During the winter of 1832, the writer of the narrative of which this
account is an abridgment, became acquainted with Hannah Hardy, an
interesting old colored woman, and her son George. They were the
suffering tenants of a miserable garret, lighted only by a few panes of
glass, and ill-secured from the inclemencies of the weather.
Hannah had been an industrious woman, who supported herself comfortably
for many years, until her sight, which had long been declining, so
nearly left her as to disqualify her for all kinds of work. George, who
was her youngest son, disclosed in his earliest years great quickness
of discernment and readiness of apprehension. He could read the Bible
when only four years old; and he continued to be remarkable for
docility, and for preferring his books and other profitable employments
to the idle sports of children.
When about eleven years old, he was placed from home, where he remained
until four years since, when he became so much diseased with scrofula
as to make it necessary for him to return to his mother. From that
time, she became his constant and only nurse, and evinced, through
numberless privations and difficulties, the most unwearied attention
and patient endurance.
When he was able to sit up and use his arms, he made rope-mats; by
which, with casual help from his friends, he supported his mother and
paid her rent. He always mended his own and her clothes, and allowed
no time to pass away in idleness, which he was able to employ; and so
cheerful, so thankful, and so happy did this interesting couple appear,
that it afforded a lesson of instruction to be with them.
Hannah, who could only distinguish the glare of noon from the gloom
of darkness, had lived so long in the forlorn tenement they then
inhabited, and knew so well all the turnings of its steep and dangerous
stairs, that she could not bear to hear the proposal from some of her
friends to provide one more comfortable. Through the latter part of the
winter, and the commencement of the spring, George's sufferings greatly
increased; he was wholly confined to his bed, and so emaciated with
pain and disease, that although he was seventeen years of age, his arms
were not thicker than an infant's.
He had been a diligent reader of the Holy Scriptures; and though he
told me they had been to him a sealed book, until he was brought to
that bed of suffering, yet it was evident that his mind had long been
enabled to appropriate to his own necessities many of their precious
precepts. Though he labored under the combined effects of scrofula and
dropsy, in their highest degrees of virulence, yet I never heard him
repine; and often, while suffering extreme bodily anguish, he would
speak of the relief it afforded the poor afflicted body, to have the
mind composed and tranquil, and would say, "O, I feel like a poor worm
in the fire; yet all I desire is, to be favored with patience to bear
all my pain, and with a willing mind to wait the Master's will to take
me away."
For many days and nights together he was able to obtain but little
sleep; yet he showed no marks of restlessness or discontent. Once,
calling me to his bedside, he said, "I am afraid I am not patient
enough; but I often feel very weary, and I fear I shall wear my poor
mother out. I am more concerned for her than for myself--what should
I do for a care-taker if she were gone? She is very kind to me, and I
have many kind friends. I am afraid I am not grateful enough for all my
favors. To some, this garret would look like a dull place, but it never
looks gloomy to me; I have had more pleasure in it than I could have
had in the nicest parlor."
Having called one day after he had passed a sleepless and languishing
night, I found him, with the Bible fixed before him, reading. He looked
animated, and said, "I always loved to read the Bible, but I never
understood it until very lately; now I understand it, and I find that
religion and pleasure are in no way inconsistent. I feel now that I
shall never recover. I am willing to die, and I shall be happy when
I am gone from earth--but the Lord is very merciful, and can make me
happy as long as He chooses that I should stay. I have trusted in Him
through pain and through want, and I believe He will never forsake
me. My Fifth has sometimes been closely tried, but I never let go my
confidence."
His disease now rapidly increased, and with it his suffering. On
the 23d of Fifth month, he conversed a long time with the doctor,
and seemed more comfortable than usual; but he passed a sleepless
and distressing night. The next day, he was able to take but little
nourishment, owing to the great soreness of his mouth and throat, but
he could converse intelligibly, and seemed anxious to do so. About two
o'clock this day, I found him in great pain, but quite tranquil in mind.
On my going to him, he said, "My sufferings are now nearly over; I
shall not live many days--not more than two. The Lord's time has nearly
come, and then He will take me where I shall never suffer any more. O,
how marvellous His mercy is, to look down upon such a polluted sinner
as I am!
'I the worst of sinners am,
But Jesus came to save me.'--
Yes, He will save me--I know it. I have a hope--a pretty certain
hope--O, it is a very certain hope--it is a very sure hope." He then in
a low and indistinct voice, supplicated for many minutes; after which
he said, "I have been talking to my Saviour."
Not expecting him to hear, I asked his mother if he had always been a
serious boy; but before she could reply, George said, "No! I was always
bad, always wicked; but since I was brought to this bed of sickness,
I have sought for repentance, and I have found it: my sins were as
scarlet, but now they are washed as white as snow. But it is all mercy,
pure mercy; we have no righteousness of our own to depend upon--no
works, no merit of our own will avail us at such a time as this. If
these were all we had to look to, we should never be saved. But this
is what Jesus came into the world for--to save us poor sinners; and
salvation belongs to Him alone."
After this, he desired me to read to him in the Bible--said he would
like to hear me read in the Psalms, where David deplored his sins. I
did so, and he afterward composed himself and slept a few minutes; but
the pain soon awoke him, and he said, "I hope my patience will hold
out--I must not get impatient so near the end."
On the 25th, his sufferings greatly increased, and on the afternoon of
the 26th, he was unable longer to speak, but he appeared to be sensible
of what was passing, and to know those about him. He several times
embraced his mother very tenderly and wept. The impress which the pain
and anguish of the preceding day had left upon his countenance, now
yielded to a placid and heavenly serenity; and his breath continued to
shorten, until he ceased to breathe.