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 ■ 
 
 THE 
 
 WILLIAM ]\IACINTOSH 
 
 EXPERIENCE OF THOMAS JONES, 
 
 WHO WAS 
 
 A SLAVE FOR FORTY-THREE YEARS. 
 
 WRITTEN BY A FRIEND, 
 I 
 
 AS GIVEN TO HliM BY BROTHER JONEfl, 
 
 SAINT JOHN. N. B.: 
 J. A A. McMillan, printers, prince wm. street^ 
 
 1853. 
 
TO THE FRIENDS OF SUFFERING HUMANITY, 
 
 Tlu; undersigned take pleasure in certifying-, that they have formed 
 nn acquaintance witli Brotlier Thomas Jones, since liis 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. Wo would also say, that we have heard Brother Jones 
 lecture before our respective churches, and we only speak the unani- 
 mous sentiments of our people, when we say, that his narrative is one 
 of thrilling interest, calculated to secure the attention of any audience, 
 and to benefit the sympathing 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 WHoai IT MAY concern: — This may certify, that the bearer, 
 Thomas Jones, has lectured to my people, with good success, giving 
 n satisfaction uncommon to one deprived, 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, 1S49. 
 
A suffering brother would affectionately present this simple stor)' 
 of deep personal wrongs to the earnest friends of the Slave. He askn 
 you to buy and read it, for, in so doing, you will help one who need» 
 your sympathy and aid, and you will receive, in the perusal of this 
 simple narrative, a more fervent conviction of the necessity and bless- 
 edness of toiling for the desolate members of the one great brother- 
 hood 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 them." ^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^ 
 
 .1 
 
 
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 I was born a slave. My recollections of early lite 
 
 are 
 
 was 
 issociated with poverty, su(fering and shame, I 
 
 or)' 
 sk.s 
 e(]» 
 this 
 ess- 
 ler- 
 vast 
 )uld 
 
 was made to feel, in my boyhood's first experience, 
 that I was inferior and degraded, and that I must pass 
 through life in a dependent and suffering condition. 
 The experience of forty-three years, which were pass- 
 ed by me in slavery, was one of dark fears and darker 
 realities. John Hawes was my first master. He lived 
 m Hanover County, N. C, between the Black and 
 South Rivers, and was the owner of a large plantation 
 called Hawes' 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, Alexander, Charles, Sarah, myself, 
 and John. I remember well that dear old cabin, with 
 its clay floor and mud chimney, in which, for nine 
 years, I enjoyed the presence and love of my wretched 
 parents. 
 
 Father and mother tried to make it a happy place 
 for their dear children. They worked late into the 
 night many and many a time to get a little simple fur- 
 niture for their 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 ex- 
 perience, 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 sympathy and devotedness, in wrongs 
 and wretchedness. My dear parents were conscious 
 of the desperate and incurable woe of their position 
 
m NAKRATIVi: OF A UUIIIUKI': SLAVE. 
 
 and (lostiiiy; aiul of tin; lot of iiicvitiiblo siifTorins; ii! 
 store for their holovod children. They talked about 
 our coniin<( misery, ami ihey lificd up their voices and 
 wept aloud, as they spoke of our beinj^ torn from theui 
 imdsold olf to (he 'dr(Kided slave-trader, perhaps n(;vor 
 again lo see them or hear from ihem a word of fond 
 love. I have heard ihem speak of their willingness lo 
 bear their own sorrows without eoiuplaint, if only we, 
 their dear children, coidd be safe from the wretched- 
 ness before us. And 1 remember, and now fully un- 
 derstand, as I did not /hen, the sad and tearful look 
 they would fix upon us when we were gathered round 
 them and rurming on with our foolish ])rattlc. I am a 
 father, and I have had the same feelings of unspeak- 
 able 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 I 
 think of my four dear children who arc 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 seoni 
 of a father's earnest pleadings; and I never shall look 
 upon them again, till I meet them and my oppressors 
 at the fmal 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. Ilawes 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 corres- 
 ponding 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 labour of the plan- 
 tation liad been performed. Any other clothing, be- 
 yond this yearly supply, which they might need, th« 
 
NARRATIVE OK A UEFIJOEE SLAVE. 
 
 II 
 lit 
 1(1 
 
 tu 
 ir 
 (I 
 
 n- 
 
 slaves were compelled 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 nothini^ 
 besides. They must grind therr own corn, alter 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 lal)our alone 
 gave us an appetite for our scanty and unpalatable 
 fare. Many of tlie slaves were so hungry after their 
 exc(;ssive toil, that they were compelled to steal food 
 in addition to this allowance. 
 
 During the planting and harvest season, we liad to 
 work early and late. The men and women were call- 
 ed at three o'clock in the morning, and were worked 
 on the plantation lill it was dark at night. After tliat 
 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 througli the winter 
 season, the men and women worked in the fields, clear- 
 ing up new land, chopping and burning bushes, burn- 
 ing tar kilns, and digging ditciies. They worked to- 
 gether, poorly clad, and suffering from the bitter cold 
 and wet of those winter montlis. 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 storm 
 benumbed their limbs, and almost froze the tears that 
 came forth out of their cold and desolate hearts. 
 Little boys, and girls, too, worked and cried, toting 
 brush to the fires, husking the corn, watching the 
 stock, and running on 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 suffer- 
 
•s 
 
 NARRATIVE OP A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 ing, the shuddering memory of which is deeply fixed in 
 my heart. Oh, that these 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 
 wretchedness of tha 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 
 Wilmington, N. C, distant forty-five miles from Hawes' 
 plantation. Mr. Jones sent his slave driver, a colored 
 man, named Abraham, to conduct me to my new home 
 in Wilmington. I was at home with my mother when 
 he came. He looked in at the door, and called to me, 
 "Tom you must go with me.'' His looks were ugly 
 and his voice was savage. 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 away, 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 other friend could do. She followed him, 
 imploring a moment's delay, and weeping aloud, to 
 the road, where he turned around, and striking at her 
 with his heavy cowhide, fiercely ordered her to stop 
 bawling, and go back into the house. 
 
 Thus was I s:iatched from the presence of my lov- 
 ing prrents, and from ihe true aff'ection of the dear 
 ones of home. For thirteen weary years did my heart 
 turn in its yearnings to that precious home. And 
 then, at the age of twenty-two, was I permitted to re- 
 visit my early home. I found it all desolate; the 
 family all broken up; father was sold and gone; Rich- 
 
NARRATIVE OP A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 in 
 
 fls, 
 jpe 
 in 
 |ep 
 im 
 fay 
 
 in! 
 
 ige 
 
 of 
 
 to 
 
 aril, Alexander, Charles, Sarah, and John were sold 
 and gone. Mother, prematurely old, heartbroken, 
 utterly desolate, weak and dying, alone remained. 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 co^^ ^ciousness, and that was, that 
 my kind and precious inother would soon be at rest in 
 the grave. And then, too, I remember, 1 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 
 embrace. 
 
 I should have related, that one of the earliest scenes 
 of painful memory associated with my opening years 
 of suffering is connected with a severe whipping which 
 my ma.^ter 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 scream, 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 sister had done for which she was 
 then whipped; but 1 remember that her body was 
 marked and scarred for weeks after that terrible scourg- 
 ing, and that our parents always 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 cruelty was ac- 
 complished. 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 sis- 
 ter, blessed with freedom, forget the cruel sorrows and 
 wrongs of the slave brother and sister ? How fellow- 
 ship, even in the least act of comity, the atrocious 
 slave-holder? There may be some who do this from 
 ignorajice of such cruel wrongs. God grant that this 
 
10 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVET. 
 
 simple story may enlighten some who only need to 
 know our deep necessities, to give u& their willing 
 sympathy and aid and love. 
 
 My journey to VVihnington 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 cru'cl 
 guide for relief. He was striding along in stern gloom 
 and silence, too fast for my young feet to- keep pace ; 
 and I began lo feel that I must stop and rest. It was 
 bitter cold, too, and I was poorly clad to hear 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 beg- 
 ged 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 me with the cow- 
 hide. Oh, I thought how cruel and hopeless my lot ! 
 Would that I could fall down here and die. And I 
 did fall down. We had just passed through a soft, 
 Avet place, and it seemed 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 sufferings. 
 And certainly no heart could be more entirely wretch- 
 ed than I was when I threw my weary, aching bodj'* 
 on ray 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 oiii 
 errands to my master's store, to tlea'. 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 liioment's time for rest. And, 
 
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 11 
 
 to 
 ing 
 
 'as 
 
 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 of that year. I had just been torn from my 
 home; my yearning heart was deprived of the sweet 
 sympathy of those to whose memory I then clung, and 
 to whom my heart still turns with irrepressible and 
 unutterable longings. I 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, hap- 
 pier 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 with these thoughts, a sense of my 
 utter hopeless desolation came in and took such a strong 
 hold of my heart, that I sank down a helpless, heart- 
 broken child. My tasks for that day were neglected. 
 The next morning my master made me strip off 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 re- 
 petition 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 
 changed, and my lot was made a little easier. The 
 c(»ok, 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, clear- 
 ing 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 tiie cold winter weather, instead of 
 bt^ing exposed to the cold and wet, without warm 
 
t2 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 clothing, as I had heen 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 ^aken 
 from the 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 cus- 
 tomers who might come in during the day. Then I 
 had to bring 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 Cogdeil, 
 might wish to send me on. While Cogdeil remained 
 in the store, I enjoyed a i^leam 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 any- 
 thing which I did not understand, and to perform little 
 acts of kindness to me. Plis condescension to me, a 
 poor, despised, homeless, and friendless slave, and his 
 tenderness to me, w^hile all others were severe and 
 scornful, sank down a precious bond, of grateful emo- 
 tion into my desolate heart, i seemed to he lifted up 
 by this noble friend at times, from the dark desjiair 
 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 Cogdeil, let them assure him of my fer- 
 vent gratitude and affection for his goodness to me. 
 Let them tell him how infinitely precious to my mourn- 
 ing 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, Tonir 
 my, the poor slave boy, whom you blessed whh un- 
 failing kindness, is now grown to be a man, and has 
 run away trom the dark misery of bondage. And now, 
 when he calls upon his Father in Heaven to pour out 
 rich blessinsrs on the few friends who have aided him, 
 then David Cogdeil is remembered with fond aiid fer- 
 vent affection." David was one of the few who al- 
 ways regard the feelings and happiness of others as 
 
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 19 
 
 earnestly as liis own ; who find their own happiness* 
 in making the unfortunate happy, by sympathy and 
 kindness, and who would suffer any loss rather than 
 do injustice to the poor and defenceless. 1 often won- 
 dered how there could be such a difference in the cha- 
 racter 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 gen- 
 erosity to the poor slaves was very offensive to my 
 master, and toother 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 valuable 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 the books 
 and waited upon the most genteel of his customers, 
 leaving 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. Tiie 
 great trouble with him was, that his fits of ill-humor 
 were much more frequent than his times of good feel- 
 ing. 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 answer- 
 ed very kindly- many questions which I asked him 
 about books and schools and learning. He )ld me 
 that he was trying to get learning enough to fit him to 
 do a good business for himself 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 m the world without having to work hard, 
 while those who had no learning would have no friends^ 
 
14 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 I I 
 
 and be compelled to work very hard for a poor living 
 all their days. This was all new to me, and furnish- 
 ed me topics for wondering thought for days afterwards. 
 The result of my meditations was, that an intense 
 burning desire to learn to lead and write took posses- 
 sion of my mind, occupying me wholly in 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 be- 
 gin ? James told me that a spelling-book was the first 
 one necessary in getting learning. So I contrived 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 er'ited the Cape Fear Record- 
 er. He had alwa/s appeared to me to be a very kind 
 man. I thought I would get him to aid me in procur- 
 ing a spelling-book. So I went one morning, with a 
 beating heart, into his office, and asked him to sell me 
 a spelling-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 your- 
 self 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 sta- 
 tionery store under the printing office, and I next ap- 
 plied 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 disco .ered that I could not get a spell- 
 ing-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 ihen handed out to me, the 
 
 !'• 
 
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 15 
 
 living 
 
 rnish- 
 
 v^ards. 
 
 itense 
 
 osses- 
 
 lours, 
 
 when 
 
 )f my 
 
 to be- 
 
 le first 
 
 d how 
 
 much 
 
 5 of a 
 
 ^ bnsi- 
 
 ecord- 
 
 y kind 
 
 rocur- 
 
 with a 
 
 ell me 
 
 d with 
 
 Ivhat I 
 
 I. He 
 
 would 
 
 )ut of; 
 
 your- 
 
 se you 
 
 [uickly 
 
 id sta- 
 !xt ap- 
 e till I 
 ? same 
 I with 
 evious 
 L spell- 
 t, and 
 that I 
 v^ed at 
 ley to 
 re and 
 le, the 
 
 wioney 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 opening upon 
 me through the possession of this bef)k That con- 
 sciousness at once awakened new thoughts, purposes, 
 and hopes, a new life, in fact, in my experience. My 
 mind was excited. The words spoken by James Dix- 
 on jf the great advantages of learning, made me in- 
 tensely anxious to learn. I was a slave; and I knew 
 that 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 otlier 
 men by my thoughts. It seemed to me now, that, if 
 I could learn to read and write, this learning might — 
 nay, I really thought it would, point out to mo the 
 way to freedom, influence, and real, secure happiness. 
 So 1 hurried on to my master's store, and, watching 
 my opportunity to do it safe from curioi.s eyes, 1 hid 
 my book with the utmost care, under some liquor bar- 
 rels in the smoke house. The first opportunity I im- 
 proved 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 vaioi endeavour. 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 be- 
 gin 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, point- 
 ing it out, he told me A; so of the next, and so on 
 through the alphabet. I managed to remember A and 
 B, and I 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 
 
16 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 I 
 
 the alphabet. But I found I could not get on without 
 help, and so I applied tci James again to show me the 
 letters and tell me their names. This time he suspect- 
 ed me of trying to learn to read myself, and he plied 
 me with questions till he ascertained that I was, in 
 good earnest, entering upon an effort to get knowledge. 
 At this discovery, he manifested a good deal of indig- 
 nation, lie told me, in scorn, that it was not for such 
 as me to try to improve, that / was a slave^ and that 
 it was not proper for me to Itarn to read. He threat- 
 ened to tell my master, and at length, by his hard lan- 
 guage, my anger was fully aroused, and 1 answered 
 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 unpardon- 
 able offence of giving saucy language to a white boy, 
 and one, too, who was in his employ. Without stop- 
 ping to make any enquiries, he took down the cow- 
 hide, and gave me a severe whipping. He told me 
 never to talk back to a white man on pain of flogging. 
 I suppose this law or custom is universal at the south. 
 And I suppose it is thought necessary to enforce this 
 habit of obsequious submission on the part of tl^e col- 
 ored 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 
 carrying along through Wilmington a basket of food. 
 His name was Ben, and he belonged to Mrs. Kunkin. 
 a widow lady. A little mischievous white boy, just 
 about Ben's age and size, met him, and purposely 
 overturned the little fellow's basket, and scattered 
 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 scatterd-d' 
 
ithout 
 me the 
 Lispect- 
 [J plied 
 I'as, in 
 vicdgc. 
 indig- 
 or such 
 d that 
 Ihreat- 
 ird I an- 
 swered 
 serable 
 servant 
 angry 
 pr came 
 me a 
 scribed, 
 g in his 
 pardon- 
 ite boy, 
 nt stop- 
 he cow- 
 told me 
 logging, 
 e south. 
 >rce this 
 tUe Col- 
 in their 
 
 ative of 
 t before 
 :»oy was 
 3f food. 
 Kunkin. 
 jy, jr.st 
 irposeiy 
 mattered 
 wanton 
 lite boy^ 
 jatter^-d' 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A RKFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 17 
 
 fragments upon his basket in the mud. Ben resisted, 
 and tlu'ew down the white buy, proving to be the 
 stronger of the two. Tom Myers, a young lawyer of 
 Wilmington, saw the contest, and immediately rush- 
 ing out, seized little Ben, and dragged him into the 
 store opposite the place of battle. He sent out to a 
 saddler's shop, procured a cow-hide, and gave the 
 little fellow a tremendous flogging, for the daring crime 
 of resisting a white boy who had wantonly invaded 
 his rights. Is it any wonder that the spirit of self- 
 respect of the poor, ignorant slave is broken down by 
 sucli treatment of unsparing and persevering cruelty ? 
 I was now repulsed by James, so that I could hope 
 for no assistance fn^ji him^ in learning to read. But I 
 could not go on alone. I must get some one to aid me 
 in starting, 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 1 went to him, 
 showed my book, and asked him to teach me the let- 
 ters. 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 re- 
 member 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 sorrowing heart, such as I 
 had never felt before. I could not with safety go to 
 the bake-house, as there I was exposed to detection 
 
 by the sudden entrance of customers or idlers. I w it.- 
 
 ed to get a teacher who would give me a little a? i (^ h 
 day, and now I set about securing this object. As 
 kind Providence would have it, I easily succeeded, 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. L beckoned to Hiram to come round 
 2 
 
18 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE tSLAVC. 
 
 to the back door; and with him I made a bargain to 
 meet inc each day at noon, wlicn I was allowed a little 
 while to get my dinner, and to give mo instrnclion in 
 reading. I was to give him six cents a week. 1 met 
 him the next day at hi.^' 'itlier's stable, the place 
 agreed npon for onr daily ^eting; and, going into 
 one of the stables, the noble little iliram gave mo a 
 thorongh lesson in the alphabet. I learned it nearly 
 all at that time, with what study 1 could give it by 
 stealth during the day and night. And then again I 
 felt lifted up and happy. 
 
 I was })crmitted to enjoy these advantages, however, 
 but a short time. A black boy, belonging to Hiram's 
 father, one day discovered our meeting and what wc 
 were doing. lie 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 pass- 
 ing away hi very great hn])piness under the conscious- 
 ness that I was learning to read. I felt at night, as I 
 went to my rest, that I was really beginnmg to be a 
 Trian, 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 
 plodded on the best way I could by myself, and in this 
 way I got into words of five syllables. I got some 
 httle 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 jfames, or master 
 Jones, or any customer coming in, I would drop my 
 book among the barrels, 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 
 
NAtlRATIVR OF A HEFTTflEn StWE. 
 
 l!) 
 
 ^lihi to 
 a little 
 Mion in 
 I met 
 J. place 
 iig into 
 c ine a 
 nearly 
 /c it by 
 again I 
 
 owcver, 
 Hiram's 
 kThat wc 
 ram was 
 ;hen got 
 v^ords of 
 as very 
 3re pass- 
 )nscions- 
 ^ht, as I 
 ; to be a 
 fe better 
 ^ to the 
 I fomid, 
 ess. 
 
 jacher, I 
 id in this 
 ^ot some 
 5, before 
 noment's 
 at niaht. 
 )od deal, 
 in lite s to 
 •n a little 
 )r master 
 drop my 
 ery busy 
 Several 
 y master 
 the back 
 
 room, and a number of times lie came very .slyly to see 
 what I v/as about, lint at such times I was always 
 so fortunate as to hear his tread or see his sliadow on 
 the wiiW in time to hiilo away my l)ook. 
 
 When 1 iiad got along to words of five syllables, I 
 went to see a colored iVicnd, Ned Cowan, Avliom I 
 knew I could trnsl. I told him I was trying to learn 
 to read, and nsked him to help me a little. He said 
 he did not dare to give me any instruction, but he heard 
 me read a few words, and tlien told me I slionUI learn 
 if I would only persevere as nobly as I had done thus 
 far. I told him ho?a 1 had got along, and what didl- 
 culties I had met with, lie encouraged me, an.d spoke 
 very kindly of my eiibrts to improve my condition by 
 getting learning. He told me I had got rilong far 
 enough to get another ])ook, 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 foUov/cd his direc- 
 tions, 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 wliich 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 tlien laid down to sleep. Jacob next set me 
 a copy, which he called 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 
 byname. One evening I wrote out my name in large 
 letters— THOMAS JONES. This I carried to Jacob, 
 in a great excitement of happiness, and he warmly 
 commended me for my perseverance and diligence. 
 
 About this time, I was at the store early one morn- 
 ing, and, thinking I was safe from all danger for a few 
 minutes, 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 
 
20 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A UEFUaEE HLAVE 
 
 master came in, much earlier than usual, and I did 
 not hear hiui. He came directly into the back store. 
 I saw his sliadovv on the wall, jiast in time to tlirow 
 my hook over in among the barrels, before he could 
 see what it was, although he saw that 1 luid thrown 
 something quickly away. His suspicion was aroused. 
 He said that I had ])een 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 door. Without 
 a moment's hesitation, I determined to save my pre- 
 cious book and my future opportunities to learn out 
 of it. I knew if my book was discovered, that all was 
 lost, and I felt pre])ared for any hazard or sufi'ering 
 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 liad 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 order^ed me to begin and 
 roll away the barrels. This I did; but 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 something away, and I 
 again denied the charge. Ill a great rage, he 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 I 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 
 
NARRATIVE OF A RLI LUEB SLAVE. 
 
 2\ 
 
 detcniiinod to die, if I could possibly bcav the pain, 
 rather than L,'ive up my dear hook, lie whipped me 
 the tiiird time, with the sauie result as bctbro, aud 
 then, seiziiij^ hold of my shoulders, turued me roiuid, 
 as though he would iullict ou uiy (juivering ilesh still 
 auolher scourging; but he saw the deep gaslics he iiad 
 already made, and the blood already flowing under 
 his cruel inlliction; and his stern purpose failed him. 
 He said, "Why, Tom, I didn't thirdc I had cut you so 
 bad,'' and, saying that, he stopped, and told me to put 
 on my shirt again. I did as he bade me, although my 
 coarse shirt touching my raw back put me to a cruel 
 pain. lie then went out, and I got my book and hid 
 it safely aw;iy before he came in again. When I went 
 to the house, my v/ounds had dried, and I was in aii 
 agony of })ain. My mistress told the servant girl, 
 Rachel, to help mc olF with my sliirt, 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 otf some of the skin with it. 
 Tlie pain, upon doing tliis, was greater even thau 1 
 had endured from my cruel whipping. After Rachel 
 had got my sliirt olf, my mistress asked me what I 
 had done for which my master had whipped me so 
 severely. I told lier 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 
 master 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 lie 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 1 loved to study, and to 
 dwell on the thoughts which I gained from reading. 
 About this time, I read a piece in my book about 
 God. It said that " God, who sees and knows all our 
 
If 
 
 22 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 thoughts, loves the good and makes them happy ; 
 while he is angry with the had, and will punisli them 
 for all their sins." This made me feel very unhappy, 
 because 1 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 hour. So I went to James Galley, 
 a colored man, v/ho 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 Iiappy. So I v.^ent home, and went down cell ay 
 and prayed, but I found no relief, no comt^ort 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 noiv to tell a lie, for I wanted to be good, that I 
 might be happy. So I told master just 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 v/as no heaven and no hell, and that Chris- 
 tians were all hypocrites, and that there was notljing 
 after this life, and that he would not permit me to go 
 moping round, praying and going to the meetings. I 
 told him I could not help praying; and then lie cursed 
 me in a great passion, and declared that he would 
 whip me it" he knew of my going on any more in that 
 foolish wav. The next ii'vAii I Vv'as to a meeiins;, 
 which was led by Jack Gammon, a free colored man, 
 and a class leader in the Metiiodist Church. I was 
 so much overcome by my feelings, that I staid very 
 late. They prayed for mo, but I did not yet find any 
 relief; I was stiil 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. Ho said, 
 '^•didn't I tell you I would whip you if you went nigh 
 these meetings, and didn't 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 pro- 
 
 I 
 
 c\ 
 
 Ir 
 
 fii 
 
 St 
 
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 S3 
 
 
 miscd 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 threatenings, my praying any 
 more, and especially my going again to meeting. This 
 was Friday morning. I continued to pray for comfort 
 and peace. The next 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 more forbade my going to meetings and praying. 
 The next Sunday there was a class meeting, led by 
 Binney Pennison, a colored free man. I asked my 
 master, towards night, if I might go out. I told him 
 I did not feel well. 1 wanted to go to the class meet- 
 
 ing. 
 
 Without asking me ivhere I was going, he said 
 
 I might go. I went to the class. I staid very late, 
 and I 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 hght, and, for fear of 
 master, I asked Nancy, one of the slaves, to go up 
 into mistress's room 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 him. He refused 
 to listen to my mistress, who v/as a professor, and who 
 tried to intercede for me. And, just as soon as lie 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 Avith his boy, Josepli. 
 
24 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 He said he kne^v that was a lie; and he immediately 
 sent olf for Joseph to confirm his suspicions. He or- 
 dered me to strip otY my clothes, and, as I did so, he 
 took down the cow-hide, heavy and stiff with blood 
 wliiclx he had before 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 me, but to 
 no purpose, and then he left. McCauslin asked 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 forbid 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 round 
 about their souls. McCauslin then left. Joseph came 
 and told the same story about the night before that I 
 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 tender from recent lacerations. My 
 suffering was so great, that it seemed to me I should 
 die. Pie 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 / 7nust pray ivhile 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 deter- 
 mined to be a fool, why, I must be one. My mistress, 
 now interceded 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 I asked mis- 
 tress to help me. She advised me to be patient, and 
 said she would help me all she could. Master refused 
 
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 25 
 
 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 Gammon was there, and opened the 
 meeting with prayer. Then Binney Pennison gave 
 out the sweet hymn, which begins in these words: 
 
 " Come ye sinners poor and needy, 
 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 7iow to Jtsus, and 
 trust in him. So when those who felt anxious were 
 requested to come forward and kneel within the altar 
 for prayer, / came and knelt down. While Jacob 
 Gammon 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 love warming my heart, and making me very 
 happy. I shouted aloud for joy, and tried to tell all 
 my poor slave brothers and sisters, who were in the 
 house, what a dear Saviour I had found, and how 
 happy I felt in his precious love. Binney Pennison 
 asked me if I could forgive my master. I told liim 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 said, "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 Ghristian." 
 A good many of us went from the meeting to a 
 brother's cabin, where we began to express oin* jo\ m 
 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 patrol- 
 ers 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 
 
26 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 3 t 
 
 it L 
 
 \l 
 
 many weeks previous, was very great. Now, all was 
 bright and joyous in my relations towards my precious 
 Saviour. I felt certain that Jesus was mv Saviour, 
 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 slaveys 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 
 master, 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 
 mind. 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 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 I 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 be- 
 fore I could get it. But all this time I was cheenal, 
 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 my 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 Chvu'ch 
 on trial for six months. I was put into Billy Coch- 
 
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 27 
 
 and 
 
 igs. 
 my 
 
 rail'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 myself than I had been before. I pursued my 
 studies as far I could, but I soon found the utter im- 
 possibility of carrying on m;, studies as I wished to 
 do. I was a slave, and all avenues to real improve- 
 ment I found guarded with jealous care and cruel ten- 
 acity against the despised and desolated bondman. 
 
 I still felt a longing desire to improve, to bo 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 por- 
 ing over the very few books I could obtain; and es- 
 pecially, at times, I found great peace in reading my 
 old, worn Testament. But I wanted now th;it hope 
 which had filled my mind 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 Testa- 
 ment that Jesus came from the brio^ht heaven of his 
 glory into this selfish and cruel world to seek and to 
 save the lost. I read and pondered with deep earnest- 
 ness on the blessed rule of heavenly love which Jesus 
 declared to ha the whole of man's duty to his fellow: 
 Each to treat his brother as he would be treated. T 
 tliought of the command given to the followers of the 
 loving Saviour, to teach all nations to obey the blessed 
 precepts of the Gospel. I considered that eighteen 
 hundred years had gone by since Jesus pled for man's 
 redemption and salvation, and, going up to heaven, 
 had left His work of mercy to be finished by His chil- 
 dren, 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, hope- 
 lessly degraded, — thus degraded and outraged, too, iu 
 
•88 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE 8LAVE. 
 
 IV:' 
 
 d 
 
 a land of Bibles and Sabbaths and Churches, and by 
 professed followers of the Lord of Love. And often 
 such thoughts wer€ too much for me. In an agony of 
 despair, I have at times given up prayer and hope to- 
 gether, believing that my master's words were true, 
 that "religion is u cursed mockery, and the Bible a 
 lie." May God forgive me for doubting, at such times, 
 His justice and love. There was but one thinsr that 
 saved me from going at once and fully into dark infi- 
 delity, when snch agony assailed my bleeding 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 timo, my master was taken sick. On 
 Sunday, he was prostrated by mortal pains ; and, on 
 Friday the same week he died. He left fifteen slaves. 
 I was purchased by Owen Holmes for $435. 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 enter- 
 ed on a new and distinct period of life, which I will 
 unfold in another chapter. I v/ill close this period of 
 sorrow and shame with a few lines of touching- inter- 
 est to my mind. 
 
 Who shall avenge the slave? I stood aiul cried ; 
 
 The earth, the earth, the echoinn- 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 lightning-s of the sky. .[ 
 
 I turned to these, from them one echo ran, 
 
 The right 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. 
 
 J i 
 
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 some two or three years from the time 
 when my master died^ind 1 was sold to Owen Holmes. 
 The bitterness 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 se\ crity 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 allow- 
 ed me to go to all the meetings, and granted 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 v/arm affections, who should love me 
 in return with a true and fervent heart, of whom I 
 might think when toiling for a selfish, unfeeling mas- 
 ter, 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 was 
 only the wretched home of the unprotected slave, ta 
 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. Despised and trampled upon by a 
 cruel race of unfeeling men, the bondman must die in 
 the prime of his wretched life, if he finds no refuge ia 
 
30 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 ff:if 
 
 a dear home, where love and sympatliy shall meet 
 him from hearts made sacred to liim hy his own irre- 
 pressible ailection and tenderness tor them. And so I 
 sought to love and win a trne heart in return. I did 
 this, too, with a full knowledge of the desperate agony 
 that the slave husband and fnther is exposed to. Had 
 I not seen this in the anguish of my own parents ? 
 Yea, I saw it in every public auction, vv^here men and 
 women and children were brought upon the block, ex- 
 amined, and bought. I saw it^n 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 deprived 
 cf her darling chikl, sent forth. I heard the doom 
 which stares every slave parent in the face eacli 
 waking and sleeping hour of an unhappy life. And 
 yet I sought to become a husband and a father, be- 
 cause I felt that I could live no longer unloved and 
 imloving. I was married to Lucilla Smith, the slave 
 of Mrs. Moore. IFe called it and ive considered it a 
 true viarriage^ although we knew well that marriage 
 was not permitted to the slaves as a sacred right of 
 the loving heart. Lucilla 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 contented. Oh, God of Love, thou know- 
 est 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 por- 
 tion. 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 
 
 ni 
 tfi 
 
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 ai 
 
 be done for slaves. We prayed with new fervency to 
 our Father in heaven to protect our precious babes. 
 Lucilla was very proud of me, because I con Id read 
 and v/rite, and slie often spoke of my teacliing our 
 dear httle ones, and tlien she would say, Avith tears, 
 "Who knows, Thomas, but th'^y may yet ho. free and 
 hapjryV Lucilla was a valuable slave to her mis- 
 tress. She was a seamstress, and very expert at her 
 needle. I had a constant dread that Mrs. Moore, lier 
 mistress, would be in want of money, and sell my dear 
 wife. We constantly dreaded a fmal separation. Our 
 allection for each other was very strong, and this 
 made us always apprehensive of a cruel parting. 
 These fears were well founded, as our sorrowing hearts 
 too soon learned. A few years of very pure and con- 
 stant happiness, for slaves, passed away, and we were 
 parted to meet but once again till we meet in eternity. 
 Mrs. Moore left Wilmington, and moved to Newburn. 
 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 
 remained 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 precious 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 in my heart, such 
 as no one is called to bear in such cruel, crushing 
 power as the poor slave, severed forever from the ob- 
 jects 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 Tuscaloosa, 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. I^ucilla 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 together. Our dear children were baptized in 
 
■"'■'•* ftjii^,^ 
 
 32 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUHEE SLAVE. 
 
 
 ml 
 
 the tears of agony that were wrung from onr breaking 
 hearts. The just God remember that niglit in the last 
 award that we and our oppressors are to receive. 
 
 Tlie next morning Mrs. Moore embarked on board 
 the packet. I followed my wife and children to the- 
 boat, and parted from them without a word of fare- 
 well. Our sobs and tears were our only adieu. Our 
 liearts were too full of anguish for any other expres- 
 sion of our hopeless woe. I have never seen that 
 dear family since, nor have I heard from them since I 
 partcu from them there. God only knows the bitter- 
 ness of my agony, experienced in the separation of 
 my wife and children from me. The memory of that 
 groat 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 displea- 
 sure, *• I was sick, destitute, imprisoned, helpless, and 
 ye ministered not nnto me, for when ye slighted and 
 despised these wretched, pleading slaves; ye did these 
 acts of scorn against me. Depart, ye workers of 
 iniquity.'' 
 
 After my pm'chase by Owen Holmes, I hired my 
 time at ^150 per year, paid monthly. I rented a 
 house of Dr. E. J. Desert. I worked, loading and un- 
 loading 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 presence and love, 1 was comparatively 
 happy. But I found then that the agony of the ter- 
 rible thought, "I am a slave, my wife is a slave, my 
 precious children are slaves," grew bitter and insup- 
 portable, just as the happiness 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 tender pity, did I not 
 drain that cup of bitter woe to its very dregs, when, 
 my family were carried off into returnless exile, and I 
 was left a heartbroken lonely man ! Can you be still 
 inactive while thousands are drinking that portion of 
 despair every yeardn this land of schools and Bibles? 
 
 ml 
 
NARRATIVE OP K REFUOEE SI-AVE. 
 
 d9 
 
 iking 
 last 
 
 Doard 
 o tVitr 
 
 fare- 
 Our 
 xpres- 
 that 
 tincc I 
 bitter- 
 ion of 
 3f that 
 
 heart 
 ed and 
 e great 
 lisplea- 
 ;ss, and 
 ed and 
 id these 
 •kers of 
 
 ired my 
 rented a 
 
 and un- 
 nd could 
 \v a day. 
 Dless my 
 aratively 
 • the ter- 
 lave, my 
 id msup- 
 ty of my 
 mounding. 
 
 my Hps. 
 did I not 
 !gs, when, 
 die, and I 
 5uhe still 
 portion of 
 id Bibles ? 
 
 After T parted from my family, T continiied to toil on, 
 but not as I had done before. My home was darker 
 than the holds of ships in which 1 worked. Its light, 
 the blight, joyons light of love and sympathy and 
 mutual endearments, was quenched. Ah me, how 
 dark it left my poor heart. It wiis colder than the 
 winter wind and frost; the warm suiishino was snatch- 
 ed away, and my poor heart froze in its bitter cold. 
 Its gloom was deeper than prison or cave could make 
 it. Was not there (he deserted chairs and beds, once 
 occnpied by the objects of a husband's and a father's 
 love? Deserted! How, and why? The answer, is 
 it not the unqualified condemnation of the government 
 and religion of this land? I could not go into my cold, 
 dark, cheerless house ; the siglit 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 jiassed four years, 
 and I began to feel that I could not live in utter lone- 
 liness any longer. My heart was still and always 
 yearning for atfection and sympathy and loving com- 
 munion. 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 
 Lucillci, 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 
 W'fe, 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 
 slavery. Three of our dear children are with us, too, 
 in the old Commonwealth. I cannot say they are in 
 di free land; for, even here, in the city of Boston, 
 where, I am told, is kept the old cradle of liberty, my 
 precious children are excluded from the public schools, 
 because their skin is black. Still, Boston is better than 
 Wilmington, inasmuch as the rulers of this place per- 
 mit me to send my children to any school at all. After 
 3 
 
34 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE HLAVE. 
 
 my second marriage, I liired my wife of her master, 
 uiul paid for lier timo, $^[H a year, for three years. We 
 had one child while Mary was a shive. That child is 
 still ill chains. The fourth year, l)y the aid of a white 
 friend, I purchased my wife for $350. 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 bear another cruel se])aration from 
 wife and children. Vet, 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. Wliat 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 
 i.hey 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 below, Ic^t 
 some prowling enemy should hear it, and steal from 
 me my hoarded treasure. And how often 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, 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 necessary to buy my wife. The kind friend 
 who had promised to aid me in the contemplated pur- 
 chase, made up the deficiency, and I became the owner 
 of my wife. We had three children at this time, and 
 0, 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 free- 
 dom to man ! But doubly dear is the consciousness to 
 the father's heart, made bitter in its incurable woe by 
 the degradation of slavery, that his dear child is never 
 
 Si 
 
 u 
 
NARRATIVE OF A REFIJQRE 8LAVE. 
 
 95 
 
 lastcr, 
 . We 
 
 hilcl is 
 wliitc 
 before 
 ISO, ill 
 ide§, I 
 11 from 
 strong 
 a boXy 
 y piece 
 e could 
 •vcd us 
 )Ut that 
 mouths 
 :iat box 
 vs were 
 aiow, if 
 
 . How 
 
 terrible 
 into my 
 ow, Icijt 
 [3al from 
 have I 
 \t aloud 
 )eakable 
 ve taken 
 slaves." 
 d a little 
 nd friend 
 ited pur- 
 le owner 
 ime, and 
 n'ide and 
 that they 
 with me 
 i's chains 
 et is free- 
 )usness ta 
 e woe by 
 1 is never 
 
 
 to be a slave ! Would to (iod tiie fathers of this nation 
 were all possessed of a true consciousness of these 
 thini^s; for tiieii, surely, they would will and secure 
 the itnniediate endine^ of hiunan l)ondaj2:e. 
 • After i had jMirchased my wiio, we still worked 
 hard, and saved our earnini^s with great care, in order 
 to get some ])roperty in hand for future use. As I 
 saved my earnings, I got a white man whom I thought 
 ijiy friend, (his name I choose to keep back for the 
 present,) to lay it out for me. In this way 1 became 
 the owner of the cabin in wiiicli I lived, and two other 
 small houses, all of which \vere held in the name of 
 tills 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 fam- 
 ily, 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 destitute. Thank 
 God, / got away, and now I have no tears to shed 
 over the loss of my houses. 
 
 During the winter of 1848-9, a kind lady came and 
 told me that some white men were plotting to enslave 
 my wile 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 Avere 
 not safe, unless emancipated by a special act of the 
 Legislature. He was a member of the House, and 
 tried to eet through the House a bill for their emanci- 
 pation. But there was so much ill feeling upon this 
 question that he could not do it. The Legislature 
 threw it aside at oi.ce. He then advised me to get 
 them off to the free States as my only course to save 
 them. This I determined to do, if possible. I kept a 
 good look out for a vessel. I found one, and made a 
 bargain with the captain to take on board for New 
 York, a free colored woman and her three children. 
 A kind friend gave me a certificate of their freedom to 
 the captain, and I brought my wife and children on 
 board at night, paid the captain $25 for their fare, and 
 staid on the wharf in torturing fear till about sunrise, 
 
36 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 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 
 liome with my beloved family. And so I kept on, 
 praying, working, hoping, pi > ng, for iiearly three 
 weeks, when I received the happy mows that my dear 
 ones were safe with a true-hearted friend in Brooklyn. 
 1 had notified him beforehand that they were coming; 
 and now the good and glorious news came that they 
 were safe with Robert H. Cousins, where the slave- 
 holder could trouble them no more. I had arranged 
 v/ith Mary when she left, to come on myself as scon 
 as I could get the money for my houses and land. 
 She was to write to me as though she had gone to 
 New York on a visit, intending to come back, and she 
 Avas to speak of New York as if she did not like it at 
 all. I knew my mast'^r would be very angry when 
 he heard she had goi.e unbeknown to him, and I 
 thought he would demand to see the letters my wife 
 should ^et 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 m nths 1 tried to get the money or part of it, for 
 my houses ; but was pui oft' and deceived till I found 
 I must come oft' 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 possession, 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 narrative for me nas corrected some mis- 
 takes in the construction and spelling of these letters, 
 and some he has left uncorrected. He has also omit- 
 
0011 out 
 
 on my 
 
 ny that 
 
 on to a 
 
 a free 
 :ept on, 
 y three 
 ny dear 
 :ooklyn. 
 coming; 
 lat they 
 e slave- 
 .rranged 
 
 as sooii 
 id land, 
 gone to 
 and she 
 like it at 
 y when 
 1, and I 
 my wife 
 
 for her ; 
 spicions, 
 ore than 
 of it, for 
 
 I found 
 
 y I had 
 
 1 to call 
 aspected 
 suddenly 
 en. Be- 
 re copies 
 my wife 
 after her 
 s, are all 
 any one 
 lity with 
 who has 
 )me mis- 
 e letters, 
 ISO omit- 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 37 
 
 ted some repetitions ; otherwise they are given as ex- 
 act 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 1 was able to keep. The 
 following was written soon after my yife started for 
 New York. 
 
 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 yo^T and 
 the children well, and all the friends. x\{y 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 will 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 Cha- 
 vis. She must pray for me, ;!iat Go I 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 tl^at Henry will be out soon, 
 and he wants her to keep a good heart and Ijo 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 Brothering 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 
 
38 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 I live, and 1 want the prayers of all God's children. 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Mr DEAR Wipe — 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 yoi? 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 ivifi 
 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 
 Chavii 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 Avant you to do 
 the best you can til) I come. I will come as soon as 
 T 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 Johnston and husband, and 
 all of my friends. Ask them all to pray for me, that 
 God may be with me in all that T do to meet you all 
 one time more. My dear wife, you know how I told 
 you, yon must mind how you write your letters. You 
 must 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 them all, and come to you 
 and the children. I will trust in that God who can 
 
 k\\ 
 
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 39 
 
 lildren. 
 in your 
 
 <ES. 
 
 lat you 
 ne yooa 
 
 eceived 
 It New 
 
 1849. 
 
 ell, and 
 :;hildren 
 Do pray 
 ill. l>o 
 ill trust 
 He ivitl 
 ;ay they 
 Rive my 
 hope to 
 
 Then i 
 II Sister 
 ce till I 
 
 and he 
 )u to do 
 
 soon as 
 ther, for 
 ogether. 
 md, and 
 me, that 
 
 you all 
 w I told 
 s. You 
 ke New 
 )u know 
 ot forget 
 loney in 
 yet, and 
 3 to you 
 tvho can 
 
 i 
 
 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 standard of God. 
 Tell them to follow their Captain, and be led to certain 
 victory. Tell them I can but 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 for 
 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 you, 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, 1 don't know 
 what I will do. My dear wife, I have not sold my 
 houses yet, but 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 that 
 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 Bro- 
 ther Cousins, if he pleases, to put my children 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 re- 
 main your husband till death. 
 
 THOMAS JONES. 
 
 P. S. — My dear wife, I received your letter the 24th 
 
■■1'r^-»n''M»'-» 
 
 40 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 ! I 
 
 of July, and was truly glad to hear you arrived safe 
 ill 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 am in a slave place, and I can't buy my- 
 self 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 Holmes is still in my way. I want you 
 to write a letter and say 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 
 ^T^ou 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, Aug. 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 I 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 
 Avhere you are. My dear sister, 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 chil- 
 dren. Don't forget that God is ever present, for tve 
 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 husband. 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 olF, 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. 
 
 I 
 ^ 
 t 
 
 s 
 
 ( 
 f 
 ( 
 
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 41 
 
 ed safe 
 .11 write 
 money, 
 u must 
 
 iiy my- 
 nd you 
 t, biit if 
 ) of the 
 ant you 
 )e home 
 [)y think 
 nd how 
 
 NES. 
 
 ris, who 
 id came 
 
 1849. 
 
 ^w days, 
 will not 
 :1, I will 
 aiing on 
 ve been 
 ney. I 
 ,yith. I 
 a living 
 can get 
 't think 
 |help us. 
 is chil- 
 for ive 
 art, for 
 . You 
 t leave 
 t I told 
 le back 
 ad for 
 re are* 
 in the 
 ES. 
 
 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 liope 
 you have got the letter. Ob, that you may trust i"i 
 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 of this month. 
 God was with us on that day, and we had a good 
 time. Though my tmie 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 m the kingdom at last. Good 
 night, my dear sister. THOMAS JONES. 
 
 The next letter lii 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 vviil 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 deal, 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 de- 
 fence, nor earth, nor hell can pluck me thence, for 
 God hath spoken the word. My dear wife, in reply 
 
49 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 I I. 
 
 '.U 
 
 to your kind letter, received the second day of tliis 
 month, I have wrote these lew 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 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 bro- 
 ther, pray for me, who loves you all, for 1 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. Nothing 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 advice, 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 
 
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 43 
 
 r of this 
 you will 
 
 INES. 
 
 .rother — 
 t writing 
 Hit here. 
 \f time, if 
 tie white 
 I. Now, 
 .f all the 
 e you all 
 ) doth my 
 es, I bless 
 , my bro- 
 ive found 
 )d's love. 
 ' the Lord, 
 le Gospel 
 mankind, 
 an for the 
 yhere you 
 nain your 
 ONES. 
 
 I, 1849. 
 
 Itter of the 
 s well. I 
 lexander ; 
 e and the 
 ly find you 
 |ng friends, 
 requested 
 lit she has 
 and Mr. 
 for home 
 Ion the 8th 
 ebb and 
 Is not come 
 loiQ I start 
 
 for home. My dear husband, you know you ought to 
 send mc some money to pay my board. You know I 
 don't love to leave in this way with my children. It 
 is true that Brother Cousins has not said any thing to 
 me about it. You keep writing that you are going to 
 send it in your next letter; you know I love to act in- 
 dependent, 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 
 you mighty bad. The children send their love to 
 brother Edward. I long to see you, husband. No 
 more at prosert, 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 Cou- 
 sins, 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, and the children, day and night. If I can 
 pet 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, all 
 I want is my money and your prayers, and the pray- 
 ers of my friends. I know that God will help 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 
 
44 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 I 
 
 to pray for me, and all GocVs 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 vv'ill 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 I have a pain in my head at this time. 
 Do tell Brother Cousins that I say he must look out 
 for me, on John street, in a few days. Nothing more, 
 but I remain your husband till death, 
 
 THOMAS JONES. 
 
 Letter from my wife. 
 
 Brooklyn, August 23, 1849. 
 
 My dear Husband — It is with the affectionate feel- 
 ings of a wife I received your letter of the 19th inst. 
 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 chil- 
 dren. 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 beseech the Al- 
 mighty God, till I see you again. J shall trust in God ; 
 He will do all things for the best. I am yours till 
 death do us part, RYNAR JONES. 
 
amm 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A RKFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 45 
 
 for me, a 
 3 I wrote 
 tie Lord, 
 at I may 
 )uld pray 
 r, by the 
 hink now 
 /e to my 
 them all. 
 ne o'clock 
 this time, 
 t look out 
 ling more, 
 
 JONES. 
 
 53, 1849. 
 
 ionate feel- 
 
 19th inst. 
 were glad 
 
 sorry you 
 
 vvould have 
 
 got home. 
 
 very sick, 
 ng on two 
 common, 
 the help of 
 
 the mend, 
 
 I pay for 
 If and chil- 
 
 to me, you 
 t makes me 
 
 I have not 
 ting for you 
 ay for you 
 .ch the Al- 
 rustin God; 
 n yours till 
 I JONES. 
 
 Last letter to my wife from the land of bondage. 
 
 Wihnhigton, N. C, Aug. 30, 1849. 
 
 Mr 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 Avifc, that you have not got 
 out of heart looking for mo; you know iiow 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 don't get out of 
 heart, my dear wife; I have a hard trial here; do 
 pray for me that the Lord may help 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. Don't 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 a 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 I can 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. Nothing more, but I remain your husband till 
 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 
 
46 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 
 
 I found on the second day, that I oonld not liv c out the 
 passage there. So I told the stev.\ird,and he took me 
 out in a state of great weakness, and stowed me away 
 hi 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 reasou to su pect, from the manner in 
 which I was guarded, after the ship came to anchor 
 otf New York, that the captain was plotting to send 
 me back. I resolved to peril life in a last 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 waves. The shore 
 was about a mile distant; I had the tide in my favor, 
 and with its help, 1 had paddled perhaps one fourth 
 the distance, 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 com- 
 ing 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 would 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 money and some clothes 
 in addition to all their other kindness. 
 
 The meeting with my wife and children I cannot 
 describe. 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^ 
 
 mg 
 gen 
 
 ^and 
 dear 
 to le( 
 conti 
 I ob 
 they 
 fa mi 
 men 
 him 
 Evai 
 oppo, 
 their 
 next 
 Chun 
 Duri 
 tor oi 
 Thei 
 Exet( 
 come, 
 whicl 
 eveni 
 
NARIIATIVE OF \ REFUGEE HLAVE. 
 
 47 
 
 out the 
 took me 
 
 ne away 
 vercd by 
 runaway 
 ' the first 
 ;ve storm 
 ill by the 
 ?he storm 
 ,nd when 
 5 for port 
 nanncr in 
 to ancliov 
 g to send 
 fort to get 
 s city, and 
 is clothes, 
 d get, and 
 mg myself 
 The shore 
 my fav'or, 
 )ne fom'th 
 Dvered my 
 waved my 
 to be com- 
 ae. I was 
 slave, and 
 was w^ith 
 
 1 them my 
 ire as good 
 ey ordered 
 
 prosecute 
 to Brother 
 )me clothes 
 
 n I cannot 
 !p and holy 
 10 love as I 
 id, devoted 
 feelings, as 
 
 J arms, 
 
 and 
 
 my three dear little habcs were clinging to my knees, 
 crying, "Pa has come; Pa has come.'' It was the 
 happy hour of my life. I felt then repaid for all my 
 trouhles and toils to secure the freedom of my family 
 and my own. God, would that my other dear ones 
 were here, too. God in mercy speed the day when 
 right shall over might prevail, and all the down-trod- 
 den 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 morn- 
 ing in the Bethel ; I then came on to Hartford. A 
 gentleman kindly paid my passage to that place, and 
 sent me an introduction to a true-hearted friend. I 
 staid in Hartford twenty-four hours ; but finding I was 
 pursued, and being informed that I should be safer in 
 Massachusetts than in Connecticut, I came on to 
 Springfield, and from thence to Boston, where I arriv 
 ed 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 helped 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 Bethel Church, where 
 they gave me $3.53. And so I was enabled to get my 
 family to Boston. Entirely destitute, without employ- 
 ment, 1 now met with a kind friend, who took me Avith 
 him to Danvers. I lectured and preached in the Free 
 Evangelical Church, and received most generous 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 pas- 
 tor of this Church, and by several individual members. 
 The next Sabbath, I spent with Brother Flanders, of 
 Exeter, N. H. He gave me a brother's warm wel- 
 come. 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 attentive house. Here I received 
 
 i 
 
 4 
 
 .it 
 
I . 
 
 4^ 
 
 I 
 
 \ 
 
 I. 
 if 
 
 48 
 
 I^AURXTIVE or A REPTQEB SLAVE. 
 
 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 I sl-all keep it, as 1 gathei my 
 friends, my dear family, around me to celebrate the 
 unspeakable goodness of God to mo, 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. J?ilay 
 the blessing 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, 
 
 
 ^^%24i8^ 
 
!. 
 
 VB. 
 
 n dollars. To- 
 will know, and 
 irvent gratitude 
 IS 1 gathei my 
 to celebrate the 
 , and to speak, 
 iss of the dear 
 idness and fears 
 sroiis aid. May 
 ow and forever 
 }ful brother, and 
 ess saved from 
 
 3 H. JONES.