THE EXPERIENCE
or
THOMAS JONES,
WHO WAS
A SLA^E
FOli FOKTY-THKKE YEARS.
THE EXPERIENCE
OF
THOMAS JI. JONES,
WHO WAS
A. SLAVE
FOE FOETY-THEEE YEAES.
WRITTEN BY A FRIEND,
AS RELATED TO HIM BY BROTHER JONES.
BOSTON:
PRINTED BY BAZIN & CHANDLER, 37 CORNHILL.
1862.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by
THOMAS H. JONES.
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
A suffering brother would affectionately present this
simple story of deep personal wrongs to the earnest
friends of the Slave. He asks you to buy and read it,
for, in so doing, you will help one who needs your
sympathy and aid, and you will receive, in the perusal
of this simple narrative, a more fervent conviction of
the necessity and blessedness of toiling for the deso¬
late members of the one great brotherhood who now suf¬
fer and die, ignorant and despairing, in the vast prison
land of the South. " Whatsoever ye would that men
should do to you, do ye even so to them."
THOMAS H. JONES.
TO THE FRIENDS OF SUFFERING HUMANITY.
The undersigned take pleasure in certifying, that -they have formed ail
acquaintance "with Brother Thomas Jones, since his escape from
Slavery : having s?en and perused his letters, and his certificates of
Church relations, and made all suitable inquiries, most cordially re¬
commend him to the confidence and aid of all who have a heart sym¬
pathize "with a down trodden and outraged portion of the great
brotherhood. We would also say, that we have heard brother Jones
lecture before our respective 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 sympathizing hearts of all who will make themselves
acquainted with the present condition and past experience of this true-
hearted brother.
E. A. STOCKMAN,
Pastor of the Wesleyan Church, Boston.
DANIEL FOSTER,
Pastor of the Free Evangelical Church,
North Danvers, Mass.
To whom it may conceen This may certify, that the bearer,
Thomas Jones, has lectured to my people, with good success, giving a
satisfaction uncommon to one deprived, as he has been, of moral or
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
be is an honest and upright man.
A. B. FLANDERS,
Pastor of W. M. Church, Exeter, N H.
Nov. 25, 1849.
TESTIMONIALS.
To the Friends of the hunted American Slave in England :—
Boston, March 29, 1851.
In consequence of the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law, at the last session
of Congress, a general flight from the country of all fugitive slaves in the
Northern States has become necessary as a matter of personal safety. Among
the number thus compelled to leave is the bearer of this, Thomas H. Jones, a
Wesleyan preacher, and pastor of a colored church in the neighboring city of
Salem, who carries with him a narrative of his life for sale. My personal ac¬
quaintance with him is limited ; but those among my friends who know him
intimately speak of him as a most worthy man, and one peculiarly entitled to
the sympathy and aid of those who love God and regard man. Though he is
a man. " created a little lower than the angels "— exemplary in life — a servant
and minister of Jesus Christ — in all the United States there is not a spot on
■which he can stand in safety from pursuing bloodhounds, and must flee to
England to prevent being again reduced to the condition of a beast! May the
Goa of the oppressed raise him up many friends abroad !
WM. LLOYD GARRISON.
Lynn, Jan. 17, 1859.
I have been for several years well acquainted with the bearer of this notej
Rev. Thomas H. Jones, and it is a pleasure to me to recommend him cordially
to all who love God, humanity and freedom. He was forty-three years a
slave, but by great courage, industry and perseverance, has fought his way to
freedom of body and spirit, and has devoted himself with fidelity and success
to the spiritual salvation of men. He has a family, part free and part yet in
bonds, whose wants roll heavy responsibilities on him as a husband and lather,
and is therefore obliged to toil hard for daily bread. I bespeak for him the
sympathy and benevolence of the public as an earnest, honest Christian man,
worthy of all confidence that he may claim, and of all assistance that he may
eolicit.
FALES H. NEWHALL, Pastor of South St., M. E. Church.
Wilmington, April 25, 1857.
I am personally acquainted with Rev. Thomas H. Jones, a fugitive from
Slavery. During the past two years have heard him preach and lecture to
large congregations with much acceptance.
Br. Jones is a warm-hearted Christian and a worthy Minister of Jesus Christ.
It will do any people good to hear him tell the " Story of his wrongs,"
ORIUEN SMITH, Pastor of the Baptist Church in Dover, Yt.
Greenwich, March 9,1857.
This may certify that Mr. Thos. Jones, a fugitive from Southern bondage,
lectured to us last evening in a very acceptable mann*, and enlisted the in¬
terest and sympathy of the people in no ordinary degree. He is a true man
and a beloved brother and fellow laborer in the Lord. He leaves behind liim
in his departure a pleasant impression, both in the tamily and in public. He is
hereby commended to the kind regards and friendly aid of all who love the
Divine Redeemer, and have sympathy with the oppressed.
E. P. BLODGETT.
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
I was born a slave. My recollections of early life
are associated with poverty, suffering and shame. I
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 passed
by, me in slavery, was one of dark fears and darker re¬
alities. John Hawes was my first master. He lived
in 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 its 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
6
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
and destiny; and of the lot of inevitable suffering in
store for their beloved children. They talked about
our coming misery, and they lifted up their voices and
wept aloud, as they spoke of our being torn from them
and sold off to the dreaded slave-trader, perhaps never
again to see them or hear from them a word 'of fond
love. I have heard them speak of their willingness to
bear their own sorrows without complaint, if only we,
their dear children, could be safe from the wretched¬
ness before us. And I remember, and now fully un¬
derstand, as I did not then, the sad and tearful look
they would fix upon us when we were gathered round
them and running on with our foolish prattle. I am a
father, and I have had the same feelings of unspeaka¬
ble 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
Xjrod, 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 are slaves, torn from me
and consigned to hopeless servitude by the iron hand
of ruthless wrong. I love those children with all a
father's fondness. God gave them to me; but my
brother took them from me, in utter scorn of a father's
earnest pleadings; and I never shall look upon them
again, till I meet them and my oppressors at the final
gathering. Will not the Great Father and God make
them and me reparation in the final award of mercy to
the victim, and of Justice to the cruel desolator ?
Mr. Hawes was a very severe and cruel master. He
kept no overseer, but managed his own slaves, with the
help of Enoch, his oldest son. Once a year he distrib¬
uted clothing to his slaves. To the men he gave one
pair of shoes, one blanket, one hat, and five yards oi
coarse, homespun cotton; to the women a correspond¬
ing outfit, and enough to make one frock for each of
the children. The slaves were obliged to make up their
own clothes, after the severe labor of the plantation had
been performed. And other clothing, beyond this
NAKEATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
7
yearly supply, which they might need, the 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 nothing
besides. They must grind their own corn, after the
work of the day was performed, at a mill which stood
on the plantation. We had to eat our coarse bread
without meat, or butter, or milk. Severe labor alone
gave us an appetite for our scanty and unpalatable
fare. Many of the slaves were so hungry after their
excessive toil, that they were compelled to steal food
in addition to this allowance.
During the planting and harvest season, we had to
work early and late. The men and women were called
at three o'clock in the morning, and were worked on the
plantation till it was dark at night. After that they
must prepare their food for supper and for the break¬
fast 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, aftereach day's protracted
toil, till the middle of the night, and then snatch a few
hours' sleep, to get strength for the u heavy burdens of
the next day.
In the month of November, and through the winter
season, the men and women worked in the fields, clear¬
ing up new land, chopping and burning bushes, burn¬
ing tar kilns, and digging ditches. They worked to¬
gether, poorly clad, and suffering from the bitter cold
and wet of those winter months. Women, wives and
mothers, daughters and sisters, on that plantation, were
compelled to toil on cold, stormy days in the open field,
while the piercing wind and driving 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, and their three sons,
Enoch, Edward and John, and constantly receiving
from them scoldings and beatings as their reward.
8
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
Thus passed nine years of my life ; years of suffer¬
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 es¬
cape from slavery, whom I have so often met rejoicing
in their mercies since I came here, only knew the deep
wretchedness of the poor slave child ! For then, I am
sure, their tender hearts would feel to love and pray
for these unhappy ones, on whose early life hopeless
sufferings bear down a crushing, killing burden!
These nine years of wretchedness passed, and a change
came for me. My master sold me to Mr. Jones, of
Wilmington, ]ST. 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, hur¬
ried 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 snatched from the presence of my loving
parents, and from the true affection of the dear ones of
home. For thirteen weary years did my heart turn in
its yearning for that precious home. And then at the
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 9
age of twenty-two, was I permitted to revisit my early
home. I found it all desolate; the family all broken
up; father was sold and gone ; Richard, Alexander,
Charles, Sarah and John, were sold and gone. Mother
prematurely old, heart-broken, 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 con¬
sciousness, and that was, that my kind and precious
mother would soon be at rest in the grave. And then,
too, I remember, I mused with deep earnestness on
death, as the only friend the poor slave had. And I
wished that I too, might lie down by mytmother'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
master inflicted on my sister Sarah. He tied her up,
having compelled her to strip herself entirely naked, in
the smoke house, and gave her a terrible whipping—at
least so it seemed' to my young heart, as I heard her
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 I
remember that her body was marked and scarred for
weeks after that terrible scourging, 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 accomplished. I think of my
only sister now; and often try to imagine where she is,
and how she fares in this cruel land of slaveryAnd,
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 1 how can the generous,
loving brother or sister, blessed with freedom, forget
die cruel sorrows and wrongs of the slave brother
1*
10
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
and sister ? How fellowship, even in the least act of
comity, the atrocious slave-holder ? There may be
some who do this from ignorance of such cruel wrongs.
God grant this simple story may enlighten some who
only need to know our deep necessities, to give us their
willing sympathy and aid and love.
My journey to Wilmington with the heartless Abra¬
ham was a very sad one. We walked all the way. I
was afraid of my savage companion; and yet my heart
felt so desolate, and my longings for sympathy so in¬
tense, that I was impelled to turn to my cruel guide for
relief. He was striding along in stern gloom and silence
too fast for my young feet to keep pace ; and I began
to feel that I must stop and rest. It was bitter cold,
too, and I was poorly clad to bear the keen air of a Jan-
uary day. My limbs were weary with travel, and stiff
with cold. I could not go on at the rate I had done,
and so I turned to my guide and begged him to take me
into some hut and let me rest and get warm. He cursed
me, and told me to keep silence and come along, or he
would warm me with a cowhide. 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, wet 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 conducter, at
my place of exile and suffering. And certainly no heart
could be more entirely wretched than I was when I
threw my weary, aching body on my cold, hard bed.
The next morning I was called into the presence of
Mr. J ones, my new master, and my work was assigned
to me. I was to take care of the old gray horse, kept
for the use of the family when they wished to ride out,
to fetch water from the spring to the house, to go on
errands to my master's store, to clean the boots and
shoes belonging to the white members of the family, and
to the white visitors, to sweep the rooms, and to bring
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
11
wood from the wharf on my head for the fires at the
house and store. From the first dawn of day till ten
and eleven, and sometimes twelve at night, I could
hardly find one moment's time for rest. And, oh, how
the memory of that year of constant toil and weariness
is imprinted on my heart, an impression of appalling
sorrow. My dreams are still haunted with- the agony
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 long¬
ings. 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, happier future
gives even to the desolate bondman. I lived through
it, with all its darkness and sorrow. That year I re¬
ceived 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
a cowhide till the blood ran trickling down upon the
floor. My master was very profane, and with dreadful
oaths, he assured me that there was only one way for
me to avoid a repetition of this terrible discipline, and
that was to do my tasks every day, sick or well.
And so this year went by, and my duties were
changed, and my lot was made a little easier. The
cook, Fanny, died, and I was put into her place. I still
had to get wood, and keep the fires in the house, and,
after the work of cooking, setting the table, clearing
away and washing the dishes, there was always some-
12
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
tiling to be done for my mistress. I got but little time
to rest; but I got enough, to eat, which I had not done
the year before. I was by the comfortable fire a good
part of the cold winter weather, instead of being ex¬
posed to the cold and wet, without warm clothing, as I
had been the year before, and my labor was not so hard
the second year as it had been the first.
My mistress complained of me at length, that I was
not so obedient as I ought to be, and so I was taken
from 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 customers
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.
I had also to hold myself ready to run on any errand my
master or clerk, David Cogdell, might wish to send me
on. While Cogdell remained in the store, I enjoyed a
gleam of happiness. He was very kind to me, never
giving me a cross word or sour look ; always ready to
show me how to do anything which I did not under¬
stand, and to perform little acts of kindness to me. His
condescension to me, a poor, despised, homeless and
friendless slave, and his tenderness to me, while all oth¬
ers were severe and scornful, sank down a precious bond
of grateful emotion into my desolate heart. I seemed
to be lifted up by this noble friend at times, from the
dark despair which had settled down upon my life, and
to be joined once more to a living hope of future im¬
provement in my sad lot. Should these simple words
ever meet the eye of David Cogdell, let them assure
him of my fervent gratitude and affection for his good-
nsss to me. Let them tell him how infinitely precious
to my mourning heart, then and now, his generous
treatment and noble kindness to a despised and unhappy
boy. And let them say to him, " My early and true
friend, Tommy, the poor slave boy, whom you blessed
with unfailing kindness, has now grown to be a man,
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
13
and has run away from the dark misery of bondage.
And now, when he calls upon his Father in Heaven to
pour out rich blessings on the few friends who have
aided him, then David Cogdell is remembered with fond
and fervent affection." David was one of the few who
always regarded the feelings and happiness of others as
earnestly as his own ; who find their own happiness in
making the unfortunate happy by sympathy and kind¬
ness, and who would suffer any loss rather than do in¬
justice to the poor and defenceless. I often wondered
how there could be such a difference in the character of
two men, as there was between that of my master and
my friend and benefactor, David Cogdell. And I often
wished that I might pass into the hands of such a man
as he was. But his kindness and generosity to the poor
slaves was very offensive to my master, and to other
slaveholders ; and so, at length, Mr. Jones turned him
off, though he was compelled to acknowledge, at the
same time, that he was the most trustworthy and valu¬
able assistant he 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, J ames was very kind and obliging. The
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 answered
very kindly many questions which I asked him about
14
NARRATIVE OP A REFUGEE SLAVE.
books and schools and learning. He told me that he
was trying to get learning enongli 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 in the world without having to work hard, while
those who had no learning would have no friends and
be compelled to work very hard for a poor living all
their days. This was all new to me, and furnished me
topics for wondering thought for days afterwards. The
result of my meditations was, that an intense burning
desire to learn to read and write took possession of my
mind, occupying me wholly in waking hours, and stir¬
ring up earnest thoughts in my soul even when I slept.
The question which then took hold of my whole con¬
sciousness was, How can I get a book to begin ? James
told me that a spelling-book was the first one necessary
in getting learning. So I 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 printer's business in Wil¬
mington, and edited the Cape Fear Recorder. He had
always appeared to me a very kind man. I thought I
would get him to aid me in procuring 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, " ISTo,
Thomas, it would not answer for me to sell you a book
to learn out of; you will only get yourself into trouble
if you attempt it; and I advise you to get that foolish
notion out of your head as quickly as you can."
David's brother, Peter Smith, kept a book and 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 re-
NARRATIVE OP A REFUGEE SLAVE.
15
pulse I had discovered that I could not get a spelling-
book if I told what I wanted to do with it, and so I told
a lie, in order to get it. I answered, that I wanted it
for a white boy, naming one that lived at my master's,
and that he had given me the money to get it with, and
had asked me to call at the store and buy it. The book
was then handed out to me, the money taken in return,
and I left, feeling very rich with my long-desired treas¬
ure. I got out of the store, and, looking around 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 book. That counsciousness at once awakened
new thoughts, purposes, and new hopes, a new life, in
fact, in my experience. My mind was excited. The
words spoken by James Dixon of the great advantages
of learning, made me intensely 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 other men by my thoughts. It seemed to me
now, that, if I could learn to read and write, this learn¬
ing might—nay, I really thought it would, point out to
me the way to freedom, influence, and real, secure hap¬
piness. So I hurried on to my master's store, and,
watching my opportunity to do it safe from curious
eyes, X hid my book with the utmost care, under some
liquor barrels in the smoke house. The first opportu¬
nity I improved to examine my book. I looked it over
with the most intent eagerness, turned over its leaves,
and tried to discover what the new and strange charac¬
ters which I saw in its pages might mean. But I found
it a vain endeavor. I could understand a picture, and
from it make out a story of immediate interest to my
mind. But I could not associate any thought or fact
with these croooked letters with which my primer, was
filled. So the next day I sought a favorable moment,
and asked J ames to tell me where a scholar must begin
in order to learn to read, and how. He laughed at my
16
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
ignorance, and taking his spelling-book, showed me the
alphabet in large and small letters on the same page. I
asked him the name of the first letter, pointing it out;
he told me A; stf 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 mem¬
ory the names of the first two letters of the alphabet.
But I found I could not get on without help, and so I
applied to James again to show me the letters, and tell
me their names. This time he suspected me of trying
to learn to read myself, and he plied me with questions
till he ascertained that I was, in good earnest, entering
upon an effort to get knowledge. At this discovery he
manifested" a good deal of indignation. He told me, in
scorn, that it was not for such as me to try to improve,
that I was a slave, and that it was not proper for me to
learn to read. He threatened to tell my master, and at
length, by his hard language, my anger was fully
aroused, and I answered taunt with taunt. He called me
a poor, miserable nigger; and I called him a poor, ig- ,
norant 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 de-,
scribed, during my first year of toil, want and suffering
in his service. But he now caught me in the unpar¬
donable offence of giving saucy language to a white
boy, and one, too, who was in his employ. Without
stopping to make any inquiries, he took down the cow¬
hide, and gave me a severe whipping. He told me
never talk back to a white man on pain of flogging.
I suppose this law or custom is uniyersal at the south.
And I suppose it is thought necessary to enforce this
habit of obsequious submission on the part of the col¬
ored people to the whites, in order to maintain their su¬
premacy 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
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
17
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. Runkin, 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 scattered fragments upon his
basket in the mud. Ben resisted, and threw down the
white boy, proving to be the stronger of the two. Tom
Myers, a young lawyer of Wilmington, saw the con¬
test, and immediately rushing 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 cowhide,
and gave the little fellow a tremendous flogging, for the
daring crime of resisting a white boy who had wanton¬
ly invaded his rights. Is it any wonder that the spirit
of self-respect of the poor ignorant slave is broken down
by such treatment'of unsparing and persevering cruel¬
ty ?
I was now repulsed by James, so that I could hope
for no assistance from him in learning to read. But I
could not go on alone. I must get some, one to aid me
in 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 could do next. I thought
of a kind boy at the bake-house, near my own age. I
thought he would help me, and so I went to him, showed
my book, and asked him to teach me the letters. He
told their names, and went over the whole alphabet with
me three times. By this assistance I learned a few more
of the letters, so that I could remember them after¬
wards 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 never felt before. I
18
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLATE.
could not with safety go to the bake-house, as there I
was exposed to detection by the sudden entrance of cus¬
tomers or idlers. I wanted to get a teacher who would
give me a little aid each day, and now I set about secur¬
ing 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. I beckoned to Hi¬
ram to come round to the back door ; and with him I
made a bargain to meet me each day at noon, When I
was allowed a little while to get my dinner, and to give
me instruction in reading. I was to give him six cents a
week. I met him the next day at his father's stable,
the place agreed upon for our daily meeting ; and, go¬
ing into one of the stalls, the noble little Hiram gave
me a thorough lesson in the alphabet. I learned it
nearly all at that time, with what study I could give it
by stealth during the day and night. And then again
I felt lifted up and happy.
I was permitted to enjoy these advantages, however,
but a short time. A black boy, belonging to Hiram's
father, one day discovered our meeting and what we
were doing. He told his master of it, and Hiram was
at once forbidden this employment. I had then got
along so that I was reading and spelling in words of
two syllables. My noble little teacher was very patient
and faithful with me, and my days were passing away
in very great happiness under the consciousness that I
was learning to read. I felt at night, as I went to my
rest, that I was really beginning to be a man, preparing
myself for a condition in life better and higher, and
happier than could belong to the ignorant slave. And
in this blessed feeling I found, waking and sleeping, a
most precious happiness.
After I was deprived of my kind little teacher, I
lodded on the best way I could myself, and in this way
got into words of five syllables. I got some little time
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAYE.
19
to study by daylight in the morning, before any of my
master's family had risen. I got a moment's opportu¬
nity 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 J ames, or master J ones, 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 room, and a number
of times he came very slily to see what I was about.
But at such times I was always so fortunate as to hear
his tread or see his shadow on the wall in time to hide
away my book.
When I had got along to words of five syllables, 1
went to see a colored friend, Ned Cowan, whom I knew
I could trust. I told him I was trying to learn to read,
and asked him to help me a little. He said he did not
dare to give me any instruction, but he heard me read *
a few words, and then told me I should learn if I would
only persevere as nobly as I had done thus far. I told
him how I had got along, and what difficulties I had
met with. He encouraged me, and spoke very kindly
of my efforts to improve my condition by getting learn-*
ing. lie told me I had got along far enough to get an¬
other book, in which I could learn to write the letters,
as well as to read. He told me where tand how to pro¬
cure this book. I followed his directions, and obtained
another spelling-book at Worcester's store, in Wilming¬
ton. Jacob showed me a little about writing. He set
me a copy, first of straight marks. I now got me a
box which I could hide under my bed, some ink, pens,
and a bit of candle. So, when I went to bed, I pulled
my box out from under my cot, turned it up on end,
and began my first attempt at writing. I worked away
till my candle was burned out, and then laid down to
sleep. Jacob next set me a copy which he called pot
20
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
hooks ; then, the letters of the alphabet. These letters
were also in my new spelling-book, and according to
Jacob's directions, I set them before me for a copy, and
wrote on these exercises till I could form all the letters
and call them by name. One evening I wrote out my
name in large letters—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 enterprise, my mas¬
ter came in, much earlier than usual, and I did not hear
him. He came directly into the back store. I saw his
shadow on the wall, just in time to throw my book over
in among the barrels, before he could see what it was,
although he saw that I had thrown something quickly
away. His suspicion was aroused. He said that I had
been stealing something out of the store, and 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 precious book and my future
opportunities to learn out of it. I knew if my book
was discovered that all was lost, and I felt prepared for
any hazard or suffering rather than give up my book
and my hopes of improvement. So I replied at once
to his questions, that I had not thrown any thing away;
that I had not stolen anything from the store ; that I
did not have anything in my hands which I could throw
away when he came in. My master declared in a high
passion, that I was lying, and ordered me to begin and
roll away the barrels. This I did; 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. In a great rage, he got down
his long, heavy cow-hide, and ordered me to strip oil
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLATE. 21
my jacket and shirt, saying, with an oath, "I will make
you tell me what it was you had when I came." I
stripped myself, and came forward-; according to his di¬
rections, 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 se¬
verity, 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 he would kill me if I did not tell him the "truth.
He whipped me the second time with greater severity,
and at greater length than before. He then repeated
his question, and I answered again as before. I was
determined to die, if I could possibly bear the pain,
rather than give up my dear book. He whipped me
the third time, with the same .result as before, and then
seizing hold of my shoulders, turned me round as
though he would inflict on my quivering flesh still an¬
other scourging, but he saw the deep gashes he had al¬
ready made, and the blood already flowing under his
cruel infliction ; and his stern purpose failed him. He
said, "Why, Tom, I didn't think I had cut you so bad,"
and saying that, he stopped, and told me to put on my
shirt again. I did as he bade me, although my coarse
shirt touching my raw back put me to a cruel pain.
He then went out, and I got my book and hid it safely
away before he came in again. When I went to the
house, my wounds had dried, and I was in an agony of
pain. My mistress told the servant girl, Rachel, to help
me off with my shirt, and to wash my wounds for me,
and put on to them some sweet oil. The shirt was dried
to my back so that it could not be got off without tear¬
ing off some of the skin with it. The pain, upon do¬
ing this, was greater even than I had endured from my
cruel whipping. After Rachel had got my shirt off,
my mistress asked me what I had done for which my
master had whipped me so severely. I told her he had
accused me of stealing when I had not, and then had
whipped me to make me own it.
22
NARRATIVE OP A REFUGEE SLATE.
"While Rachel was putting on the sweet oil my mas¬
ter came in, and I could hear mistress scolding him for
giving me such an inhuman beating, when I had done
nothing. He said in reply, that Tom was an obstinate
liar, and that was the reason why he had whipped me.
But I got well of my mangled back, and my book
was still left. This was my best, my constant friend.
With great eagerness, I snatched every moment I
could get, morning, noon and night, for study. I had
begun to read ; and, oh, how I loved to study, and to
dwell on the thoughts which I gained from reading.
About this time, I read a piece in my book about God.
It said that " God, who sees and knows all our thoughts,
loves the good and makes them happy; while he is
angry with the bad, and will punish them for all their
sins." This made me feel very unhappy, because I was
sure I was not good in ^the sight of God. I thought
about this, and could'nt get it out of my mind a single
hour. So I went to James Galley, a colored man, who
exhorted the slaves sometimes on Sunday, and told him
my trouble, asking, " what shall I do ? " He told me
about Jesus, and told me I must pray the Lord to for¬
give me and help me to be good ^ and happy. So I
went home, and went down cellar and prayed, but I
found no relief, no comfort for my unhappy mind. I
felt so bad that I could not study my book. My mas¬
ter saw that I looked very unhappy, and he asked me
what ailed me. I did not dare now to tell a lie, for I
wanted to be good, that I might be happy. So I told
my 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 praving. He said there was no heaven and
no hell, and that Christians were all hypocrites, and
that there was nothing after this life, and that he would
not permit me to go moping round, praying and going
to the meetings. I told him I could not help praying,
and then he cursed me in a great passion, and declared
he would whip me if he knew of my going on any more
in that foolish way. The next night I was to a meet
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
23
ing, which was led by Jack Cammon, a free colored
man, and a class leader in the Methodist Church. I
was so much overcome by my feelings, that I staid very
late. They prayed for me, hut I did not yet find any
relief; I was still very unhappy. The next morning,
my master came in, and asked me if I went the night
before to the meeting. I told him the truth. He
said, " didn't I tell you 1 would whip you if you went
nigh these meetings, and did n'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 pray¬
ing, because I wanted to be good, that I might be hap¬
py and go to heaven. This reply made my master
very angry. "With many bitter oaths, he said he had
promised me a whipping, and now he should be as good
as his word. And so he was. He whipped me, and
then forbade, with bitter 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 alone
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. I wanted to go to the class meeting.
Without asking me where I was going, he said I might
go. I went to the class. I staid very late, and I waa
so overcome by my feelings, that I could not go home
that night. So they carried me to J oseph J ones' cabin,
a slave of Mr. Jones. Joseph talked and prayed with
me nearly all night. In the morning I went home as
soon as it was light, and, for fear of master, I asked
Nancy, one of the slaves, to go up into mistress's room
24
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
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 he would kill me if I did not promise to obey
him. He refused to listen to my mistress, who was a
professor, and who tried to intercede for me. And,
just as soon as he had finished threatening me with
what he would do, he ordered me to take the key and
go and open the store. When he came into the store
that morning, two of his neighbors, Julius Dumbiven,
and McCauslin, came in too. He called me up and ask¬
ed me again where I staid last night. I told him with
his boy, Joseph. He said he knew that was a lie ; and
he immediately sent off for Joseph to confirm his sus¬
picions. He ordered me to strip off my clothes, and,
as I did so, he took down the cow-hide, heavy and stiff
with blood which 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. He paused
at length, and asked me would I mind him and stop
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 25
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 X liyed. "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 1 must pray while I lived. He then began to
whip me the second time, but soon stopped, threw down
the bloody cowhide, and told me' to go wash myself in
the river, just back of the store, and then dress myself,
and if I was determined to be a fool, why," I must be
one. My mistress now 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 mistress to help me. She advised me to be
patient, and said she would help me all she could.
Master refused to give any paper, and so I could not
join in the love feast the next day.
On the next Friday evening, I went to the prayer
meeting. Jack Cammon was there, and opened the
meeting with prayer. JChen 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, I will come now to Jesus, and
trust in him. So when those who felt anxious were
requested to come forward and kneel within the altar
for prayer, I came and knelt down. While Jacob
Cammon was praying for me, and for those who knelt
by my side, my burden of sorrow, which had so long
weighed me down, was removed. I felt the glory of
God's 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 him I could, and
26 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
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 Christian."
A good many of us went from the meeting to a
brother's cabin, where we began to express our joy in
happy songs. The palace of General Dudley was only
a little way off, and he soon sent • over a slave with
orders to stop our noise, or he would send the patrolers
upon us. We then stopped our singing, and spent the
remainder of the night in talking, rejoicing and pray¬
ing. It was a night of very great happiness to me.
The contrast between my feelings then, and for many
weeks previous, was very great. Now, all was bright
and joyous in my relations towards my precious Saviour.
I felt certain that Jesus was my 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 slave's heavy cross. I went, and told my mis¬
tress the blessed change in my feelings. She promised
me what aid she could give me with my master, and
enjoined upon ine 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 for¬
give master for his cruelty to me. Master came down,
talked with me a while, and told me 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
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
27
told me to keep my clothes on till lie told me 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 before
I could get it. But all this time I was cheerful, as far
as a slave can be, and very earnest to do all I could do
for my master and mistress. I was resolved to convince
them that I was happier and better for being a Chris¬
tian ; and my master at last acknowledged that he could
not find any fault with my conduct, and that it was im¬
possible to find a more faithful slave than I was to him.
And so, at last, he gave me a paper to Ben English, the
leader of the colored members, and I joined the love
feast, and was taken into the church on trial for six
months. I was put into Billy Cochrane's class. At
the expiration of six months, I was received into the
Church in full fellowship, Quaker Davis' class. I re¬
mained there three years. My master was much kinder
after this time than lie had ever been before ; and I was
allowed some more time to myself than I had been be¬
fore. I pursued my studies as far as I could, but I soon
found the utter impossibility of carrying on my studies
as I wished to do. I was a slave, and all avenues to
real improvement I found guarded with jealous care and
cruel tenacity against the despised and desolated bond¬
man.
I still felt a longing desire to improve, to be free, but
the conviction was getting hold of my soul that I was
only struggling in vain when seeking to elevate myself
into a manly and happy position. And now my mind
was fast sinking into despair. I could read and write,
and often enjoyed much happiness in poring over the
very few books I could obtain ; and especially, at times,
I found great peace in reading my old worn Testament.
But I wanted now that 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
28
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
mind labored in sadness and darkness much of the time.
I read in my Testament that Jesus came from the bright
heaven of his glory into this selfish and cruel world to
seek and to save the lost. 1 read and pondered with
deep earnestness on the blessed rule of heavenly love
which Jesus declared to be the whole of man's duty to
his fellow : each to treat his brother as he would be
treated. I thought of the command given to the fol¬
lowers of the loving Savior, to teach all nations to obey
the blessed precepts of the gospel. I considered that
eighteen hundred years had gone by since Jesus plead
for man's redemption and salvation, and, going up to
heaven, had left His work of mercy to be finished by
His children, and then I thought that I and thousands
of my brothers and sisters, loving the Lord and pressing
on to a blessed and endless home in His presence, were
slaves—branded, whipped, chained ; deeply, hopelessly
degraded,—thus degraded and outraged, too, in a land
of Bibles and Sabbaths and Churches, and by professed
followers of the Lord of Love. And often, such
thoughts were too much for me. In an agony of de¬
spair, I have at times given up prayer and hope together,
believing that my master's words were true, that " re¬
ligion is a cursed mockery, and the Bible a he." May
God forgive me for doubting, at such times, His justice
and love. There was but one thing that saved me from
going at once and fully into dark infidelity, when such
agony assailed my bleeding heart,—the memory of sea¬
son's of unspeakable joy in prayer, when Love and
Faith were strong in my heart. The sweet remem¬
brance of these dear hours would draw me back to Je¬
sus and to peace in his mercy. Oh that all true Chris¬
tians knew just how the slave feels in view of the reli¬
gion of this country, by whose sanction men and women
are bound, branded, bought and sold!
About this time my master was taken sick. Oh Sun¬
day 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
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 29
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 deso¬
late home. About this time, too, I entered on a new
and distinct period of life, which I will unfold in ano¬
ther chapter. I will close this period of sorrow and
shame with a few lines of touching interest to my mind.
Who shall avenge the slave ? I stood and cried;
The earth, the earth, the echoing sea replied.
I turned me to the ocean, but each wave
Declined to be the avenger of the slave.
Who shall avenge the slave ? my species cried ;
The winds, the flood, the lightnings of the sky.
I turned to these, from them one echo ran,
The 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.
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, and I 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 severity towards me. By
his treatment to me afterwards, he seemed to feel that
he had done wrong in scourging me as he had done,
because I could not obey his wicked command, to stop
praying and keep away from the meetings. For, after
the time of my joining the Church, he allowed me to
go to all the 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
30
NARRATIVE OP A REFUGEE SLAVE,
a friend to whom I could tell my story of sorrows, of
unsatisfied longing, of new and fondly, cherished plans.
I wanted a companion whom I could love with all my
warm affections, who should love me in return with a
true and fervent heart, of whom I might think when
toiling for a selfish, unfeeling master, who shall 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, to have a wife to love me and to love.
It seems to me that no one can have such fondness of
love and such intensity of desire for home and home
affections, as the poor slave. 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 in a dear home, where love and sympathy shall
meet him from hearts made sacred to him by his own
irrepressible affection and tenderness for them. And so I
sought to love and win a true heart in return. I did this
too, with the full knowledge of the # desperate agony
that the slave husband and father is exposed to. Had
I not seen this in the anguish of my own parents ? Yea, I
saw it in every public auction, where men and women
and children were brought upon the block, examined,
and bought. I saw it on such occasions, in the hopeless
agony depicted on the countenance of husband and wife
there separated to meet no more in this cruel world;
and in the screams of wild despair and useless entreaty
which the mother, then deprived of her darling child,
sent forth. I heard the doom which stares every slave
parent in the face each waking and sleeping hour of an
unhappy life. And yet I sought to become a husband
and a father, because I felt that I could live no longer
unloved and unloving. I was married to Lucilla Smith,
the slave to Mrs Moore. We called it and we considered
it a true marriage, although we knew well that mar¬
riage was not permitted to the slaves as a sacred right
of the loving heart. Lucilla was seventeen years old
NARRATIVE OP A REFUGEE SLAVE.
31
when we were married. I loved her with all my heart,
and she gave me a return for my affection with which X
was contented. Oh, God of love, thou knowest what
happy hours we have passed in each other's society in
our poor cabin. When we knelt in prayer, we never
forgot to ask God to save us from the misery of cruel
separation, while life and love were our portion. Oh,
how we have talked of this dreadful 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 chil¬
dren increased the current feeling of love for each other,
which filled our hearts. They were bright, precious
things, those little babes ; at least so they seemed to us.
Lucilla and I were never tired of planning to improve
their condition, as far as might be done for slaves. We
prayed with new fervency to our Father in Heaven to
protect our precious babes. Lucilla was very proud of
me, because I could read and write, and she often spoke
of my teaching our dear little ones, and then she would
say, with tears, " Who knows, Thomas, but they may
yet be free and happy V Lucilla was a valuable slave
to her mistress. She was a seamstress, and very expert
at her needle. I had a constant dread that Mrs. Moore,
her mistress, would be in want of money, and sell my
dear wife. We constantly dreaded a final separation.
Our affection for each other was very strong, and this
made us always apprehensive of a cruel parting. These
fears were well founded, as our sorrowing hearts too soon
learned. A few years of very pure and constant hap¬
piness 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 Newbern. 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 montlis. And oh, how lonely and dreary
and desponding were those months of lonely life to my
crushed heart! My dear wife and my precious chil-
32
NARKATIVE OP A REFUGEE SLATE.
dren 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 objects of his love by the cu¬
pidity of his brother. But that dark time of despair
passed away, and I saw once more my wife and chil¬
dren. Mrs. Moore left Newbern for Tuscaloosa, Ala.,
and passing through Wilmington on her journey, she
Bpent one night in her old home. That night I passed
with my wife and children. Lucilla had pined away
under the agony of our separation, even more than I had
done. That night she wept on my bosom, and we min¬
gled bitter tears together. Our dear children were
baptized in the tears of agony that were wrung from
our breaking hearts. The just God will remember that
night in the last award that we and our oppressors are
to receive. \
I The next morning Mys. Moore em\barked on board
the packet. I followed my wife and) children to the
boat, and parted from them without a \Vord of farewell.
Our sobs and tears were our only adieu. Our hearts
were too full of anguish for any other expression of our
hopeless woe. I have never seen that dear family since,
nor have I heard from them since I parted from them
there. God only knows the bitterness of my agony,
experienced in the separation of my wife and children
from me. The memory of that great woe will find a
fresh impression on my heart while that heart shall
beat. How will the gifted and the great meet the charge
against them at the great day, as the judge shall say to
them, in stern displeasure, " I was sick, destitute, im¬
prisoned, helpless, and ye ministered not unto 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 purchase by Owen Holmes, I hired my
time at $l£>0 per year, paid monthly, I rented a house
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 33
of Dr. E. J. Desert. I worked, loading and unloading
vessels that came into Wilmington, and could earn from
one,, dollar to a dollar and a quarter a day. While my
wife and family were spared to bless my home by their
presence and love, I was comparatively happy. But I
found then that the agony of the terrible thought, " I
am a slave, my wife is a slave, my precious children are
slaves," grew bitter and insupportable, just as the hap¬
piness 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 re-
turnless exile, and I was left a heart broken, lonely
man I Can you be still inactive while thousands are
drinking that potion of despair every year in this land
of schools and Bibles ? After I parted from my family,
I continued to toil on, but not as I had done before.
My home was darker than the holds of ships in which
I worked. Its light, the bright, joyous light of love
and sympathy and mutual endearments, was quenched.
Ah me, how dark it left my poor heart. It was colder
than the winter wind and frost; the warm sunshine was
snatched away and my poor heart froze in its bitter
cold. Its gloom was deeper than the prison or cave
could make it. Was not there the deserted chairs and
beds, once occupied by the objects of a husband's and a
father's love ? Deserted! How, and Why ? The
answer, is not the unqualified condemnation of the gov¬
ernment and religion of this land ? I could not go into
my cold, dark, cheerless house; the sight of its de¬
serted room was despair to my soul. So I worked on,
taking jobs whenever I could get them, and working
often till nearly morning, and never going to my home
for rest till I could toil no more. And so I passed four
years, and I began to feel that I could not live in utter
loneliness any longer. My heart was still and always
yearning for affection and sympathy and loving com¬
munion. My wife was torn from me. I had ceased
2*
34
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
to hope for another meeting with her in this world of
oppression and suffering ; so I sat down and wrote to
Lucilla, that I could live alone no longer, and saying
to her the sad farewell, which we could not say when
we were sundered. I asked Mary R. Moore to come
and cheer me in my desolate home. She became my
wife, and, thank God, she has been rescued from slavery
by the blessing of God and my efforts to save her. She
is now my wife, and she is with me to day, and till
death parts us, secure from the iron hand of slavery.
Three of our dear children are with us, too, in the old
Commonwealth. I cannot say they are in a free land,
for, even here, in the city of Boston, where I am told, is
kept the old cradle of liberty, my precious children are
excluded from the public schools, because their skin is
black. Still, Boston is better than Wilmington, inas¬
much as the rulers of this place permit me to send my
children to any school at all. After my second mar¬
riage, I hired my wife of her master, and paid for her
time, $48 a year, for three years. We had one child
while Mary was a slave. That child is still in chains.
The fourth year, by the aid of a white friend, I pur¬
chased 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 separation from my wife and
children. Y et, the dread of it was strong and unceas¬
ing upon my mind. So we made a box, and, through
a hole in the top, we put in every piece of money, from
five "cents up to a dollar, that we could save from our
hard earnings. This object nerved us for unceasing
toil, for twenty months or about that "time. What
hopes and fears beset us as those months wore away!
I have been compelled to hide that box in a hole dug
for it, when I knew the patrollers were coming to search
my cabin. For well did I know, if they found my box,
I should be penniless again. How often have I started
and turned in sudden and terrible alarm, as I have
dropped a piece of money into my box, and heard its
loud ring upon the coin below, lest some prowling ene-
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
35
mj should hear it, and steal from me my hoarded trea¬
sure. 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,
0 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 purchase, made up the.deficiency, and'
1 became the owner of my wife. We had three chil¬
dren at this time, and, O, how my crushed heart was
uplifted in its pride and joy, as I took them in my arms
and thought that they were not slaves." These three
children are with me and with their mother now, where
the slave's chains and whips are heard no more. Oh,
how sweet is freedom to man ! But doubly dear is the
consciousness to the father's heart, made bitter in its in¬
curable woe by the degradation of slavery, that his
dear child is never to be a slave ! Would to God the
fathers of this nation were all possessed of a true con¬
sciousness of these things ; for then, surely, they would
will and secure the immediate ending of human bon¬
dage.
After I had purchased my wife, we still worked hard
and saved our earnings with great care, in order to get
some property in hand for future use. As I saved my
earnings, I got a white man whom I thought my friend
(his name I choose to keep back for the present,) to lay
it out for me. In this way I became the owner of the
cabin in which I lived, and two other small houses, all
of which were held in the name of this supposed friend.
He held them in his own name for me. A slave can¬
not hold property. I will here remark that I was de¬
ceived by this man ; and when I ran away from my
chains, after sending on my family, I was compelled to
sacrifice the whole of this property. I left it, because
I could not get my own from his hands, and came off
entirely destitute. Thank God, I 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
36
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
told me that some white men were plotting to enslave
my wife and children again. She advised me to get
them off to the free States as quickly and secretly as
possible. A lawyer of Wilmington told me they were
not safe, unless emancipated by a special act of the Le¬
gislature. He was a member of the House, and tried
to get through the House a bill for their emancipation.
But there was so much ill feeling upon this question
that he could not do it. The Legislature threw it aside
at once. He then advised me to get them off to the
free States as my only course to save them. This I de¬
termined to do if possible. I kept a good lookout for a
vessel. I found one, and made a bargain with the cap¬
tain to take on board for New York a free colored wo¬
man 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 cap¬
tain $25 for their fare, and staid on the wharf in tortur¬
ing fear till about sunrise, when I saw the vessel under
way. It was soon out of sight. When I went home,
threw myself on my knees, and poured out my soul
to God, to carry that ship and its precious cargo safely
and swiftly on to a free haven, and to guard and guide
me soon to a free home with my beloved family. And
so I kept on, praying, working, hoping, pining, for
nearly three weeks, when I received the happy news
that my dear ones were safe with a true-hearted friend
in Brooklyn. I 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 slaveholders could trouble them no more. I
had arrangedwith Mary when she left, to come on my¬
self as soon 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 was to speak of New York as if she did not like it at
all. I knew my master would be very angry when he
heard she had gone unbeknown to him, and I thought
he would demand to see the letters my wife should get
friends in- New York to write to me for her ; and so I
narrative of a refugee slave* 37
made ready to meet and quiet his suspicions, while I
was plotting my own escape. For more than three
months I tried to get the money, or part of it for my
houses ; but was put off and deceived, till I found I
must come off without a cent of the property I had tried
so hard to accumulate. I was required to call and see
my master every day, because he suspected me of de¬
sign to run away. He was taken suddenly sick, and
then I started for my wife and children. Before I give
a narrative of my escape, I will give copies of the let¬
ters which passed between me and my wife, while I re¬
mained 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, has corrected some mistakes in the construc¬
tion and spelling of these letters, and some he has left
uncorrected. He has also omitted some repetitions ;
otherwise they are given as exact copies. I wrote my
own letters ; my wife wrote by the help of a friend. I
give all my letters, and the two from my wife which
I was able to keep. The following was written soon
after my wife started for New York.
Wilmington, N. C., July 11, 1849.
My Dear Wife—I write these few lines to inform
you that I am well, and hope they may find you and
the children well, and all the friends. My dear wife,
I long to see you and the children one time more in
this world. I hope to see you all soon. Don't get
out of heart, for I will come as soon as I can. I hope
it will not be long, for God will be my helper, and I
feel he 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
Chavis. She must pray for me, that God may help
me come out. Tell her I say that she must be faithful
to God ; and I hope dear wife you will be faithful to
God. Tell aister Chavis that Henry will be out soon,
38 narrative op a refugee slave.
and lie wants her to keep a good heart and he •will send
money out to her. Tell her he says she must write to
him as soon as she can, for he will not stay long behind
her. As soon as he gets his money he will come. I
hope to see you all very soon. Tell my Brethering 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 Ro¬
bert 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 their love to you and Sister Chavis,
and say that you must pray for them. Dear wife, you
may look for me soon. But what way I will comes I
can't tell you now. You may look for me in three
weeks from now. You must try and do the best you
can till I come, You know how it is with me, and how
I have to come. Tell the Church to pray for me, for
I hope to reach that land if I live, and I 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 IT, 1849.
My Dear Wife—I write to tell you I am well, and
I hope these few lines will find you and the children
well. I long to see you all one time more. Do pray
for me, that God may help me to get to you all. Do ask
sister to pray the Lord to help me. I will trust in God,
for I kno.w that He is my friend, and He will help me.
My dear wife, tell my children I say they must be
good till I see them once more. Do give my lpve to
Brother R. H. Cousins, and tell him I hope to meet
him in two or three weeks from now. Then I can tell
him all I want to say to him. Tell Sister Chavis I say,
narrative of a refugee slave.
39
do not come back to tliia place till I come. Her hus¬
band says lie wants lier to stay, and he will come on
soon. My dear wife, I want you to do the best you
can till I come. I will come as soon as I can. You
and sister Chavis must live together, for you went to¬
gether, and you must try to stay together. Do give
my love to sister Johnson and husband, and all of my
friends. Ask them all to pray for me, that God may
be with me in all that I do to meet you all one time
more. My dear wife you know how I told you, you
must mind how you write your letters. You must
not forget to write as if you did not like New York,
and that you will come Some 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 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 sea on the mountain top the standard of God. Tell
them to follow their Captain, and be led to certain vic¬
tory. 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 foj.* 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
40
narrative of a refugee slave.
I,will come, but I will do the best I can for you. I hope
God will help me, for, if He don't, I don't know what
I will do. My dear wife, I have not sold my houses
yet, 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 ctm't come.
But I hope, my dear wife, the Lord will help me out.
Tell Brother Cousins I hope he and all the people of
God will pray for me ; and you, my dear wife, must
not forget to pray for me. Ask brother Cousins, if he
pleases, to put my 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 remain your husband
till death. THOMAS JONES.
P. S.—My dear wife, I received your letter the 24th
of July, and was truly glad to hear you arrived safe in
New York. Please tell Brother Cousins I will write
to him in a few days, and I will send you some money.
My dear wife do mind how you write. You must not
forget I am in a slave place, and I can't buy myself for
the money. You know how it is, and you must tell
brother Cousins. I have not sold yet, but if I can't
sell, I will come some how, 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 you
write for the Lord's sake. THOMAS JONES.
The next letter was written to Sister Chavis, who
went on to New York, but got disheartened and came
back to Wilmington.
Wilmington, N. C., 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
NARRATIVE OP A REFUGEE SLATE.. 41
sorry to bear that you think we can't get a living
where 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 we
must trust Him till death. Don't get out of heart, for
I know we can live out there, if any one can. You
may look for me before your 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 off, it will make it bad for me. You
know what the white people here are. Please don't
come yet. I am your brother in the Lord, till death.
THOMAS JONES.
P.S.—I sent the letter you wrote to Mr. John Ranks.
I thought you will wait for a letter from your husband
and I hope you will be better satisfied in your mind
that we can get a living out there. Your husband has
wrote to you last week ; I hope you have got the letter.
Oh, that you may trust in God every day, for I know
God is your friend", and you must pray night and day,
that he may help you. I long to see you one time
more in this world. We went into the new Church on
the 9th day of this month. God was with us on that
day, and we had a good time. Though my time with
them is short, I hope God will be with them, and may
we all meet in the kingdom at last. So pray for me,
my dear sister. Aunt Narvey has been dead nearly
four weeks. She died happy in the Lord, and is gone
home to rest. I hope we may meet in the kingdom at
last. Good night, my dear sister. THOMAS J ONES.
The next letter is to my wife and Brother Cousins,
and explains itself.
Wilmington, August 7, 1849.
My Dear Wife—I long to see you once more in
thio world, and hope it will not be very long before I am
with you. I am trying, my dear wife, to do all I can to
get to you. But I hope you will not forget to mind
42.
NARRATIVE OP A REFUGEE SLAVE.
how yon write to me. If you should not mind how you
write, you will do me great- harm. You know I told
you to write that you would be home in two months, or
three months at the longest. But in two months I told
them you would be home. Now, my dear, you must
mind, and don't forget, for you know how it is here ; a
man can't say that his soul is his own, that is, a colored
man. So do mind how you write to me. Tell Sister
Chavis I say she must write to me ; and I hope soon I
will write my last letter. I will let you know in my
next letter how all things are with me. Dear wife, don't
get out of heart, for God is my friend. The will of
God is my sure defence, nor earth nor hell can pluck
me thence, for God hath spoken the word. My dear
wife, in reply to your kind letter, received the second
day of this month, I have wrote these few lines. I hope
you will pray for me, your dear husband,
THOMAS JONES.
P. S.—To Brother Cousins.—My dear Brother, I
hope you will not think hard of me for not writing to
you, for you know how it is with me-out here. God
knows that I would write to you at any time, if it was
not for some things. You know the white people don't
like for us to write to New York. Now, let me ask
your prayers, and the prayers of the Church, and God's
children, that I may see you all soon. I know that God
is my friend, for He doth my burden bear. Though I
am but dust and ashes, I bless God, and often feel the
power of God. Oh, my brother, pray for me, who loves
you all, for I have found of late much comfort in the
word of God's love. When I come where you are, in
the work of the Lord, and I hope the time will soon
come when the Gospel Will be preached to the whole
world of mankind. Then go on, dear Brother, and do
all you can for the Lord. I hope the Lord will help
me to get where you are at work soon. Nothing more,
but I remain your brother in the Lord,
THOMAS JONES.
The next is from my wife.
narrative of a refugee slave.
,43
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 chil¬
dren right well. I hope in God they may find you and
my son and my mother, and all enquiring friends, en¬
joying 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 eighth of this month.
Do give my love to Betsey Webb and to her husband.
Tell her I am sorry she has not come on before now. I
am waiting to see her before I start for home. My
dear husband, you know you ought to send me some
money to pay my board. You know I don't love to
leave in this way with my children. It is true that
Brother Cousins has not said anything to me about it.
You keep writing that you are going to send it in your
next letter; you know I like to act independent, and I
wish you to help me do so now, if you please. Do give
my compliments to aunt Moore, and tell her the chil¬
dren 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 present, but remain
your loving wife till death. RYNAR J ONES.
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 Cous¬
ins, and told him to tell you that 1 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
44 narrative of a refugee slave.
I hope you will see me and the money too. I am try"
ing 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 get my money, I will see you soon,
by the help of God and my good friend, and that is a
woman ; she is waiting for me to come -every day. My
dear wife, all I want is moiley and your prayers, and
the prayers of my friends. I know that God will help
me out of fny trouble; I know that God is my friend,
and I will trust to Him. You wrote to me that Mrs.
Chavis left New York. She has not got home yet. I
hope, dear wife, that you have done all your part for
her. Do give my love to Brother Cousins ; ask him to
pray for me, and all God's people to pray for me, a poor
slave at this time. My dear wife, since I wrote last, I
have seen much of the goodness of the Lord. Pray for
me, that I may see more, and that I may trust in Him.
My dear wife, I want you should pray for me day and
night, till you see me. For, by the help of God, I will
see you all soon. I 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
feeling 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 we 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,
narrative of a refugee slave. 45
which carries so many people off, but, by the help of
God and good attendance, he is much on the mend, and
his wife also. You ask how much I pay for board. It
is three dollars a week for myself and children. In all
the letters you have written to me, you don't say a word
of mother or Edward. It makes me feel bad not to
hear from them. Husband, I have not paid Mr. Cous-!
ins any board, and am waiting for you to send me some
money. I will pray for you hourly, publicly and pri¬
vately, and beseech the Almighty God, till I see you
again. I shall trust in God ; He will do all things for
the best. I am yours till death do us part.
BYNAR JONES.
Last letter to my wife from the land of bondage.
Wilmington, N. C., Aug. 30, 1849.
My Dear Wife—I have been quite sick for three
weeks, but, thank God, I am better at this time, and
hope these few lines will find you and the children all
well. I hope, my dear wife, that you have not got out
. of heart looking for me ; you know how it is here ; I
did think I would have got my money here before this
time. But I can't get it, and I will leave all and come
to you as soon as I can. So 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 in 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 tome. Now, you must
mind what I tell you, my dear wife, for if -you don't,
you will make it liard 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
46
NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.
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
I found on the second day that I could njt live out the
passage there. So I told the steward, and he took me
out in a state of great weakness, and stowed me away
in one of the state-rooms. Here I was discovered by
the captain. He charged me with being a runaway
slave, and sail he should send me back by the first op¬
portunity 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 wai
followed by a calm of several days; and then the wind
sprung up again, and the captain made for port at once.
I had reason to suspect, from the manner in1 which I
was guarded, after the ship came to anchor off 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 boards 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; 1 had the tide in my favor, and with its
help I had paddled 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 coming round not far from
me, came to my rescue. I was taken on board. They
asked me if I was a slave, and told me not to fear to
narrative of a refugee slave.
47
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 clothe3 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
my three dear little babes were clinging to my knees,
crying, " Pa has come: Pa has come." It was the
happy hour of my life. I then felt repaid for all my
troubles and toils to secure the freedom of my family
and my own.. O 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-trodden
sons and daughters of toil and want shall be free and
pious and happy.
I have but little more now to say. The Sabbath
after my arrival in Brooklyn, I preached in the morning
in the Bethel; I then came on to Hartford. A gentle¬
man 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 Massachu¬
setts than in Connecticut, I came on to Springfield, and
from thence to Boston, where I arrived, penniless and
friendless, the 7th of October. A generous friend took
me, though a stranger, in, and fed and cheered me.
He loaned me five dollars to get my dear family to
, 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. En¬
tirely destitute, without employment, I now met with a
48 NARRATIVE O? A F.EFUGEE SLAVE.
kind friend, who took me with him to Danvers. I lec¬
tured 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 Wesley an Church in Boston, and re¬
ceived a contribution of $3.83. During the week fol¬
lowing, I was assisted by the pastor of this Church, and
by several individual members. The next Sabbath I
spent with Brother Flanders, of Exeter, N. H. He
gave me a brother's warm welcome. I preached for him
in the Wesleyan Church, of which he is pastor, in the
morning, and lectured in the evening to a full and at¬
tentive house. Here I received a generous contribution
of nearly ten dollars. To-morrow is Thanksgiving
D^y. Go 1 will know, and He alone can know, the
deep and fervent gratitude and joy with which I shall
keep it, as I gather my friends, my dear family, around
me to celebrate the unspeakable goodness of God to
me, and to speak with swelling hearts of the kindness
of the dear friends who have poured upon our sadness
and fears the sunlight of sympathy, love and generous
aid. May the 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.
But alas ! it was not long before I found that I was
not yet free. I had not yet slipped from the ohain.
The Fugitive Slave Law drove me from my kind friends
in New England, and I found that my wanderings were
not yet ended. I took refuge in the British Provinces,
whfere God had provided a house of refuge for the
houseless, homeless slave. Tribulation and distress,
with many kind dealings of Providence and wonderful
deliverances, have since been my lot. I hope to be
able to tell in another narrative, of my adventures after
the close of this story, of the kindness of friends and
the goodness of God.
THOMAS E. JONES.