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[Illustration: Eng. by J. W. Watts from a Photograph by Grice Bros.
Port au Prince. _Geffrard_]
THE BLACK MAN:
HIS ANTECEDENTS, HIS GENIUS, AND
HIS ACHIEVEMENTS.
BY
WILLIAM WELLS BROWN.
[Illustration: Logo]
_Boston_:
JAMES REDPATH, PUBLISHER,
221 WASHINGTON STREET.
1863.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by WILLIAM
WELLS BROWN, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the
District of Massachusetts.
STEREOTYPED AT THE BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.
TO
THE ADVOCATES AND FRIENDS
OF
NEGRO FREEDOM AND EQUALITY,
WHEREVER FOUND,
This Volume is Respectfully Dedicated,
BY THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
The calumniators and traducers of the Negro are to be found, mainly,
among two classes. The first and most relentless are those who
have done them the greatest injury, by being instrumental in their
enslavement and consequent degradation. They delight to descant upon
the "natural inferiority" of the blacks, and claim that we were
destined only for a servile condition, entitled neither to liberty nor
the legitimate pursuit of happiness. The second class are those who are
ignorant of the characteristics of the race, and are the mere echoes of
the first. To meet and refute these misrepresentations, and to supply a
deficiency, long felt in the community, of a work containing sketches
of individuals who, by their own genius, capacity, and intellectual
development, have surmounted the many obstacles which slavery and
prejudice have thrown in their way, and raised themselves to positions
of honor and influence, this volume was written. The characters
represented in most of these biographies are for the first time put in
print. The author's long sojourn in Europe, his opportunity of research
amid the archives of England and France, and his visit to the West
Indies, have given him the advantage of information respecting the
blacks seldom acquired.
If this work shall aid in vindicating the Negro's character, and show
that he is endowed with those intellectual and amiable qualities which
adorn and dignify human nature, it will meet the most sanguine hopes of
the writer.
CAMBRIDGEPORT, MASS., 1863.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, 11
THE BLACK MAN AND HIS ANTECEDENTS, 31
THE BLACK MAN, HIS GENIUS AND HIS ACHIEVEMENTS.
BENJAMIN BANNEKER, 51
NAT TURNER, 59
MADISON WASHINGTON, 75
HENRY BIBB, 86
PLACIDO, 88
JEREMIAH B. SANDERSON, 91
TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE, 92
CRISPUS ATTUCKS, 106
DESSALINES, 110
IRA ALDRIDGE, 118
JOSEPH CINQUE, 124
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, 128
HENRI CHRISTOPHE, 132
PHILLIS WHEATLEY, 138
DENMARK VESEY, 142
HENRY HIGHLAND GARNETT, 149
JAMES M. WHITFIELD, 152
ANDRE RIGAUD, 153
FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS, 160
EX-PRESIDENT ROBERTS, 163
ALEXANDER CRUMMELL, 165
ALEXANDRE PETION, 169
MARTIN R. DELANY, M. D., 174
ROBERT SMALL, 175
FREDERICK DOUGLASS, 180
CHARLES L. REASON, 187
CHARLOTTE L. FORTEN, 190
WILLIAM H. SIMPSON, 199
JEAN PIERRE BOYER, 202
JAMES M'CUNE SMITH, M. D., 205
BISHOP PAYNE, 207
WILLIAM STILL, 211
EDWIN M. BANNISTER, 214
LEONARD A. GRIMES, 217
PRESIDENT GEFFRARD, 220
GEORGE B. VASHON, 223
ROBERT MORRIS, 227
WILLIAM J. WILSON, 230
JOHN MERCER LANGSTON, 235
WILLIAM C. NELL, 238
JOHN SELLA MARTIN, 241
CHARLES LENOX REMOND, 246
GEORGE T. DOWNING, 250
ROBERT PURVIS, 253
JOSEPH JENKINS, 259
JOHN S. ROCK, 266
WILLIAM DOUGLASS, 271
ELYMAS PAYSON ROGERS, 272
J. THEODORE HOLLY, 274
JAMES W. C. PENNINGTON, 276
A MAN WITHOUT A NAME, 278
SAMUEL R. WARD, 284
SIR EDWARD JORDAN, 286
JOSEPH CARTER, 288
JAMES LAWSON, 291
CAPT. CALLIOUX, 297
CAPT. JOSEPH HOWARD, 308
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR.
I was born at Lexington, Kentucky. My father, as I was informed, was
a member of the Wickliffe family; my mother was of mixed blood; her
father, it was said, was the noted Daniel Boone, and her mother a
negress. My early life on the plantation was such as generally falls to
the lot of the young slave, till I arrived at the age of nine years,
when my position was changed. My master's brother lost his wife, she
leaving an infant son a few months old, whom my mistress took to bring
up. When this boy became old enough to need a playmate to watch over
him, mistress called the young slaves together, to select one for the
purpose. We were all ordered to run, jump, wrestle, turn somersets,
walk on our hands, and go through the various gymnastic exercises that
the imagination of our brain could invent, or the strength and activity
of our limbs could endure. The selection was to be an important one,
both to the mistress and the slave. Whoever should gain the place was
in the future to become a house servant; the ask-cake thrown aside,
that unmentionable garment that buttons around the neck, which we all
wore, and nothing else, was to give way to the whole suit of tow linen.
Every one of us joined heartily in the contest, while old mistress sat
on the piazza, watching our every movement--some fifteen of us, each
dressed in his one garment, sometimes standing on our heads with feet
in the air--still the lady looked on. With me it seemed a matter of
life and death; for, being blood kin to master, I felt that I had more
at stake than my companions. At last the choice was made, and I was
told to step aside as the "lucky boy," which order I obeyed with an
alacrity seldom surpassed. That night I was put to soak, after which I
was scraped, scrubbed, washed, and dried. The next day, the new suit
came down to the quarters; I slipped into it; the young slaves gathered
about me, and I was the star of the plantation. My mother, one of the
best of mothers, placed her hands on my head, and, with tears in her
eyes, said, "I knowed you was born for good luck, for a fortune-teller
told me so when you was a baby layin' in your little sugar trough.
Go up to de great house where you belong." With this blessing I bade
farewell to the log hut and the dirt floor, and started towards the
"big house." Mistress received me, and laid down the law which was to
govern my future actions. "I give your young master over to you," said
she; "and if you let him hurt himself, I'll pull your ears; if you let
him cry, I'll pull your ears; if he wants any thing, and you don't give
it to him, I'll pull your ears; when he goes to sleep, if you let him
wake before it is time, I'll pull your ears." And right well did she
keep her promise, for my ears felt the impress of her tender fingers
and gold rings almost every day, and at times nearly every hour.
Yet I would not have you suppose, gentle reader, that my old mistress
was of low or common origin; but on the contrary, she boasted that the
best blood of the south coursed through her blue veins. My master, Dr.
John Young, was a man of considerable standing in his section of the
state. A member of the church, his seat was not often empty during
religious service. He was very strict as to the observance of the
Sabbath, held prayer night and morning, and entertained more travelling
preachers than almost any one in his neighborhood.
The doctor did not surpass his wife in devotedness to religious
observances. Of these travelling ministers, each had a favorite, who in
turn used to spend several days on the plantation, hunting, shooting,
fishing, visiting, and at times preaching. The Rev. Mr. Pinchen was my
mistress's favorite, and he was indeed an interesting character. Short
and stout, somewhat inclined to corpulency, deeply pockmarked, quick in
his motions, and with a strong voice, he was one of the funniest of men
when telling his long stories about his religious and other experience
in the south.
I had been in the great house nearly three years, when Mr. Pinchen was
expected to make his annual visit. The stir about the dwelling, the
cleaning of paint, the scalding out of the bedbugs, and the orders and
counter-orders from Mrs. Young, showed plainly that something uncommon
was to take place. High and angry words had passed between master
and mistress, one morning, when the latter weepingly and snufflingly
exclaimed, "Never mind; you'll not have me here always to hector and to
worry: I'll die one of these days, and then you'll be glad of it. Never
mind; keep on, and you'll send me to my grave before the time. Never
mind; one of these days the Lord will make up his _jewels, call me home
to glory_, and I'll be out of your way, and I'll be devilish glad of it
too." Her weeping increased, and she continued, "Never mind; brother
Pinchen will be here soon, and then I'll have somebody to talk to me
about religion." At this moment, Hannah, the waiting maid, entered the
room, and Mrs. Young gave orders with regard to Mr. Pinchen's visit.
"Go, Hannah," said she, "and get the chamber ready for brother Pinchen:
put on the new linen sheets, and see that they are dry, and well
aired; if they are not, I'll air _you_, my lady." The arrival of the
clergyman, the next day, was the signal for new and interesting scenes.
After the first morning's breakfast was over, family prayer finished,
the Bible put away, the brandy replaced in the sideboard, and Dr. Young
gone to his office, Mr. Pinchen commenced the delivery of one of those
religious experiences for which he was so celebrated wherever he was
known. Mrs. Young and the minister were seated at the round table, I
standing behind her chair, and Hannah clearing off the breakfast table,
when the servant of God began by saying, "Well, sister Young, I've seen
a heap since I was here last."
"I am so glad to hear it," responded she, "for I want to hear something
good. Now do give me your experience, brother Pinchen; it always draws
me nearer and nearer to the Lord's side."
"Well, sister Young, I've had great opportunity in my time to study
the human heart. I've attended a great many camp meetings, revival
meetings, protracted meetings, and death-bed scenes, and I am
satisfied, sister Young, that the heart of man is full of sin and
desperately wicked. This is a wicked world, sister, a wicked world."
Mrs. Young asked, "Were you ever in Arkansas, brother Pinchen? I've
been told that the people out there are very ungodly."
Mr. Pinchen said, "O, yes, sister Young; I once spent a year at Little
Rock, and preached in all the towns round about there; and I found some
hard cases out there, I can tell you. I was once spending a week in a
district where there were a great many horse thieves, and one night
somebody stole my pony. Well, I knowed it was no use to make a fuss;
so I told brother Tarbox to say nothing about it, and I'd get my horse
by preaching God's everlasting gospel; for I had faith in the truth,
and knowed that my Saviour would not let me lose my pony. So the next
Sunday I preached on horse-stealing, and told the brethren to come up
in the evenin' with their hearts filled with the grace of God. So that
night the house was crammed brim full with anxious souls, panting for
the bread of life. Brother Bingham opened with prayer, and brother
Tarbox followed, and I saw right off that we were gwine to have a
blessed time. After I got 'em pretty well warmed up, I jumped on to
one of the seats, stretched out my hands, and said: 'I know who stole
my pony; I've found out; and you are here tryin' to make people believe
that you've got religion; but you ain't got it. And if you don't take
my horse back to brother Tarbox's pasture this very night, I'll tell
your name right out in meetin' to-morrow night. Take my pony back, you
vile and wretched sinner, and come up here and give your heart to God.'
So the next mornin', I went out to brother Tarbox's pasture, and sure
enough, there was my bob-tail pony. Yes, sister, there he was, safe and
sound. Ha, ha, ha!"
With uplifted hands, old mistress exclaimed, "O, how interesting, and
how fortunate for you to get your pony! And what power there is in the
gospel! God's children are very lucky. O, it is so sweet to sit here
and listen to such good news from God's people!"
Hannah was so entranced with the conversation that she had left her
work, and, with eyes and mouth open, was listening to the preacher.
Turning aside, and in a low voice, Mrs. Young harshly said, "Hannah,
what are you standing there listening for, and neglecting your work?
Never mind, my lady, I'll whip you well when I am done here. Go at your
work this moment, you lazy hussy. Never mind, I'll whip you well."
Then, turning again to the preacher, she said, "Come, do go on, brother
Pinchen, with your godly conversation. It is so sweet! It draws me
nearer and nearer to the Lord's side."
"Well, sister Young," continued he, "I've had some mighty queer dreams
in my time--that I have. You see, one night I dreamed that I was dead
and in heaven; and such a place I never saw before. As soon as I
entered the gates of the celestial empire, I saw many old and familiar
faces that I had seen before. The first person that I saw was good old
Elder Pike, the preacher that first called my attention to religion.
The next person I saw was Deacon Billings, my first wife's father; and
then I saw a host of godly faces. Why, sister Young, you knew Elder
Goosbee--didn't you?"
"Yes," replied she; "did you see him there?"
"O, yes, sister Young, I saw the elder, and he looked for all the world
as if he had just come out of a revival meeting."
"Did you see my first husband there, brother Pinchen?"
"No, sister Young, I didn't see brother Pepper, but I've no doubt but
that he was there."
"Well, I don't know," said she; "I have my doubts. He was not the
happiest man in the world. He was always borrowing trouble about
something or another. Still, I saw some happy moments with Mr. Pepper.
I was happy when I made his acquaintance, happy during our courtship,
happy a while after our marriage, and happy when he died."
Here she put her handkerchief to her eyes, and wept bitterly for a
moment. At this juncture Hannah asked, "Did you see my husband, Ben, up
in hebben, Massa Pinchen?"
"No, no, Hannah, I didn't go amongst the blacks," answered he.
"Of course not," said mistress; "brother Pinchen didn't go among the
niggers." Turning aside to Hannah, and in a whisper, she exclaimed,
"What are you asking questions for? Never mind, my lady, I'll whip you
well when I'm done here. I'll skin you from head to foot. Do go on with
your heavenly conversation, brother Pinchen; it does my very soul good.
This is indeed a precious moment for me. I do love to hear of Christ
and him crucified."
After the conversation had ceased, and the preacher gone out to call
on Mrs. Daniels, Mrs. Young said to the maid, "Now, Hannah, brother
Pinchen is gone; you get the cowhide, and I'll whip you well, for
aggravating me as you did to-day. It seems as if I can never sit down
to take a little comfort with the Lord, without the devil putting it
into your head to cross me. I've no doubt, Hannah, that I'll miss
going to heaven on your account; but I'll whip you well before I leave
this world--that I will." The servant received a flogging, Mrs. Young
felt easier, and I was in the kitchen amusing my fellow-slaves with
telling over Mr. Pinchen's last experience. Here let me say, that
we regarded the religious profession of the whites around us as a
farce, and our master and mistress, together with their guest, as mere
hypocrites. During the entire visit of the preacher, the servants had a
joyful time over my representations of what was going on in the great
house.
The removal of my master's family and slaves to the centre of the State
of Missouri about this time, caused some change in our condition. My
young master, William, had now grown to be a stout boy of five years
of age. No restraint thrown around him by the doctor or his wife, aunt
Dolly, his nurse, not permitted to control any of his actions, William
had become impudent, petulant, peevish, and cruel. Sitting at the
tea table, he would often desire to make his entire meal out of the
sweetmeats, the sugar-bowl, or the cake; and when mistress would not
allow him to have them, he, in a fit of anger, would throw any thing
within his reach at me; spoons, knives, forks, and dishes would be
hurled at my head, accompanied with language such as would astonish any
one not well versed in the injurious effects of slavery upon the rising
generation. Thomas Jefferson, in 1788, in a letter to M. Warville,
Paris, writing upon slavery, alludes to its influence upon the young as
follows:--
"The parent storms, the child looks on, catches the lineaments of
wrath, puts on the same airs in the circle of smaller slaves, GIVES
LOOSE TO HIS WORST PASSIONS; and, thus _nursed, educated, and daily
exercised in tyranny_, cannot but be stamped by it with odious
peculiarities."
In the Virginia legislature, in the year 1832, Hon. Lewis Summers
said,--
"A slave population exercises the _most pernicious influence_ upon the
manners, habits, and character of those among whom it exists. _Lisping
infancy_ learns the vocabulary of abusive epithets, and struts, the
_embryo tyrant_ of its little domain. The consciousness of _superior
destiny_ takes possession of his mind at its earliest dawning, and
_love of power and rule_ 'grows with his growth and strengthens with
his strength.' Unless enabled to rise above the operation of those
powerful causes, _he enters the world with miserable notions of
self-importance, and under the government of an unbridled temper_."
Having, by speculation and mismanagement, lost the most of his
property, Dr. Young resumed the practice of medicine in Missouri, and
soon obtained a lucrative run of custom. Here, as in Kentucky, the
doctor took great interest in matters of religion, and was considered
one of the pillars in the church.
Being sent one Sabbath morning to carry the sacramental wine to the
church, about a mile distant, I could not withstand the temptation it
presented of tasting it. Having had one swallow, I was tempted further
on, till the beverage disappeared out of the neck of the bottle, so
that I felt afraid that if noticed by master, I should be flogged. It
occurred to me that I might fill up the bottle from one of the sap
tubs, as I passed through the sugar camp; for it was the spring of the
year, and we were making maple sugar. I tried to pour the sap into the
bottle, but it flared over the top, leaving the wine still some inches
down the neck. After ransacking my inventive faculties, I fortunately
hit upon a plan and filled it up. Placing the bottle on the ground, and
sucking my mouth full of the juice, I stood directly over the bottle
and let it stream in until it was full. Putting the stopple in, I
started off towards the church, feeling that I had got the advantage of
master once more.
My fair complexion was a great obstacle to my happiness, both with
whites and blacks, in and about the great house. Often mistaken by
strangers for a white boy, it annoyed my mistress very much. On one
occasion, a visitor came to the place in the absence of the doctor.
While Mrs. Young was entertaining the major (for he was a military
man), I passed through the room, and going near the stranger, he put
out his hand and said to me, "How do you do, bub?" and turning to the
lady, he exclaimed, "Madam, I would have known that he was the doctor's
son, if I had met him in California, for he is so much like his papa."
Mistress ordered me out of the room, and remarked that I was one of
the servants, when the major begged pardon for the mistake. After the
stranger was gone, I was flogged for his blunder.
Dr. Young sold his large farm, which was situated in the central part
of the state, and removed to St. Louis, where a number of the servants
were let out. I was put to work tending upon the hands in the office
of the "St. Louis Times," a newspaper owned and published by Lovejoy
& Miller, and edited by Elijah P. Lovejoy. Here my young heart began
to feel more longings for liberty. The love of freedom is a sentiment
natural to the human heart, and the want of it is felt by him who does
not possess it. He feels it a reproach; and with this sting, this
wounded pride, hating degradation, and looking forward to the cravings
of the heart, the enslaved is always on the alert for an opportunity
to escape from his oppressors and to avenge his wrongs. What greater
injury and indignity can be offered to man, than to make him the
bond-slave of his fellow-man?
My sojourn in the printing office was of short duration, and I was
afterwards let out to a slave-trader named Walker. This heartless,
cruel, ungodly man, who neither loved his Maker nor feared Satan, was
a fair representative of thousands of demons in human form that are
engaged in buying and selling God's children.
One year with Walker, beholding scenes of cruelty that can be better
imagined than described, I was once more taken home, and soon after
hired out as an under steward on the steamer Patriot, running to New
Orleans. This opened to me a new life, and gave me an opportunity to
see different phases of slave life, and to learn something more of the
world. Life on the Mississippi River is an exciting one. I had not
been on the boat but a few weeks when one of those races for which the
southern steamers are so famous took place.
At eight o'clock on the evening of the third day of the passage, the
lights of another steamer were seen in the distance, and apparently
coming up very fast. This was the signal for a general commotion on
board the Patriot, and every thing indicated that a steamboat race was
at hand. Nothing can exceed the excitement attendant upon the racing of
steamers on the Mississippi.
By the time the boats had reached Memphis they were side by side, and
each exerting itself to get in advance of the other. The night was
clear, the moon shining brightly, and the boats so near to each other
that the passengers were within speaking distance. On board the Patriot
the firemen were using oil, lard, butter, and even bacon, with wood,
for the purpose of raising the steam to its highest pitch. The blaze
mingled with the black smoke that issued from the pipes of the other
boat, which showed that she also was burning something more combustible
than wood.
The firemen of both boats, who were slaves, were singing songs such
as can only be heard on board a southern steamer. The boats now came
abreast of each other, and nearer and nearer, until they were locked
so that men could pass from one to the other. The wildest excitement
prevailed among the men employed on the steamers, in which the
passengers freely participated.
At this moment the engineer of the Patriot was seen to fasten down
the safety-valve, so that no steam should escape. This was indeed a
dangerous resort, and a few who saw what had taken place, fearing that
an explosion would be the consequence, left that part of the boat for
more secure quarters.
The Patriot now stopped to take in passengers; but still no steam was
permitted to escape. On the starting of the boat again, cold water was
forced into the boilers by the feed-pumps, and, as might have been
expected, one of the boilers exploded with terrific force, carrying
away the boiler deck and tearing to pieces much of the machinery. One
dense fog of steam filled every part of the vessel, while shrieks,
groans, and cries were heard on every side. Men were running hither and
thither looking for their wives, and women were flying about, in the
wildest confusion, seeking for their husbands. Dismay appeared on every
countenance.
The saloons and cabins soon looked more like hospitals than any thing
else; but by this time the Patriot had drifted to the shore, and the
other steamer had come alongside to render assistance to the disabled
boat. The killed and wounded (nineteen in number) were put on shore,
and the Patriot, taken in tow by the Washington, was once more on her
journey.
It was half past twelve, and the passengers, instead of retiring
to their berths, once more assembled at the gaming tables. The
practice of gambling on the western waters has long been a source of
annoyance to the more moral persons who travel on our great rivers.
Thousands of dollars often change owners during a passage from St.
Louis or Louisville to New Orleans on a Mississippi steamer. Many
men are completely ruined on such occasions, and duels are often the
consequence.
"Go call my boy, steward," said Mr. Jones, as he took his cards one by
one from the table.
In a few minutes a fine-looking, bright-eyed mulatto boy, apparently
about sixteen years of age, was standing by his master's side at the
table.
"I am broke, all but my boy," said Jones, as he ran his fingers through
his cards; "but he is worth a thousand dollars, and I will bet the half
of him."
"I will call you," said Thompson, as he laid five hundred dollars at
the feet of the boy, who was standing on the table, and at the same
time throwing down his cards before his adversary.
"You have beaten me," said Jones; and a roar of laughter followed from
the other gentleman as poor Joe stepped down from the table.
"Well, I suppose I owe you half the nigger," said Thompson, as he took
hold of Joe and began examining his limbs.
"Yes," replied Jones, "he is half yours. Let me have five hundred
dollars, and I will give you a bill of sale of the boy."
"Go back to your bed," said Thompson to his chattel, "and remember that
you now belong to me."
The poor slave wiped the tears from his eyes, as, in obedience, he
turned to leave the table.
"My father gave me that boy," said Jones, as he took the money, "and I
hope, Mr. Thompson, that you will allow me to redeem him."
"Most certainly, sir," replied Thompson; "whenever you hand over the
cool thousand the negro is yours."
Next morning, as the passengers were assembling in the cabin and on
deck, and while the slaves were running about waiting on or looking for
their masters, poor Joe was seen entering his new master's state-room,
boots in hand.
Such is the uncertainty of a slave's life. He goes to bed at night
the pampered servant of his young master, with whom he has played
in childhood, and who would not see his slave abused under any
consideration, and gets up in the morning the property of a man whom he
has never before seen.
To behold five or six tables in the saloon of a steamer, with half a
dozen men playing cards at each, with money, pistols, and bowie-knives
spread in splendid confusion before them, is an ordinary thing on the
Mississippi River.
Continued intercourse with educated persons, and meeting on the steamer
so many travellers from the free states, caused me to feel more
keenly my degraded and unnatural situation. I gained much information
respecting the north and Canada that was valuable to me, and I resolved
to escape with my mother, who had been sold to a gentleman in St.
Louis. The attempt was made, but we were unsuccessful. I was then sold
to Mr. Samuel Willi, a merchant tailor. I was again let out to be
employed on a Mississippi steamboat, but was soon after sold to Captain
E. Price, of the Chester. To escape from slavery and become my own
master, was now the ruling passion of my life. I would dream at night
that I was free, and, on awaking, weep to find myself still a slave.
"I would think of Victoria's domain;
In a moment I seemed to be there;
But the fear of being taken again
Soon hurried me back to despair."
Thoughts of the future, and my heart yearning for liberty, kept me
always planning to escape.
The long-looked-for opportunity came, and I embraced it. Leaving the
steamer upon which my new master had me at work, I started for the
north, travelling at night and lying by during the day. It was in the
winter season, and I suffered much from cold and hunger. Supposing
every person to be my enemy, I was afraid to appeal to any one, even
for a little food, to keep body and soul together. As I pressed
forward, my escape to Canada seemed certain, and this feeling gave me a
light heart; for
"Behind I left the whips and chains,
Before me were sweet Freedom's plains."
While on my journey at night, and passing farms, I would seek a
corn-crib, and supply myself with some of its contents. The next day,
while buried in the forest, I would make a fire and roast my corn, and
drink from the nearest stream. One night, while in search of corn,
I came upon what I supposed to be a hill of potatoes, buried in the
ground for want of a cellar. I obtained a sharp-pointed piece of wood,
with which I dug away for more than an hour, and on gaining the hidden
treasure, found it to be turnips. However, I did not dig for nothing.
After supplying myself with about half a dozen of the turnips, I again
resumed my journey. This uncooked food was indeed a great luxury, and
gave strength to my fatigued limbs. The weather was very cold,--so
cold, that it drove me one night into a barn, where I lay in the hay
until morning. A storm overtook me when about a week out. The rain fell
in torrents, and froze as it came down. My clothes became stiff with
ice. Here again I took shelter in a barn, and walked about to keep
from freezing. Nothing but the fear of being arrested and returned to
slavery prevented me, at this time, seeking shelter in some dwelling.
After many days of weary travelling, and sick from exposure, I
determined to seek shelter and aid; and for this purpose, I placed
myself behind some fallen trees near the main road, hoping to see
some colored person, thinking I should be more safe under the care of
one of my own color. Several farmers with their teams passed, but the
appearance of each one frightened me out of the idea of asking for
assistance. After lying on the ground for some time, with my sore,
frost-bitten feet benumbed with cold, I saw an old, white-haired man,
dressed in a suit of drab, with a broad-brimmed hat, walking along,
leading a horse. The man was evidently walking for exercise. I came out
from my hiding-place and told the stranger I must die unless I obtained
some assistance. A moment's conversation satisfied the old man that
I was one of the oppressed, fleeing from the house of bondage. From
the difficulty with which I walked, the shivering of my limbs, and
the trembling of my voice, he became convinced that I had been among
_thieves_, and he acted the part of the Good Samaritan. This was the
first person I had ever seen of the religious sect called "Quakers,"
and his name was Wells Brown. I remained here about a fortnight, and
being fitted out with clothes, shoes, and a little money, by these good
people, I was again ready to resume my journey. I entered their house
with the single name that I was known by at the south, "William;" I
left it with the one I now bear.
A few days more, and I arrived at Cleveland, Ohio, where I found
employment during the remainder of the winter. Having no education,
my first thoughts went in that direction. Obtaining a situation the
following spring on a Lake Erie steamer, I found that I could be very
serviceable to slaves who were escaping from the south to Canada. In
one year alone I assisted _sixty_ fugitives in crossing to the British
queen's dominions. Many of these escapes were attended with much
interest. On one occasion, a fugitive had been hid away in the house
of a noted abolitionist in Cleveland for ten days, while his master
was in town, and watching every steamboat and vessel that left the
port. Several officers were also on the watch, guarding the house of
the abolitionist every night. The slave was a young and valuable man,
of twenty-two years of age, and very black. The friends of the slave
had almost despaired of getting him away from his hiding-place, when I
was called in, and consulted as to the best course to be taken. I at
once inquired if a painter could be found who would paint the fugitive
white. In an hour, by my directions, the black man was as white, and
with as rosy cheeks, as any of the Anglo-Saxon race, and disguised in
the dress of a woman, with a thick veil over her face. As the steamer's
bell was tolling for the passengers to come on board, a tall lady,
dressed in deep mourning, and leaning on the arm of a gentleman of
more than ordinary height, was seen entering the ladies' cabin of the
steamer North America, who took her place with the other _ladies_. Soon
the steamer left the wharf, and the slave-catcher and his officers, who
had been watching the boat since her arrival, went away, satisfied that
their slave had not escaped by the North America, and returned to guard
the house of the abolitionist. After the boat had got out of port, and
fairly on her way to Buffalo, I showed the tall lady to her state-room.
The next morning, the fugitive, dressed in his plantation suit, bade
farewell to his native land, crossed the Niagara River, and took up his
abode in Canada.
I remained on Lake Erie during the sailing season, and resided in
Buffalo in the winter. In the autumn of 1843 I was invited by the
officers of the Western New York Anti-Slavery Society to take an
agency as a lecturer in behalf of my enslaved countrymen, which offer
I accepted, and soon commenced my labors. Mobs were very frequent in
those days. Being advertised to address the citizens of Aurora, Erie
County, New York, on one occasion, I went to fulfil the appointment,
and found the church surrounded by a howling set of men and boys,
waiting to give me a warm reception. I went in, opened the meeting,
and began my address. But they were resolved on having a good time,
and the disturbance was so great that I had to stop. In the mean time,
a bag of flour had been brought to the church, taken up into the
belfry, directly over the entrance door, and a plan laid to throw the
whole of it over me as I should pass out of the house, of all which my
friends and I were unaware. After I had been driven from the pulpit
by the unsalable eggs, which were thrown about very freely, I stopped
in the body of the church to discuss a single point with one of the
respectable rowdies, when the audience became silent, and I went on and
spoke above an hour, all the while receiving the strictest attention
from every one present. At the conclusion the lights were put out, and
preparation made to flour me over, although I had evidently changed the
opinions of many of their company. As we were jamming along towards the
door, one of the mob whispered to me, "They are going to throw a bag of
flour on you; so when you hear any one say, 'Let it slide,' you look
out." Thus on my guard, and in possession of their signal, I determined
to have a little fun at their expense. Therefore, when some of the best
dressed and most respectable looking of their own company, or those who
had no sympathy with my mission, filled up the doorway, I cried out in
a disguised voice, "Let it slide;" and down came the contents of the
bag, to the delight of my friends and the consternation of the _enemy_.
A quarrel arose among the men at the door, and while they were settling
their difficulty, my few friends and I quietly walked away unharmed.
Invited by influential English abolitionists, and elected a delegate to
the Peace Congress at Paris, I sailed for Liverpool in the Royal Mail
Steamship Canada, in the month of July, 1849. The passage was pleasant,
and we arrived out in less than ten days.
I visited Dublin, where I partook of the hospitality of Richard
D. Webb, Esq., and went from there to London; thence to Paris, to
discharge the duties of my mission on peace.
In the French capital I met some of the most noted of the English
philanthropists, who were also there in attendance on the
Congress--Joseph Sturge, Richard Cobden, and men of that class.
Returning to London after the adjournment of the peace gathering, I was
invited to various parts of the United Kingdom, and remained abroad a
little more than five years, during which time I wrote and published
three books, lectured in every town of any note in England, Ireland,
Scotland, and Wales, besides visiting the continent four times. During
my long sojourn in Great Britain, I witnessed many scenes of interest,
and experienced much that was of an amusing character. It may not be
out of place to give one of these here. On a cold winter's evening, I
found myself seated before the fire, and alone, in the principal hotel
in the ancient and beautiful town of Ludlow, and within a few minutes'
walk of the famous old castle from which the place derives its name. A
long ride by coach had so completely chilled me, that I remained by the
fire to a later hour than I otherwise would have. "Did you ring, sir?"
asked the waiter, as the clock struck twelve. "No," I replied; "but you
may give me a light, and I will retire." I was shown to my chamber, and
was soon in bed. From the weight of the covering, I felt sure that the
extra blanket which I had requested to be put on was there; yet I was
shivering with cold. As the sheets began to get warm, I discovered, to
my astonishment, that they were damp--indeed wet. My first thought was
to ring the bell for the servant, and have them changed; but, after a
moment's consideration, I resolved to adopt a different course. I got
out of bed, pulled the sheets off, rolled them up, raised the window,
and threw them into the street. After disposing of the wet sheets,
I returned to bed, and got in between the blankets, and lay there
trembling with cold till Morpheus came to my relief. The next morning I
said nothing about the sheets, feeling sure that the discovery of their
loss would be made by the chambermaid in due time. Breakfast over, I
visited the ruins of the old castle, and then returned to the hotel, to
await the coach for Hereford. As the hour drew near for me to leave,
I called the waiter, and ordered my bill. "Yes, sir, in a moment," he
replied, and left in haste. Ten or fifteen minutes passed away, and the
servant once more came in, walked to the window, pulled up the blinds,
and then went out. I saw that something was afloat; and it occurred
to me that they had discovered the loss of the sheets, at which I was
pleased; for the London newspapers were, at that time, discussing the
merits and the demerits of the hotel accommodations of the kingdom, and
no letters found a more ready reception in their columns than one on
that subject. I had, therefore, made up my mind to have the wet sheets
put in the bill, pay for them, and send the bill to "The Times."
The waiter soon returned again, and, in rather an agitated manner,
said, "I beg your pardon, sir, but the landlady is in the hall, and
would like to speak to you." Out I went, and found the finest specimen
of an English landlady that I had seen for many a day. There she stood,
nearly as thick as she was tall, with a red face garnished around with
curls, that seemed to say, "I have just been oiled and brushed." A neat
apron covered a black alpaca dress that swept the floor with modesty,
and a bunch of keys hung at her side. O, that smile! such a smile as
none but an adept could put on. However, I had studied human nature
too successfully not to know that thunder and lightning were concealed
under that smile, and I nerved myself for the occasion. "I am sorry to
have to name it, sir," said she; "but the sheets are missing off your
bed." "O, yes," I replied; "I took them off last night." "Indeed!"
exclaimed she; "and what did you do with them?" "I threw them out of
the window," said I. "What! into the street?" "Yes; into the street,"
I said. "What did you do that for?" "They were wet; and I was afraid
that if I left them in the room they would be put on at night, and
give somebody else a cold." "Then, sir," said she, "you'll have to pay
for them." "Make out your bill, madam," I replied, "and put the price
of the wet sheets in it, and I will send it to 'The Times,' and let
the public know how much you charge for wet sheets." I turned upon my
heel, and went back to the sitting room. A moment more, and my bill
was brought in; but nothing said about the sheets, and no charge made
for them. The coach came to the door; and as I passed through the hall
leaving the house, the landlady met me, but with a different smile. "I
hope, sir," said she, "that you will never mention the little incident
about the sheets. I am very sorry for it. It would ruin my house if it
were known." Thinking that she was punished enough in the loss of her
property, I promised not to mention the name of the house, if I ever
did the incident. The following week I returned to the hotel, when I
learned the fact from the waiter that they had suspected that I had
stolen the sheets, and that a police officer was concealed behind the
hall door, on the day that I was talking with the landlady. When I
retired to bed that night, I found two jugs of hot water in the bed,
and the sheets thoroughly dried and aired.
THE BLACK MAN
AND
HIS ANTECEDENTS.
Of the great family of man, the negro has, during the last half
century, been more prominently before the world than any other race. He
did not seek this notoriety. Isolated away in his own land, he would
have remained there, had it not been for the avarice of other races,
who sought him out as a victim of slavery. Two and a half centuries of
the negro's enslavement have created, in many minds, the opinion that
he is intellectually inferior to the rest of mankind; and now that the
blacks seem in a fair way to get their freedom in this country, it has
been asserted, and from high authority in the government, that the
natural inferiority of the negro makes it impossible for him to live on
this continent with the white man, unless in a state of bondage.
In his interview with a committee of the colored citizens of the
District of Columbia, on the 14th of August last, the President of the
United States intimated that the whites and the blacks could not live
together in peace, on account of one race being superior intellectually
to the other. Mr. Postmaster General Blair, in his letter to the Union
mass meeting held at the Cooper Institute, in New York, in March last,
takes this ground. The Boston "Post" and "Courier" both take the same
position.
I admit that the condition of my race, whether considered in a mental,
moral, or intellectual point of view, at the present time cannot
compare favorably with the Anglo-Saxon. But it does not become the
whites to point the finger of scorn at the blacks, when they have so
long been degrading them. The negro has not always been considered the
inferior race. The time was when he stood at the head of science and
literature. Let us see.
It is the generally received opinion of the most eminent historians
and ethnologists, that the Ethiopians were really negroes, although
in them the physical characteristics of the race were exhibited in a
less marked manner than in those dwelling on the coast of Guinea, from
whence the stock of American slaves has been chiefly derived. That, in
the earliest periods of history, the Ethiopians had attained a high
degree of civilization, there is every reason to believe; and that
to the learning and science derived from them we must ascribe those
wonderful monuments which still exist to attest the power and skill of
the ancient Egyptians.
Among those who favor this opinion is our own distinguished countryman,
Alexander H. Everett, and upon this evidence I base my argument. Volney
assumes it as a settled point that the Egyptians were black. Herodotus,
who travelled extensively through that interesting land, set them down
as black, with curled hair, and having the negro features. The sacred
writers were aware of their complexion: hence the question, "Can the
Ethiopian change his skin?" The image of the negro is engraved upon
the monuments of Egypt, not as a bondman, but as the master of art.
The Sphinx, one of the wonders of the world, surviving the wreck of
centuries, exhibits these same features at the present day. Minerva,
the goddess of wisdom, was supposed to have been an African princess.
Atlas, whose shoulders sustained the globe, and even the great Jupiter
Ammon himself, were located by the mythologists in Africa. Though there
may not be much in these fables, they teach us, nevertheless, who
were then considered the nobles of the human race. Tertullian and St.
Augustin were Ethiopians. Terence, the most refined and accomplished
scholar of his time, was of the same race. Hanno, the father of
Hamilcar, and grandfather of Hannibal, was a negro. These are the
antecedents of the enslaved blacks on this continent.
From whence sprang the Anglo-Saxon? For, mark you, it is he that denies
the equality of the negro. "When the Britons first became known to the
Tyrian mariners," says Macaulay, "they were little superior to the
Sandwich Islanders."
Hume says they were a rude and barbarous people, divided into numerous
tribes, dressed in the skins of wild beasts. Druidism was their
religion, and they were very superstitious. Such is the first account
we have of the Britons. When the Romans invaded that country, they
reduced the people to a state of vassalage as degrading as that of
slavery in the Southern States. Their king, Caractacus, was captured
and sent a slave to Rome. Still later, Hengist and Horsa, the Saxon
generals, presented another yoke, which the Britons were compelled to
wear. But the last dregs of the bitter cup of humiliation were drunk
when William of Normandy met Harold at Hastings, and, with a single
blow, completely annihilated the nationality of the Britons. Thousands
of the conquered people were then sent to the slave markets of Rome,
where they were sold very cheap on account of their inaptitude to learn.
This is not very flattering to the President's ancestors, but it is
just. Cæsar, in writing home, said of the Britons, "They are the
most ignorant people I ever conquered. They cannot be taught music."
Cicero, writing to his friend Atticus, advised him not to buy slaves
from England, "because," said he, "they cannot be taught to read, and
are the ugliest and most stupid race I ever saw." I am sorry that Mr.
Lincoln came from such a low origin; but he is not to blame. I only
find fault with him for making mouths at me.
"You should not the ignorant negro despise;
Just such your sires appeared in Cæsar's eyes."
The Britons lost their nationality, became amalgamated with the Romans,
Saxons, and Normans, and out of this conglomeration sprang the proud
Anglo-Saxon of to-day. I once stood upon the walls of an English city,
built by enslaved Britons when Julius Cæsar was their master. The
image of the ancestors of President Lincoln and Montgomery Blair, as
represented in Britain, was carved upon the monuments of Rome, where
they may still be seen in their chains. Ancestry is something which the
white American should not speak of, unless with his lips to the dust.