanty wardrobe. I have a vivid recollection of the
linsey-woolsey dress given me every winter by Mrs. Flint. How I hated
it! It was one of the badges of Slavery. While my grandmother was thus
helping to support me from her hard earnings, the three hundred dollars
she lent her mistress was never repaid. When her mistress died, my
master, who was her son-in-law, was appointed executor. When grandmother
applied to him for payment, he said the estate was insolvent, and the
law prohibited payment. It did not, however, prohibit him from retaining
the silver candelabra which had been purchased with that money. I
presume they will be handed down in the family from generation to
generation.

My grandmother's mistress had always promised that at her death she
should be free; and it was said that in her will she made good the
promise. But when the estate was settled, Dr. Flint told the faithful
old servant that, under existing circumstances, it was necessary she
should be sold.

On the appointed day the customary advertisement was posted up,
proclaiming that there would be "a public sale of <DW64>s, horses, &c."
Dr. Flint called to tell my grandmother that he was unwilling to wound
her feelings by putting her up at auction, and that he would prefer to
dispose of her at private sale. She saw through his hypocrisy, and
understood very well that he was ashamed of the job. She was a very
spirited woman; and if he was base enough to sell her, after her
mistress had made her free by her will, she was determined the public
should know it. She had, for a long time, supplied many families with
crackers and preserves; consequently "Aunt Marthy," as she was called,
was generally known; and all who knew her respected her intelligence and
good character. It was also well known that her mistress had intended to
leave her free, as a reward for her long and faithful services. When the
day of sale came, she took her place among the chattels, and at the
first call she sprang upon the auction-block. She was then fifty years
old. Many voices called out: "Shame! shame! Who's going to sell _you_,
Aunt Marthy? Don't stand there. That's no place for _you_." She made no
answer, but quietly awaited her fate. No one bid for her. At last a
feeble voice said, "Fifty dollars." It came from a maiden lady, seventy
years old, the sister of my grandmother's deceased mistress. She had
lived forty years under the same roof with my grandmother; she knew how
faithfully she had served her owners, and how cruelly she had been
defrauded of her rights, and she resolved to protect her. The auctioneer
waited for a higher bid; but her wishes were respected; no one bid above
her. The old lady could neither read nor write; and when the bill of
sale was made out, she signed it with a cross. But of what consequence
was that, when she had a big heart overflowing with human kindness? She
gave the faithful old servant her freedom.

My grandmother had always been a mother to her orphan grandchildren, as
far as that was possible in a condition of Slavery. Her perseverance and
unwearied industry continued unabated after her time was her own, and
she soon became mistress of a snug little home, and surrounded herself
with the necessaries of life. She would have been happy, if her family
could have shared them with her. There remained to her but three
children and two grandchildren; and they were all slaves. Most earnestly
did she strive to make us feel that it was the will of God; that He had
seen fit to place us under such circumstances, and though it seemed
hard, we ought to pray for contentment. It was a beautiful faith, coming
from a mother who could not call her children her own. But I and
Benjamin, her youngest boy, condemned it. It appeared to us that it was
much more according to the will of God that we should be free, and able
to make a home for ourselves, as she had done. There we always found
balsam for our troubles. She was so loving, so sympathizing! She always
met us with a smile, and listened with patience to all our sorrows. She
spoke so hopefully, that unconsciously the clouds gave place to
sunshine. There was a grand big oven there, too, that baked bread and
nice things for the town; and we knew there was always a choice bit in
store for us. But even the charms of that old oven failed to reconcile
us to our hard lot. Benjamin was now a tall, handsome lad, strongly and
gracefully made, and with a spirit too bold and daring for a slave.

One day his master attempted to flog him for not obeying his summons
quickly enough. Benjamin resisted, and in the struggle threw his master
down. To raise his hand against a white man was a great crime, according
to the laws of the State; and to avoid a cruel, public whipping,
Benjamin hid himself and made his escape. My grandmother was absent,
visiting an old friend in the country, when this happened. When she
returned, and found her youngest child had fled, great was her sorrow.
But, with characteristic piety, she said, "God's will be done." Every
morning she inquired whether any news had been heard from her boy. Alas!
news did come,--sad news. The master received a letter, and was
rejoicing over the capture of his human chattel.

That day seems to me but as yesterday, so well do I remember it. I saw
him led through the streets in chains to jail. His face was ghastly
pale, but full of determination. He had sent some one to his mother's
house to ask her not to come to meet him. He said the sight of her
distress would take from him all self-control. Her heart yearned to see
him, and she went; but she screened herself in the crowd, that it might
be as her child had said.

We were not allowed to visit him. But we had known the jailer for years,
and he was a kind-hearted man. At midnight he opened the door for my
grandmother and myself to enter, in disguise. When we entered the cell,
not a sound broke the stillness. "Benjamin," whispered my grandmother.
No answer. "Benjamin!" said she, again, in a faltering tone. There was a
jingling of chains. The moon had just risen, and cast an uncertain light
through the bars. We knelt down and took Benjamin's cold hands in ours.
Sobs alone were heard, while she wept upon his neck. At last Benjamin's
lips were unsealed. Mother and son talked together. He asked her pardon
for the suffering he had caused her. She told him she had nothing to
forgive; that she could not blame him for wanting to be free. He told
her that he broke away from his captors, and was about to throw himself
into the river, but thoughts of her came over him and arrested the
movement. She asked him if he did not also think of God. He replied:
"No, mother, I did not. When a man is hunted like a wild beast, he
forgets that there _is_ a God."

The pious mother shuddered, as she said: "Don't talk so, Benjamin. Try
to be humble, and put your trust in God."

"I wish I had some of your goodness," he replied. "You bear everything
patiently, just as though you thought it was all right. I wish I could."

She told him it had not always been so with her; that once she was like
him; but when sore troubles came upon her, and she had no arm to lean
upon, she learned to call on God, and he lightened her burdens. She
besought him to do so likewise.

The jailer came to tell us we had overstayed our time, and we were
obliged to hurry away. Grandmother went to the master and tried to
intercede for her son. But he was inexorable. He said Benjamin should be
made an example of. That he should be kept in jail till he was sold. For
three months he remained within the walls of the prison, during which
time grandmother secretly conveyed him changes of clothes, and as often
as possible carried him something warm for supper, accompanied with some
little luxury for her friend the jailer. He was finally sold to a
slave-trader from New Orleans. When they fastened irons upon his wrists
to drive him off with the coffle, it was heart-rending to hear the
groans of that poor mother, as she clung to the Benjamin of her
family,--her youngest, her pet. He was pale and thin now, from hardships
and long confinement; but still his good looks were so observable that
the slave-trader remarked he would give any price for the handsome lad,
if he were a girl. We, who knew so well what Slavery was, were thankful
that he was not.

Grandmother stifled her grief, and with strong arms and unwavering faith
set to work to purchase freedom for Benjamin. She knew the slave-trader
would charge three times as much as he gave for him; but she was not
discouraged. She employed a lawyer to write to New Orleans, and try to
negotiate the business for her. But word came that Benjamin was missing;
he had run away again.

Philip, my grandmother's only remaining son, inherited his mother's
intelligence. His mistress sometimes trusted him to go with a cargo to
New York. One of these occasions occurred not long after Benjamin's
second escape. Through God's good providence the brothers met in the
streets of New York. It was a happy meeting, though Benjamin was very
pale and thin; for on his way from bondage he had been taken violently
ill, and brought nigh unto death. Eagerly he embraced his brother,
exclaiming: "O Phil! here I am at last. I came nigh dying when I was
almost in sight of freedom; and O how I prayed that I might live just to
get one breath of free air! And here I am. In the old jail, I used to
wish I was dead. But life is worth something now, and it would be hard
to die." He begged his brother not to go back to the South, but to stay
and work with him till they earned enough to buy their relatives.

Philip replied: "It would kill mother if I deserted her. She has pledged
her house, and is working harder than ever to buy you. Will you be
bought?"

"Never!" replied Benjamin, in his resolute tone. "When I have got so far
out of their clutches, do you suppose, Phil, that I would ever let them
be paid one red cent? Do you think I would consent to have mother turned
out of her hard-earned home in her old age? And she never to see me
after she had bought me? For you know, Phil, she would never leave the
South while any of her children or grandchildren remained in Slavery.
What a good mother! Tell her to buy _you_, Phil. You have always been a
comfort to her; and I have always been making her trouble."

Philip furnished his brother with some clothes, and gave him what money
he had. Benjamin pressed his hand, and said, with moistened eyes, "I
part from all my kindred." And so it proved. We never heard from him
afterwards.

When Uncle Philip came home, the first words he said, on entering the
house, were: "O mother, Ben is free! I have seen him in New York." For a
moment she seemed bewildered. He laid his hand gently on her shoulder
and repeated what he had said. She raised her hands devoutly, and
exclaimed, "God be praised! Let us thank Him." She dropped on her knees
and poured forth her heart in prayer. When she grew calmer, she begged
Philip to sit down and repeat every word her son had said. He told her
all, except that Benjamin had nearly died on the way and was looking
very pale and thin.

Still the brave old woman toiled on to accomplish the rescue of her
remaining children. After a while she succeeded in buying Philip, for
whom she paid eight hundred dollars, and came home with the precious
document that secured his freedom. The happy mother and son sat by her
hearthstone that night, telling how proud they were of each other, and
how they would prove to the world that they could take care of
themselves, as they had long taken care of others. We all concluded by
saying, "He that is _willing_ to be a slave, let him be a slave."

My grandmother had still one daughter remaining in Slavery. She belonged
to the same master that I did; and a hard time she had of it. She was a
good soul, this old Aunt Nancy. She did all she could to supply the
place of my lost mother to us orphans. She was the _factotum_ in our
master's household. She was house-keeper, waiting-maid, and everything
else: nothing went on well without her, by day or by night. She wore
herself out in their service. Grandmother toiled on, hoping to purchase
release for her. But one evening word was brought that she had been
suddenly attacked with paralysis, and grandmother hastened to her
bedside. Mother and daughter had always been devotedly attached to each
other; and now they looked lovingly and earnestly into each other's
eyes, longing to speak of secrets that weighed on the hearts of both.
She lived but two days, and on the last day she was speechless. It was
sad to witness the grief of her bereaved mother. She had always been
strong to bear, and religious faith still supported her; but her dark
life had become still darker, and age and trouble were leaving deep
traces on her withered face. The poor old back was fitted to its burden.
It bent under it, but did not break.

Uncle Philip asked permission to bury his sister at his own expense; and
slaveholders are always ready to grant _such_ favors to slaves and their
relatives. The arrangements were very plain, but perfectly respectable.
It was talked of by the slaves as a mighty grand funeral. If Northern
travellers had been passing through the place, perhaps they would have
described it as a beautiful tribute to the humble dead, a touching proof
of the attachment between slaveholders and their slaves; and very likely
the mistress would have confirmed this impression, with her handkerchief
at her eyes. _We_ could have told them how the poor old mother had
toiled, year after year, to buy her son Philip's right to his own
earnings; and how that same Philip had paid the expenses of the funeral
which they regarded as doing so much credit to the master.

There were some redeeming features in our hard destiny. Very pleasant
are my recollections of the good old lady who paid fifty dollars for the
purpose of making my grandmother free, when she stood on the
auction-block. She loved this old lady, whom we all called Miss Fanny.
She often took tea at grandmother's house. On such occasions, the table
was spread with a snow-white cloth, and the china cups and silver spoons
were taken from the old-fashioned buffet. There were hot muffins,
tea-rusks, and delicious sweetmeats. My grandmother always had a supply
of such articles, because she furnished the ladies of the town with such
things for their parties. She kept two cows for that purpose, and the
fresh cream was Miss Fanny's delight. She invariably repeated that it
was the very best in town. The old ladies had cosey times together. They
would work and chat, and sometimes, while talking over old times, their
spectacles would get dim with tears, and would have to be taken off and
wiped. When Miss Fanny bade us "Good by," her bag was always filled with
grandmother's best cakes, and she was urged to come again soon.

[Here follows a long account of persecutions endured by the
granddaughter, who tells this story. She finally made her escape, after
encountering great dangers and hardships. The faithful old grandmother
concealed her for a long time at great risk to them both, during which
time she tried in vain to buy free papers for her. At last there came a
chance to escape in a vessel Northward bound. She goes on to say:--]

"All arrangements were made for me to go on board at dusk. Grandmother
came to me with a small bag of money, which she wanted me to take. I
begged her to keep at least part of it; but she insisted, while her
tears fell fast, that I should take the whole. 'You may be sick among
strangers,' said she; 'and they would send you to the poor-house to
die.' Ah, that good grandmother! Though I had the blessed prospect of
freedom before me, I felt dreadfully sad at leaving forever that old
homestead, that had received and sheltered me in so many sorrows.
Grandmother took me by the hand and said, 'My child, let us pray.' We
knelt down together, with my arm clasped round the faithful, loving old
friend I was about to leave forever. On no other occasion has it been my
lot to listen to so fervent a supplication for mercy and protection. It
thrilled through my heart and inspired me with trust in God. I staggered
into the street, faint in body, though strong of purpose. I did not look
back upon the dear old place, though I felt that I should never see it
again."

[The granddaughter found friends at the North, and, being uncommonly
quick in her perceptions, she soon did much to supply the deficiencies
of early education. While leading a worthy, industrious life in New
York, she twice very narrowly escaped becoming a victim to the infamous
Fugitive Slave Law. A noble-hearted lady purchased her freedom, and
thereby rescued her from further danger. She thus closes the story of
her venerable ancestor:--]

"My grandmother lived to rejoice in the knowledge of my freedom; but not
long afterward a letter came to me with a black seal. It was from a
friend at the South, who informed me that she had gone 'where the
wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are at rest.' Among
the gloomy recollections of my life in bondage come tender memories of
that good grandmother, like a few fleecy clouds floating over a dark and
troubled sea."

                                                       H. J.

NOTE.--The above account is no fiction. The author, who was thirty years
in Slavery, wrote it in an interesting book entitled "Linda." She is an
esteemed friend of mine; and I introduce this portion of her story here
to illustrate the power of character over circumstances. She has intense
sympathy for those who are still suffering in the bondage from which she
escaped. She has devoted all her energies to the poor refugees in our
camps, comforting the afflicted, nursing the sick, and teaching the
children. On the 1st of January, 1863, she wrote me a letter, which
began as follows: "I have lived to hear the Proclamation of Freedom for
my suffering people. All my wrongs are forgiven. I am more than repaid
for all I have endured. Glory to God in the highest!"

                                                 L. M. CHILD.

       *       *       *       *       *

"THEY CANNOT TAKE CARE OF THEMSELVES."

    Our tobacco they plant, and our cotton they pick,
      And our rice they can harvest and thrash;
    They feed us in health, and they nurse us when sick,
      And they earn--while we pocket--our cash.
    They lead us when young, and they help us when old,
      And their toil loads our tables and shelves;
    But they're "<DW65>s"; and _therefore_ (the truth must be told)
      They cannot take care of _themselves_.

                                REV. JOHN PIERPONT.




THE  MOTHER'S PRAYER.


    Great Father! who created all,
      The  and the fair,
    O listen to a mother's call;
      Hear Thou the <DW64>'s prayer!

    Yet once again thy people teach,
      With lessons from above,
    That they may _practise_ what they _preach_,
      And _all_ their neighbors love.

    Again the Gospel precepts give;
      Teach them this rule to know,--
    Such treatment as ye should _receive_,
      Be willing to _bestow_.

    Then my poor child, my darling one,
      Will never feel the smart
    Of their unjust and cruel scorn,
      That withers all the heart.

    Great Father! who created all,
      The  and the fair,
    O listen to a mother's call;
      Hear Thou the <DW64>'s prayer!




WILLIAM COSTIN.


Mr. William Costin was for twenty-four years porter of a bank in
Washington, D. C. Many millions of dollars passed through his hands, but
not a cent was ever missing, through fraud or carelessness. In his daily
life he set an example of purity and benevolence. He adopted four orphan
children into his family, and treated them with the kindness of a
father. His character inspired general respect; and when he died, in
1842, the newspapers of the city made honorable mention of him. The
directors of the bank passed a resolution expressive of their high
appreciation of his services, and his coffin was followed to the grave
by a very large procession of citizens of all classes and complexions.
Not long after, when the Honorable John Quincy Adams was speaking in
Congress on the subject of voting, he said: "The late William Costin,
though he was not white, was as much respected as any man in the
District; and the large concourse of citizens that attended his remains
to the grave--as well white as black--was an evidence of the manner in
which he was estimated by the citizens of Washington. Now, why should
such a man as that be excluded from the elective franchise, when you
admit the vilest individuals of the white race to exercise it?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Strain every nerve, wrestle with every power God and nature have put
into your hands, for your place among the races of this Western
world.--WENDELL PHILLIPS.




EDUCATION OF CHILDREN.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.


People of all colors and conditions love their offspring; but very few
consider sufficiently how much the future character and happiness of
their children depend on their own daily language and habits. It does
very little good to teach children to be honest if the person who
teaches them is not scrupulous about taking other people's property or
using it without leave. It does very little good to tell them they ought
to be modest, if they are accustomed to hear their elders use unclean
words or tell indecent stories. Primers and catechisms may teach them to
reverence God, but the lesson will lose half its effect if they
habitually hear their parents curse and swear. Some two hundred years
ago a very learned astronomer named Sir Isaac Newton lived in England.
He was so devout that he always took off his hat when the name of God
was mentioned. By that act of reverence he taught a religious lesson to
every child who witnessed it. Young souls are fed by what they see and
hear, just as their bodies are fed with daily food. No parents who knew
what they were doing would give their little ones poisonous food, that
would produce fevers, ulcers, and death. It is of far more consequence
not to poison their souls; for the body passes away, but the soul is
immortal.

When a traveller pointed to a stunted and crooked tree and asked what
made it grow so, a child replied, "I suppose somebody trod on it when
it was little." It is hard for children born in Slavery to grow up
spiritually straight and healthy, because they are trodden on when they
are little. Being constantly treated unjustly, they cannot learn to be
just. Their parents have no power to protect them from evil influences.
They cannot prevent their continually seeing cruel and indecent actions,
and hearing profane and dirty words. Heretofore, you could not educate
your children, either morally or intellectually. But now that you are
freemen, responsibility rests upon you. You will be answerable before
God for the influence you exert over the young souls intrusted to your
care. You may be too ignorant to teach them much of book-learning, and
you may be too poor to spend much money for their education, but you can
set them a pure and good example by your conduct and conversation. This
you should try your utmost to do, and should pray to the Heavenly Father
to help you; for it is a very solemn duty, this rearing of young souls
for eternity. That you yourselves have had a stunted growth, from being
trodden upon when you were little, will doubtless make you more careful
not to tread upon them.

It is necessary that children should be made obedient to their elders,
because they are not old enough to know what is good for themselves; but
obedience should always be obtained by the gentlest means possible.
Violence excites anger and hatred, without doing any good to
counterbalance the evil. When it is necessary to punish a child, it
should be done in such a calm and reasonable manner as to convince him
that you do it for his good, and not because you are in a rage.

Slaves, all the world over, are generally much addicted to lying. The
reason is, that if they have done any mischief by carelessness or
accident, they dare not tell the truth about it for fear of a cruel
flogging. Violent and tyrannical treatment always produces that effect.
Wherever children are abused, whether they are white or black, they
become very cunning and deceitful; for when the weak are tortured by the
strong, they have no other way to save themselves from suffering. Such
treatment does not cure faults; it only makes people lie to conceal
their faults. If a child does anything wrong, and confesses it frankly,
his punishment ought to be slight, in order to encourage him in habits
of truthfulness, which is one of the noblest attributes of manhood. If
he commits the same fault a second time, even if he confesses it, he
ought not to be let off so easily, because it is necessary to teach him
that confession, though a very good thing, will not supply the place of
repentance. When children are naughty, it is better to deprive them of
some pleasant thing that they want to eat or drink or do, than it is to
kick and cuff them. It is better to attract them toward what is right
than to drive them from what is wrong. Thus if a boy is lazy, it is
wiser to promise him reward in proportion to his industry, than it is to
cuff and scold him, which will only make him shirk work as soon as you
are out of sight. Whereas, if you tell him, "You shall have six cents if
you dig one bushel of potatoes, and six cents more if you dig two," he
will have a motive that will stimulate him when you are not looking
after him. If he is too lazy to be stimulated by such offers, he must be
told that he who digs no potatoes must have none to eat.

The moral education which you are all the time giving your children, by
what they hear you say and see you do, is of more consequence to them
than reading and writing and ciphering. But the education they get at
school is also very important; and it will be wise and kind in you to
buy such books as they need, and encourage them in every way to become
good scholars, as well as good men. By so doing you will not only
benefit them, but you will help all your race. Every <DW52> man or
woman who is virtuous and intelligent takes away something of prejudice
against <DW52> men and women in general; and it likewise encourages all
their brethren and sisters, by showing what <DW52> people are capable
of doing.

The system of Slavery was all penalty and no attraction; in other words,
it punished men if they did _not_ do, but it did not reward them for
_doing_. In the management of your children you should do exactly the
opposite of this. You should appeal to their manhood, not to their
fears. After emancipation in the West Indies, planters who had been
violent slaveholders, if they saw a freedman leaning on his hoe, would
say, "Work, you black rascal, or I'll flog you"; and the freedman would
lean all the longer on his hoe. Planters of a more wise and moderate
character, if they saw the emancipated laborers idling away their time,
would say, "We expect better things of free men"; and that appeal to
their manhood made the hoes fly fast.

Old men and women have been treated with neglect and contempt in
Slavery, because they were no longer able to work for the profit of
their masters. But respect and tenderness are peculiarly due to the
aged. They have done much and suffered much. They are no longer able to
help themselves; and we should help them, as they helped us in the
feebleness of our infancy, and as we may again need to be helped in the
feebleness of age. Any want of kindness or civility toward the old
ought to be very seriously rebuked in children; and affectionate
attentions should be spoken of as praiseworthy.

Slavery in every way fosters violence. Slave-children, being in the
habit of seeing a great deal of beating, early form the habit of kicking
and banging each other when they are angry, and of abusing poor helpless
animals intrusted to their care. On all such occasions parents should
say to them: "Those are the ways of Slavery. We expect better things of
free children."

       *       *       *       *       *

AN HONORABLE RECORD.

In 1837 the <DW52> population in Philadelphia numbered eighteen
thousand seven hundred and sixty-eight. Many of them were poor and
ignorant, and some of them were vicious; as would be the case with any
people under such discouraging influences. But, notwithstanding they
were excluded by prejudice from all the most profitable branches of
industry, they had acquired property valued at one million three hundred
and fifty thousand dollars; five hundred and fifty thousand was in real
estate, and eight hundred thousand was personal property. They had built
sixteen churches, valued at one hundred and fourteen thousand dollars,
for the support of which they annually paid over six thousand dollars.
The pauper tax they paid was more than enough to support all the 
paupers in the city. They had eighty benevolent societies, and during
that year they had expended fourteen thousand one hundred and
seventy-two dollars for the relief of the sick and the helpless. A
number of them who had been slaves had paid, in the course of that year,
seventy thousand seven hundred and thirty-three dollars to purchase
their own freedom, or that of their relatives.




THANK GOD FOR LITTLE CHILDREN.

BY FRANCES E. W. HARPER.


    Thank God for little children!
      Bright flowers by earth's wayside,--
    The dancing, joyous life-boats
      Upon life's stormy tide.

    Thank God for little children!
      When our skies are cold and gray,
    They come as sunshine to our hearts,
      And charm our cares away.

    I almost think the angels,
      Who tend life's garden fair,
    Drop down the sweet wild blossoms
      That bloom around us here.

    It seems a breath of heaven
      "Round many a cradle lies,"
    And every little baby
      Brings a message from the skies.

    The humblest home, with children,
      Is rich in precious gems;
    Better than wealth of monarchs,
      Or golden diadems.

    Dear mothers, guard these jewels
      As sacred offerings meet,--
    A wealth of household treasures,
      To lay at Jesus' feet.




SAM AND ANDY.

BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.


A beautiful slave in Kentucky, named Eliza, had a very handsome little
boy. One day she overheard her master making a bargain with a
slave-trader by the name of Haley to sell them both. She made her escape
that night, taking her child with her. Her mistress, who was much
attached to her, and did not want to have her sold, was glad when she
heard that Eliza was gone; but her master, who was afraid the trader
would think he had helped her off after he had taken the money for her,
ordered the horses Bill and Jerry to be brought, and two of his slaves,
called Sam and Andy, to go with the slave-trader in pursuit of the
fugitive. The way they contrived how _not_ to overtake Eliza is thus
told in "Uncle Tom's Cabin":--

"'Sam! Halloo, Sam!' said Andy. 'Mas'r wants you to cotch Bill and
Jerry.'

"'High! what's afoot now?' said Sam.

"'Why I s'pose you don't know that Lizy's cut stick, and clared out,
with her young un?'

"'You teach your granny!' replied Sam, with infinite contempt; 'knowed
it a heap sooner than _you_ did. This <DW65> a'n't so green, now.'

"'Wal, anyhow, Mas'r wants Bill and Jerry geared right up; and you and
I's to go with Mas'r Haley, to look arter her,' said Andy.

"Sam, who had just been contriving how he could make himself of
importance on the plantation, exclaimed: 'Good, now! dat's de time o'
day! It's Sam dat's called for in dese yere times. _He_'s de <DW65>.
Mas'r'll see what Sam can do!'

"'Ah, you'd better think twice,' said Andy; 'for Missis don't want her
cotched, and she'll be in yer wool.'

"'High! how you know dat?' said Sam, opening his eyes.

"'Heard her say so, my own self, dis blessed mornin', when I bring in
Mas'r's shaving-water. She sent me to see why Lizy didn't come to dress
her; and when I telled her she was off, she jes ris up, and ses she,
"The Lord be praised!" Mas'r he seemed rael mad; and ses he, "Wife, you
talk like a fool." But, Lor! she'll bring him to. I knows well enough
how that'll be. It's allers best to stand Missis's side the fence, now I
tell yer,' said Andy.

"Sam scratched his woolly pate, and gave a hitch to his pantaloons, as
he had a habit of doing when his mind was perplexed. 'Der a'n't never no
sayin' 'bout no kind o' thing in dis yere world,' said he at last. 'Now
I'd a said sartin that Missis would a scoured the varsal world after
Lizy.'

"'So she would,' said Andy; 'but can't ye see through a ladder, ye black
<DW65>? Missis don't want dis yer Mas'r Haley to get Lizy's boy; dat's
de go. And I 'specs you'd better be making tracks for dem
hosses,--mighty sudden too,--for I hearn Missis 'quirin' arter yer; so
you've stood foolin' long enough.'

"Sam, upon this, began to bestir himself in earnest, and after a while
appeared, bearing down gloriously towards the house, with Bill and Jerry
in a full canter. Adroitly throwing himself off before they had any
idea of stopping, he brought them up alongside the horse-post like a
tornado. Haley's horse, which was a skittish young colt, winced and
bounced, and pulled hard at his halter.

"'Ho! ho!' said Sam, 'skeery, ar ye?' and his black face lighted up with
a curious, mischievous gleam. 'I'll fix ye now,' said he.

"There was a large beech-tree overshadowing the place, and the small,
sharp, triangular beech-nuts lay scattered thickly on the ground. Sam
stroked and patted the colt, and while pretending to adjust the saddle,
he slipped under it a sharp little nut, in such a manner that the least
weight brought upon the saddle would annoy the nervous animal, without
leaving any perceptible wound.

"'Dar, me fix 'em,' said he, rolling his eyes with an approving grin.

"At this moment Mrs. Shelby appeared on the balcony and beckoned to him.
'Why have you been loitering so, Sam?' said she. 'I sent Andy to tell
you to hurry.'

"'Bress you, Missis, hosses won't be cotched all in a minit. They done
clared out down to the south pasture, and everywhar,' said Sam.

"'Well, Sam,' replied his mistress, 'you are to go with Mr. Haley to
show him the road, and help him. Be careful of the horses, Sam. You know
Jerry was a little lame last week. _Don't ride them too fast._' She
spoke the last words in a low voice, and with strong emphasis.

"'Let dis chile alone for dat,' said Sam, rolling up his eyes with a
look full of meaning. 'Yes, Missis, I'll look out for de hosses.'

"Sam returned to his stand under the beech-tree, and said to Andy, 'Now,
Andy, I wouldn't be 't all surprised if dat ar gen'lman's crittur should
gib a fling, by and by, when he comes to be a gettin' up. You know,
Andy, critturs _will_ do such things'; and Sam poked Andy in the side,
in a highly suggestive manner.

"'High!' exclaimed Andy, with an air that showed he understood
instantly.

"'Yes, you see, Andy, Missis wants to make time,' said Sam; 'dat ar's
cl'ar to der most or'nary 'bserver. I jis make a little for her. Now,
you see, get all dese yere hosses loose, caperin' permiscus round dis
yere lot, and down to de wood dar, and I 'spec Mas'r won't be off in a
hurry.'

"Andy grinned.

"'You see, Andy,' said Sam, 'if any such thing should happen as that
Mas'r Haley's hoss _should_ begin to act contrary, and cut up, you and I
jist lets go of _our'n_ to help him! O yes, we'll _help_ him!' And Sam
and Andy laid their heads back on their shoulders, and broke into a low,
immoderate laugh, snapping their fingers, and flourishing their heels
with exquisite delight.

"While they were enjoying themselves in this style, Haley appeared on
the verandah. Some cups of very good coffee had somewhat mollified him,
and he came out smiling and talking in tolerably restored humor. Sam and
Andy clawed for their torn hats, and flew to the horse-posts to be ready
to 'help Mas'r.' The brim of Sam's hat was all unbraided, and the
slivers of the palm-leaf started apart in every direction, giving it a
blazing air of freedom and defiance. The brim had gone entirely from
Andy's hat; but he thumped the crown on his head, and looked about well
pleased, as if to ask, 'Who says I haven't got a hat?'

"'Well, boys,' said Haley, 'be alive now. We must lose no time.'

"'Not a bit of him, Mas'r,' said Sam, putting Haley's rein into his
hand and holding his stirrup, while Andy was untying the other two
horses.

"The instant Haley touched the saddle the mettlesome creature bounded
from the earth with a sudden spring, that threw his master sprawling
some feet off, on the dry, soft turf. With frantic ejaculations Sam made
a dive at the reins, but only succeeded in brushing the torn slivers of
his hat into the horse's eyes, which by no means tended to allay the
confusion of his nerves. With two or three contemptuous snorts he upset
Sam, flourished his heels vigorously in the air, and pranced away toward
the lower end of the lawn. He was followed by Bill and Jerry, whom Andy
had not failed to let loose, according to contract, speeding them off
with various direful cries. And now there was a scene of great
confusion. Sam and Andy ran and shouted; dogs ran barking here and
there; Mike, Mose, Mandy, Fanny, and all the smaller specimens on the
place, raced, whooped, shouted, and clapped their hands with outrageous
zeal. Haley's fleet horse entered into the spirit of the scene with
great gusto. He raced round the lawn, which was half a mile in extent,
and seemed to take a mischievous delight in letting his pursuers come
within a hand's breadth of him, and then whisking off again with a start
and a snort.

"Sam's torn hat was seen everywhere. If there seemed to be the least
chance that a horse could be caught, down he bore upon him full tilt,
shouting, 'Now for it! Cotch him! cotch him!' in a way that set them all
to racing again.

"Haley ran up and down, stamped, cursed, and swore. The master in vain
tried to give some directions from the balcony, and the mistress looked
from her chamber window and laughed. She had some suspicion that Sam was
the cause of all this confusion.

"At last, about twelve o'clock, Sam appeared, mounted on Jerry, leading
Haley's horse, reeking with sweat, but with flashing eyes and dilated
nostrils, showing that the spirit of freedom had not yet entirely
subsided.

"'He's cotched!' exclaimed Sam, triumphantly. 'If it hadn't been for me
they might a bust themselves, all on 'em; but I cotched him.'

"'_You!_' growled Haley. 'If it hadn't been for _you_, this never would
have happened.'

"'Bress us, Mas'r!' exclaimed Sam; 'when it's me that's been a racin'
and chasin' till the swet jist pours off me.'

"'Well, well!' said Haley, 'you've lost me near three hours with your
cursed nonsense. Now let's be off, and have no more fooling.'

"'Why, Mas'r,' said Sam, in a deprecating tone, 'I do believe you mean
to kill us all clar,--hosses and all. Here we are all jist ready to drop
down, and the critturs all in a reek o' sweat. Sure Mas'r won't think of
startin' now till arter dinner. Mas'r's hoss wants rubben down. See how
he's splashed hisself!--and Jerry limps, too. Don't think Missis would
be willing to have us start dis yere way, no how. Bress you, Mas'r, we
can ketch up, if we stop. Lizy nebber was no great of a walker.'

"The mistress, who, greatly to her amusement, overheard this
conversation from the verandah, now came forward and courteously urged
Mr. Haley to stay to dinner, saying that the cook should bring it on the
table immediately. All things considered, the slave-trader concluded it
was best to do so. As he moved toward the parlor, Sam rolled his eyes
after him with unutterable meaning, and gravely led the horses to the
stable.

"When he had fairly got beyond the shelter of the barn, and fastened
the horse to a post, he exclaimed, 'Did you see him, Andy? _Did_ yer see
him? O Lor', if it warn't as good as a meetin', now, to see him a
dancin' and a kickin', and swarin' at us! Didn't I hear him? Swar away,
ole fellow! says I to myself. Will you have yer hoss now, or wait till
you cotch him? says I.' And Sam and Andy leaned up against the barn, and
laughed to their hearts' content.

"'Yer oughter seen how mad he looked when I brought the hoss up. Lor',
he'd a killed me if he durs' to; and there I was a standin' as innercent
and humble.'

"'Lor', I seed you,' said Andy. 'A'n't you an old hoss, Sam?'

"'Rather 'specs I am,' said Sam. 'Did you see Missus up stars at the
winder? I seed her laughin'.'

"'I'm sure I was racin' so I didn't see nothin,' said Andy.

"'Wal, yer see, I'se 'quired a habit o' bobservation,' said Sam. 'It's a
very 'portant habit, Andy; and I 'commend yer to be cultivatin' it, now
yer young. Bobservation makes all de difference in <DW65>s. Didn't I see
what Missis wanted, though she never let on? Dat ar's bobservation,
Andy. I 'specs it's what yer may call a faculty. Faculties is different
in different peoples; but cultivation of 'em goes a great way.'

"'I guess if I hadn't helped your bobservation dis mornin', yer wouldn't
have seen yer way so smart,' said Andy.

"'You's a promisin' chile, Andy, der a'n't no manner o' doubt,' said
Sam. 'I think lots of yer, Andy; and I don't feel no ways ashamed to
take idees from yer. Let's go up to the house now, Andy. I'll be boun'
Missis'll give us an uncommon good bite dis yere time.'"

"The mistress had promised that dinner should be brought on the table in
a hurry, and she had given the orders in Haley's hearing. But the
servants all seemed to have an impression that Missis would not be
disobliged by delay. Aunt Chloe, the cook, went on with her operations
in a very leisurely manner. Then it was wonderful what a number of
accidents happened. One upset the butter; another tumbled down with the
water, and had to go to the spring for more; another spilled the gravy;
then Aunt Chloe set about making new gravy, watching it and stirring it
with the greatest precision. If reminded that the orders were to hurry,
she answered shortly that she 'warn't a going to have raw gravy on the
table, to help nobody's catchin's.'

"From time to time there was giggling in the kitchen, when news was
brought that 'Mas'r Haley was mighty oneasy, and that he couldn't set in
his cheer no ways, but was a walkin' and stalkin' to the winders and
through the porch.'

"'Sarves him right!' said Aunt Chloe. 'He'll git wus nor oneasy, one of
these days, if he don't mend his ways.'

"At last the dinner was sent in, and the mistress smiled and chatted,
and did all she could to make the time pass imperceptibly.

"At two o'clock, Sam and Andy brought the horses up to the posts,
apparently greatly refreshed and invigorated by the scamper of the
morning. As Haley prepared to mount, he said, 'Your master don't keep no
dogs, I s'pose?'

"'Heaps on 'em,' said Sam, triumphantly. 'Thar's Bruno,--he's a roarer;
and besides that, 'bout every <DW65> of us keeps a pup o' some natur' or
uther.'

"'But does your master keep any dogs for tracking out <DW65>s?' said
Haley.

"Sam knew very well what he meant, but he kept on a look of desperate
simplicity. 'Wal,' said he, 'our dogs all smells round considerable
sharp. I 'spect they's the _kind_, though they ha'n't never had no
_practice_. They's far dogs at most anything though, if you'd get 'em
started.' He whistled to Bruno, a great lumbering Newfoundland dog, who
came pitching tumultuously toward them.

"'You go hang!' exclaimed Haley, mounting his horse. 'Come, tumble up,
now.'

"Sam tumbled up accordingly, contriving to tickle Andy as he did so.
This made Andy split out into a laugh, greatly to Haley's indignation,
who made a cut at him with his riding-whip. 'I'se 'stonished at yer,
Andy,' said Sam, with awful gravity. 'This yere's a seris bisness, Andy.
Yer mustn't be a makin' game. This yere a'n't no way to help Mas'r.'

"When they came to the boundaries of the estate, Haley said: 'I shall
take the road to the river. I know the way of all of 'em. They always
makes tracks for the underground.'

"'Sartin, dat's de idee,' said Sam. 'Mas'r Haley hits de thing right in
de middle. Now, der's two roads to de river,--de dirt road and der pike.
Which Mas'r mean to take?'

"Andy looked up innocently at Sam, surprised at hearing this new
geographical fact; but he instantly confirmed what Sam said.

"'I'd rather be 'clined to 'magine that Lizy'd take der dirt road, bein'
it's the least travelled,' said Sam. Though Haley was an old bird, and
inclined to be suspicious of chaff, he was rather brought up by this
view of the case. He pondered a moment, and said, 'If yer wasn't both on
yer such cussed liars, now!'

"The pensive tone in which this was spoken amused Andy prodigiously. He
fell a little behind, and shook so with laughter as to run a great risk
of falling from his horse. But Sam's face was immovably composed into
the most doleful gravity.

"'Course, Mas'r can do as he'd ruther,' said Sam. 'It's all one to us.
When I study 'pon it, I think de straight road is de best.'

"'She would naturally go a lonesome way,' said Haley.

"'I should 'magine so,' said Sam; 'but gals is pecular. Dey nebber does
nothin' ye thinks they will; mose gen'lly de contrar; so if yer thinks
they've gone one road, it's sartin you'd better go t'other, and then
you'll be sure to find 'em. So I think we'd better take de straight
road.'

"Haley announced decidedly that he should go the other, and asked when
they should come to it.

"'A little piece ahed,' said Sam, giving a wink to Andy. He added
gravely, 'I've studded on de matter, and I'm quite clar we ought not to
go dat ar way. I nebber been over it no way. It's despit lonesome, and
we might lose our way. And now I think on't, I hearn 'em tell dat ar
road was all fenced up down by der creek. A'n't it, Andy?'

"Andy wasn't certain; he'd only 'hearn tell' about that road, but had
never been over it.

"Haley thought the first mention of the road was involuntary on Sam's
part, and that, upon second thoughts, he had lied desperately to
dissuade him from taking that direction because he was unwilling to
implicate Eliza. Therefore he struck briskly into the road, and was
followed by Sam and Andy.

"The road in fact had formerly been an old thoroughfare to the river,
but after the laying of the new pike it had been abandoned. It was open
for about an hour's ride, and after that it was cut across by various
farms and fences. Sam knew this perfectly well; indeed, the road had
been so long closed that Andy had never heard of it. He therefore rode
along with an air of dutiful submission, only groaning occasionally, and
saying it was 'desp't rough, and bad for Jerry's foot.'

"'Now, I jest give yer warning, I know yer,' said Haley. 'Yer won't get
me to turn off this yere road, with all yer fussin'; so you shet up.'

"'Mas'r will go his own way,' said Sam, with rueful submission, at the
same time winking portentously to Andy, whose delight now was very near
the explosive point. Sam was in wonderful spirits. He professed to keep
a very brisk lookout. At one time he exclaimed that he saw 'a gal's
bunnet' on the top of some distant eminence; at another time, he called
out to Andy to ask if 'that thar wasn't Lizy down in the holler.' He was
always sure to make these exclamations in some rough or craggy part of
the road, where the sudden quickening of speed was a special
inconvenience to all parties concerned, thus keeping Haley in a state of
constant commotion.

"After riding about an hour in this way, the whole party made a
precipitate and tumultuous descent into a barn-yard belonging to a large
farming establishment. Not a soul was in sight, all the hands being
employed in the fields; but as the barn stood square across the road,
it was evident that their journey in that direction had reached its end.

"'You rascal!' said Haley; 'you knew all about this.'

"'Didn't I _tell_ yer I knowed, and yer wouldn't believe me?' replied
Sam. 'I telled Mas'r 't was all shet up, and fenced up, and I didn't
'spect we could git through. Andy heard me.'

"This was too true to be disputed, and the unlucky man had to pocket his
wrath as well as he could. All three faced to the right about, and took
up their line of march for the highway."

[The consequence of all these delays was, that they reached the Ohio
River only in season to see Eliza and her child get safely on the other
side, by jumping from one mass of floating ice to the other.]

"'The gal's got seven devils in her I believe,' said Haley. 'How like a
wild-cat she jumped!'

"'Wal, now,' said Sam, scratching his head, 'I hope Mas'r 'scuse us
tryin' dat ar road. Don't think I feel spry enough for dat ar, no way';
and Sam gave a hoarse chuckle.

"'_You_ laugh!' exclaimed the slave-trader, with a growl.

"'I couldn't help it now, Mas'r,' said Sam, giving way to the long
pent-up delight of his soul. 'She looked so curis, a leapin' and
springin'; ice a crackin'--and only to hear her! plump! ker chunk! ker
splash!' and Sam and Andy laughed till the tears rolled down their
cheeks.

"'I'll make yer laugh t'other side yer mouths!' exclaimed the trader,
laying about their heads with his riding-whip. Both ducked, and ran
shouting up the bank. They were on their horses before he could come up
with them.

"With much gravity Sam called out: 'Good evening, Mas'r Haley. Won't
want us no longer. I 'spect Missis be anxious 'bout Jerry. Missis
wouldn't hear of our ridin' the critturs over Lizy's bridge to-night.'
With a poke into Andy's ribs, they started off at full speed, their
shouts of laughter coming faintly on the wind.

"Sam was in the highest possible feather. He expressed his exultation by
all sorts of howls and ejaculations, and by divers odd motions and
contortions of his whole system. Sometimes he would sit backward with
his face to the horse's tail; then, with a whoop and a somerset, he
would come right side up in his place again; and, drawing on a grave
face, he would begin to lecture Andy for laughing and playing the fool.
Anon, slapping his sides with his arms, he would burst forth in peals of
laughter, that made the old woods ring as they passed. With all these
evolutions, he contrived to keep the horses up to the top of their
speed, until, between ten and eleven, their heels resounded on the
gravel at the end of the balcony.

"His mistress flew to the railings, and called out, 'Is that you, Sam?
Where are they?'

"'Mas'r Haley's a restin' at the tavern,' said Sam. 'He's drefful
fatigued, Missis.'

"'And Eliza, where is she, Sam?'

"'Wal, Missis, de Lord he persarves his own. Lizy's done gone over the
river into 'Hio; as 'markably as if de Lord took her over in a chariot
of fire and two hosses.'

"His master, who had followed his wife to the verandah, said, 'Come up
here, and tell your mistress what she wants to know.'

"Sam soon appeared at the parlor-door, hat in hand. In answer to their
questions, he told his story in lively style. 'Dis yere's a providence,
and no mistake,' said Sam, piously rolling up his eyes. 'As Missis has
allers been instructin' on us, thar's allers instruments ris up to do de
Lord's will. Now if it hadn't been for me to-day, Lizy'd been took a
dozen times. Warn't it I started off de hosses, dis yere mornin', and
kept 'em chasin' till dinner time? And didn't I car Mas'r Haley five
miles out of de road dis evening? else he'd a come up with Lizy, as easy
as a dog arter a <DW53>. Dese yere's all providences!'

"With as much sternness as he could command under the circumstances, his
master said, 'They are a kind of providences that you'll have to be
pretty sparing of, Sam. I allow no such practices with gentlemen on my
place.'

"Sam stood with the corners of his mouth lowered, in most penitential
style. 'Mas'r's quite right,' said he. 'It was ugly on me; thar's no
disputin' that ar; and of course Mas'r and Missis wouldn't encourage no
such works. I'm sensible ob dat ar. But a poor <DW65> like me's 'mazin'
tempted to act ugly sometimes, when fellers will cut up such shines as
dat ar Mas'r Haley. He a'n't no gen'l'man no way. Anybody's been raised
as I've been can't help a seein' dat ar.'

"'Well, Sam,' said his mistress, 'as you seem to have a proper sense of
your errors, you may go now and tell Aunt Chloe she may get you some of
that cold ham that was left of dinner to-day. You and Andy must be
hungry.'

"'Missis is a heap too good for us,' said Sam, making his bow with
alacrity and departing.

"Having done up his piety and humility, to the satisfaction of the
parlor, as he trusted, he clapped his palm-leaf on his head with a sort
of free-and-easy air, and proceeded to the dominions of Aunt Chloe, with
the intention of flourishing largely in the kitchen."




JOHN BROWN AND THE  CHILD.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.

     [When John Brown went from the jail to the gallows, in Charlestown,
     Virginia, December 2, 1859, he stooped to kiss a little 
     child.]


    A winter sunshine, still and bright,
    The Blue Hills bathed with golden light,
    And earth was smiling to the sky,
    When calmly he went forth to die.

    Infernal passions festered there,
    Where peaceful Nature looked so fair;
    And fiercely, in the morning sun,
    Flashed glitt'ring bayonet and gun.

    The old man met no friendly eye,
    When last he looked on earth and sky;
    But one small child, with timid air,
    Was gazing on his hoary hair.

    As that dark brow to his upturned,
    The tender heart within him yearned;
    And, fondly stooping o'er her face,
    He kissed her for her injured race.

    The little one she knew not why
    That kind old man went forth to die;
    Nor why, 'mid all that pomp and stir,
    He stooped to give a kiss to _her_.

    But Jesus smiled that sight to see,
    And said, "He did it unto _me_."
    The golden harps then sweetly rung,
    And this the song the angels sung:

    "Who loves the poor doth love the Lord;
    Earth cannot dim thy bright reward:
    We hover o'er yon gallows high,
    And wait to bear thee to the sky."

       *       *       *       *       *

John Brown, on his way to the scaffold, stooped to take up a
slave-child. That closing example was the legacy of the dying man to his
country. That benediction we must continue and fulfil. In this new
order, equality, long postponed, shall become the master-principle of
our system, and the very frontispiece of our Constitution.--HON. CHARLES
SUMNER.

       *       *       *       *       *

Christ told me to remember those in bonds as bound with them; to do
toward them as I should wish them to do toward me in similar
circumstances. My conscience bade me to do that. Therefore I have no
regret for the transaction for which I am condemned. I think I feel as
happy as Paul did when he lay in prison. He knew if they killed him it
would greatly advance the cause of Christ. That was the reason he
rejoiced. On that same ground "I do rejoice, yea, and will
rejoice."--JOHN BROWN.




THE AIR OF FREEDOM.

BY FRANCES E. W. HARPER.

     [Written at Niagara Falls in 1856.]


I have just returned from Canada. I have gazed for the first time upon
free land. Would you believe it? the tears sprang to my eyes, and I
wept. It was a glorious sight to gaze, for the first time, on the land
where a poor slave, flying from our land of boasted liberty, would in a
moment find his fetters broken and his shackles loosed. Whatever he was
in the land of Washington, in the shadow of Bunker Hill Monument, or
even upon Plymouth Rock, _here_ he becomes "a man and a brother."

I had gazed on Harper's Ferry, or rather the Rock at the Ferry, towering
up in simple grandeur, with the gentle Potomac gliding peacefully at its
feet; and I felt that it was God's masonry. My soul expanded while
gazing on its sublimity. I had heard the ocean singing its wild chorus
of sounding waves, and the living chords of my heart thrilled with
ecstasy. I have since seen the rainbow-crowned Niagara, girdled with
grandeur and robed with glory, chanting the choral hymn of omnipotence;
but none of these sights have melted me, as did the first sight of free
land.

Towering mountains, lifting their hoary summits to catch the first faint
flush of day, when the sunbeams kiss the shadows from morning's drowsy
face, may expand and exalt your soul; the first view of the ocean may
fill you with strange delight; the great, the glorious Niagara may hush
your spirit with its ceaseless thunder,--it may charm you with its robe
of crested spray, and with its rainbow crown: but the land of freedom
has a lesson of deeper significance than foaming waves and towering
mountains. It carries the heart back to that heroic struggle in Great
Britain for the emancipation of the slaves, in which the great heart of
the people throbbed for liberty, and the mighty pulse of the nation beat
for freedom, till eight hundred thousand men, women, and children in the
West Indies arose redeemed from bondage and freed from chains.




EMANCIPATION IN THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA, APRIL 16, 1862.

BY JAMES MADISON BELL.


    Unfurl your banners to the breeze!
      Let Freedom's tocsin sound amain,
    Until the islands of the seas
      Re-echo with the glad refrain!
    Columbia's free! Columbia's free!
      Her teeming streets, her vine-clad groves,
    Are sacred now to Liberty,
      And God, who every right approves.

    Thank God, the Capital is free!
      The slaver's pen, the auction-block,
    The gory lash of cruelty,
      No more this nation's pride shall mock;
    No more, within those ten miles square,
      Shall men be bought and women sold;
    Nor infants, sable-hued and fair,
      Exchanged again for paltry gold.

    To-day the Capital is free!
      And free those halls where Adams stood
    To plead for man's humanity,
      And for a common brotherhood;
    Where Sumner stood, with massive frame,
      Whose eloquent philosophy
    Has clustered round his deathless name
      Bright laurels for eternity;

    Where Wilson, Lovejoy, Wade, and Hale,
      And other lights of equal power,
    Have stood, like warriors clad in mail,
      Before the giant of the hour,--
    Co-workers in a common cause,
      Laboring for their country's weal,
    By just enactments, righteous laws,
      And burning, eloquent appeal.

    To them we owe and gladly bring
      The grateful tributes of our hearts;
    And while we live to muse and sing,
      These in our songs shall claim their parts.
    To-day Columbia's air doth seem
      Much purer than in days agone;
    And now her mighty heart, I deem,
      Hath lighter grown by marching on.




THE LAWS OF HEALTH.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.


There are three things peculiarly essential to health,--plenty of fresh
water, plenty of pure air, and enough of nourishing food.

If possible, the human body should be washed all over every day; but if
circumstances render that difficult, the operation should be performed
at least two or three times a week. People in general are not aware how
important frequent bathing is. The cuticle, or skin, with which the
human body is covered, is like fine net-work, or lace. By help of a
magnifying-glass, called a microscope, it can be seen that there are a
thousand holes in every inch of our skin. In the skin of a middle-sized
man there are two millions three hundred and four thousand of these
holes, called pores. Those pores are the mouths of exceedingly small
vessels made to carry off fluids, which are continually formed in the
human body, and need to be continually carried off. This process is
going on all the time, whether we are sleeping or waking, hot or cold.
When we are cool and at rest, that which passes off is invisible; and
because we see no signs of it, and are not sensible of it, it is called
insensible perspiration. But in very hot weather, or when we exercise
violently, a saltish fluid passes through our pores in great drops,
which we call sweat; and because we can see and feel it, it is called
sensible perspiration. If the pores of the body are filled up with dust,
or any kind of dirt, the fluids cannot pass off through them, as Nature
intended; and, being shut up, they become corrupt and produce fevers and
bad humors. This is the reason why physicians always advise people to be
careful and keep their pores open. In order to do this, dust and dirt
should be frequently washed away. Many a fever and many a troublesome
sore might be prevented by frequent bathing. Moreover, the skin looks
smoother and handsomer when it is washed often. If a pond or river is
near by, it is well to swim a few minutes every day or two; if not, the
body should be washed with a pail of water and a rag. But it is not safe
to go into cold water, or to apply it to the skin, when you are very
much heated; nor is it safe to drink much cold water until you get
somewhat cool. The best way is to plunge into water when you first get
up in the morning, and then rub yourself with a cloth till you feel all
of a glow. It takes but a few minutes, and you will feel more vigorous
for it all day. Cool water is more healthy to wash in than warm water.
It makes a person feel stronger, and it is not attended with any danger
of catching cold afterward. But water directly from the well is too
chilly; it is better to use it when it has been standing in the house
some hours. Garments worn next to the skin, and the sheets in which you
sleep, imbibe something of the fluids all the time passing from the
body; therefore they should be washed every week. I am aware that, as
slaves, you had no beds or sheets; but as free men I hope you will
gradually be able to provide yourselves with such comforts. Meanwhile,
sleep in the cleanest way that you can; for that is one way to avoid
sickness. When the skin is hot and feverish, it does a great deal of
good to wipe the face, arms, and legs with a cloth moistened with cool
water, changed occasionally. Headache is often cured by placing the feet
in cool water a minute or two, and then rubbing them smartly with a dry
cloth. Sitting in cool water fifteen or twenty minutes is also a remedy
for headache or dizziness. A cut or bruise heals much quicker if it is
soaked ten or fifteen minutes in cool water, then wrapped in six or
eight folds of wet rag, and covered with a piece of dry cloth. The rag
should be moistened again when it gets dry. This simple process subdues
the heat and fever of a wound. When the throat is sore, it is an
excellent thing to wash the outside freely with cold water the first
thing in the morning, and then wipe it very dry. A wet bandage at night,
covered with a dry cloth, to keep it from the air, often proves very
comforting when the throat is inflamed. Indeed, it is scarcely possible
to say too much in favor of using cool water freely, at suitable times.

Fresh air is as important as good water. The lungs of the human body are
all the time drawing in air and breathing out air. What we breathe out
carries away with it something from our bodies. Therefore it is
unhealthy to be in a room with many people, without doors or windows
open; for the people draw in all the fresh air, and what they breathe
out is more or less corrupted by having passed through their bodies. It
is very important to health to have plenty of pure fresh air to breathe.
No dirty things, or decaying substances, such as cabbage leaves or
mouldy vegetables, or pools of stagnant water, should be allowed to
remain anywhere near a dwelling. The pools should be filled up, and the
decaying things should be carried away from the house, heaped up and
covered with earth to make manure for the garden. If there is not room
enough to do that, they should be buried in the ground. Whole families
often have fevers from breathing the bad odors that rise from such
things. It is morally wrong to indulge in any habits that injure the
health or well-being of others. The bed, and the coverings of the bed,
should have fresh air let in upon them every day; otherwise, they retain
the fluids which are passing from the body all the time. In England,
children that worked in large manufactories became pale and sickly and
died off fast. When doctors inquired into it, they found that the poor
little creatures crept into the same bedclothes week after week, and
month after month, without having them washed or aired.

Occasional change in articles of food is healthy, as well as agreeable;
but it is injurious to eat a great variety of things at the same meal.
There are two good rules, so very simple that everybody, rich or poor,
can observe them: First, never indulge yourself in eating what you have
found by experience does not agree with you; secondly, when you have
eaten enough, do not continue to eat merely because the food tastes
good. It is foolish to derange the stomach for a long time to please the
palate for a short time.

If you have oppressed feelings in the head, or sour and bitter tastes in
the mouth, or a tendency to sickishness, take nothing but bread and
water for two or three days, and you will be very likely to save
yourself from a fever.

People might spare themselves many a toothache if they would rinse their
mouths after every meal, and every night, before going to bed, remove
every particle of food from between the teeth, and rinse them thoroughly
with water. New toothpicks should be made often, for the sake of
cleanliness.

Dirt was a necessity of Slavery; and that is one reason, among many
others, why freemen should hate it, and try to put it away from their
minds, their persons, and their habitations.




PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S PROCLAMATION OF
EMANCIPATION, JANUARY 1, 1863.

BY FRANCES E. W. HARPER.


    It shall flash through coming ages,
      It shall light the distant years;
    And eyes now dim with sorrow
      Shall be brighter through their tears.

    It shall flush the mountain ranges,
      And the valleys shall grow bright;
    It shall bathe the hills in radiance,
      And crown their brows with light.

    It shall flood with golden splendor
      All the huts of Caroline;
    And the sun-kissed brow of labor
      With lustre new shall shine.

    It shall gild the gloomy prison,
      Darkened by the nation's crime,
    Where the dumb and patient millions
      Wait the better-coming time.

    By the light that gilds their prison
      They shall see its mouldering key;
    And the bolts and bars shall vibrate
      With the triumphs of the free.

    Though the morning seemed to linger
      O'er the hill-tops far away,
    Now the shadows bear the promise
      Of the quickly coming day.

    Soon the mists and murky shadows
      Shall be fringed with crimson light,
    And the glorious dawn of freedom
      Break refulgent on the sight.




NEW-YEAR'S DAY ON THE ISLANDS OF SOUTH CAROLINA, 1863.

BY CHARLOTTE L. FORTEN.


A few days before Christmas we were delighted at receiving a beautiful
Christmas Hymn from John G. Whittier, written especially for our
children. They learned it very easily, and enjoyed singing it. We showed
them the writer's picture, and told them he was a very good friend of
theirs, who felt the deepest interest in them, and had written this Hymn
expressly for them to sing. This made them very proud and happy.

Early Christmas morning we were wakened by the people knocking at the
doors and windows, and shouting "Merry Christmas!" After distributing
some little presents among them, we went to the church, which had been
decorated with holly, pine, cassena, mistletoe, and the hanging moss,
and had a very Christmas-like look. The children of our school assembled
there, and we gave them the nice comfortable clothing and the
picture-books which had been kindly sent by some Philadelphia ladies.
There were at least a hundred and fifty children present. It was very
pleasant to see their happy, expectant little faces. To them it was a
wonderful Christmas-day, such as they had never dreamed of before. There
was cheerful sunshine without, lighting up the beautiful moss drapery of
the oaks, and looking in joyously through the open windows; and there
were bright faces and glad hearts within.

After the distribution of the gifts, the children were addressed by some
of the gentlemen present. Then they sang the following Hymn, which their
good friend Whittier had written for them:--

    "O, none in all the world before
      Were ever so 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 blest 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 mainlands hear the word
      That sets the islands free!"

Then they sang John Brown's Hallelujah Song, and several of their own
hymns.

Christmas night, the children came in and had several grand shouts. They
were too happy to keep still. One of them, a cunning, kittenish little
creature, named Amaretta, only six years old, has a remarkably sweet
voice. "O Miss," said she, "all I want to do is to sing and shout!" And
sing and shout she did, to her heart's content. She reads nicely, and is
very fond of books. Many of the children already know their letters. The
parents are eager to have them learn. They sometimes say to me: "Do,
Miss, let de children learn eberyting dey can. We neber hab no chance to
learn nuttin'; but we wants de chillen to learn." They are willing to
make many sacrifices that their children may attend school. One old
woman, who had a large family of children and grandchildren, came
regularly to school in the winter, and took her seat among the little
ones. Another woman, who had one of the best faces I ever saw, came
daily, and brought her baby in her arms. It happened to be one of the
best babies in the world, and allowed its mother to pursue her studies
without interruption.

New-Year's Day, Emancipation Day, was a glorious one to us. General
Saxton and Colonel Higginson had invited us to visit the camp of the
First Regiment of South Carolina Volunteers on that day, "the greatest
day in the nation's history." We enjoyed perfectly the exciting scene on
board the steamboat Flora. There was an eager, wondering crowd of the
freed people, in their holiday attire, with the gayest of headkerchiefs,
the whitest of aprons, and the happiest of faces. The band was playing,
the flags were streaming, and everybody was talking merrily and feeling
happy. The sun shone brightly, and the very waves seemed to partake of
the universal gayety, for they danced and sparkled more joyously than
ever before. Long before we reached Camp Saxton, we could see the
beautiful grove and the ruins of the old fort near it. Some companies of
the First Regiment were drawn up in line under the trees near the
landing, ready to receive us. They were a fine, soldierly looking set of
men, and their brilliant dress made a splendid appearance among the
trees. It was my good fortune to find an old friend among the officers.
He took us over the camp and showed us all the arrangements. Everything
looked clean and comfortable; much neater, we were told, than in most of
the white camps. An officer told us that he had never seen a regiment in
which the men were so honest. "In many other camps," said he, "the
Colonel and the rest of us would find it necessary to place a guard
before our tents. We never do it here. Our tents are left entirely
unguarded, but nothing has ever been touched." We were glad to know
that. It is a remarkable fact, when we consider that the men of this
regiment have all their lives been slaves; for we all know that Slavery
does not tend to make men honest.

The ceremony in honor of Emancipation took place in the beautiful grove
of live-oaks adjoining the camp. I wish it were possible to describe
fitly the scene which met our eyes, as we sat upon the stand, and looked
down on the crowd before us. There were the black soldiers in their blue
coats and scarlet pantaloons; the officers of the First Regiment, and of
other regiments, in their handsome uniforms; and there were crowds of
lookers-on, men, women, and children, of every complexion, grouped in
various attitudes, under the moss-hung trees. The faces of all wore a
happy, interested look. The exercises commenced with a prayer by the
chaplain of the regiment. An ode, written for the occasion, was then
read and sung. President Lincoln's Proclamation of Emancipation was then
read, and enthusiastically cheered. The Rev. Mr. French presented
Colonel Higginson with two very elegant flags, a gift to the First
Regiment, from the Church of the Puritans, in New York. He accompanied
them by an appropriate and enthusiastic speech. As Colonel Higginson
took the flags, before he had time to reply to the speech, some of the
<DW52> people, of their own accord, began to sing,--

    "My country, 'tis of thee,
    Sweet land of liberty,
        Of thee we sing!"

It was a touching and beautiful incident, and sent a thrill through all
our hearts. The Colonel was deeply moved by it. He said that reply was
far more effective than any speech he could make. But he did make one of
those stirring speeches which are "half battles." All hearts swelled
with emotion as we listened to his glorious words, "stirring the soul
like the sound of a trumpet." His soldiers are warmly attached to him,
and he evidently feels toward them all as if they were his children.

General Saxton spoke also, and was received with great enthusiasm.
Throughout the morning, repeated cheers were given for him by the
regiment, and joined in heartily by all the people. They know him to be
one of the best and noblest men in the world. His unfailing kindness and
consideration for them, so different from the treatment they have
sometimes received at the hands of United States officers, have caused
them to have unbounded confidence in him.

At the close of Colonel Higginson's speech, he presented the flags to
the color-bearers, Sergeant Rivers and Sergeant Sutton, with an earnest
charge, to which they made appropriate replies.

Mrs. Gage uttered some earnest words, and then the regiment sang John
Brown's Hallelujah Song.

After the meeting was over, we saw the dress-parade, which was a
brilliant and beautiful sight. An officer told us that the men went
through the drill remarkably well, and learned the movements with
wonderful ease and rapidity. To us it seemed strange as a miracle to see
this regiment of blacks, the first mustered into the service of the
United States, thus doing itself honor in the sight of officers of other
regiments, many of whom doubtless came to scoff. The men afterward had a
great feast; ten oxen having been roasted whole, for their especial
benefit.

In the evening there was the softest, loveliest moonlight. We were very
unwilling to go home; for, besides the attractive society, we knew that
the soldiers were to have grand shouts and a general jubilee that night.
But the steamboat was coming, and we were obliged to bid a reluctant
farewell to Camp Saxton and the hospitable dwellers therein. We walked
the deck of the steamer singing patriotic songs, and we agreed that
moonlight and water had never looked so beautiful as they did that
night. At Beaufort we took the row-boat for St. Helena. The boatmen as
they rowed sang some of their sweetest, wildest hymns. It was a fitting
close to such a day. Our hearts were filled with an exceeding great
gladness; for although the government had left much undone, we knew that
Freedom was surely born in our land that day. It seemed too glorious a
good to realize, this beginning of the great work we had so longed for
and prayed for. It was a sight never to be forgotten, that crowd of
happy black faces from which the shadow of Slavery had forever passed.
"Forever free! forever free!"--those magical words in the President's
Proclamation were constantly singing themselves in my soul.




SONG OF THE <DW64> BOATMEN AT PORT ROYAL, S. C.

BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.


    O praise and tanks! De Lord he come
      To set de people free;
    An' massa tink it day ob doom,
      An' we ob jubilee.
    De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves,
      He jus' as 'trong as den;
    He say de word: we las' night slaves;
      To-day, de Lord's free men.
          De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
            We'll hab de rice an' corn:
          O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
            De driver blow his horn!

    Ole massa on he trabbels gone;
      He leaf de land behind:
    De Lord's breff blow him furder on,
      Like corn-shuck in de wind.
    We own de hoe, we own de plough,
      We own de hands dat hold;
    We sell de pig, we sell de cow,
      But nebber chile be sold.

    We pray de Lord: he gib us signs
      Dat some day we be free;
    De Norf-wind tell it to de pines,
      De wild-duck to de sea;
    We tink it when de church-bell ring,
      We dream it in de dream;
    De rice-bird mean it when he sing,
      De eagle when he scream.

    We know de promise nebber fail,
      An' nebber lie de Word;
    So, like de 'postles in de jail,
      We waited for de Lord:
    An' now he open ebery door,
      An' trow away de key;
    He tink we lub him so before,
      We lub him better free.
          De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
            He'll gib de rice an' corn:
          O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
            De driver blow his horn!




EXTRACT FROM SPEECH BY HON. HENRY WILSON TO THE <DW52> PEOPLE IN
CHARLESTON, S. C., APRIL, 1865.


"For twenty-nine years, in private life and in public life, at all times
and on all occasions, I have spoken and voted against Slavery, and in
favor of the freedom of every man that breathes God's air or walks His
earth. And to-day, standing here in South Carolina, I feel that the
slave-power we have fought so long is under my heel; and that the men
and women held in bondage so long are free forevermore.

"Understanding this to be your position,--that you are forever
free,--remember, O remember, the sacrifices that have been made for your
freedom, and be worthy of the blessing that has come to you! I know you
will be. [Cheers.] Through these four years of bloody war, you have
always been loyal to the old flag of the country. You have never
betrayed the Union soldiers who were fighting the battles of the
country. You have guided them, you have protected them, you have cheered
them. You have proved yourselves worthy the great situation in which you
were placed by the Slaveholders' Rebellion. Four years ago you saw the
flag of your country struck down from Fort Sumter; yesterday you saw the
old flag go up again. Its stars now beam with a brighter lustre. You
know now what the old flag means,--that it means liberty to every man
and woman in the country. [Cheers.]

"You have been patient, you have endured, you have trusted in God and
your country; and the God of our fathers has blessed our country, and
He has blessed you. The long, dreary, chilly night of Slavery has passed
away forevermore, and the sun of Liberty casts its broad beams upon you
to-day.

"But your duties commence with your liberties. Remember that you are to
be obedient, faithful, true, and loyal to the country forevermore.
[Cheers, and cries of 'Yes!' 'Yes!' 'Yes!'] Remember that you are to
educate your children; that you are to improve their condition; that you
are to make a brighter future for _them_ than the past has been to
_you_. Remember that you are to be industrious. Freedom does not mean
that you are not to work. It means that when you do work you shall have
pay for it, to carry home to your wives and the children of your love.
Liberty means the liberty to work for yourselves, to have the fruits of
your labor, to better your own condition, and improve the condition of
your children. I want every man and woman to understand that every
neglect of duty, every failure to be industrious, to be economical, to
support yourselves, to take care of your families, to secure the
education of your children, will be put in the faces of your friends as
a reproach. Your old masters will point you out and say to us, 'We told
you so.' For more than thirty years we have said that you were fit for
liberty. We have maintained it amid obloquy and reproach. For
maintaining this doctrine in the halls of Congress our names have been
made a by-word. The great lesson for you in the future is to prove that
we were right; to prove that you were worthy of liberty. We simply ask
you, in the name of your friends, in the name of our country, to show by
your good conduct, and by efforts to improve your condition, that you
were worthy of freedom; to prove to all the world, even to your old
masters and mistresses, that it was a sin against God to hold you in
Slavery, and that you are worthy to have your names enrolled among the
freemen of the United States of America. [Great cheering.]

"We want you to respect yourselves; to walk erect, with the
consciousness that you are free men. Be humane and kind to each other,
always serving each other when you can. Be courteous and gentlemanly to
everybody on earth, black and white, but cringe to nobody.

"You have helped us to fight our battles; you have stood by the old
flag; you have given us your prayers; and you have had the desire of
your hearts fulfilled. The cause of freedom has triumphed; and in our
triumph we want all to stand up and rejoice together."




EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH BY HON. JUDGE KELLY TO THE <DW52> PEOPLE IN
CHARLESTON, S. C., APRIL, 1865.


"I will not, my  friends, talk to you of the past. You understand
that all too well. I turn to the hopeful future; not to flatter you for
the deeds you have done during the last four years, but to remind you
that, though you no longer have earthly masters, there is a Ruler in
heaven whom you are bound to obey,--that Great Being who strengthened
and guided your eminent friend William Lloyd Garrison, who trained
Abraham Lincoln for his great work, in honest poverty and
simple-mindedness; that good God whose stars shine the same over the
slaves' huts and the masters' palaces. His laws you must obey. You must
worship Him not only at the altar, but in every act of your daily life.
It will not be enough to observe the Sabbath, to go to Him with your
sorrows, and remember Him in your joys. You must remember that He has
said to man, 'In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat thy bread.' Labor
is the law of all. Your friends in the North appeal to you to help them
in the great work they undertook to do for you. We want you to work
_with_ us. We want you to do it by working here in South Carolina,
earning wages, taking care of your money, and making profit out of that
money. Work on the plantation, if that is all you can do. If you can
work in the workshop, do it, and work well. He who does a day's work not
so well as he might have done it, cheats himself. Strive that your work
on Monday shall be better done than it was on Saturday; and when
Saturday comes round again, you will be able to do a still more skilful
day's work. We at the North sometimes learn three or four trades. If any
one of you feels sure that he can do better for himself and his family
by changing his pursuit, he had better change it."

"I like to look at the women assembled here. Remember, my friends, that
you are to be mothers and wives in the homes of free men. You must try
to make those homes respectable and happy. You are to be the mothers of
American citizens. You must give them the best education you can. You
must strive to make them intelligent, educated, moral, patriotic, and
religious men. Many of you cannot read, but you are not too old yet to
learn. A mother who knows how to read can half educate her own child by
helping him with his lessons; and the mother who has but little learning
will get a great deal more by trying to hear the child's lessons; and so
it is with the father.

"You need no longer live in slave huts, now that you are to have your
own earnings. I charge you, men, to make your homes comfortable, and
you, women, to make them happy. Work industriously. Be faithful to each
other; be true and honest with all men. If you respect yourselves,
others will respect you. There are Northerners who are prejudiced
against you; but you can find the way to their hearts and consciences
through their pockets. When they find that there are  tradesmen
who have money to spend, and  farmers who want to buy goods of
them, they will no longer call you Jack and Joe; they will begin to
think that you are Mr. John Black and Mr. Joseph Brown." [Great
laughter.]




BLACK TOM.

BY A YANKEE SOLDIER.


    Hunted by his Rebel master
      Over many a hill and glade,
    Black Tom, with his wife and children,
      Found his way to our brigade.

    Tom had sense and truth and courage,
      Often tried where danger rose:
    Once our flag his strong arm rescued
      From the grasp of Rebel foes.

    One day, Tom was marching with us
      Through the forest as our guide,
    When a ball from traitor's rifle
      Broke his arm and pierced his side.

    On a litter white men bore him
      Through the forest drear and damp,
    Laid him, dying, where our banners
      Brightly fluttered o'er our camp.

    Pointing to his wife and children,
      While he suffered racking pain,
    Said he to our soldiers round him,
      "Don't let _them_ be slaves again!"

    "No, by Heaven!" spoke out a soldier,--
      And _that_ oath was not profane,--
    "Our brigade will still protect them;
      They shall ne'er be slaves again."

    Over old Tom's dusky features
      Came and stayed a joyous ray;
    And with saddened friends around him,
      His free spirit passed away.

       *       *       *       *       *

At Rodman's Point, in North Carolina, the United States troops were
obliged to retreat before Rebels, who outnumbered them ten to one. The
scow in which they attempted to escape stuck in the mud, and could not
be moved with poles. While the soldiers were lying down they were in
some measure protected from Rebel bullets; but whoever jumped into the
water to push the boat off would certainly be killed. A vigorous black
man who was with them said: "Lie still. I will push off the boat. If
they kill me, it is nothing; but you are soldiers, and are needed to
fight for the country." He leaped overboard, pushed off the boat, and
sprang back, pierced by seven bullets. He died two days after.

I wish I knew his name; for it deserves to be recorded with the noblest
heroes the world has known.




LETTER FROM A FREEDMAN TO HIS OLD MASTER.

     [Written just as he dictated it.]

                                DAYTON, OHIO, August 7, 1865.

    _To my old Master_, COLONEL P. H. ANDERSON, _Big
    Spring, Tennessee_.

Sir: I got your letter, and was glad to find that you had not forgotten
Jourdon, and that you wanted me to come back and live with you again,
promising to do better for me than anybody else can. I have often felt
uneasy about you. I thought the Yankees would have hung you long before
this, for harboring Rebs they found at your house. I suppose they never
heard about your going to Colonel Martin's to kill the Union soldier
that was left by his company in their stable. Although you shot at me
twice before I left you, I did not want to hear of your being hurt, and
am glad you are still living. It would do me good to go back to the dear
old home again, and see Miss Mary and Miss Martha and Allen, Esther,
Green, and Lee. Give my love to them all, and tell them I hope we will
meet in the better world, if not in this. I would have gone back to see
you all when I was working in the Nashville Hospital, but one of the
neighbors told me that Henry intended to shoot me if he ever got a
chance.

I want to know particularly what the good chance is you propose to give
me. I am doing tolerably well here. I get twenty-five dollars a month,
with victuals and clothing; have a comfortable home for Mandy,--the
folks call her Mrs. Anderson,--and the children--Milly, Jane, and
Grundy--go to school and are learning well. The teacher says Grundy has
a head for a preacher. They go to Sunday school, and Mandy and me attend
church regularly. We are kindly treated. Sometimes we overhear others
saying, "Them <DW52> people were slaves" down in Tennessee. The
children feel hurt when they hear such remarks; but I tell them it was
no disgrace in Tennessee to belong to Colonel Anderson. Many darkeys
would have been proud, as I used to be, to call you master. Now if you
will write and say what wages you will give me, I will be better able to
decide whether it would be to my advantage to move back again.

As to my freedom, which you say I can have, there is nothing to be
gained on that score, as I got my free papers in 1864 from the
Provost-Marshal-General of the Department of Nashville. Mandy says she
would be afraid to go back without some proof that you were disposed to
treat us justly and kindly; and we have concluded to test your sincerity
by asking you to send us our wages for the time we served you. This will
make us forget and forgive old scores, and rely on your justice and
friendship in the future. I served you faithfully for thirty-two years,
and Mandy twenty years. At twenty-five dollars a month for me, and two
dollars a week for Mandy, our earnings would amount to eleven thousand
six hundred and eighty dollars. Add to this the interest for the time
our wages have been kept back, and deduct what you paid for our
clothing, and three doctor's visits to me, and pulling a tooth for
Mandy, and the balance will show what we are in justice entitled to.
Please send the money by Adams's Express, in care of V. Winters, Esq.,
Dayton, Ohio. If you fail to pay us for faithful labors in the past, we
can have little faith in your promises in the future. We trust the good
Maker has opened your eyes to the wrongs which you and your fathers have
done to me and my fathers, in making us toil for you for generations
without recompense. Here I draw my wages every Saturday night; but in
Tennessee there was never any pay-day for the <DW64>s any more than for
the horses and cows. Surely there will be a day of reckoning for those
who defraud the laborer of his hire.

In answering this letter, please state if there would be any safety for
my Milly and Jane, who are now grown up, and both good-looking girls.
You know how it was with poor Matilda and Catherine. I would rather stay
here and starve--and die, if it come to that--than have my girls brought
to shame by the violence and wickedness of their young masters. You will
also please state if there has been any schools opened for the <DW52>
children in your neighborhood. The great desire of my life now is to
give my children an education, and have them form virtuous habits.

Say howdy to George Carter, and thank him for taking the pistol from you
when you were shooting at me.

    From your old servant,
                JOURDON ANDERSON.

       *       *       *       *       *

SERGEANT W. H. CARNEY, of New Bedford, Massachusetts, was very severely
wounded when the famous Fifty-Fourth Regiment attacked Fort Wagner; but
he resolutely held up the Stars and Stripes, as he dragged his wounded
limb along, amid a shower of bullets; and when he reached his comrades
he exclaimed exultingly, "The dear old flag has never touched the
ground, boys!"




COLONEL ROBERT G. SHAW.

BY ELIZA B. SEDGWICK.


     [In the summer of 1863 an attack was made on Fort Wagner, in South
     Carolina, by the 54th Massachusetts Regiment, composed of <DW52>
     troops. Their leader, COLONEL SHAW, belonging to one of the best
     white families in Boston, was killed. When his friends asked for
     his body, the reply of the Rebels was, "He is buried with his
     <DW65>s."]

    Buried with a band of brothers,
    Whom for him would fain have died;
    Buried with the gallant fellows
    Who fell fighting by his side.

    Buried with the men God gave him,--
    Those whom he was sent to save;
    Buried with the martyred heroes,
    He has found an honored grave.

    Buried where his dust so precious
    Makes the soil a hallowed spot;
    Buried where by Christian patriot
    He shall never be forgot.

    Buried in the ground accursed,
    Which man's fettered feet have trod;
    Buried where his voice still speaketh,
    Appealing for the slave to God.

    Fare thee well, thou noble warrior!
    Who in youthful beauty went
    On a high and holy mission,
    By the God of battles sent.

    Chosen of Him, "elect and precious,"
    Well didst thou fulfil thy part;
    When thy country "counts her jewels,"
    She shall wear thee on her heart.




ADVICE FROM AN OLD FRIEND.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.


For many years I have felt great sympathy for you, my brethren and
sisters, and I have tried to do what I could to help you to freedom. And
now that you have at last received the long-desired blessing, I most
earnestly wish that you should make the best possible use of it. I have
made this book to encourage you to exertion by examples of what <DW52>
people are capable of doing. Such men and women as Toussaint
l'Ouverture, Benjamin Banneker, Phillis Wheatley, Frederick Douglass,
and William and Ellen Crafts, prove that the power of _character_ can
overcome all external disadvantages, even that most crushing of all
disadvantages, Slavery. Perhaps few of you will be able to stir the
hearts of large assemblies by such eloquent appeals as those of
Frederick Douglass, or be able to describe what you have seen and heard
so gracefully as Charlotte L. Forten does. Probably none of you will be
called to govern a state as Toussaint l'Ouverture did; for such a
remarkable career as his does not happen once in hundreds of years. But
the Bible says, "He that ruleth his own spirit is greater than he that
ruleth a kingdom"; and such a ruler every man and woman can become, by
the help and blessing of God. It is not the _greatness_ of the thing a
man does which makes him worthy of respect; it is the doing _well_
whatsoever he hath to do. In many respects, your opportunities for
usefulness are more limited than those of others; but you have one great
opportunity peculiar to yourselves. You can do a vast amount of good to
people in various parts of the world, and through successive
generations, by simply being sober, industrious, and honest. There are
still many slaves in Brazil and in the Spanish possessions. If you are
vicious, lazy, and careless, their masters will excuse themselves for
continuing to hold them in bondage, by saying: "Look at the freedmen of
the United States! What idle vagabonds they are! How dirty their cabins
are! How slovenly their dress! That proves that <DW64>s cannot take care
of themselves, that they are not fit to be free." But if your houses
look neat, and your clothes are clean and whole, and your gardens well
weeded, and your work faithfully done, whether for yourselves or others,
then all the world will cry out, "You see that <DW64>s _can_ take care
of themselves; and it is a sin and a shame to keep such men in Slavery."
Thus, while you are serving your own interests, you will be helping on
the emancipation of poor weary slaves in other parts of the world. It is
a great privilege to have a chance to do extensive good by such simple
means, and your Heavenly Father will hold you responsible for the use
you make of your influence.

Your manners will have a great effect in producing an impression to your
advantage or disadvantage. Be always respectful and polite toward your
associates, and toward those who have been in the habit of considering
you an inferior race. It is one of the best ways to prove that you are
not inferior. Never allow yourselves to say or do anything in the
presence of women of your own color which it would be improper for you
to say or do in the presence of the most refined white ladies. Such a
course will be an education for them as well as for yourselves. When you
appoint committees about your schools and other public affairs, it would
be wise to have both men and women on the committees. The habit of
thinking and talking about serious and important matters makes women
more sensible and discreet. Such consultations together are in fact a
practical school both for you and them; and the more modest and
intelligent women are, the better will children be brought up.

Personal appearance is another important thing. It is not necessary to
be rich in order to dress in a becoming manner. A pretty dress for
festival occasions will last a long while, if well taken care of; and a
few wild-flowers, or bright berries, will ornament young girls more
tastefully than jewels. Working-clothes that are clean and nicely
patched always look respectable; and they make a very favorable
impression, because they indicate that the wearer is neat and
economical. And here let me say, that it is a very great saving to mend
garments well, and before the rents get large. We thrifty Yankees have a
saying that "a stitch in time saves nine"; and you will find by
experience that neglected mending will require more than nine stitches
instead of one, and will not look so well when it is done.

The appearance of your villages will do much to produce a favorable
opinion concerning your characters and capabilities. Whitewash is not
expensive; and it takes but little time to transplant a cherokee rose, a
jessamine, or other wild shrubs and vines, that make the poorest cabin
look beautiful; and, once planted, they will be growing while you are
working or sleeping. It is a public benefit to remove everything dirty
or unsightly, and to surround homes with verdure and flowers; for a
succession of pretty cottages makes the whole road pleasant, and cheers
all passers by; while they are at the same time an advertisement, easily
read by all men, that the people who live there are not lazy, slovenly,
or vulgar. The rich pay a great deal of money for pictures to ornament
their walls, but a whitewashed cabin, with flowering-shrubs and vines
clustering round it, is a pretty picture freely exhibited to all men. It
is a public benefaction.

But even if you are as yet too poor to have a house and garden of your
own, it is still in your power to be a credit and an example to your
race: by working for others as faithfully as you would work for
yourself; by taking as good care of their tools as you would if they
were your own; by always keeping your promises, however inconvenient it
may be; by being strictly honest in all your dealings; by being
temperate in your habits, and never speaking a profane or indecent
word,--by pursuing such a course you will be consoled with an inward
consciousness of doing right in the sight of God, and be a public
benefactor by your example, while at the same time you will secure
respect and prosperity for yourself by establishing a good character. A
man whose conduct inspires confidence is in a fair way to have house and
land of his own, even if he starts in the world without a single cent.

Be careful of your earnings, and as saving in your expenses as is
consistent with health and comfort; but never allow yourselves to be
stingy. Avarice is a mean vice, which eats all the heart out of a man.
Money is a good thing, and you ought to want to earn it, as a means of
improving the condition of yourselves and families. But it will do good
to your character, and increase your happiness, if you impart a portion
of your earnings to others who are in need. Help as much as you
conveniently can in building churches and school-houses for the good of
all, and in providing for the sick and the aged. If your former masters
and mistresses are in trouble, show them every kindness in your power,
whether they have treated you kindly or not. Remember the words of the
blessed Jesus: "Do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which
despitefully use you and persecute you."

There is one subject on which I wish to guard you against
disappointment. Do not be discouraged if freedom brings you more cares
and fewer advantages than you expected. Such a great change as it is
from Slavery to Freedom cannot be completed all at once. By being
brought up as slaves, you have formed some bad habits, which it will
take time to correct. Those who were formerly your masters have acquired
still worse habits by being brought up as slaveholders; and they cannot
be expected to change all at once. Both of you will gradually improve
under the teaching of new circumstances. For a good while it will
provoke many of them to see those who were once their slaves acting like
freemen. They will doubtless do many things to vex and discourage you,
just as the slaveholders in Jamaica did after emancipation there. They
seemed to want to drive their emancipated bondmen to insurrection, that
they might have a pretext for saying: "You see what a bad effect freedom
has on <DW64>s! We told you it would be so!" But the <DW52> people of
Jamaica behaved better than their former masters wished them to do. They
left the plantations where they were badly treated, or poorly paid, but
they worked diligently elsewhere. Their women and children raised
vegetables and fowls and carried them to market; and, by their united
industry and economy, they soon had comfortable little homes of their
own.

I think it would generally be well for you to work for your former
masters, if they treat you well, and pay you as much as you could earn
elsewhere. But if they show a disposition to oppress you, quit their
service, and work for somebody who will treat you like freemen. If they
use violent language to you, never use impudent language to them. If
they cheat you, scorn to cheat them in return. If they break their
promises, never break yours. If they propose to women such connections
as used to be common under the bad system of Slavery, teach them that
freedwomen not only have the legal power to protect themselves from such
degradation, but also that they have pride of character. If in fits of
passion, they abuse your children as they formerly did, never revenge it
by any injury to them or their property. It is an immense advantage to
any man always to keep the right on his side. If you pursue this course
you will always be superior, however rich or elegant may be the man or
woman who wrongs you.

I do not mean by this that you ought to submit tamely to insult or
oppression. Stand up for your rights, but do it in a manly way. Quit
working for a man who speaks to you contemptuously, or who tries to take
a mean advantage of you, when you are doing your duty faithfully by him.
If it becomes necessary, apply to magistrates to protect you and redress
your wrongs. If you are so unlucky as to live where the men in
authority, whether civil or military, are still disposed to treat the
<DW52> people as slaves, let the most intelligent among you draw up a
statement of your grievances and send it to some of your firm friends in
Congress, such as the Hon. Charles Sumner, the Hon. Henry Wilson, and
the Hon. George W. Julian.

A good government seeks to make laws that will equally protect and
restrain all men. Heretofore you had no reason to respect the laws of
this country, because they punished you for crime, in many cases more
severely than white men were punished, while they did nothing to protect
your rights. But now that good President Lincoln has made you free, you
will be legally protected in your rights and restrained from doing
wrong, just as other men are protected and restrained. It is one of the
noblest privileges of freemen to be able to respect the law, and to rely
upon it always for redress of grievances, instead of revenging one wrong
by another wrong.

You will have much to put up with before the new order of things can
become settled on a permanent foundation. I am grieved to read in the
newspapers how wickedly you are still treated in some places; but I am
not surprised, for I knew that Slavery was a powerful snake, that would
try to do mischief with its tail after its head was crushed. But,
whatever wrongs you may endure, comfort yourselves with two reflections:
first, that there is the beginning of a better state of things, from
which your children will derive much more benefit than you can;
secondly, that a great majority of the American people are sincerely
determined that you shall be protected in your rights as freemen. Year
by year your condition will improve. Year by year, if you respect
yourselves, you will be more and more respected by white men. Wonderful
changes have taken place in your favor during the last thirty years, and
the changes are still going on. The Abolitionists did a great deal for
you, by their continual writing and preaching against Slavery. Then this
war enabled thousands of people to see for themselves what a bad
institution Slavery was; and the uniform kindness with which you treated
the Yankee soldiers raised you up multitudes of friends. There are still
many pro-slavery people in the Northern States, who, from aristocratic
pride or low vulgarity, still call <DW52> people "<DW65>s," and treat
them as such. But the good leaven is now fairly worked into public
sentiment, and these people, let them do what they will, cannot get it
out.

The providence of God has opened for you an upward path. Walk ye in it,
without being discouraged by the brambles and stones at the outset.
Those who come after you will clear them away, and will place in their
stead strong, smooth rails for the steam-car called Progress of the
<DW52> Race.




DAY OF JUBILEE.

BY A. G. DUNCAN.


    Roll on, thou joyful day,
    When tyranny's proud sway,
          Stern as the grave,
    Shall to the ground be hurled,
    And Freedom's flag unfurled
    Shall wave throughout the world,
          O'er every slave!

    Trump of glad jubilee,
    Echo o'er land and sea,
          Freedom for all!
    Let the glad tidings fly,
    And every tribe reply,
    Glory to God on high,
          At Slavery's fall!


                        THE END.


Cambridge: Stereotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.


       *       *       *       *       *


Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation and spelling errors have been repaired. Spelling
and accented letters, as well as inconsistent chapter headings in the
Contents and the body of the text, have otherwise been retained as
they appear in the original publication.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Freedmen's Book, by Lydia Maria Child

*** 