Quamino was born in the vicinity of New Brunswick, New Jersey, in 1762,
and was a slave. In his ninth year he was hired for a term of years
to a person named Schenk, who employed him as a house-servant, and
who soon after removing to Poughkeepsie, New York, took the lad with
him. The unsettled state of the country during the Revolutionary War,
prevented communication with his old master, and Quamino had no hope of
seeing his former friends; but in his eightieth year he was informed
that his master had sent for him. On his return to New Jersey his old
associates had so grown that he felt like a stranger in his old home.
When nearing the age of manhood he was steady in attending religious
meetings, walking several miles through all kinds of weather. His own
account of his motive in going was that he "liked to have the name of
being a good boy." But whatever his motive in going, the meetings were
a blessing to him. One Sabbath evening on reaching home he went to
the barn, where, after earnest exercise in prayer, he slept upon the
straw. Very early in the morning he went into the field to work, first
kneeling by the fence. Being in great distress, the gracious words of
the Saviour deeply impressed him: "_Let not your heart be troubled. Ye
believe in God, believe also in Me._" Yielding his whole heart and all
his powers to Him who was calling for the sacrifice, he felt that he
received the unspeakable gift.
He went to his work; "and oh," said he, "everything was glorious around
me--everything seemed to be praising God."
The change which had come over the boy was conspicuous to all around
him; he was quiet and diligent in attention to all his duties. From
this time Quamino understood the nature of that peace "which passeth
all understanding." On the Sabbath he would get the carriage ready,
and when his master had started he would walk several miles across the
fields to the Methodist meeting, but always left before the conclusion
of the services, as, if not at home in time to take the horses when the
family arrived, he was sure to be found fault with, if not punished.
At the age of twenty-six he married Sarah, a slave on a neighboring
place. She was soon sold to a distance of five miles, and for some
years they only met once a week. One Sabbath morning he went to see
her, and found that she and her infant had been sold, leaving her
little son, a boy nearly four years old. She now had a hard master;
but, through the efforts of her husband, she was purchased by a
neighbor, and, at length, by the removal of this purchaser, Quamino
induced his second master (to whom he had been sold when about thirty
years old) to buy her. Afterwards Dr. Griffith bought Quamino for $250,
and Sarah for $150.
At the death of Dr. Griffith his goods and chattels (including his
slaves) were advertised to be sold at public auction. The sale
commenced, and Quamino and Sarah became objects of much attention; but
a letter was received from Wm. Griffith, the son and executor of the
late master, directing that everything should be sold to the highest
bidder except the carriage and horse, and that with these Quamino
should bring Sarah to Burlington. "Oh, my dear friend," said he in
narrating it, "you do not know how I felt."
Wm. Griffith was not only an eminent lawyer but bore a part in
originating the New Jersey Abolition Society. For this excellent man,
whose "record is on high," Quamino worked to the best of his ability.
One day, as he was at work in the garden, he heard his name called, and
seeing his master beside him, he modestly said, "Sir!" We will describe
what took place in the good old man's words. Says he:
"Would you like to be free?" and I said, "I don't know, sir." He stood
in silence a little while, and I went on working the same as before. At
last he said, 'I've made up my mind to give you free;' and says I, 'you
give me free, master?' Oh, it all came on me so unexpected! And then
he up and told me all how he would do: 'When I call you, you must take
your wife by the hand and come into my office.' One day he called me to
bring my wife. I went in the kitchen, and said, 'Mother, Mr. Griffith
says you must come along with me to the office.' She stroked her
apron, and we went, and found the office full of gentlemen, and there
we stood as if we were just married. After answering some questions
they went back to their work, and their certificate of freedom was
recorded in the clerk's office in Burlington. They were then hired at
ten dollars a month. Quamino was then forty-four years old. When asked
by some of his old friends, if he was happier since he received his
freedom, he said, "I don't know much about freedom, but I would'nt be a
slave again if you'd give me the best farm in the Jarsies."
In the year 1842, when he was eighty years old, his wife died suddenly.
As the remains of Sarah were borne from their humble home, he stood
at the door, supported by his crutches, the tears streaming down his
cheeks. "Farewell," said he, "I shall see her no more, till we meet
within the Pearl Gates." Sarah was not inferior to her husband, to
whom she was a helper in spiritual and temporal things. He felt this
bereavement keenly, his situation without her was forlorn. Living
alone in his house, too feeble to dress himself, his son, who was out
at service, would put him to bed at night, and come in the morning to
dress him. Arrangements were made by several families to furnish him
with dinner, each taking a particular day; and this plan was pursued
for eight years. His landlord supplied his morning and evening meal,
until Quamino's sight entirely failed, when a faithful care-taker was
provided for him.
Charles Taber, a Friend and a Minister, from Canada, visited him one
morning, and was fervently engaged in prayer. When he rose from his
knees Quamino exclaimed, "Now I know that my prayer was heard. Dis
morning, after blessing and praising de Master for taking care of me
through de night, I asked Him to please to send me something to comfort
me through the day, and now He sent you to me, oh, my dear friend!"
Speaking of the evidence of evil around us, he said, "God is His own
interpreter and my comforter, and He will make all things plain."
Referring to his pains, he said, "The Lord is the physician--He has
a balm for every wound. It seems, as I sit here, I have a view over
Jordan. We must pass Jordan's swelling flood, and then we'll be in the
promised land."
In reference to his blindness, he said, that with his natural sight
and comprehension he had never been able to conceive the half of the
glory which should be revealed, or to form a conception of the "good
things" held in store even for so poor a creature as he felt himself to
be. "How long I have to remain in this state," he exclaimed, "the Lord
knows. I resign myself in His hands, and to His wisdom. Oh, the Lord
moves with me so beautiful! I trust the Lord has enabled me to seek and
to find His face and favor."
Being inquired of concerning his health, he replied, "That he could
not wish to be better--that he was so composed in mind, so calm and
peaceable. Oh, the glorious prospect I have in view. I can't see
anything of this world, but there seems to be a hovering around me. If
the heart is composed to His will, what can trouble us? Blessed Master,
please to give me an insight into Thy will." He spoke of the comfort
and strength which is afforded him to hear the Holy Scriptures read.
"Oh," said he, "if I could only find words to express the feelings I
have when I am alone--and yet I do not feel that I am alone either. He
cares for us and provides for us; but He is all in all, and over all;
He leads us by His spirit; He don't compel us, but enables us. Oh, my
blessed Saviour, teach me, oh, teach me the measure of my days, that I
may turn my thoughts more to it. But I trust in the Lord that He will
prepare me and keep me to the end."
Wm. J. Allinson called on him one morning. He found the old man, who
was 108 years of age, sitting in his chair; he gave his visitor an
earnest welcome, and his tongue was eloquent with rejoicing praises of
Him who had made him meet for an inheritance with the saints in light.
"Glory be to my blessed Master," he cried again and again, clasping his
hands like an artless and overjoyed child. On this occasion, and indeed
in almost every interview, he devoutly expressed his thankfulness that,
although deprived of sight, his reason and memory were spared him; and
this was remarkably the case to the last moment of existence.
"My dear friend has been to visit me once more," he exclaimed
repeatedly after this parting. This was his last conversation with any
one, except a few words to his son and his attendant. In the night
he called his son, and with his mental powers apparently clear to
the last, and conscious that his end had arrived, his purified and
enfranchised spirit deserted the clay tenement; and who can doubt his
welcome into the joy of the Lord?
A few weeks afterwards a sermon relating to Quamino was preached by
the pastor of the Methodist congregation to which this aged Christian
belonged. The text was, "This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him,
and delivered him out of all his troubles." Psalm xxxiv. 6.
"See thy Saviour bending o'er thee,
Even to old age the same,
Set life's one chief end before thee,
Still to glorify its name;
While on Himself is fixed thy sight,
At evening-time there shall be light."