The experience of Thomas Jones, who was a slave for forty-three years

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CONTENTS.

THE

EXPERIENCE OF THOMAS JO?

WHO WAS

A SLAVE FOR FORTY-THREE YEARS.

WRITTEN BY A FRIEND,
AS GIVEN TO HIM BY BROTHER JONES.

BOSTON :

PRINTED BY DANIEL LATNG, JE.

1850.

*

TO THE FRIENDS OF SUFFERING HUMANITY.

The undersigned Jake pleasure in certifying, that they
have formed an acquaintance with Brother Thomas Jones,
since his escape from slavery ; having seen and perused
his letters, and his certificates of Church relations, and
made all suitable enquiries, most cordially recommend
him to the confidence and aid of all who have a heart to
sympathize with a down-trodden and outraged portion of
the great brotherhood. We would also say, that we have
heard Brother Jones lecture before our respective church-
es, and we only speak the unanimous sentiments of our
people, when we say, that his narrative is one of thrill-
ing interest, calculated to secure the attention of any
audience, and to benefit the sympathising hearts of all
who will make themselves acquainted with the present
condition and past experience of this true-hearted brother.

E. A. STOCKMAN,
Pastor of the Wesleyan Church, Boston.

DANIEL FOSTER,

Pastor of the Free Evangelical Church,
North Danvers, Mass.

To whom it may concern: This may certify, that the
bearer, Thomas Jones, has lectured to my people, with
good success, giving a satisfaction uncommon to one de-
prived, as he has been, of moral and mental cultivation.

I can cheerfully recommend him to all such as may be
inclined to give him a hearing or assistance in any way,
in confidence, feeling that he is an honest and upright
man.

A. B. FLANDERS,

Pastor of W. M. Church, Exeter, N. H-
Nov. 25, 1849.

A suffering brother would affectionately present this
staple story of deep personal wrongs to the earnest
Is of the Slave. He asks you to buy and read it,
• so doing, you will help one who needs your sym-
pathy and aid, and you will receive, in the perusal of
this simple narative, a more fervent conviction of the ne-
cessity and blessedness of toiling for the desolate mem-
bers of the one great brotherhood who now suffer and
die, ignorant and despairing, in the vast prison land of
the South. " Whatsoever ye would that men should do
unto you, do ye also unto then."

THOMAS JONES.

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

I was born a slave. My recollections of early life are
associated with poverty, suffering and shame. I
made to feel, in my boyhood's first experience, that I \
inferior and degraded, and that I must pass through life
in a dependent and suffering condition. The experience
of forty-three years, which were passed by me in slave-
ry, was one of dark fears and darker realities. John
Hawes was my first master. He lived in Hanover
County. N. C, between the Black and South Riv
and was the owner of a large plantation called Ha\
Plantation. He had over fifty slaves. I remained with
my parents nine years. They were both slaves, owned
by John Hawes. They had six children, Richard. A
ander, Charles, Sarah, myself, and John. I remember
well thai dear old cabin, with its clay floor and rm#d
chimney, in which, for nine years, I enjoyed the pres-
ence and love of my wretched parents.

Father and mother tried to make it a happy place for
r dear children. Tlwy worked late into the ni
many and many a time to get a little simple furniture for
th"ir home and the home of their children ; and they
spent many hours of willing toil to stop up the chinks
between the logs of their poor hut, that they and their
children might be protected from the storm and the cold.
I can testify, from my own painful experience, to the
deep and fond affection which the slave cherishes in his
heart for his home and its dear ones. We have no other
tie to link us to the human family, but our fervent love
for those who are with us and of us in relations of sym-
hy and devotedness, in wrongs and wretchedness.
My dear parents were conscious of the desperate and in-

D NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

curable woe of their position and destiny ; and of the lot
of inevitable suffering in store for their beloved children.
They talked about our coming misery, and they lifted up
their voices and wept aloud, as they spoke of our being
torn from them and sold off to the dreaded slave trader,
perhaps never again to see them or hear from them a
word of fond love. I have heard them speak of their
willingness to bear their own sorrows without complaint,
if only we, their dear children, could be safe from the
wretchedness before us. And I remember, and now fully
understand*, as I did not then, the sad and tearful look
they would fix upon us when we were gathered round
them and running on with our foolish prattle. I am a
father, and I have had the same feelings of unspeakable
anguish, as I have looked upon my precious babes, and
have thought of the ignorance, degradation and woe
which they must endure as slaves. The great God, who
knoweth all the secrets of the heart, and He only, knows
the bitter sorrow I now feel when 1 think of my four
dear children who are slaves, torn from me and consigned
to hopeless servitude by the iron hand of ruthless wrong.
I love those children with all a father's fondness. God
gave them to me ; but my brother took them from me,
in utter scorn of a father's earnest pleadings ; and I never
shall look upon them again, till I meet them and my op-
pressors at the final gathering. Will not the Great
Father and God make them and me reparation in the
final award of mercy to the victim, and of justice to the
cruel desolator?

Mr. Hawes was a very severe and cruel master. He
kept no overseer, but managed his own slaves with the
help of Enoch, his oldest son. Once a year he distrib-
uted clothing to his slaves. To the men he gave one
pair of shoes, one blanket, one hat, and five yards of
coarse, home-spun cotton. To the women a correspond-
ing outfit, and enough to make one frock for each of the
children. The slaves were obliged to make up their
own clothes, after the severe labor of the plantation had
been performed. Any other clothing, beyond this yearly

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. I

supply, which they might need, the slaves were com-
pelled to get by extra work, or do without.

The supply of food given out to the slaves, was, one
peck of corn a week, or some equivalent, and nothing
besides. They must grind their own corn, after the
work of the day was performed, at a mill which stood on
the plantation. We had to eat our coarse bread without
meat, or butter, or milk. Severe labor alone gave us an
appetite for our scanty and unpalatable fare. Many of
the slaves were so hungry after their excessive toil, that
they were compelled to steal food in addition to this al-
lowance.

During the planting and harvest season, we had to
work early and late. The men and women were called
at three o'clock in the morning, and were worked on the
plantation till it was dark at night. After that they must
prepare their food for supper and for the breakfast of the
next day, and attend to other duties of their own dear
homes. Parents would often have to work for their
children at home, after each day's protracted toil, till the
middle of the night, and then snatch a few hours' sleep,
to get strength for the heavy burdens of the next day.

In the month of November, and through the winter
season, the men and women worked in the fields, clear-
ing up new land, chopping and burning bushes, burning
tar kilns, and digging ditches. They worked together,
poorly clad, and suffering from the bitter cold and wet of
those winter months. Women, wives and mothers,
daughters and sisters, on that plantation, were compelled
to toil on cold, stormy days in the Open field, while the
piercing wind and driving storn benumbed their limbs,
and almost froze the tears that came forth out of their
cold and desolate hearts. Little boys, and girls, too,
worked a.id cried, toting brush to the fires, husking the
corn, watching the stock, and running onf errands for
master and mistress, for their three sons, Enoch, Edward
and John, and constantly receiving from them scoldings
and beatings as their reward.

Thus passed nine years of my life ; years of suffering,
the shuddering memory of which is deeply fixed in my

O NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

he&rt. Oh, that tliese happy, merry boys and girls,
whom I have seen in Massachusetts since my escape
from slavery, whom I have so often met rejoicing in their
mercies since I came here, only knew the deep wretch-
edness of the poor slave child! For then, I am sure,
their tender hearts would feel to love and pray for these
unhappy ones, on whose early life hopeless sufferings
bear down a crushing, killing burden ! These nine
years of wretchedness passed, and a change came for me.
My master sold me to Mr. Jones of Washington, N. C,
tit forty-five miles from Hawes' plantation. Mr.
Jones sent his slave driver, a colored man, named Abra*
ham, to conduct me to my new home in Washington. I
at home with my mother when he came. He look-
ed in at the door, and called to me, " Tom, yon must go
with me." His looks were ugly and his voice was sav-
age. I was very much afraid, and began to cry, holding
on to my mother's clothes and begging her to protect
me, and not let the man take me away. Mother wept
bitterly, and, in the midst of her loud sobbings, cried out
in broken words, " I can't save you, Tommy ; master
has sold you, you must go." She threw her arms around
me, and while the hot tears fell on my face, she strained
me to her heart. There she held me, sobbing and
mourning, till the brutal Abraham came in. snatched me
. hurried me out of the house where I was born,
my only home, and tore me away from the dear mother
who loved me as no oilier friend could do. She follow-
ed him, imploring a moment's delay and weeping aloud,
to the road, where lie turned around, and striking at her
with his heavy cowhide, fiercely ordered her to stop
bawling, and go back into the house.

Thus was 1 snatched from the presence of my loving
parents, and from the true affection of the dear ones of
home. For thirteen weary years did my heart turn m its
yearnings to that precious home. And then, at the age
of twenty-two, I was permitted to revisit my early home.
I found it all desolate ; the family all broken up; father
was sold and gone ; Richard, Alexander, Charles. Sarah.
and John weie sold and gone. Mother prcmatmely old,

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLATE. \)

heartbroken, utterly desolate, weak and dying, alone re-
mained. I saw her, and wept once more on her bosom.
I went back to my chains with a deeper woe in my heart
than I had ever felt before. There was but one thought
of joy in my wretched consciousness, and that was, that
my kind and precious mother would soon be at rest in
the grave. And then, too, I remember, I mused with
deep earnestness on death, as the only friend the poor
slave had. And I wished that I, too. might lie down by
my mother's side, and die with her in her loving em-
brace.

I should have related, that one of the earliest scenes of
painful memory associated with my opening years of suf-
fering is connected with a severe whipping which my
master inflicted on my sister Sarah. He tied her up,
having compelled her to strip herself entirely naked, in
the smoke-house, and gave her a terrible whipping, — at
least so it seemed- to my young heart, as I heard her
am, and stood by my mother, who was wringing her
hands in an agony of grief at the cruelties which her
tender child was enduring. I do not know what my sis-
ter had done for which she was then whipped ; but I re-
member that her body was marked arid scarred for weeks
after that terrible scourging, and that our parents alv
after seemed to hold their breath when they spoke of it.
Sarah was the last of the family who was sold ; and my
poor mother never looked up after this final act of cruel-
ty was accomplished. I think of my only sister now :
and often try to imagine where she is. and how she fares
in this cruel land of slavery. And', Oh, my God. how
dark and wretched are these pictures ! Can I think of
that poor sister without a sorrow too great for utterance ?
Ah, me! how can the generous, loving brother or sister
blessed with freedom, forget the cruel sorrows and
wrongs of the slave brother and sister? How fellow-
ship, ever in the least act of comity, the atrocious slave-
holder ? There may be some who do this from ignorance
of such cruel wrongs. God grant that this simple story
may enlighten some who only need to know our deep ne-
ities, to give us their willing sympathy, and aid, and
love.

10 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

My journey to Wilmington with the heartless Abra-
ham was a very sad one. We walked all the way. I
was afraid of my savage companion ; and yet, my heart
felt so desolate, and my longings for sympathy so intense,
that I was impelled to turn to my cruel guide for relief.
He was striding along in stern gloom and silence, too fast
for my young feet to keep pace ; "and I began to feel that
I must stop and rest. It was bitter cold, too. and I was
poorly clad to bear the keen air of a January day. My
limbs were weary with travel and stiff with cold. I could
not go on at the rate I had done, and so I turned to my
guide, and begged him to take me into some hut and let
me rest and get warm. He cursed me, and told me to
keep silence and come along, or he would warm rne with
the cow-hide. Oh, I thought how cruel and hopeless my
lot ! Would that I conld fall down here and die. And
I did fall down. We had just passed through a soft, wet
place, and it seemed then to me that I was frozen And
I fell down on my dark, cold way, unable to proceed. I
was then carried into a slave's cabin and allowed to warm
and rest. It was nearly midnight when I arrived with
my conductor at my place of exile and suffering. And
certainly no heart could be more entirely wretched than
I was when I threw my weary, aching body on my cold
hard bed.

The next morning I was called into the presence of
Mr. Jones, my new master, and my work was assigned to
me. I was to take care of the old gray horse, kept for
the use of the family when they wished to ride out, to
fetch water from the spring to the house, to go on er-
rands to my master's store, to clean the boots and shoes
belonging to the white members of the family and to the
white visiters, to sweep the rooms, and to bring wood
from the wharf on my head for the fires at the house and
store. From the first dawn of day till ten and eleven,
and sometimes twelve at night, I could hardly find one
moment's time for rest. And, Oh, how the memory of
that year of constant toil and weariness is imprinted on
my heart, an impression of appalling sorrow. My dreams
are still haunted with the agony ot that year. 1 had just

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 11

been torn from my home ; my yearning heart was de-
prived of the sweet sympathy of those to whose memory
I then clung, and to whom my heart still turns with ir-
repressible and unutterable longings. J was torn from
them and put into a circle of cold, selfish and cruel hearts,
and put then to perform labors too great for my young
strength. And yet I lived through that year, just as the
slave lives on through weary years of suffering, on which
no ray of light shines, save that which hope of a better,
happier future gives even to the desolate bondman. I
lived through it, with all its darkness and sorrow. That
year I received my first whipping. I had failed one day
to finish my allotted task. It seemed to me that I had
done my best ; but, somehow, that day, thoughts of home
came so fresh and tender into my mind, and, along wilh
these thoughts, a sense of my utter hopeless desolation
came in and took such a strong hold of my heart, that I
sank aown a helpless, heartbroken child. My tasks for
that day were neglected. The next morning my master
made me strip otf my shirt, and then whipped me with
the cow-hide till the blood ran trickling down upon the
floor. My master was very profane, and, with dreadful
oaths, he assured me that there was only one way for
me to avoid a repetition of this terrible discipline, and
that was, to do my tasks every day, sick or well.

And so this year went by, and my duties Were chang-
ed, and my lot was made a little easier. The cook, Fanny,
died, and I was put into her place. I still had to get
wood and keep the fires in the house, and, after the work
of cooking, setting the table, clearing away and washing
the dishes, there was always something to be done for
my mistress. I got but little time to rest ; but I got
enough to eat, which I had not done the year before. I
was by the comfortable fire, a good part of the cold win-
ter weather, instead of being exposed to the cold and wet,
without warm clothing, as I had been the year before,
and my labor was not so hard the second year as it had
been the first.

My mistress complained of me at length, that I was
not so obedient as I ought to be, and so I was taken from

12

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

tTie house into the store. My business there was to open
and sweep out the store in the morning, and get all the
things ready for the accommodation of customers who
rnight come in during the day. Then I had to brmg
out and deliver all heavy articles that might be called for
during the day, such as salt, large quantities of which
were sold in the store ; ship stores, grain, &c, &c. I
had also to hold myself ready to run on any errand my
master or his clerk, David Cogdell, might wish to send
me on. While Cogdell remained in the store. I enjoyed
a gleam of happiness. He was very kind to me, never
giving me a cross word or a sour look ; always ready to
show me how to do anything which I did not under-
stand, and to perform little acts of kindness to me. His
condescension to me. a poor, despised, homeless and
idless slave, and {lis tenderness to me, while all oth-
ers were severe and scornful, sank down a precious bond
of grateful emotion into my desolate heart. I seemed to
be lifted up by this noble friend. at times, from the dark
despair which had settled down upon my life, and to be
joined once more to a living hope of future improvement
in my sad lot. Should these simple words ever meet the
eye of David Cogdell. let them assure him of my fervent
gratitude and affection for his goodness to me. Let
them tell him how infinitely precious to my mourning
heart, then and now, his generous treatment and noble
kindness of a despised and unhappy boy. And let them
say to him, " My early and true friend, Tommy, the poor
slave boy, whom you blessed with unfailing kindness, is
now grown to be a man, and has run away from the dark
misery of bondage. And now, when he calls upon his
Father in Heaven to pour out rich blessings on the few
friends who have aided him, then David Cogdell is re-
membered with fond and fervent affection." David was
one of the (cw who always regard the feelings and hap-
piness of others as earnestly as his own ; who find their
own happiness in making the unfortunate happy, by sym-
pathy and kindness,, and who would suffer any loss rather
than do injustice to the poor and the defenceless. I often
wondered how there could be such a difference in the

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 13

character of two men, as there was between that of my
master and my friend and benefactor, David Cogdell.
And I often wished that I might pass into the hands of
such a man as he was. But his kindness and generosity
to the poor slaves was very offensive to my master and to
other slaveholders; and so, at length, Mr. Jones turned
him off, though he was compelled to acknowledge, at the
same time, that he was the most trustworthy and valua-
ble assistant he had ever had in his store.

After my master dismissed Mr. C, he tried to get
along with me alone in the store. He kept th
and waited upon the most genteel of his customers, leav-
ing me to do the rest of the work. This went on six
months, when he declared that he could not bear this
confinement any longer; and so he got a white boy to
come and enter as clerk, to stay till he was of age.
James Dixon was a poor boy, about my own age, and
when he came into the store, could hardly read or write.
He was accordingly engaged a part of each day with his
books and writing. I saw him studying, and asked him
to let me see his book. When he felt in a good humor,
James was Very kind and obliging. The great trouble
with him was, that his fits of ili-humor were much m
frequent than his times of good feeling. It happened,
however, that he was on good terms with himself when
I asked him to show me his book, and so he let me take
it, and look at it, and he answered very kindly mariy
questions which I asked him about books and schools
and learning. He told me that he was trying to get
learning enough to fit him to do a good business for him-
self after he should get through with Mr Jones. He
told me that a man who had learning would always find
friends, and get along very well in the world without
having to work hard, while those who had no lean;;
.would have no friends and be compelled to work v
hard for a poor living all their days. This was all new
to me, and furnished me topics for wondering thought
for days afterwards. The result of my meditations was,
that an intense, burning desire, to learn to read and write
t«(;k possession of my mind, occupying me wholly m

14 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

waking hours, and stirring up earnest thoughts in my
soul even when I slept. The question, which then took
hold of my whole consciousness was, how can I get a
book to begin ? James told me that a spelling-book was
the first one necessary in getting learning. So I contriv-
ed how I might obtain a spelling-book. At length, after
much study, I hit upon this plan : I cleaned the boots of
a Mr. David Smith, Jr., who carried on the printing busi-
ness, in Wilmington, and edited the Cape Fear Recorder.
He had always appeared to me to be a very kind man. I
thought I would get him to aid me in procuring a spell-
ing-book. So I went one morning, with a beating heart,
into his office, and asked him to sell me a spelliug-book.
He looked at me in silence, and with close attention, for
some time, and asked me what I wanted. I told him I
wanted to learn to read. He shook his head, and replied,
" No, Thomas, it would not answer for me to sell you a
book to learn out of; you must not learn to read ; you
will only get yourself into trouble if you attempt it ; and
I advise you to get that foolish notion out of your head
as quickly as you can."

David's brother, Peter Smith, kept a book and station-
ery store under the printing office, and I next applied to
him for a book, determined to persevere till I obtained
this coveted treasure. He asked me the same question
that his brother David had done, and with the same
searching, suspicious look. By my previous repulse I
had discovered that I could not get a spelling-book, if I
told what I wanted to do with it, and so I told a lie, in
order to get it. I answered, that I wanted it for a white
boy, naming one that lived at my master's, and that he
had given me the money to get it with, and had asked
me to call at the store and buy it. The book was then
handed out to me, the money taken in return, and I left,
feeling very rich with my long desired treasure. I got
out of the store, and, looking round to see that no one
observed me, I hid my book in my bosom, and hurried on
to my work, conscious that a new era in my life was
opeuing upon me through the possession of this book.
That consciousness at once awakened new thoughts, pur-

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 15

poses and hopes, a new life, in fact, in my experience.
My mind was excited. The words spoken by James
Dixon of the great advantages of learning, made me in-
tensely anxious to learn. I was a slave ; and I knew (hat
the whole community was in league to keep the poor
slave in ignorance and chains. Yet I longed to be free,
and to be able to move the minds of other men by my
thoughts. It seemed to me now, that, i( I could learn to
read and write, this learning might — nay, I really thought
it would, point out to me the way to freedom, influence,
and real, secure happiness. So I hurried on to my mas-
ter's store, and, watching my opportunity to do it safe
from curious eyes, I hid my book with the utmost care,
under some liquor barrels in the smoke house. The first
opportunity I improved to examine my book. I looked
it over with the most intent eagerness, turned over its
leaves, and tried to discover what the new and strange
characters which I saw in its pages might mean. But I
found it a vain endeavor. I could understand a picture,
and from it make out a story of immediate interest to my
mind. But I could not associate any thought or fact
with these crooked letters with which my primmer was
filled. So the next day I sought a favorable moment,
and asked James to tell me where a scholar must begin
in order to learn to read, and how. He laughed at my
ignorance, and, taking his spelling-book, showed me the
alphabet in large and small letters on the same page. I
asked him the name of the first letter, pointing it out,
he told me A ; so of the next, and so on through the al-
phabet. 1 managed to remember A and B, and 1 studied
and looked out the same letters in many other parts of
the book. And so I fixed in a tenacious memory the
names of the two first letters of the alphabet. But I
found 1 could not get on without help, and so I applied
to James again to show me the letters and tell me their
names. This time he suspected me of trying to learn to
read myself, and he plied me with questions till he ascer-
tained that 1 was, in good earnest, entering upon an effort
to get knowledge. At this discovery, he manifested a
good deal of indignation. He told me, in scorn, that it

16 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

was not for such as me to try to improve, that / was a
slave, and that it was not proper for me to learn to read.
He threatened to tell my master, and at length, by his
hard language, my anger was fully aroused, and I answer-
ed taunt with taunt. He called me a poor, miserable
niggar ; and I called him a poor, ignorant white servant
boy. While we were engaged in loud and angry words,
of mutual defiance and scorn, my master came into the
store. Mr. Jones had never given me a whipping since
the time I have already described, during my first year
of toil, want and suffering in his service. But he had
now caught me in the unpardonable offence of giving
saucy language to a white boy, and one, too, who was in
his employ. Without stopping to make any enquiries,
he took down the c: . and gave me a severe whip-

ping. He told me never to talk back to a white man on
pain of flogging; 1 suppose this law or custom is uni-
versal at the south. And I suppose it is thought neces-
y to enforce this habit of obsequious submission on the
part of the colored people to the whites, in order to
maintain their supremacy over the poor, outraged slaves.
I will mention, in this connection, as illustrative of
this cruel custom, an incident which I saw just before I
ran away from my chains. A little colored boy was car-
rying along through Wilmington a basket of food. His
name was Ben, and he belonged to Mrs. Runkin, a widow
Lys. A little mischievous white boy, just about Ben's
age and size, met him, and purposely overturned the lit-
tle fellow's basket, tiered, his load in the mud.
Ben, in return for this wanton act, called him some hard
name, when the white boy clinched him to throw him
down with the scattered fragments upon his basket in the
mud. Ben resisted and threw down the white boy, prov-
ing to be the stronger of the two. Tom Myers, a young
lawyer of Wilmington, saw the contest, and immediately
rushing out, seized little Ben, and dragged him into the
store opposite the place of battle. He sent out to a sad-
dler's shop, procured a cow-hide, and gave the little fel-
low a tremendous flogging, for the daring crime of re-
sisting a white boy who had wantonly invaded his rights.

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 17

Is it any wonder that the spirit of self-respect of the poor,
ignorant slave is broken down by such treatment of un-
sparing and persevering cruelty ?

I was now repulsed by James, so that I cjuld hope for
no assistance from him in learning to read. But I could
not go on alone. I must get some one to aid me in start-
ing, or give up the effort to learn. This I could not
bear to do. I longed to be able to read, and so I cast
about me to see what I should do next. I thought of a
kind boy at the bake-house, near my own age. I thought
he would help me, and so I went to him, showed my
book, and asked him to teach me the letters. He told
their names, and went over the whole alphabet with me
three times. By this assistance, I learned a few more of
the letters, so that I could remember them afterwards
when I sat down alone and tried to call them over. I
could now pick out and name five or six of the letters in
any part of the book. I felt then that I was getting
along, and the consciousness that I was making progress,
though slow and painful, was joy and hope to my sor-
rowing heart, such as I had never felt before. I could
not with safety go to the bake-house, as there I was ex-
posed to detection bv the sudden entrance of customers
or idlers. I wanted to get a teacher who would give me
a little aid each day, and I now set about securing this
object. As kind Providence would have it, I easily suc-
ceeded, and on this wise: A little boy, Hiram Bricket,
ten years old, or about that age, came along by the store
one day, on his way home from school, while my master
was gone home to dinner, and James was in the front
part of the store. I beckoned to Hiram to come round
to the back door ; and with him 1 made a bargain to meet
me each day at noon, when I was allowed a little while
to get my dinner, and to give me instruction in reading.
I was to give him six cents a week. I met him the next
day at his father's stable, the place agreed upon for our
daily meeting; and, going into one of the stables, the
noble little Hiram gave me a thorough lesson in the al-
phabet. I learned it nearly all at that time, with what

18 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

study I could give it by stealth daring the day and night.
And then again I felt lifted up and happy.

I was permitted to enjoy these advantages, however,
but a short time. A black boy, belonging to Hiram's
father, one day discovered our meeting and what we
were doing. He told his master of it, and Hiram was
at once forbidden this employment. I had then got
along so that I was reading and spelling in words of two
syllables. My noble little teacher was very patient and
faithful with me, and my days were passing away in very
great happiness under the consciousness that I was learn-
ing to read. I felt at night, as I went to my rest, that I
was really beginning to be a man, preparing myself for a
condition in life better and higher and happier than could
belong to the ignorant slave. And in this blessed feeling
I found, waking and sleeping, a most precious happiness.

After I was deprived of my kind little teacher, I plod-
ded on the best way I could by myself, and in this way
I got into words of five syllables. I got some little time
to study by daylight in the morning, before any of my
master's family had risen. I got a moment's opportunity
also at noon, and sometimes at night. During the day,
I was in the back store a good deal, and whenever I
thought I could have five minutes to myself, I would
take my book and try to learn a little In reading and
spelling. If I heard James, or master Jones, or any cus-
tomer coming in, I would drop mv book among the bar-
rels, and pretend to be very busy shovelling the salt or
doing some other work. Several times I came very near
being detected. My master suspected something, because
I was so still in the back room, and a number of tunes
he came very slyly to see what I was about. But at
such times I was always so fortunate as to hear his tread
or to see his shadow on the wall in time to hide away my
book.

When I had got along to words of five syllables, I went
to see a free colored friend, Ned Cowen, whom I knew I
could trust. I told him I was trying to learn to read, and
asked him to help me a little. He said he did not dare to

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 19

give me any instruction, but he heard me read a few words,
and then told me I should learn if I would only persevere
as nobly as I had done thus far. I told him how I had got
along, and what difficulties I had met with. He encour-
aged me, and spoke very kindly of my efforts to improve
my condition by getting learning. He told me I had got
along far enough to get another book, in which I could
learn to write the letters, as well as to read. He told me
where and how to procure this book. I followed his di-
rections, and obtained another spelling-book at Worces-
ter's store, in Wilmington. Jacob showed me a little
about writing. He set me a copy, first of straight marks.
I now got me a box, which I could hide under my bed,
some ink, pens, and a bit of candle. So, when I went to
bed, I pulled my box out from under my cot, turned it
up on end, and began my first attempt at writing. I
worked away till my candle was burned out, and then lay
down to sleep. Jacob next set me a copy, which he call-
ed pot-hooks ; then, the letters of the alphabet. These
letters were also in my new spelling-book, and according
to Jacob's directions, I set them before me for a copy, and
wrote on these exercises till I could form all the letters
and call them by name. One evening I wrote out my
name in large letters, — THOM/i S JONES. This I car-
ried to Jacob, in a great excitement of happiness, and he
warmly commended me for my perseverance and dili-
gence.

About this time, I was at the store early one morning,
and, thinking I was safe from all danger for a few min-
utes, had seated myself in the back store, on one of the
barrels, to study in my precious spelling-book. While I
was absorbed in this happy enterprize, my master came
in, much earlier than usual, and I did not hear him. He
came directly into the back store. I saw his shadow on
the wall, just in lime to throw my book over in among
the barrels, before he could see what it was, although he
saw that I had thrown something quickly away. His
suspicion was aroused. He said that I had been stealing
something out of the store, and he fiercely ordered me to

get what I threw away just as he was coming in at the
3*

20 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

door. Without a moment's hesitation, I determined to
save my precious book and my future opportunities to
learn out of it. I knew if my book was discovered, that
all was lost, and I felt prepared for any hazard or suffer-
ing rather than give up my book and my hopes of im-
provement. So I replied at once to his question, that I
had not thrown any thing away ; that I had not stolen
any thing from the store ; that I did not have any thing
in my hands which I could throw away when he came
in. My master declared, in a high passion, that I was
lying, and ordered me to begin and roll away the barrels.
This I did ; hut managed to keep the book slipping along
so that he could not see it, as he stood in the door- way.
He charged me again with stealing and throwing some-
thing away, and I again denied the charge. In a great
rage, he then got down his long, heavy cow-hide, and
ordered me to strip off my jacket and shirt, saying, with
an oath, " I will make you tell me what it was you had
when I came in." I stripped myself, and came forward,
according to his directions, at the same time denying his
charge with great earnestness of tone, and look, and
manner. He cut me on my naked back, perhaps thirty
times, with great severity, making the blood flow freely.
He then stopped, and asked me what 1 had thrown away
as he came in. I answered again that I had thrown
nothing away. He swore terribly; said he was certain I
was lying, and declared that he would kill me, if I did
not tell him the truth. He whipped me the second time
with greater severity, and at greater length than before.
He then repeated his question, and I answered again as
before. I was determined to die, if I could possibly bear
the pain, rather than give up my dear book. He whipped
me the third time, with the same result as before, and
then, seizing hold of my shoulders, turned me round, as
though he would inflict on my quivering flesh still an-
other scourging ; but he saw the deep gashes he had al-
ready made, and the blood already flowing under his
cruel infliction ; and his stern purpose failed him. He
said, " Why, Tom, I didn't think I had cut you so bad,"
and, saying that, he stopped, and told me to put on my

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 21

shirt again. I did as he bade me. although my coarse
shirt touching my raw back put me to a cruel pain. He
then went out, and I got my book and hid it safely away
before he came in again. When I went to the house,
my wounds had dried, and I was in an agony of pain.
My mistress told the servant girl, Rachel, to help me off
with my shirt, and to wash my wounds for me, and put
on to them some sweet oil. The shirt was dried to my
back, so that it could not be got off without tearing off
some of the skin with it. The pain, upon doing this,
was greater even than I had endured from my cruel
whipping. After Rachel had got my shirt off, my mis-
tress asked me what I had done for which my master had
whipped me so severely. I told her he had accused me
of stealing when I had not, and then had whipped me
to make me own it.

While Rachel was putting on the sweet oil, my mas-
ter came in, and I could hear mistress scolding him for
giving me such an inhuman beating, when I had done
nothing. He said in reply, that Tom was an obstinate
liar, and that was the reason why he had whipped me.

But I got well of my mangled back, and my book was
still left. This was my best, my constant friend. With
great eagerness, I snatched every moment I could get,
morning, noon, and night, for study. I had begun to
read ; and, Oh, how I loved to study, and to dwell on the
thoughts which I gained from my reading. About this
time, I read a piece in my book about God. It said that
"God, who sees and knows all our thoughts, loves the
good and makes them happy ; while he is angry with the
bad, and will punish them for all their sins." This
made me feel very unhappy, because I was sure that I
was not good in the sight of God. I thought about this,
and couldn't get it out of my mind a single honr. So I
went to James Galley, a colored man, who exhorted the
slaves sometimes on Sunday, and told him my trouble,
asking, " what shall I do ?" He told me about Jesus,
and told me I must pray the Lord to forgive me and help
me to be good and happy. So I went home, and went
down cellar and prayed, but I found no relief, no comfort

22 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

for my unhappy mind. I felt so bad, that I could not
even study my book. My master saw that I looked very
unhappy, and he asked me what ailed me. I did not
dare now to tell a lie. for I wanted to be good, that I
might be happy. So I told master jnst how it was with
me ; and then he swore terribly at me, and said he would
whip me if I did not give over praying. He said there
was no heaven and no hell, and that Christians were all
hypocrites, and that there was nothing after this life, and
that he would not permit me to go moping round, pray-
ing and going to the meetings. I told him I could not
help praying ; and then he cursed me in a great passion,
and declared that he would whip me if he knew of my
going on any more in that foolish way. The next night
I was to a meeting, which was led by Jack Cammon,
a free colored man, and a class leader in the Methodist
Church. I was so much overcome by my feelings, that
I staid very late. They prayed for me, but I did not yet
find any relief; I was still very unhappy. The next
morning, my master came in, and asked me if I went the
night before to the meeting. I told him the truth. He said,
" didn't I tell you I would whip you if you went nigh those
meetings.and did'nt I tell you to stop this foolish praying."
I told him he did, and if he would, why, he might whip
me, but still I could not stop praying, because I wanted
to be good, that I might be happy and go to heaven.
This reply made my master very angry. With many
bitter oaths, he said he had promised me a whipping, and
now he should be as good as his word. And so he was.
He whipped me, and then forbade, with bitter threaten-
ings, my praying any more, and especially my going
again to meeting. This was Friday morning. I conti-
nued to pray for comfort and peace. The ne\t Sunday
I went to meeting. The minister preached a sermon on
being born again, from the words of Jesus to Nicodemus.
All this only deepened my trouble of mind. I returned
home very unhappy. Collins, a free man of color, was
at the meeting, and told my master that I was there. So,
on Monday morning my master whipped me again, and
once moie forbade my going to meetings and praying.
The next Sunday there was a class meeting, led by

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 23

Binney Penuison, a colored free man. I asked my mas-
ter, towards night, if I might go out. I told him I did
not feel well. I wanted to go to the class meeting.
Without asking ms where I was going, he said I might
go. I went to the class. I staid very late, and was so
overcome by my feelings, that I could not go home
that night. So they carried me to Joseph Jones's cabin,
a slave of Mr. Jones. Joseph talked and prayed with
me nearly all night. In the morning I went home as
soon as it was light, and, for fear of master, I asked
Nancy, one of the slaves, to go up into mistress's mom
and get the store key for me, that I might go and open
the store. My master told her to go back and tell me to
come up. I obeyed with many fears. My master asked
me where I had been the night before. I told him the
whole truth. He cursed me again, and said he should
whip me for my obstinate disobedience ; and he declared
that he would kill me if I did not promise to obey hi in.
He refused to listen to my mistress, who was a professor,
and who tried to intercede for me. And, just as soon as
he had finished threatening me with what he would do,
he ordered me to take the key and go and open the store.
When he came into the store that morning, two of his
neighbors, Julius Dumbiven, and McCauslin, came in too.
He called me up, and asked me again where I staid last
night. I told him with his boy, Joseph. He said he
knew that was a lie; and he immediately sent off for
Joseph to confirm his suspicions. He ordered me to
strip oft my clothes, and, as I did so, he took down the
cow-hide, heavy and stiff with blood which he had be-
fore drawn from my body with that cruel weapon, and
which was congealed upon it. Dumbiven professed to
be a Christian, and he now came forward, and earnestly
interceded for mc, but to no purpose, and then he left.
McCauslin a?ked my master, if he did not know, that a
slave was worth more money after he became pious than
he was before. And why then, he said, should you for-
bid Tom going to meetings and praying ? He replied,
that religion was all a damned mockery, and he was not
going to have any of his slaves praying and whining

24 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

round about their souls. McCauslin then left. Joseph came
and told the same story about the night before that J had
done ; and then he began to beg master not to whip me.
He cursed him and drove him off. He then whipped,
me with great severity, inflicting terrible pain at every
blow upon my quivering body, which was still very ten-
der from recent lacerations. My suffering was so great,
that it seemed to me I should die. He paused at length,
and asked me would I mind him and stop praying. I
told him I could not promise him not to pray any more,
for I felt that I must and should pray as long as I lived.
" Well, then. Tom," he said, "I swear that I will whip
you to death." I told him I could not help myself, if
he was determined to kill me, but that I must pray while
I lived. He then began to whip me the second time,
but soon stopped, threw down the bloody cow-hide, and
told me to go wash myself in the river, just back of the
store, and then dress myself, and if I was determined to
be a fool, why, I must be one. My mistress now inter-
ceded earnestly for me with my cruel master. The next
Sabbath was love feast, and I felt very anxious to join in
that feast. This I could not do without a paper from my
master, and so 1 asked mistress to help me. She advised
me to be patient, and said she would help me all she
could. Master refused to give any paper, and so I could
not join in the love feast the next day.

On the next Friday evening, I went to the prayer
meeting. Jack Caramon was there, and opened the
meeting with prayer. Then Binney Pennison gave out
the sweet hymn, which begins in these words : »

" Come yc sinners poor and needr,
Weak and wounded, sick and sore."

I felt that it all applied most sweetly to my condition,
and I said in my heart, / will come now to Jesus, and
trust in him. So when those who felt anxious were re-
quested to come forward and kneel within the altar for
prayer, / came and knelt down. While Jacob Cammon
was praying for me, and for those who knelt by my side,
my burden of sorrow, which had so long weighed me
down, was removed. I felt the glory of God's Jove

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 25

warming my heart, and making me very happy. I shout-
ed aloud for joy, and tried to tell all my poor slave broth-
ers and sisters, who were in the house, what a dear Savior
I had found, and how happy I felt in his precious love.
Binney Peunison asked me if I could forgive my mas-
ter. I told him I could, and did, and that I could pray
God to forgive him, too, and make him a good man. He
asked me if I could tell my master of the change in my
feelings. I told him I should tell him in the morning.
"And what," he asked, "will you do if he whips you
still for praying and going to meeting ?" I said I will
ask Jesus to help me to bear the pain, and to forgive my
master for being so wicked. He then said, "Well, then,
Brother Jones, I believe that you are a Christian."

A good many of us went from the meeting to a broth-
er's cabin, where we began to express our joy in happy
songs. The palace of General Dudley was only a little
way off, and he soon sent over a slave with orders to stop
our noise, or he would send the patrolers upon us. We
then stopped our singing, and spent the remainder of the
night in talking, rejoicing, and praying. It was a night
of very great happiness to me. The contrast between
my feelings then, and for many weeks previous, was very
great. Now all was bright and joyous in my relations
towards my precious S~vior, I felt certain that Jesus
was my Savior, and, in this blessed assurance, a flood of
glory and joy filled my happy soul. But this sweet night
passed away, and, as the morning came, I felt that I must
go home, and bear the slave's heavy cross. I went, and
told my mistress the blessed change in my feelings. She
promised me what aid she could give me with my mas-
ter, and enjoined upon me to be patient and very faithful
to his interest, and, in this way, I should at length wear
out his opposition to my praying and going to meeting.

I went down to the store in a very happy state of
miud. I told James my feelings. He called me a fool,
and said master would be sure to whip me. I told him I
hoped I should be able to bear it, and to forgive master
for his cruelty to me. Master came down, talked with
me a while, and told me that he should whip me because

26 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

I had disobeyed him in staying out all night. He had
told me he should whip me if ever I did so, and he
should make every promise good. So I began to take off
my clothes. He called me a crazy fool, and told me to
keep my clothes on, till he told me to take them off. He
whipped me over my jacket ; but I enjoyed so much
peace of mind, that 1 scarcely felt the cow-hide. This
was the last whipping that Mr. Jones inflicted upon me.

I was then nearly eighteen years old. I waited and
begged for a paper to join the Church six months before
I could get it. But all this time I was cheerful, as far as
a slave can be, and very earnest to do all I could for my
master and mistress. I was resolved to convince them
that I was happier and better for being a Christian; and
ray master at last acknowledged that he could not find
any fault with my conduct, and that it was impossible to
find a more faithful slave than I was to him. And so, at
last, he gave me a paper to Ben English, the leader of the
colored members, and I joined the love feast, and was
taken into the Church on trial for six months I was put
into Billy Cochran's class. At the expiration of six
months, I was received into the Church in full fellowship,
Quaker Davis' class. I remained there three years. My
master was much kinder after this time than he had ever
been before ; and I was allowed some more time to my-
self than I had been before. I pursued my studies as
far as I could, but I soon found the utter impossibility of
carrying on my studies as I wished to do. I was a slave,
and all avenues to real improvement I found guarded
with jealous care and cruel tenacity against the despised
and desolated bondman.

I still felt a longing desire to improve, to be free, but
the conviction was getting hold of my soul, that I was
only struggling in vain when seeking to elevate myself
into a manly and happy position. And now my mind
was fast sinking into despair. I could read and write,
and often enjoyed much happiness in poring over the very
few books I could obtain ; and especially, at times, I
found great peace m reading my old, worn Testament.
But I wanted now that hope which had filled my mind

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 27

with such joy when I first began to learn to read. I
found much happiness in prayer. But here, also, my
mind labored in sadness and darkness much of the time.
I read in my Testament that Jesus came from the bright
heaven of his glory into this selfish and cruel world to
seek and to save the lost. I read and pondered with
deep earnestness on the blessed rule of heavenly love
which Jesus declared to be the whole ot man's duty to
his fellow : Lach to treat his brother as he would be
treated. I thought of the command given to the follow-
ers of the loving Savior, to teach all nations to obey the
blessed precepts of the Gospel. I considered that eighteen
hundred years had gone by since Jesus died for man's re-
demption and salvation, and, going up to heaven, had left
His work of mercy to be finished by His children, and
then I thought that I, and thousands of my brothers and
sisters, loving the Lord and pressing on to a blessed and
endless home in His presence, were slaves, — branded,
whipped, chained ; deeply, hopelessly aegraded, — thus
degraded and outraged, too, in a land of Bibles and Sab-
baths and Churches, and by professed followers of the
Lord of Love. And often such thoughts were too much
for me. In an agony of despair, I have at times given
up prayer and hope together, believing that my master's
words were true, that "religion is a cursed mockery, and
the Bible a lie.". May God forgive me for doubting, at
such timr-s, His justice and love. There was but one
thing that saved me from going at once and fully into
dark infidelity, when such agony assailed my bleed-
ing heart. The memory of seasons of unspeakable
joy in prayer, when Love and Faith were strong in my
heart. The sweet remembrance of these dear hours
would draw me back to Jesus and to peace in his mercy.
Oh, that all true Christians knew just how the slave
feels in view of the religion of this country, by whose
sanction men and women are bound, branded, bought and
sold!

About this time, my master was taken sick. On Sun-
day, he was prostrated by mortal pains ; and, on Friday
the same week, he died. He left fifteen slaves. I was

28 NARHATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

purchased by Owen Holmes for $435,00. I was then in
my twenty-third year. I had just passed through the
darkest season of despairing agony that I had yet known.
This came upon me in consequence of the visit, Which I
have already described, to my dear old desolate home.
About this time, too, I entered on a new and distinct
period of life, which I will unfold in another chapter. I
will close this period of sorrow and shame with a few
lines of touching interest to my mind.

Who shall avenge the slave ? I stood and cried ;

The earth, the earth, the echoing sea replied.

I turned me to the ocean, but each wave

Declined to be the avenger of the slave.

Who shall avenge the slave ? my species cried ;

The winds, the flood, the lightnings of the sky.

I turned to these, from them one echo ran,

The riykt avenger of the slave is man.

Man was my fellow ; in his sight I stood,

Wept and besought him by the voice of blood.

Sternly he looked, as proud on earth he trod,

Then said, the aVenger of the slave is God.

I looked in prayer towards Heaven, a while 'twas still,

And then, methought, God's voice replied, I will.

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 29

CHAPTER SECOND.

I enter now upon a new development of wrongs and
woes which I, as a slave, was called to undergo. I must
go back son c two or three years from the time when my
master died, and I was sold to Owen Holmes. The bit-
terness of persecution which master Jones had kept up
against me so long, because I would try to serve the
Lord, had passed away. I was permitted to pray and go
to our meetings without molestation. My master laid
aside his terrible severity towards me. By his treatment
of me afterwards, he seemed to feel that he had done me
wrong in scourging me as he had done, because I could
not obey his wicked command, to stop praying and keep
away from the meetings. For, after the time of my
joining the Church, he allowed me to go to all the meet-
ings, and granted to me many other little favors, which I
had never before received from him. About this time, I
began to feel very lonely. I wanted a friend to whom I
could tell my story of sorrows, of unsatisfied longing, of
new and fondly cherished plans. I wanted a companion
whom I could love with all my warm affections, who
should love me in return with a true and fervent heart, of
whom J might think when toiling for a selfish, unfeeling
master, who should dwell fondly on my memory when
we were separated during the severe labors of the day,
and with whom I might enjoy the blessed happiness of
social endearments after the work of each day was over.
My heart yearned to have a home, if it w;is only the
wretched home of the unprotected slave, to have a wife
to love me and to love. It seems to me that no one can
have such fondness of love, and such intensity of desire
for home and home affections, as the poor slave. Despis-
ed and trampled upon by a cruel race unfeeling men, the
bondman must die in the prime of his wretched life, if
he finds no refuge in a dear home, where love and sym-
pathy shall meet him from hearts made sacred to him by
his own irrepressible affection and tenderness for them.

30 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

And so I sought to love and to win a true heart in return.
I did t,his, too, with a full knowledge of the desperate
agony that the slave husband and father is exposed to.
Had I not seen this in the anguish of my own parents ?
Yea, I saw it in every public auction, where men and
women and children were brought upon the block, exam-
ined, and bought. I saw it on such occasions, in the
hopeless agony depicted on the countenance of husband
and wife, there separated to meet no more in this cruel
world ; and in the screams of wild despair and useless
entreaty which the mother, then depiived of her darling
child, sent forth. I heard the doom which stares every
slave parent in the face each waking and sleeping hour of
an unhappy life. And yet I sought to become a husband
and a father, because I felt that I could live no longer
unloved and unloving. I was married to Lucilla Smith,
the slave oi Mrs. Moore. We called it and v e considered
it a true marriage, although we knew well that marriage
was nut permitted to the slaves, as a sacred right of the
loving heart. Luolla was seventeen years old when we
were married. I loved her with all my heart, and she
gave me a return for my affection, with which I was con-
tented. Oh, God of Love, thou knowest what happy
hours we have passed in each other's society in our poor
cabin. When we knelt in prayer, we never forgot to ask
God to save us from the misery of cruel separation, while
life and love were our portion. Oh, how we have talked
of this dreaded fate, and wept in mingling sorrow, as we
thought of our desolation, if we should be parted and
doomed to live on weary years away from each other's
dear presence. We had three dear little babes. Our
fondness for our precious children increased the current
feeling of love for each other, which filled our hearts.
They were bright, precious things, those little babes ; at
least, so they seemed to us. Lucilla and I were never
tired of planning to improve their condition, as far as
might be done for slaves. We prayed with new ferven-
cy to our Father in heaven to protect our precious babes.
Lucilla was very proud of me, because I could read and
write, and she often spoke o*" my teaching our dear little

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLATE. 31

ones, and then she would say, with tears, " Who knows,
Thomas, but they may yet be free and happy ?" Lucilla
was a valuable slave to her mistress She was a seams-
tress, and very expert at her needle. I had a constant
dread that Mrs Moore, her mistress, would be in want of
money, and sell my dear wife. We constantly dreaded
a final separation. Our affection for each other was very
strong, and this made us always apprehensive of a cruel
parting. These fears were well founded, as our sorrow-
ing hearts too soon learned. A few years of very pine
and constant happiness, for slaves, passed away, and we
were parted to meet but once again till we meet in Eter-
nity. Mrs. Moore left Wilmington, and moved to New-
burn. She carried with her my beloved Lucilla, and my
three children, Annie, four years old ; Lizzie, two and a
half years ; and our sweet little babe, Charlie. She re-
mained there eighteen months. And, Oh, how lonely
and dreary and desponding were those months of lonely
life to my crushed heart ! My dear wife and my pre-
cious children were seventy-four miles distant from me,
carried away from me in utter scorn of my beseeching
words. I was tempted to put an end to my wretched life.
I thought of my dear family by day and by night. A
deep despair was iu my heart, such as no one is called to
bear in such cruel, crushing power as the poor slave, sev-
ered forever from the objects of his love, by the capacity
of his brother. But that dark time of despair passed
away, and I saw once more my wife and children. Mrs.
Moore left Newburn for Tusculoosa, Ala. and, passing
through Wilmington, on her journey, she spent one night
in her old home. That night I passed with my wife and
children. Lucilla had pined away under the agony of
our separation, even more than I had done. That night
she wept on my bosom, and we mingled bitter tears to-
gether. Our dear children were baptized in the tears of
agony that were wrung from our breaking hearts. The
just God remember that night in the last award that we
and our oppressors are to receive.

The next morning Mrs. Moore embarked on board the
packet. I followed my wile and children to the boat,

32 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

and parted from them without a word of farewell. Our
sobs and tears were our only adieu. Our hearts were too
full of anguish for any other expression of our hopeless
woe. I have never seen that dear family since, nor have
I heard from them since I parted from them there. God
only knows the bitterness of my agony, experienced in
the separation of my wife and children from me. The
memory of that great woe will find a fresh impression
on my heart while that heart shall beat. How will the
gifted and the great meet the charge against them at the
great day, as the Judge shall say to them, in stern dis-
pleasure, " I was sick, destitute, imprisoned, helpless, and
ye ministered not unto me, for when ye slighted and des-
pised these wretched, pleading slaves, ; ye did these acts
of scorn against me. Depart, ye workers of iniquity."
After my purchase by Owen Holmes, 1 hired my time
at $ lot). 00 per year, paid monthly. I rented a house of
Ur. E. J. Derset. I worked, loading and unloading vessels
that came into Wilmington, and could earn from one
dollar to a dollar and a quarter a day. While my wife
and family were spared to bless my home by their pres-
ence and love, I was comparatively happy. But I found
then that the agony of the terrible thought, " I am a
slave, my wife is a slave, my precious children are
slaves," grew bitter and insupportable, just as the happi-
ness in the society of my beloved home became more
distinct and abounding. And this one cup of bitterness
was ever at my lips. Hearts of kind sympathy and ten-
der pity, did I not drain that cup of bitter woe to its very
dregs, when my family were carried off into retumless
exile, and I was left a heartbroken lonely man ? Can
you be still inactive while thousands are drinking that
potion of despair every year in this land of schools and
Bibles ? After I parted from my family, I continued to
toil on, but not as I had done before My home was
darker than the holds of ships in which I worked. Its
light, the bright, joyous light of love and sympathy and
mutual endearments, was quenched. Ah me, how dark
it left my poor heart. It was colder than the winter
wind and frost ; the warm sunshine was snatched away,

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 33

and my poor heart froze in its bitter cold. Its gloom
was deeper than prison or cave could make it. Was not
there the deserted chairs and beds, once occupied by the
objects of a husband's and a father's deep love ? Desert-
ed ! How, and why ? The answer, is it not the unqual-
ified condemnation of the government and religion of
this land ? I could not go into my cold, dark, cheerless
house ; the sight of its deserted room was despair to my
soul. So I worked on, taking jobs whenever I could get
them, and working often till nearly morning, and never
going to my home for rest till I could toil no more. And
so I passed four years, and I began to feel that I could
not live in utter loneliness any longer. My heart was
still and always yearning for affection and sympathy and
loving communion. My wife was torn from me. I had
ceased to hope for another meeting with her in this
world of oppression and suffering ; so I sat down and
wrote to Lucilla. that I could live alone no longer, and
saying to her the sad farewell, which we could not say
when we were sundered. I asked Mary R. Moore to
come and cheer me in my desolate home. She became
my wife, and, thank God, she has been rescued from
slavery by the blessing of God and my efforts to save
her. She is now my wife, and she is with me to-day,
and till death parts us, secure from the iron hand of sla-
very. Three of our dear children are with us, too, in
the old Commonwealth. I cannot say they are in a free
land ; for, even here, in the city of Boston, where, I am
told, is kept the old cradle of liberty, my precious chil-
dren are excluded from the public schools, because their
skin is black. Still, Boston is better than Wilmington,
inasmuch as the rulers of this place permit me to send
my children to any school at all. After my second mar-
riage, I hired my wife of her master, and paid for her
time $48,00 a year, for three years. We had one child
while Mary was a slave. That child is still in chains.
The fourth year, by the aid of a white friend, I purchas-
ed my wife for $350.00. We had before determined to
try to accomplish this enterprise, in order that our dear
babes might be free. Besides, I felt that I could not
3

34 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

bear another cruel separation from wife and children.
Yet, the dread of it was strong and unceasing upon my
mind. So we made a box, and, through a hole in the
top, we put in every piece of money, from five cents up
to a dollar, that we could save from our hard earnings.
This object nerved us for unceasing toil, for twenty
months, or about that time. What hopes and fears beset
us as those months wore away. I have been compelled
to hide that box in a hole, dug for it, when I knew the
patrollers were coming to search my cabin. For well
did I know, if they found my box, I should be penniless
again. How often have I started and turned in sudden
and terrible alarm, as I have dropped a piece of money
into my box, and heard its loud ring upon the coin be-
low, lest some prowling enemy should hear it, and steal
from me my hoarded treasure. And how otten have I
started up in my sleep, as the storm has beat aloud upon
my humble home, with the cry of unspeakable agony in
my heart, — " Then, O God, they have taken my box,
and my wife and babes are still slaves." When my box
was broken open, I still lacked a little of the $350,00
necessary to buy my wife. The kind friend, who had
promised to aid me in my contemplated purchase, made
up the deficiency, and I became the owner of my wife.
We had three children at this time, and O, how my
crushed heart was uplifted in its pride and joy, as I took
them in my arms and thought that they were not slaves.
These three children are with me and with their mother
now, where the slave's chains and whips are heard no
more. Oh, how sweet is freedom to man ! But doubly
dear is the consciousness to the father's heart, made bit-
ter in its incurable woe by the degradation of slavery,
that his dear child is never to be a slave ! Would to
God the fathers of this nation were all possessed of a
true consciousness of these things; for then, surely, they
would will and secure the immediate ending of human
bondage.

After I had purchased my wife, we still worked hard,
and saved our earnings with great care, in order to get
some property in hand for future use. As I saved my

NARRATIVE OP A REFUGEE SLAVE. 35

earnings, I got a white man whom I thought my friend,
(his name I choose to keep back for the present,) to«lay
it out for me. In this way I became the owner of the
cabin in which I lived, and two other small houses, all
of which were held in the name of this supposed friend.
He held them in his own name for me. A slave cannot
hold property. I will here remark, that I was deceived
by this man ; and, when I ran away from my chains,
after sending on my family, I was compelled to sacrifice
the whole of this property. I left it, because I could not
get my own, in his hands, and came off entirely desti-
tute. Thank God, / got away, and now I have no tears
to shed over the loss of my houses.

During the winter of 18-1S-9, a kind lady came and
told me that some white men were plotting to enslave
my wife and children again. She advised me to get
them off to the free States as quickly and secretly as
possible. A lawyer of Wilmington told me they were
not safe, unless emancipated by a special act of the Le-
gislature. He was a member of the House, and tried to
get through the House a bill for their emancipation.
But there was so much ill feeling upon this question,
that he could not do it. The Legislature threw it aside
at once. He then advised me to get them off to the
free States as my only course to save them. This I de-
termined to do, if possible. I kept a good look out for a
vessel. I found one, and made a bargain with the cap-
tain to take on board for New York, a free colored woman
and her three children. A kind friend gave me a certifi-
cate of their freedom to the captain, and I brought my
wife and children on board at night, paid the captain
$25.00 for their fare, and staid on the wharf in torturing
fear till about sunrise, when I saw the vessel under way.
It was soon out of sight. When I went home, I threw
myself on my knees, and poured out my soul to God, to
carry that ship and its precious cargo safely and swiftly
on to a free haven, and to guard and guide me soon to a
free home with my beloved family. And so I kept on,
praying, working, hoping, pining, for nearly three weeks,
when I received the happy news that my dear ones were

36 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

safe with a true-hearted friend in Brooklyn. I had noti-
fied him before hand that they were coming; and now
the good and glorious news came that they were safe
with Robert H. Cousins, where the slaveholder could
trouble them no more. I had arranged with Mary when
she left, to come on myself as soon as I could get the
motley for my houses and land. She was to write to me
as though she had gone to New York on a visit, intend-
ing to come back, and she was to speak of New York as
if she did not like it at all. I knew my master would
be very angry when he heard she had gone unbeknown
to him, and I thought he would demand to see the let-
ters my wife should get friends in New York to write to
me for her ; and so I made ready to meet and quiet his
suspicions, while I was plotting my own escape. For
more than three months I tried to get the money, or part
of it, for my houses ; but was put off and deceived till
I found I must come off without a cent of the property
I had tried so hard to accumulate. I was required to
call and see my master every day, because he suspected
me of a design to run away. He was taken suddenly
sick ; and then I started for my wife and children. Be-
fore I give a narrative of my escape, I will give copies
of the letters which passed between me and my wife
while I remained in the land of bondage after her escape.
These letters, with their post marks, are all in my pos-
session, and can be examined by any one who may doubt
their authenticity, or the fidelity with which they are
here given. The kind friend, who has written this nar-
rative for me, has corrected some mistakes in the con-
struction and spelling of these letters ; and some he has
left uncorrected. He has also omitted some repetitions ;
otherwise, they are given as exact copies. I wrote my
own letters ; my wife wrote by the help of a friend. I
give all my letters, and the two from my wife, which I
was able to keep. The following was written soon after
my wife started for New York.

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 37

Wilmington, N. C, July 11, 1849.

My dear Wife — I write these few lines to inform you
that I am well, and hope they may find you and the
children well, and all the friends. My dear wife, I long
to see you and the children one time more in this world.
I hope to see you all soon. Don't get out of heart, for I
will come as soon as I can. I hope it will not be long,
for God will be my helper, and I feel he wid help me.
My dear wife, you must pray for me, that God may help
me. Tell John he must be a good boy till I see him. I
must not forget sister Chavis. She must pray for me,
that God may help me come out. Tell her I say that
she must be faithful to God ; and I hope, dear wife, you
will be faithful to God. Tell sister Chavis that Henry
will be out soon, and he wants her to keep a good heart
and he will send money out to her. Tell her he says she
must write to him as soon as she can, for he will not stay
long behind her. As soon as he gets his money he will
come. I hope to see you all very soon. Tell my Broth-
ering to pray for me, that God may help me to get there
safe and make my way clear before me. Help me by
your prayers, that God may be with me. Tell Brother
Robert H. Cousins that he must pray for me ; for I long
to meet him one time more in this world. Sister Tucker
and husband give thare love to you and Sister Clavis, and
say that you must pray for them. Dear wife, you may
look for me soon. But what way I will come, I can't
tell you now. You may look for me in three weeks from
now. You must try and do the best you can till I come.
You know how it is with me, and how I have to come.
Tell the Church to pray for me, for I hope to reach that
land if I live, and 1 want tthe prayers of all God's chil-
dren. I can't say any more at this time ; but, I remain
your dear husband, till death,

THOMAS JONES.

P. S. — Dear wife, I want you to make out that you
don't like New York. When you write to me you must
say so. Do mind how you write.

38 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

The next letter was written before I had received any
certain intelligence of my wife's arrival at New York.

Wilmington, N. C, July 17, 1849.

My dear Wife — I write to tell you I am well, and I
hope these few lines will find you and the children well.
I long to see you all one time more. Do pray for me,
that God may help me to get to you all. Do ask sister
to pray the Lord to help me. I will trust in God, for I
know that He is my friend, and He will help me. My
dear wife, tell my children I say they must be good till
I see them once more. Do give my love to Brother R.
H. Cousins, and tell him I hope to meet him in two or
three weeks from now. Then I can tell him all I want
to say to him. Tell Sister Chavis I say, do not come
back to this place till I come. Her husband say he want
her to stay, and he will come on soon. My dear wife, I
want you to do the best you can till I come. I will
come as soon as I can. You and sister Chavis must live
together, for you went together, and you must try to stay
together. Do give my love to sister Johnson and hus-
band, and all of my friends. Ask them all to pray for
me, that God may be with me in all that I do to meet
you all one time more. My dear wife, you know how I
told you, you must mind how you write your letters.
You mnst not forget to write as if you did not like New
York, and that you will come home soon. You know
what I told you to do, and now you must not forget it,
when you write. I will send you some money in my
next letter. I have not sold my houses yet, and if I can't
sell, I will leave all, and come to you and the children.
I will trust in that God who can help the poor. My dear,
don't forget what I told you to do when you write. You
know how I have to do. Be careful how you write. I
hope to be with you soon, by the help of God. But,
above all things, ask all to pray for me, that God may
open the way for me to come safe. I hope to be with
you soon by the help of the Lord. Tell them if I never
come, to go on, and may God help them to go forth to
glorious war. Tell them to see on the mountain top the

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 39

standard of God. Tell them to follow their Captain, and
be led to certain victory. Tell them I can bnt sing with
my latest breath happy, if I may to the last speak His
name, preach Him to all, and cry, in death, " Behold the
Lamb." Go on, my dear wife, and trust in God tor all
things. I remain your husband,

THOMAS JONES.

Before I wrote the next, I received the happy news,
that my wife was safe with Brother Cousins.

Wilmington, N. C, July 25, 1849.

My dear Wife — Do tell my children they must be
good children till I come to them ; and yon, my dear
wife, must do the best you can, for I don't know how I
will come, but I will do the best I can for you. I hope
God will help me, for, if He don't, I don't know what I
will do. My dear wife, I have not sold my houses yet,
hut I will do the best I can. If I had money, I would
leave all I have and come, for I know the Lord will help
me. It is for want of money I can't come. But I hope,
my dear wife, the Lord will help me out. Tell Brother
Cousins I hope he and all the people of God will pray for
me ; and you, my dear wife, must not forget to pray for
me. Ask Brother Cousins, if he pleases to put my chil-
dren to some school. Dear wife, you know the white
people will read your letters to me ; do mind how you
write. No one but God knows my heart. Do pray for
me. I remain your husband till death.

THOMAS JONES.

P. S. — My dear wife, I received your letter the 24th
of July, and was truly glad to hear you arrived safe in
New York. Please tell Brother Cousins I will write to
him in a few days, and I will send you some money. My
dear wife, do mind how you write. You must not forget
I a> ;.• in a slave place, and I can't buy myself for the
money. You know how it is, and you must tell Brother
Cousins. I have not sold yet, but if I can't sell, I will
come somehow, by the help of the Lord. John Homes
is still in my way. I want you to write a letter and say

40 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

in it, that you will be home in two months, so I can let
them read it, for they think I will run away and come to
you. So do mind how you write, for the Lord's sake.

THOMAS JONES.

The next letter was written to Sister Chavis, who
went on to New York, but got disheartened, and came
back to Wilmington.

Wilmington, N. C, August 4, 1849.

My dear Sister — I hope to see you in a few days, and
all my friends. I hope, dear sister, you will not forget
to pray for me, for, by the help of God, I will see you in
a few days. Your husband is coming on soon, but J will
be on before him. I would have been on before now,
but I could not get my money. ■ I have had a hard time
to get money to leave with. I am sorry to hear that you
think we can't get a living where you are. My dear sis-
ter, a smart man can get a living anywhere in the world
if he try. Don't think we can't live out there, for I
know God will help us. You know God has promised
a living to all His children. Don't forget that God is
ever present, for we must trust Him till death. Don't
get out of heart, for I know we can live out there, if any
one can. You may look for me before your husbabd.
Don't leave New York before I come, for you know what
I told you before you left Wilmington. If you come
back to this place before I get off, it will make it bad for
me. You know what the white people here are. Please
don't come yet. I am, your brother in the Lord, till
death, THOMAS JONES.

P. S. — I sent the letter you wrote to Mr. John Ranks.
I thought you will wait for a letter from your husband,
and I hope you will be better satisfied in your mind that
we can get a living out there. Your husband has wrote
to you last week ; I hope you have got the letter. Oh,
that you may trust in God every day, for I know God is
your friend, and you must pray night and day, that He
may help you. I long to see you one time more in this
world. We went into the new Church on the 9th day

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 41

of this month. God was with us on that day, and we
had a good time. Though my time with them is short,
I hope God will be with them, and may we all meet in
the kingdom at last. So pray for me, my dear sister.
Aunt Narvey has been dead nearly four weeks. She
died happy in the Lord, and is gone home to rest. I hope
we may meet in the kingdom at last. Good night, my
dear sister. THOMAS JONES.

The next letter is to my wife and Brother Cousins,
and explains itself.

Wilmington, August 7, 1849.

My dear Wife — I long to see you once more in this
world, and I hope it will not be very long before I am
with you. I am trying, my dear wife, to do all I can to
get to you. But I hope you will not forget to mind how
you write to me. If you should not mind how you
write, you will do me great harm. You know I told
you to write that you would be home in two months, or
three months at the longest. But in two months I told
them you would be home. Now, my dear, you must
mind, and don't forget, for you know how it is here ; a
man can't say that his soul is his own, that is, a colored
man. So do mind how you write to me. Tell Sister
Chavis I say she must write to me ; and I hope soon I
will write my last letter. I will let you know in my
next letter how all things are with me. Dear wife, don't
get out of heart, for God is my friend. The will of
God is my sure defence, nor earth nor hell can pluck me
thence, for God hath spoken the word. My dear wife,
in reply to your kind letter, received the 2d day of this
month, I have wrote these few lines I hope you will
pray for me, your dear husband,

THOMAS JONES.

P. S. — To Brother Cousins — My dear Brother — I
hope you will not think hard of me for not writing to
you, for you know how it is with me out here. God
knows that I would write to you at any time, if it was
not for some things. You know the white people don't
like for us to write to New York. Now, let me ask your

42 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

prayers, and the prayers of all the Church, and God's
children, that I may see you all soon. I know that God
is my friend, for He doth my burden bear. Though I
am but dust and ashes, I bless God, and often feel the
power of God. Oh, my brother, pray for me, who loves
you all, for I have found of late much comfort in the
word of God's love. When I come where you are, in
the work of the Lord, and I hope the time will soon
come, when the Gospel will be preached to the whole
world of mankind. Then go on, dear brother, and do
all you can for the Lord, i hope the Lord will help me
to get where you are at work soon. JNothing more, but
I remain your brother in the Lord,

THOMAS JONES.

The next is from my wife.

Brooklyn, Aug. 10, 1849.

My dear Husband — I got your kind letter of the 23d
July, and rejoiced to hear that you was well. I have
been very sick myself, and so has Alexander ; but, thanks
to the Lord, these lines leave me and the children right
well. I hope in God they may find you and my son and
my mother, and all enquiring friends, enjoying the same
blessings. My dear, you requested me and Mrs. Chavis
to stay together ; but she has taken other people's ad-
vice, beside mine and Mr. Cousin's, and has gone away.
She started for home before we knew a word of it. She
left me on the 8th of this month. Do give my love to
Betsey Webb and to her husband. Tell her I am sorry
she has not come on before now. I am waiting to see
her before I start for home. My dear husband, you know
you ought to send me some money to pay my board.
You know 1 don't love to leave in this way with my
children. It is true that Brother Cousins has not said
any thing to me yet about it. You keep writing that
you are going to send it in your next letter ; you know I
love to act independent, and I wish you to help me to do
so now, if you please. Do give my compliments to aunt
Moore, and tell her the children all send their love to her.
They send their love to you, and say they want to kiss

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 43

yon mighty bad. The children send their love to broth-
er Edward. I long to see yon, husband. No more at
present, but remain your loving wife, till death,

RYNAR JONES.

The next letter is in answer to the letter from my wife,
given above.

Wilmington, N. C, Aug. 12, 1849.

My dear Wife — I received your paper of the 10th
to-day. I am glad to hear that you are well, and the
children and friends. I have written to Brother Cousins,
and told him to tell you that I had not sold out yet. But
I hope to sell in a few days, and then I will send you
some money. My dear wife, you know that I will do all
I can for you and for my children, and that with all my
heart. Do, try and wait on me a few days, and I hope
you will see me, and the money too. I am trying to do
all I can to sell out ; but you know how it is here, and so
does Brother Cousins. I will do all I know, for I think
of you, my dear wife, r.nd the children, day and night.
If I can get my money, I will see you soon, by the help
of God and my good friend, and that is a woman ; she is
waiting for me to come every day. My dear wife, ail I
want is my money and your prayers, and the prayers of
my friends. I know that God will lu-lp me out of my
trouble ; I know that God is my friend, and I will still
trust in Him. You wrote to me that Mrs. Chavis left
New York. She has not got home yet. I hope, dear
wife, that you have done all your part for her. Do give
my love to Brother Cousins ; ask him to pray for me, and
all God's people to pray for me, a poor slave at this time.
My dear wife, since I wrote last, I have seen much of the
goodness of the Lord. Pray for me, that I may see more,
and that I may trust in Him. My dear wife, I want you
should pray for me day and night, till you see me. For,
by the help of God, I will see you all soon. I do think
now it will be but a few days. Do give my love to my
children, and tell them that I want to kiss them all.
Good night, my dear, I must go to bed, it is one o'clock
at night, and 1 have a pain in my head at this time. Do

44 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

tell Brother Cousins that I say he must look out for me,
on John street, in a tew days. Nothing more, but I re-
main your husband till death,

THOMAS JONES.

Letter from my wife.

Brooklyn, August 23, 1849.

My dear Husband^ — It is with the affectionate feelings
of a wife I received your letter of the 19th instant. It
found me and the children well, and we were glad to
hear that you was well. But I feel very sorry you have
not sold out yet ; I was in hopes you would have sold by
the time you promised, before I got home. Your letter
found Mr. Cousins and his wife very sick. Mr. C. has
not been out of the house going on two weeks. He was
taken by this sickness, so common, which carries so many
people off, but, by the help of God and good attendance,
he is much on the mend, and his wife also. You ask
how much I pay for board. It is three dollars a week
for myself and children. In all the letters you have
written to me, you don't say a word of mother or
Edward. It makes me feel bad not to hear from
them. Husband, I have not paid Mr. Cousins any board,
and am waiting for you to send me on some money. I
will pray for you hourly, publicly and privately, and be-
seech the Almighty God, till I see you again. I shall
trust in God ; He will do all things for the best. • I am
yours till death do us part,

BYNAR JONES.

Last letter to my wife from the land of bondage.

Wilmington, N. C, Aug. 30, 1849.

My dear Wife — I have been quite sick for three weeks,
but, thank God, I am better at this time, and hope these
few lines will find you and the children all well. I hope,
my dear wife, that you have not got out of heart looking
for me ; you know how it is here. I did think I would
have got my money here before this time. But I can't
get it, and I will leave all and come to you as soon as I
can. So dont get out of heart, my dear wife ; I have a
hard trial here ; do pray for me that the Lord may help

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 45

me to see you all soon. I think of you day and night,
and my dear children kiss them for me ; I hope to kiss
them soon. Edward is sold to Owen Holmes; but I
think Mr. Josh. Wright will get him from H. I have
done all I could for Edward. Doirt think of coming
back here, for I will come to you, or die. But I want
you should write one more letter to me, and say you will
be home in one month. Mr. Dawson will be on to New
York next week and you will see him ; mind how you
talk before him, for you know how it is, though he is a
friend to me. Now, you must mind what I tell you, my
dear wife, for, if you don't, you will make it hard for
me. Now, my dear wife, you must not come back here
for your brother and sister ; they talk too much ; but
mind what I say to you, for you know I will do all lean
for you ; you must not think that you will not get any
money, for you shall have it soon. Don't get out of
heart, my dear wife ; I hope I shall see you soon. Noth-
ing more, but I remain your husband til! death,

THOMAS JONES.

Soon after despatching this letter, I bargained, while
my master lay sick, with the steward of the brig Bell, to
stow me away in the hold of the ship, and take me on to
New York. I paid him eight dollars, which was all the
money I then had or could get. I went into the hold,
with an allowance of biscuit and water, and the ship
started. She was loaded with turpentine, and I found,
on the second day, that I could not live out the passage
there. So I told the steward, and he took me out in a
state of great weakness, and stowed me away in one of
the state rooms. Here I was discovered by the captain.
He charged me with being a runaway slave, and said he
should send me back by the first opportunity that offered.
That day a severe storm came on, and for several days,
we were driven by the gale. I turned to, and cooked for
the crew. The storm was followed by a calm of several
days ; and when the wind sprung up again, the captain
made for port at once. I had reason to suspect, from the
manner in which I was guarded, after the ship came to

46 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

anchor off New York, that the captain was plotting to
to send me back. I resolved to peril life in a b.st effort
to get on shore. So, while the captain was in the city,
and the mate was busy in the cabin, mending his clothes,
I made a raft of such loose barrels as I could get, and
hastily bound them together, and, committing myself to
God, I launched forth upon the Avaves. The shore was
about a mile distant ; I had the tide in my favor, and,
with its help, J had paddled perhaps one fourth the dis-
tance, when the mate of the Bell discovered my escape
and made after me in the boat. I waved my old hat for
help, and a boat, which seemed to be coming round, not
far from me, came to my rescue. I was taken on board,
They asked me if I was a slave, and told me not to fear
to tell the truth, for I was with, friends, and they wonld
protect me. I told them my circumstances just as they
were. They were as good as their word. When the
mate came up they ordered him to keep off, and told him
they would prosecute him if he touched me. They took
me to Brother Cousins, and gave me a little monev and
some clothes in addition to all their other kindness.

The meeting with my wife and children I cannot des-
cribe. It was a moment of joy too deep and holy for
any attempt to paint it. Husbands who love as I have
loved, and fathers with hearts of fond, devoted affection,
may imagine the scene, and my feelings, as my dear wife
lay sobbing in her joy in my arms, and my three dear
little babes were clinging to my knees, crying, " Fa has
come ; Pa has come." It was the happy hour of my
life. I felt then repaid for all my troubles and toils to
secure the freedom of my family and my own. O God,
would tint my other dear ones were here, too. God in
mercy speed the day when right shall over might prevail,
and all the down-trodden sons and daughters of toil and
want shall be free and pious and happy.

I. have but little more now to say. The Sabbath after
my arrival in Brooklyn, I preached in the morning in the
Bethel : I then came on to Hartford. A gentleman kindly
paid my passage to that place, and sent me an introduc-
tion to a true-hearted friend. I staid in Hartford twenty-

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLATE, 47

four hours ; but, finding I was pursued, and being in-
formed that I should be safer in Massachusetts' than in
Connecticut. I came on to Springfield, and from thence
to Boston, where I arrived penniless and friendless, the
7th of October. A generous friend took me, though a
stranger, in, and fed and cheered me. He loaned me
five dollars to get my dear family into Boston. He help-
ed me to get a chance to lecture in May street Church,
where I received a contribution of $2.58 ; also, in the
Sion Church, where I obtained $2. 33 ; and in the B^ethel
Church, where they gave me $3.53. And so I was en-
abled to get my family to Boston. Entirely destitute,
without employment, I now met with a kind friend, who
took me with him to Danvers. I lectured and peached
in the Free Evangelical Church, and received most gen-
erous and opportune aid. They gave me ten dollars, and
by their kindness, they lifted up a sinking brother. The
next Sabbath evening I lectured in the Wesleyan Church
in Boston, and received a contribution of $3.33. During
the week following, I was assisted by the pastor of this
Church, and by several individual members. The next
Sabbath I spent with Brother Flanders, of Exeter, N. H.
He gave a brother's warm welcome. I preached for him
in the Wesleyan Church, of which he is pastor, in the
morning, and lectured in the evening to a full and atten-
tive house. Kere I received a generous contribution of
nearly ten dollars. To-morrow is Thanksgiving Day.
God will know, and He alone can know, the deep and
fervent gratitude and joy with which 1 shall keep it, as I
gather my friends, my dear family, around me to cele-
brate the unspeakable goodness of C4od to me, and to
speak, with swelling hearts, of the kindness of the dear
friends who have poured upon our sadness and fears the
sunlight of sympathy, love, and generous aid. May the
blessings of Heaven rest down now and forever upon
them, is the prayer of their grateful brother, and of his
dear family, by their kindness saved from pinching want.

THOMAS H. JONES.

JUN 2 1933