My Bondage and My Freedom
Previous to my contemplation of the anti-slavery movement, and its
probable results, my mind had been seriously awakened to the subject of
religion. I was not more than thirteen years old, when I felt the need
of God, as a father and protector. My religious nature was awakened by
the preaching of a white Methodist minister, named Hanson. He thought
that all men, great and small, bond and free, were sinners in the sight
of God; that they were, by nature, rebels against His government; and
that they must repent of their sins, and be reconciled to God, through
Christ. I cannot say that I had a very distinct notion of what was
required of me; but one thing I knew very well—I was wretched, and had
no means of making myself otherwise. Moreover, I knew that I could pray
for light. I consulted a good colored man, named Charles Johnson; and,
in tones of holy affection, he told me to pray, and what to pray for. I
was, for weeks, a poor, brokenhearted mourner, traveling through the
darkness and misery of doubts and fears. I finally found that change of
heart which comes by “casting all one’s care” upon God, and by having
faith in Jesus Christ, as the Redeemer, Friend, and Savior of those who
diligently seek Him.
After this, I saw the world in a new light. I seemed to live in a new
world, surrounded by new objects, and to be animated by new hopes and
desires. I loved all mankind—slaveholders not excepted; though I
abhorred slavery more than ever. My great concern was, now, to have the
world converted. The desire for knowledge increased, and especially did
I want a thorough acquaintance with the contents of the bible. I have
gathered scattered pages from this holy book, from the filthy street
gutters of Baltimore, and washed and dried them, that in the moments of
my leisure, I might get a word or two of wisdom from them. While thus
religiously seeking knowledge, I became acquainted with a good old
colored man, named Lawson. A more devout man than he, I never saw. He
drove a dray for Mr. James Ramsey, the owner of a rope-walk on Fell’s
Point, Baltimore. This man not only prayed three time a day, but he
prayed as he walked through the streets, at his work—on his dray
everywhere. His life was a life of prayer, and his words (when he spoke
to his friends,) were about a better world. Uncle Lawson lived near
Master Hugh’s house; and, becoming deeply attached to the old man, I
went often with him to prayer-meeting, and spent much of my leisure
time with him on Sunday. The old man could read a little, and I was a
great help to him, in making out the hard words, for I was a better
reader than he. I could teach him _“the letter,”_ but he could teach me
_“the spirit;”_ and high, refreshing times we had together, in singing,
praying and glorifying God. These meetings with Uncle Lawson went on
for a long time, without the knowledge of Master Hugh or my mistress.
Both knew, however, that I had become religious, and they seemed to
respect my conscientious piety. My mistress was still a professor of
religion, and belonged to class. Her leader was no less a person than
the Rev. Beverly Waugh, the presiding elder, and now one of the bishops
of the Methodist Episcopal church. Mr. Waugh was then stationed over
Wilk street church. I am careful to state these facts, that the reader
may be able to form an idea of the precise influences which had to do
with shaping and directing my mind.
In view of the cares and anxieties incident to the life she was then
leading, and, especially, in view of the separation from religious
associations to which she was subjected, my mistress had, as I have
before stated, become lukewarm, and needed to be looked up by her
leader. This brought Mr. Waugh to our house, and gave me an opportunity
to hear him exhort and pray. But my chief instructor, in matters of
religion, was Uncle Lawson. He was my spiritual father; and I loved him
intensely, and was at his house every chance I got.
This pleasure was not long allowed me. Master Hugh became averse to my
going to Father Lawson’s, and threatened to whip me if I ever went
there again. I now felt myself persecuted by a wicked man; and I
_would_ go to Father Lawson’s, notwithstanding the threat. The good old
man had told me, that the “Lord had a great work for me to do;” and I
must prepare to do it; and that he had been shown that I must preach
the gospel. His words made a deep impression on my mind, and I verily
felt that some such work was before me, though I could not see _how_ I
should ever engage in its performance. “The good Lord,” he said, “would
bring it to pass in his own good time,” and that I must go on reading
and studying the scriptures. The advice and the suggestions of Uncle
Lawson, were not without their influence upon my character and destiny.
He threw my thoughts into a channel from which they have never entirely
diverged. He fanned my already intense love of knowledge into a flame,
by assuring me that I was to be a useful man in the world. When I would
say to him, “How can these things be and what can _I_ do?” his simple
reply was, _“Trust in the Lord.”_ When I told him that “I was a slave,
and a slave FOR LIFE,” he said, “the Lord can make you free, my dear.
All things are possible with him, only _have faith in God.”_ “Ask, and
it shall be given.” “If you want liberty,” said the good old man, “ask
the Lord for it, _in faith_, AND HE WILL GIVE IT TO YOU.”
Thus assured, and cheered on, under the inspiration of hope, I worked
and prayed with a light heart, believing that my life was under the
guidance of a wisdom higher than my own. With all other blessings
sought at the mercy seat, I always prayed that God would, of His great
mercy, and in His own good time, deliver me from my bondage.
I went, one day, on the wharf of Mr. Waters; and seeing two Irishmen
unloading a large scow of stone, or ballast I went on board, unasked,
and helped them. When we had finished the work, one of the men came to
me, aside, and asked me a number of questions, and among them, if I
were a slave. I told him “I was a slave, and a slave for life.” The
good Irishman gave his shoulders a shrug, and seemed deeply affected by
the statement. He said, “it was a pity so fine a little fellow as
myself should be a slave for life.” They both had much to say about the
matter, and expressed the deepest sympathy with me, and the most
decided hatred of slavery. They went so far as to tell me that I ought
to run away, and go to the north; that I should find friends there, and
that I would be as free as anybody. I, however, pretended not to be
interested in what they said, for I feared they might be treacherous.
White men have been known to encourage slaves to escape, and then—to
get the reward—they have kidnapped them, and returned them to their
masters. And while I mainly inclined to the notion that these men were
honest and meant me no ill, I feared it might be otherwise. I
nevertheless remembered their words and their advice, and looked
forward to an escape to the north, as a possible means of gaining the
liberty for which my heart panted. It was not my enslavement, at the
then present time, that most affected me; the being a slave _for life_,
was the saddest thought. I was too young to think of running away
immediately; besides, I wished to learn how to write, before going, as
I might have occasion to write my own pass. I now not only had the hope
of freedom, but a foreshadowing of the means by which I might, some
day, gain that inestimable boon. Meanwhile, I resolved to add to my
educational attainments the art of writing.
After this manner I began to learn to write: I was much in the ship
yard—Master Hugh’s, and that of Durgan & Bailey—and I observed that the
carpenters, after hewing and getting a piece of timber ready for use,
wrote on it the initials of the name of that part of the ship for which
it was intended. When, for instance, a piece of timber was ready for
the starboard side, it was marked with a capital “S.” A piece for the
larboard side was marked “L;” larboard forward, “L. F.;” larboard aft,
was marked “L. A.;” starboard aft, “S. A.;” and starboard forward “S.
F.” I soon learned these letters, and for what they were placed on the
timbers.
My work was now, to keep fire under the steam box, and to watch the
ship yard while the carpenters had gone to dinner. This interval gave
me a fine opportunity for copying the letters named. I soon astonished
myself with the ease with which I made the letters; and the thought was
soon present, “if I can make four, I can make more.” But having made
these easily, when I met boys about Bethel church, or any of our
play-grounds, I entered the lists with them in the art of writing, and
would make the letters which I had been so fortunate as to learn, and
ask them to “beat that if they could.” With playmates for my teachers,
fences and pavements for my copy books, and chalk for my pen and ink, I
learned the art of writing. I, however, afterward adopted various
methods of improving my hand. The most successful, was copying the
_italics_ in Webster’s spelling book, until I could make them all
without looking on the book. By this time, my little “Master Tommy” had
grown to be a big boy, and had written over a number of copy books, and
brought them home. They had been shown to the neighbors, had elicited
due praise, and were now laid carefully away. Spending my time between
the ship yard and house, I was as often the lone keeper of the latter
as of the former. When my mistress left me in charge of the house, I
had a grand time; I got Master Tommy’s copy books and a pen and ink,
and, in the ample spaces between the lines, I wrote other lines, as
nearly like his as possible. The process was a tedious one, and I ran
the risk of getting a flogging for marring the highly prized copy books
of the oldest son. In addition to those opportunities, sleeping, as I
did, in the kitchen loft—a room seldom visited by any of the family—I
got a flour barrel up there, and a chair; and upon the head of that
barrel I have written (or endeavored to write) copying from the bible
and the Methodist hymn book, and other books which had accumulated on
my hands, till late at night, and when all the family were in bed and
asleep. I was supported in my endeavors by renewed advice, and by holy
promises from the good Father Lawson, with whom I continued to meet,
and pray, and read the scriptures. Although Master Hugh was aware of my
going there, I must say, for his credit, that he never executed his
threat to whip me, for having thus, innocently, employed-my leisure
time.
CHAPTER XIII. _The Vicissitudes of Slave Life_
DEATH OF OLD MASTER’S SON RICHARD, SPEEDILY FOLLOWED BY THAT OF OLD
MASTER—VALUATION AND DIVISION OF ALL THE PROPERTY, INCLUDING THE
SLAVES—MY PRESENCE REQUIRED AT HILLSBOROUGH TO BE APPRAISED AND
ALLOTTED TO A NEW OWNER—MY SAD PROSPECTS AND GRIEF—PARTING—THE UTTER
POWERLESSNESS OF THE SLAVES TO DECIDE THEIR OWN DESTINY—A GENERAL DREAD
OF MASTER ANDREW—HIS WICKEDNESS AND CRUELTY—MISS LUCRETIA MY NEW
OWNER—MY RETURN TO BALTIMORE—JOY UNDER THE ROOF OF MASTER HUGH—DEATH OF
MRS. LUCRETIA—MY POOR OLD GRANDMOTHER—HER SAD FATE—THE LONE COT IN THE
WOODS—MASTER THOMAS AULD’S SECOND MARRIAGE—AGAIN REMOVED FROM MASTER
HUGH’S—REASONS FOR REGRETTING THE CHANGE—A PLAN OF ESCAPE ENTERTAINED.
I must now ask the reader to go with me a little back in point of time,
in my humble story, and to notice another circumstance that entered
into my slavery experience, and which, doubtless, has had a share in
deepening my horror of slavery, and increasing my hostility toward
those men and measures that practically uphold the slave system.
It has already been observed, that though I was, after my removal from