My Bondage and My Freedom
Once assured of my safety in New Bedford, I put on the habiliments of a
common laborer, and went on the wharf in search of work. I had no
notion of living on the honest and generous sympathy of my colored
brother, Johnson, or that of the abolitionists. My cry was like that of
Hood’s laborer, “Oh! only give me work.” Happily for me, I was not long
in searching. I found employment, the third day after my arrival in New
Bedford, in stowing a sloop with a load of oil for the New York market.
It was new, hard, and dirty work, even for a calker, but I went at it
with a glad heart and a willing hand. I was now my own master—a
tremendous fact—and the rapturous excitement with which I seized the
job, may not easily be understood, except by some one with an
experience like mine. The thoughts—“I can work! I can work for a
living; I am not afraid of work; I have no Master Hugh to rob me of my
earnings”—placed me in a state of independence, beyond seeking
friendship or support of any man. That day’s work I considered the real
starting point of something like a new existence. Having finished this
job and got my pay for the same, I went next in pursuit of a job at
calking. It so happened that Mr. Rodney French, late mayor of the city
of New Bedford, had a ship fitting out for sea, and to which there was
a large job of calking and coppering to be done. I applied to that
noblehearted man for employment, and he promptly told me to go to work;
but going on the float-stage for the purpose, I was informed that every
white man would leave the ship if I struck a blow upon her. “Well,
well,” thought I, “this is a hardship, but yet not a very serious one
for me.” The difference between the wages of a calker and that of a
common day laborer, was an hundred per cent in favor of the former; but
then I was free, and free to work, though not at my trade. I now
prepared myself to do anything which came to hand in the way of turning
an honest penny; sawed wood—dug cellars—shoveled coal—swept chimneys
with Uncle Lucas Debuty—rolled oil casks on the wharves—helped to load
and unload vessels—worked in Ricketson’s candle works—in Richmond’s
brass foundery, and elsewhere; and thus supported myself and family for
three years.
The first winter was unusually severe, in consequence of the high
prices of food; but even during that winter we probably suffered less
than many who had been free all their lives. During the hardest of the
winter, I hired out for nine dolars(sic) a month; and out of this
rented two rooms for nine dollars per quarter, and supplied my wife—who
was unable to work—with food and some necessary articles of furniture.
We were closely pinched to bring our wants within our means; but the
jail stood over the way, and I had a wholesome dread of the
consequences of running in debt. This winter past, and I was up with
the times—got plenty of work—got well paid for it—and felt that I had
not done a foolish thing to leave Master Hugh and Master Thomas. I was
now living in a new world, and was wide awake to its advantages. I
early began to attend the meetings of the colored people of New
Bedford, and to take part in them. I was somewhat amazed to see colored
men drawing up resolutions and offering them for consideration. Several
colored young men of New Bedford, at that period, gave promise of great
usefulness. They were educated, and possessed what seemed to me, at the
time, very superior talents. Some of them have been cut down by death,
and others have removed to different parts of the world, and some
remain there now, and justify, in their present activities, my early
impressions of them.
Among my first concerns on reaching New Bedford, was to become united
with the church, for I had never given up, in reality, my religious
faith. I had become lukewarm and in a backslidden state, but I was
still convinced that it was my duty to join the Methodist church. I was
not then aware of the powerful influence of that religious body in
favor of the enslavement of my race, nor did I see how the northern
churches could be responsible for the conduct of southern churches;
neither did I fully understand how it could be my duty to remain
separate from the church, because bad men were connected with it. The
slaveholding church, with its Coveys, Weedens, Aulds, and Hopkins, I
could see through at once, but I could not see how Elm Street church,
in New Bedford, could be regarded as sanctioning the Christianity of
these characters in the church at St. Michael’s. I therefore resolved
to join the Methodist church in New Bedford, and to enjoy the spiritual
advantage of public worship. The minister of the Elm Street Methodist
church, was the Rev. Mr. Bonney; and although I was not allowed a seat
in the body of the house, and was proscribed on account of my color,
regarding this proscription simply as an accommodation of the
uncoverted congregation who had not yet been won to Christ and his
brotherhood, I was willing thus to be proscribed, lest sinners should
be driven away form the saving power of the gospel. Once converted, I
thought they would be sure to treat me as a man and a brother.
“Surely,” thought I, “these Christian people have none of this feeling
against color. They, at least, have renounced this unholy feeling.”
Judge, then, dear reader, of my astonishment and mortification, when I
found, as soon I did find, all my charitable assumptions at fault.
An opportunity was soon afforded me for ascertaining the exact position
of Elm Street church on that subject. I had a chance of seeing the
religious part of the congregation by themselves; and although they
disowned, in effect, their black brothers and sisters, before the
world, I did think that where none but the saints were assembled, and
no offense could be given to the wicked, and the gospel could not be
“blamed,” they would certainly recognize us as children of the same
Father, and heirs of the same salvation, on equal terms with
themselves.
The occasion to which I refer, was the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper,
that most sacred and most solemn of all the ordinances of the Christian
church. Mr. Bonney had preached a very solemn and searching discourse,
which really proved him to be acquainted with the inmost secerts(sic)
of the human heart. At the close of his discourse, the congregation was
dismissed, and the church remained to partake of the sacrament. I
remained to see, as I thought, this holy sacrament celebrated in the
spirit of its great Founder.
There were only about a half dozen colored members attached to the Elm
Street church, at this time. After the congregation was dismissed,
these descended from the gallery, and took a seat against the wall most
distant from the altar. Brother Bonney was very animated, and sung very
sweetly, “Salvation ‘tis a joyful sound,” and soon began to administer
the sacrament. I was anxious to observe the bearing of the colored
members, and the result was most humiliating. During the whole
ceremony, they looked like sheep without a shepherd. The white members
went forward to the altar by the bench full; and when it was evident
that all the whites had been served with the bread and wine, Brother
Bonney—pious Brother Bonney—after a long pause, as if inquiring whether
all the whites members had been served, and fully assuring himself on
that important point, then raised his voice to an unnatural pitch, and
looking to the corner where his black sheep seemed penned, beckoned
with his hand, exclaiming, “Come forward, colored friends! come
forward! You, too, have an interest in the blood of Christ. God is no
respecter of persons. Come forward, and take this holy sacrament to
your comfort.” The colored members poor, slavish souls went forward, as
invited. I went out, and have never been in that church since, although
I honestly went there with a view to joining that body. I found it
impossible to respect the religious profession of any who were under
the dominion of this wicked prejudice, and I could not, therefore, feel
that in joining them, I was joining a Christian church, at all. I tried
other churches in New Bedford, with the same result, and finally, I
attached myself to a small body of colored Methodists, known as the
Zion Methodists. Favored with the affection and confidence of the
members of this humble communion, I was soon made a classleader and a
local preacher among them. Many seasons of peace and joy I experienced
among them, the remembrance of which is still precious, although I
could not see it to be my duty to remain with that body, when I found
that it consented to the same spirit which held my brethren in chains.
In four or five months after reaching New Bedford, there came a young
man to me, with a copy of the _Liberator_, the paper edited by WILLIAM
LLOYD GARRISON, and published by ISAAC KNAPP, and asked me to subscribe
for it. I told him I had but just escaped from slavery, and was of
course very poor, and remarked further, that I was unable to pay for it
then; the agent, however, very willingly took me as a subscriber, and
appeared to be much pleased with securing my name to his list. From
this time I was brought in contact with the mind of William Lloyd
Garrison. His paper took its place with me next to the bible.
The _Liberator_ was a paper after my own heart. It detested slavery
exposed hypocrisy and wickedness in high places—made no truce with the
traffickers in the bodies and souls of men; it preached human
brotherhood, denounced oppression, and, with all the solemnity of God’s
word, demanded the complete emancipation of my race. I not only liked—I
_loved_ this paper, and its editor. He seemed a match for all the
oponents(sic) of emancipation, whether they spoke in the name of the
law, or the gospel. His words were few, full of holy fire, and straight
to the point. Learning to love him, through his paper, I was prepared
to be pleased with his presence. Something of a hero worshiper, by
nature, here was one, on first sight, to excite my love and reverence.
Seventeen years ago, few men possessed a more heavenly countenance than
William Lloyd Garrison, and few men evinced a more genuine or a more
exalted piety. The bible was his text book—held sacred, as the word of
the Eternal Father—sinless perfection—complete submission to insults
and injuries—literal obedience to the injunction, if smitten on one
side to turn the other also. Not only was Sunday a Sabbath, but all
days were Sabbaths, and to be kept holy. All sectarism false and
mischievous—the regenerated, throughout the world, members of one body,
and the HEAD Christ Jesus. Prejudice against color was rebellion
against God. Of all men beneath the sky, the slaves, because most
neglected and despised, were nearest and dearest to his great heart.
Those ministers who defended slavery from the bible, were of their
“father the devil”; and those churches which fellowshiped slaveholders
as Christians, were synagogues of Satan, and our nation was a nation of
liars. Never loud or noisy—calm and serene as a summer sky, and as
pure. “You are the man, the Moses, raised up by God, to deliver his
modern Israel from bondage,” was the spontaneous feeling of my heart,
as I sat away back in the hall and listened to his mighty words; mighty
in truth—mighty in their simple earnestness.
I had not long been a reader of the _Liberator_, and listener to its
editor, before I got a clear apprehension of the principles of the
anti-slavery movement. I had already the spirit of the movement, and
only needed to understand its principles and measures. These I got from
the _Liberator_, and from those who believed in that paper. My
acquaintance with the movement increased my hope for the ultimate
freedom of my race, and I united with it from a sense of delight, as
well as duty.