The person who assumed this name was called Notly, when he was a slave
in Maryland. He was compelled to labor very hard, was scantily supplied
with food and clothing, and lodged in a little ricketty hut, through
which the cold winds of winter whistled freely. He was of a very
religious turn of mind, and often, when alone in his little cabin at
midnight, he prayed earnestly to God to release him from his
sufferings.
In the year 1800, he found a favorable opportunity to escape from his
unfeeling master, and made his way to Philadelphia, where he procured
employment in a lumber-yard, under the name of John Smith. He was so
diligent and faithful, that he soon gained the good-will and confidence
of his employers. He married a worthy, industrious woman, with whom he
lived happily. By their united earnings they were enabled to purchase a
small house, where they enjoyed more comfort than many wealthy people,
and were much respected by neighbors and acquaintances.
Unfortunately, he confided his story to a colored man, who, for the sake
of reward, informed his master where he was to be found. Accordingly, he
came to Philadelphia, arrested him, and carried him before a magistrate.
Having brought forward satisfactory evidence that he was a slave, an
order was granted to carry him back to Maryland. Isaac T. Hopper was
present at this decision, and was afflicted by it beyond measure. John's
employers pitied his condition, and sympathized with his afflicted wife
and children. They offered to pay a large sum for his ransom; but his
savage master refused to release him on any terms. This sober,
industrious man, guiltless of any crime, was hand-cuffed and had his
arms tied behind him with a rope, to which another rope was appended,
for his master to hold. While they were fastening his fetters, he spoke
a few affectionate words to his weeping wife. "Take good care of the
children," said he; "and don't let them forget their poor father. If you
are industrious and frugal, I hope you will be enabled to keep them at
school, till they are old enough to be placed at service in respectable
families. Never allow them to be idle; for that will lead them into bad
ways. And now don't forget my advice; for it is most likely you will
never see me again."
Then addressing his children, he said, "You will have no father to take
care of you now. Mind what your mother tells you, and be very careful
not to do anything to grieve her. Be industrious and faithful in
whatever you are set about; and never play in the streets with naughty
children."
They all wept bitterly while he thus talked to them; but he restrained
his sobs, though it was evident his heart was well nigh breaking. Isaac
T. Hopper was present at this distressing scene, and suffered almost as
acutely as the poor slave himself. In the midst of his parting words,
his master seized the rope, mounted his horse, snapped his whip, and set
off, driving poor John before him. This was done in a Christian country,
and there was no law to protect the victim.
John was conveyed to Washington and offered for sale to speculators,
who were buying up gangs for the Southern market. The sight of dejected
and brutified slaves, chained together in coffles, was too common at the
seat of our republican government to attract attention; but the
barbarity of John's master was so conspicuous, that even there he was
rebuked for his excessive cruelty. These expressions of sympathy were
quite unexpected to the poor slave, and they kindled a faint hope of
escape, which had been smouldering in his breast. Manacled as he was, he
contrived to trip up his master, and leaving him prostrate on the
ground, he ran for the woods. He was soon beyond the reach of his
tyrant, and might have escaped easily if a company had not immediately
formed to pursue him. They chased him from the shelter of the bushes to
a swamp, where he was hunted like a fox, till night with friendly
darkness overshadowed him. While his enemies were sleeping, he
cautiously made his way by the light of the stars, to the house of an
old acquaintance, who hastened to take off his fetters, and give him a
good supper.
Thus refreshed, he hastened to bid his colored friend farewell, and with
fear and trembling set off for Philadelphia. He had several rivers to
cross, and he thought likely men would be stationed on the bridges to
arrest him. Therefore, he hid himself in the deepest recesses of the
woods in the day-time, and travelled only in the night. He suffered much
with hunger and fatigue, but arrived home at last, to the great
astonishment and joy of his family. He well knew that these precious
moments of affectionate greeting were highly dangerous; for his own roof
could afford no shelter from pursuers armed with the power of a wicked
law. He accordingly hastened to Isaac T. Hopper for advice and
assistance.
The yellow fever was then raging in Philadelphia, and the children had
all been carried into the country by their mother. Business made it
necessary for Friend Hopper to be in the city during the day-time, and a
colored domestic remained with him to take charge of the house. This
woman was alone when the fugitive arrived; but she showed him to an
upper chamber secured by a strong fastening. He had been there but a
short time, when his master came with two constables and proceeded to
search the house. When they found a room with the door bolted, they
demanded entrance; and receiving no answer, they began to consult
together how to gain admittance. At this crisis, the master of the house
came home, and received information of what was going on up-stairs. He
hastened thither, and ordered the intruders to quit his house instantly.
One of the constables said, "This gentleman's slave is here; and if you
don't deliver him up immediately, we will get a warrant to search the
house."
"Quit my premises," replied Friend Hopper. "The mayor dare not grant a
warrant to search my house."
The men withdrew in no very good humor, and a message soon came from the
mayor requesting to see Isaac T. Hopper. He obeyed the summons, and the
magistrate said to him, "This gentleman informs me that his slave is in
your house. Is it so?"
The wary Friend replied, "Thou hast just told me that this man _says_ he
is. Dost thou not believe him?"
"But I wish to know from yourself whether he is in your house or not,"
rejoined the magistrate.
"If the mayor reflects a little, I think he will see that he has no
right to ask such a question; and that I am not bound to answer it,"
replied Friend Hopper. "If he is in my house, and if this man can prove
it, I am liable to a heavy penalty; and no man is bound to inform
against himself. These people have not behaved so civilly, that I feel
myself under any especial obligations of courtesy toward them. Hast thou
any further business with me?"
"Did you say I dared not grant a warrant to search your house?" asked
the mayor.
He answered, "Indeed I did say so; and I now repeat it. I mean no
disrespect to anybody in authority; but neither thou nor any other
magistrate would dare to grant a warrant to search my house. I am a man
of established reputation. I am not a suspicious character."
The mayor smiled, as he replied, "I don't know about that, Mr. Hopper.
In the present case, I am inclined to think you are a _very_ suspicious
character." And so they parted.
The master resorted to various stratagems to recapture his victim. He
dressed himself in Quaker costume and went to his house. The once happy
home was desolate now; and the anxious wife sat weeping, with her little
ones clinging to her in childish sympathy. The visitor professed to be
very friendly to her husband, and desirous to ascertain where he could
be found, in order to render him advice and assistance in eluding the
vigilance of his master. The wife prudently declined giving any
information, but referred him to Isaac T. Hopper, as the most suitable
person to consult in the case. Finding that he could not gain his object
by deception, he forgot to sustain the quiet character he had assumed,
but gave vent to his anger in a great deal of violent and profane
language. He went off, finally, swearing that in spite of them all he
would have his slave again, if he was to be found on the face of the
earth.
John Smith remained under the protection of Friend Isaac about a week.
Spies were seen lurking round the house for several days; but they
disappeared at last. Supposing this was only a trick to put them off
their guard, a colored man was employed to run out of the house after
dark. The enemies who were lying in ambush, rushed out and laid violent
hands upon him. They released him as soon as they discovered their
mistake; but the next day Friend Hopper had them arrested, and compelled
them to enter into bonds for their good behavior. On the following
evening the same man was employed to run out again; and this time he was
not interrupted. The third evening, John Smith himself ventured forth
from his hiding-place, and arrived safely in New-Jersey.
He let himself to a worthy farmer, and soon gained the confidence and
good will of all the family. He ate at the same table with them, and sat
with them on Sunday afternoons, listening to their reading of the
Scriptures and other religious books. This system of equality did not
diminish the modesty of his deportment, but rather tended to increase
his habitual humility.
He remained there several months, during which time he never dared to
visit his family, though only eight miles distant from them. This was a
great source of unhappiness; for he was naturally affectionate, and was
strongly attached to his wife and children. At length, he ventured to
hire a small house in a very secluded situation, not far from the
village of Haddonfield: and once more he gathered his family around him.
But his domestic comfort was constantly disturbed by fear of
men-stealers. While at his work in the day-time, he sometimes started at
the mere rustling of a leaf; and in the night time, he often woke up in
agony from terrifying dreams.
The false friend, who betrayed him to his cruel master, likewise
suffered greatly from fear. When he heard that John had again escaped,
he was exceedingly alarmed for his own safety. He dreamed that his
abused friend came with a knife in one hand and a torch in the other,
threatening to murder him and burn the house. These ideas took such hold
of his imagination, that he often started up in bed and screamed aloud.
But John was too sincerely religious to cherish a revengeful spirit. The
wrong done to him was as great as one mortal could inflict upon another;
but he had learned the divine precept not to render evil for evil.
The event proved that John's uneasiness was too well founded. A few
months after his family rejoined him, Isaac T. Hopper heard that his
master had arrived in Philadelphia, and was going to New-Jersey to
arrest him. He immediately apprised him of his danger; and the tidings
were received with feelings of desperation amounting to phrensy. He
loaded his gun and determined to defend himself. Very early the next
morning, he saw his master with two men coming up the narrow lane that
led to his house. He stationed himself in the door-way, leveled his gun,
and called out, "I will shoot the first man that crosses that fence!"
They were alarmed, and turned back to procure assistance. John seized
that opportunity to quit his retreat. He hastened to Philadelphia, and
informed Isaac T. Hopper what had happened. His friend represented to
him the unchristian character of such violent measures, and advised him
not to bring remorse on his soul by the shedding of blood. The poor
hunted fugitive seemed to be convinced, though it was a hard lesson to
learn in his circumstances. Again he resolved to fly for safety; and his
friend advised him to go to Boston. A vessel from that place was then
lying in the Delaware, and the merchant who had charge of her, pitying
his forlorn situation, offered him a passage free of expense. Kindness
bestowed on him was always like good seed dropped into a rich soil. He
was so obliging and diligent during the voyage, that he more than
compensated the captain for his passage. He arrived safely in Boston,
where his certificates of good character soon enabled him to procure
employment. Not long after, he sent for his wife, who sold what little
property they had in Philadelphia, and took her children to their new
home.
When John left New-Jersey, he assumed the name of Thomas Cooper, by
which he was ever afterward known. He had early in life manifested a
religious turn of mind; and this was probably increased by his continual
perils and narrow escapes. He mourned over every indication of
dishonesty, profanity, or dissipation, among people of his own color;
and this feeling grew upon him, until he felt as if it were a duty to
devote his life to missionary labors. He became a popular preacher among
the Methodists, and visited some of the West India Islands in that
capacity. His Christian example and fervid exhortations, warm from the
heart, are said to have produced a powerful effect on his untutored
hearers. After his return, he concluded to go to Africa as a missionary.
For that purpose, he took shipping with his family for London, where he
was received with much kindness by many persons to whom he took letters
of introduction. His children were placed at a good school by a
benevolent member of the Society of Friends; and from various quarters
he received the most gratifying testimonials of respect and sympathy.
But what was of more value than all else to the poor harassed fugitive,
was the fact that he now, for the first time in his life, felt entirely
safe from the fangs of the oppressor.
He remained in London about a year and a half. During that time he
compiled a hymn book which his friends published with his portrait in
front. He preached with great acceptance to large congregations: several
thousand persons assembled to hear his farewell sermon on the eve of his
departure for Africa. He sailed for Sierra Leone, in the latter part of
1818, and was greeted there with much cordiality; for his fame had
preceded him. All classes flocked to hear him preach, and his labors
were highly useful. After several years spent in the discharge of
religious duties, he died of the fever which so often proves fatal to
strangers in Africa. His wife returned with her children to end her days
in Philadelphia.