We at last reached Columbia, Pennsylvania, where we intended to stop
and hire out to work. But the people advised us to go on farther, as
already there were two slave hunters in the place in pursuit of two
fugitives, whom they had traced to that place. Accordingly we started
again the following night, and after travelling about ten miles,
reached the house of an elderly quaker, who offered us a home with
him until he could get places for us. These he soon procured, and we
went to work; and oh, how sweet the reflection that I was working for
myself. We remained here about six months, when we were again routed
by the arrival of slave hunters, who had already taken two women and
some children, and were in pursuit of other fugitives. In consequence
of this, many of the colored people were leaving this for safer parts
of the country; so we concluded to go to Philadelphia.
I went first, and my friend soon followed. We had not been there
many days, before he was met and recognized by a lady, in Chestnut
Street; but he feigned ignorance of her, and did not answer when she
addressed him. He came directly and told me of the affair, which at
first gave me great alarm, but as we heard nothing more from her, our
fears gradually subsided.
My friend soon married, and not long after moved to Massachusetts,
whither he was driven by one day seeing his old master in one of the
streets of Philadelphia, peering into the face of every colored man
who happened to pass.
I soon got into bad company, and forgot the goodness of that Being
who had shown me so much kindness, who had stuck by me closer than
a brother, through all my wanderings, and who had finally brought
me from bondage to a land of freedom. I often now reflect upon my
ungratefulness towards him.
One night, while returning from my day’s labor, I fell into
meditation upon the past blessings of God to me. When I reached home
I looked in the Bible to find something applicable to my case, when
I, almost immediately, opened at Luke’s Gospel, 15th chapter and 18th
verse, “I will arise and go to my father.”
I felt a heavy load resting upon my heart; I felt as if I had
neglected the Saviour, and God had forever withdrawn his spirit
from me. I knelt in prayer, and like Jacob, wrestled manfully. I
continued in this state six weeks, until the meeting of the Methodist
Conference, which took place in the Bethel Church, in Philadelphia.
When it commenced I was sick, and had been confined to my bed two
weeks. I heard people talk of the great revival, and of the excellent
preaching they were having, and though I was then confined to my bed
by sickness, and the rain was falling fast, still I was resolved to
go to church, for I felt that my soul was at stake, and I did go,
notwithstanding friends tried to prevail on me to remain at home.
I took my seat in a dark corner of the church, while the congregation
were singing for their own amusement. Presently a tall man entered,
went into the pulpit, and read the following hymn:
“Hark, my soul! it is the Lord;
It is the Saviour, hear his word;
Jesus speaks, he speaks to thee,
He says, poor sinner, love thou me.
I delivered thee when bound,
And when wounded healed thy wound;
Sought thee wandering, set thee right,
Turned thy darkness into light.
Can a woman’s tender care
Cease towards the child she bare?
Yes, she may forgetful be,
But I will remember thee.”
He lined the hymn so that all could sing, during which he often
called the attention of the congregation to the sentiment, to all
which I paid great attention, for my mind was forcibly carried back
to the state of bondage from which I had just escaped, and the many
manifestations of God’s mercies to me throughout the journey. The
hymn was not sung by wood or brass, but by mortal tongues, which
were more charming in their harmony than ten thousand stringed
instruments. This hymn was so precisely suited to my case that I
began to feel much better.
The preacher, Rev. Josiah Gilbert, of Baltimore, then arose, taking
for his text, “O, praise the Lord, for He is good, and His mercies
endure forever.” Never before nor since have I heard such a sermon.
The load was removed from my heart, and I found myself standing up in
the church, praising God, for it seemed to me a heaven upon earth to
my soul.
I felt nothing more of my sickness, and next day went to my work,
tending for brick-layers. The following night, at the meeting the
question was put if any person wished to join the church. No person
went about among the crowd to drag others to the altar, or to force
them to say they had religion, when they had none; yet one hundred
and twenty, like noble volunteers, forced their way to the altar, and
gave in their names, shouting the praises of Immanuel’s God, while
the preacher was recording them.
I joined the church that same night. O, memorable night! Would that
I could bring thee back, that I might live thee over again! But thou
art gone, and I can only live over thy blessings in memory. But they
will not so flee.
I married the same year, and for a time everything seemed to go on
well. God gave me a companion who loved Him, and we soon had a family
altar in our lowly habitation. Sickness and sorrow however came.
Several slaves near by were arrested and taken to the South, so I
finally concluded best for me to go to sea, and accordingly removed
to New York city for that purpose.
* * * * *
Many of my friends have expressed a curiosity to learn how I, being a
slave, obtained an education; to gratify which I will now relate some
incidents in my past life, which I have not done in the foregoing
pages.
When about eight years of age, I was sent to the school house with
the white children, to carry their dinners, it being a distance of
two miles, and therefore too far for them to go home for them. There
were two of these children relatives of my master, whose father had
once been rich, but who, through misfortune, left his children almost
penniless at his decease.
Little Henry, one of the children, was one morning, while walking
leisurely to school, repeating over his lesson, when I said to him,
“How I would like to read like you.” “Would you?” said he, “Then I
will learn you.” I told him, if his Uncle knew it, he would forbid it.
“I know it,” he answered, “But I will not tell him; for he would
then stop you from going with me, and I would have to carry my own
dinners!” Thereupon we made a mutual promise to reveal our secret to
no person.
Henry was about my own age, being the elder of the two children; his
sister, Jane, being about five years old. He commenced teaching me
from his book my letters. We sometimes started an hour or two before
school time, that we might have more leisure for our undertaking. We
had a piece of woods to pass on our way, which also facilitated the
practical operation of our plans, as we could, by going into them,
escape the observation of the other school children, or of passers by
in the road. We even sometimes took Jane to the school house, leaving
her to play with the other children, while we returned to our school
in the woods, until the school bell rang.
I made such rapid progress that Henry was encouraged and delighted.
When my father knew of the matter, he gave Henry some money with
which to purchase me a book, which he did of one of the scholars,
who, being advanced into a higher lesson, had no longer use for this
book.
I now lost no time, but studied my lessons every leisure moment, at
all convenient times. I went thus with the children to school about
three years, when I became the body servant of John Wagar, and had to
give my attention to him and his horse.
John being six miles from home, at a boarding school, was only at
home from Saturdays until Mondays. During his absence I had to attend
to his pony, and do small jobs about the house, which did not prevent
my continuing my studies, although my opportunities to do so were
not now as good as formerly; still, my little teacher improved every
chance that offered of giving his instructions.
I soon got through my first book, Webster’s Spelling Book, after
which Henry bought me the Introduction to the English Reader. He also
commenced setting me copies, as he thought it time I was commencing
to write, though he still kept me at reading until I had nearly
completed my second book, when our school was broken up by the return
of John Wagar from the boarding school, he having completed his
education.
John, whose father was very rich, hardly treated Henry, a poor orphan
boy, with common courtesy or decency, and was unwilling even to sit
and eat with him at table. Mrs. Ashton, Henry’s mother, noticed this
conduct of John’s, and also that his father sided with him in all
his complaints against Henry, and knowing the cause she did not wish
longer to remain where she was; so she, with the children, removed
to Alexandria, where Henry is now doing a large dry goods business,
in which, by honesty and skill, he has accumulated considerable
wealth.
When Henry was about to leave the plantation, he said to me, “I am
sorry, John, that I cannot teach you longer, as I had intended to
learn you through the English Reader, and also to write a good hand.
But you must not forget what you have learned, and try to improve
what you can by yourself.”
This parting filled my heart with sorrow, for I loved Henry Ashton
like a brother. I followed him with my eyes until distance closed the
view; and my affectionate prayers and good wishes always have, and
always will, follow him, for to him I owe the rudiments of one of my
greatest blessings, my education. Through this I have been enabled
to read the Word of God, and thereby learn the way of salvation;
and though I could never repay these services, yet God has doubly
paid him, for before I left Maryland his name ranked among the most
respectable and wealthy of country merchants.
After this I continued to read and write at every opportunity,
often carrying my book in my hat, that I might lose no chance of
using it. When I was with Richard Thomas, in the south part of the
State, I became acquainted with a poor Englishman, who lived near
the plantation. He, seeing my strong desire to learn, proposed to
instruct me, after exacting from me a promise of secrecy in the
matter. He continued to teach me from the first of March until the
October following, when he and his daughter, (his whole family,)
died.
After that I had no teacher until I went to Philadelphia, where I
attended evening schools during the winters of my stay in that city.