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CHAPTER I.

I was born at Smithfield, about 46 miles from Wilmington, in the State of North Carolina, March 20th, 1847. As to who my father or mother were I do not know; I have no recollection of them.

The first distinct remembrances I have are when I had attained 12 years of age, at which period it was my duty to pick up sticks in the woods for fire-wood, my immediate mistress being Maria, the old cook. My master’s name at that time was Uriah Moss; he was a boat-builder by trade, and failed soon after the period at which my story begins. He mortgaged me to William Galloway, a store-keeper at Smithfield, for a term of six months, at the end of which he came for me ; but my life at the store had been so much happier than with my master, I did not want to go back, and showed unmistakably my great objection to doing so, whereupon he flogged me unsparingly, calling me many cruel names, and said, “You young villain, you will have to go with me ; I will teach you better manners than this.” I was compelled to return with him, and spent six months longer in abject bondage, at the end of which he failed a second time, and was irretrievably ruined. I was consequently sold to a planter, named Jesse Drew, who lived at Orton, which is situated upon the “old river” between Smithfield and Wilmington. With this man I stayed about two years.

CHAPTER II.

While under Jesse Drew, it was my Sunday task to go into the fields and scare the birds from the Indian corn and rice. During the winter I had to up-root and gather the sweet potatoes or yams, and rake straw. In the summer, to plough the ground for the reception of Indian corn, cotton, peas, and sugar-cane. During the autumn season, to strip fodder for the horses and cattle from the Indian corn stalks.

During this period my life was comparatively pleasant, and nothing of much importance took place; but my readers must understand that even with the best of masters slavery is a dreadful and intolerable yoke. May God in His infinite mercy soon banish it from our world.

CHAPTER III.

Jesse Drew sold me, as previously stated, when I had been in his service about two years, to a master named George Washington, for 825 dollars. While with him it was my lot to act as coachman and ostler; and when not required in either of these capacities, to go and work with the other negroes in the plantations, of which there were two—one at Green Swamp, and the other at a seaport named Five Points; they were about five miles apart.

By this master I was often treated very harshly, and often suffered for mere accidents—for instance, one day while engaged in ploughing, my ploughshare broke, which I could not help; it had, no doubt, been in use a long time. I told him it was quite an accident, and begged him to excuse me, for I saw he was very angry; but it was of no avail; he led me to a tree, tied me hand and foot to it, with my face towards the tree, rolled up my shirt (this long coarse shirt being the only garment lads were allowed until about eighteen years of age, when they were granted the privilege of trousers of the same character); having rolled up my garment about my neck, he flogged me until the blood streamed down my back, and then ordered some of the other negroes to wash me in salt and water, in order to cure my lacerated back as soon as possible, not that he cared what I suffered, but I could not work so soon if this was not done; but the suffering endured by such a proceeding can only be felt, it cannot be described.

CHAPTER IV.

About twelve months after the events related in the last chapter, the civil war broke out in America, and George Washington’s son was called upon to bear arms, of course in the Southern interest, and I was taken into the house to take charge of the store-house.

By this means I got to know more of my master’s ways, and being constantly about the house, having my eyes and ears open, was able to gather information as to his opinion of the other negroes, and gave valuable hints to them quietly, which, no doubt, saved them many a flogging or “bastinadoing.” The latter punishment is, if anything, more horrible than flogging.

It is inflicted by means of a flat board, with holes bored up and down it about the size of a marble. The negro to be punished is laid flat on his back, tied hand and foot, then he is “paddled” with this “paddle” or “bastinado” until his back is completely lacerated.

I have myself seen a man “paddled” until the skin came away with the “paddle” at every stroke. Let my readers thank God that they were born in a free country.

After awhile, my master seeing that I took very great notice of all he read from the newspapers, ordered me to go out when he read to his family, and was more especially particular to do so before he read any news concerning the tide of events at the seat of war; but I was too cunning for him. The house was a log-built house, and I knew of a chink between the logs, so that by going outside and putting my ear to it I could hear distinctly all that he read, which proved of great value to me afterwards.

CHAPTER V.

The allowance of food to each negro on Washington’s plantation was 5lbs. of meat, one peck of Indian corn meal, and a pint of molasses per week. This is a very scanty allowance for hard driven people. Towards the end of one week some of us had been so hungry that we ate all our provisions before the time, and asked master for more; but we were told we had received our quantity, and that no more would be given to us.

My master had a lot of nice pigs which it was part of my duty to feed, so I said to my buddies (brothers), “If massa won’t give us any more meat we’ll just kill a little pig,” and so the night following we ticed one away into the woods until we got it into the swamp—threw a sack over its head so that it could not squeal—knocked it down—stuck it—threw it into the water— took it out—dug a hole in the ground and covered the pig over with mud— lit a fire on the top of the mud. By this means the hair and outer skin of the pig were easily removed.

Then we got a stew-pot, cut up the pig and boiled some of it, the rest we hid away. But, alas! it proved very tough and unpalatable, so I said, “Buddies, this pig ain’t at all good, we’ll have something else,” and we arranged that on the following night we would kill a calf—for Mr. Washington had a large quantity of cattle.

So we drove one out of the shippon to the swamp, on which was a small island about half a mile from the house. We managed to get it on to this island, hauled it off its legs by means of a rope slung over a branch of a tree, then one of us struck it with an axe; but being somewhat frightened lest we should be discovered, we did not make a very successful job of it, consequently the calf bellowed very loudly, and set the cows in the shippon bellowing too. We were all very frightened indeed, and ran away, when one having more courage and presence of mind than the rest of us cried out, “Don’t run away, buddies, ’cause massa find us out.”

So we caught hold of the rope again and pulled it up, got it killed, hid its head, hide, entrails, &c, in the swamp, made a huge fire, boiled a portion in a large stew pan, and as it was very savoury, we enjoyed it very much. Next day we were all summoned before the master and interrogated respecting the calf which was missing; but although terribly frightened, we managed to keep our self-possession so far as not to be discovered, and told him we knew nothing about it at all—it must have strayed. Rebecca the cook, however, somewhat startled me one day by asking me if it was true that a number of us had killed and eaten the missing calf.

After a good deal of equivocation I confessed that we had, but found out that my master knew nothing of the affair, but she gave me to understand that if I did not do as she wanted me at any time, she would “split” about myself and companions. The first thing of much importance for which she required my services was in a pilfering expedition, which led to very serious consequences, and which I will relate in the next chapter.

Friends, the allegation has often been brought against negroes that they are naturally sly, deceitful, and prone to stealing; but I would ask what race of men without education, degraded in abject bondage, half-fed, hard worked, very often seven days a week, could help becoming of that character, more especially when they saw their tyrannical master living on the fat of the land?

CHAPTER VI.

One day Rebecca ran short of her allowance, or wanted a change, so she called me aside, and reminding me of my former escapade with the calf and my promise to obey her, said she wanted me to help her in stealing a German sausage and a side of bacon out of the smoke-house at midnight of the same day, to which I agreed.

So at twelve o’clock she and I climbed as quietly as possible upon the top of the roof, and managed to force up one of the shorter boards of it, which was entirely composed of wooden planks nailed down. I then held up the board while she got through, and let herself down inside the smoke-house. Having secured a suitable piece of bacon and a good German sausage, she handed them up to me, then having got out, she went down, and I threw the two articles, one at a time, into her lap.

However, a soldier happening to come by in want of provisions, Rebecca sold the bacon and sausage for seventy-five cents, with which she very unadvisedly no doubt, and very unfortunately, too (but anyone knows if a woman takes a fancy to any article of apparel she will have it if possible at whatever risk or cost), purchased a gingham dress.

Now, it was not the custom of the masters to provide the female negroes with anything else than their upper under garment and a plain linen gown, so that, as might have been anticipated, master soon noticed the unusual smart appearance of his cook.

On making inquiries from her, she stated it was a present from her sweetheart, a young man who lived on a plantation about ten miles off; but being dubious about this reply, he rode over and asked the young man if it was true that he had given Rebecca the dress.

However, she had calculated on that, and arranged with him to say—“Yes;” but still being dubious he returned, and asserted she must have stolen it from someone, and that he would make her tell, using much foul language to her, which it would not benefit my readers to repeat.

He then stripped her down to the waist, tied her hands and feet, and lashed her until blood streamed down her back, and saturated her garments, but she would not say a word more; no doubt he would have known she could not have stolen the bacon and sausage alone, and then I would have been implicated; but, alas! I had to suffer too, for master, seeing me in tears at her agony, flogged me as well.

Master’s wife, being angry at the “stupidity” of Rebecca, took the gingham dress, of which she had been divested, and threw it into the fire, whereupon Rebecca’s indignation became so great that she called her mistress some very hard names, the consequence of which was that she was flogged over again, which Rebecca took so badly that she fled, and got as far as Shallot, North Carolina, where, after a long chase with bloodhounds, she was “hunted down,” brought back, beaten again, put in irons, kept in a barn for a week, and fed on bread and water; her back was so lacerated that her under garment stuck into the wounds while she lay at night, so I stealthily got some pure lard, without salt, and rubbed her back all over with it, by which means she got it off and had it washed; but every night, while in this miserable and pitiable condition, did that hard-hearted master order her to be rubbed down with salt and water.

I became so down-hearted at what I had endured myself, and saw poor Rebecca suffer, that I tried to put an end to my miserable existence by eating the leaves of a poisonous plant, but the doctor was brought and the stomach-pump applied, but I was ill for a long time afterwards.

I went nearly mad, and ate clay to destroy myself, upon which my master got spirits of turpentine and clay mixed together, and forced it down my throat, in order that I might be sickened of it, and sick and heart-sore I was. God in His mercy watched over me and kept me, although at this time I was “without God and without hope in the world.” How sad that I was a slave, bodily and spiritually too—double bondage.

CHAPTER VII.

One day I overheard my master say to his family, “Don’t say a word to these niggers about those Men of War out in the harbour, for if you do they may get away, and if they reach them, they will be as free as we are.” Free! Free! Free! What a charm that word had for poor me; how it resounded in my heart—thrilled me through and through.

I studied my escape for a week, when I called three of my “buddies,” William, Fernie, and Pleasant, and told them what I had overheard master say about getting to the Men of War. I then laid down my plan of escape, which was that we should take horses from the stable, yoke one into the wagon, muffle the wagon wheels with straw, go down to Green Swamp, on which my master had a boat, go into the boathouse, get the boat upon the wagon, and drive straight down to the Creek, dismount, let the horses go, get into the boat, and row for our lives to the Men of War.

To this they all agreed, so at twelve o’clock that night, with watchful eyes, open ears, stealthy steps, and beating hearts, we wended our way to the stable. Every whistle of the wind made us quiver; every stir of a leaf caused us to start, but all was managed successfully; we opened a large Indian cornfield gate, and went on right through it to the Creek, as quick as we could make the horses go.

When we got to the side of the Creek, the tide was out, and as we had to cross (it would not do to go down the Creek for fear of detection), we were sore dismayed, for there was about fifteen yards of mud before we could reach the stream, and another strand of mud on the other side; but we managed to get the boat on the mud. Three of us got into it, and another pushed it out till he got up to his waist in the mud; then we pulled him into the boat.

Another of us got out and pushed it further, so on till we got to the stream, rowed across over the mud on the other side, till we reached the solid ground, scraped ourselves as best we could of the mud on our bodies, hoisted the boat on our shoulders; but, before doing so I crept to the shore to see if any of the coastguards were about, and found that we were mid-way between two of them, stationed about 100 yards apart, so we had to be careful lest we should attract attention.

We got about five yards from the shore, when bang! went a gun from one of the guards; bang! went another one from the other guard; both bullets whistled over our heads and “hissed” into the water. I told two to lie down in the bottom of the boat while two of us rowed. Bang! bang! and the bullets whistled past us while we rowed for life and liberty with a desperation and power well-nigh supernatural, till exhausted — one of those lying down came up and rowed instead—and so on till out of the reach of the gun shots.

Of course, the darkness somewhat shrouded us, and God, in His mercy, protected us. Like the children of Israel of old, when flying from the cruel bondage of Egypt, the good Lord caused the clouds of darkness to cover us from our enemies.

The morning began to dawn, and on we rowed till we could be seen by one of the sloops (which proved to be the “Stars and Stripes,” Captain Cook, of Philadelphia), when I tore a piece off my old shirt, and, fastening it to the end of an oar, waved it as a signal. Soon we had the joy of seeing the sloop steaming towards us and the delight of being taken on board. Then the captain ordered us to wash ourselves, throw our clothes—“those filthy rags,” as he called them—overboard, and we were clothed in a comfortable navy suit, were paid at the rate of ten dollars a month, and, blessed be God, free!

We stayed on that coast six weeks, where poor “Pleasant” fell ill, and although every care was taken of him by the worthy captain, he succumbed to scarlet fever, and was buried with all the ceremony of “burial at sea.”

CHAPTER VIII.

We steamed from Five Points to Beaufort, Norfolk, and on to Philadelphia, where the “Stars and Stripes” had to undergo repairs. The captain told us we could remain on service; only William did so. Fernie and myself landed, and I left him.

Another coloured man offered to accompany me on the way to New York, but first wanted to show me round Philadelphia, and then took me to a lodging-house, where we drank, and then went to bed. On waking in the morning my friend had gone, and my money and my shoes too, so I was obliged to walk barefoot in the bitter cold of December.

I started off to walk to New York, which, not knowing the direct way, took me over a week, sleeping in sheds, under haystacks, and living by begging, eating turnips, &c.

Arrived at New York, I spent the first night at a police station, where I laid me down with swollen and lacerated feet, as it had been both snowing and freezing hard. Next day I was hailed by a “runner,” or boarding-house master, who asked me if I wanted to go on board a ship. On my replying that I did, he took me to his house, and gave me something warm to eat and drink.

The following day he showed me a shipping office, and told me to say “yes” to all they asked me. So I went; and in answer to all questions I replied “yes,” among which were, “Do you want a ship?” “Are you an able-bodied seaman?” &c., &c. I got 47 dollars as my pay, which the boarding-master claimed from me for lodgings, an oil-skin coat, a pair of sea boots, and a sou’-wester, which transaction of course was a complete swindle.

However, we set sail, the vessel being “The Blenheim,” Captain Bates, bound for Liverpool. By and bye the captain ordered me aloft to reef the top royal sail, at which command I stared first at the top of the mast, and then at him.

He again ordered me aloft, but I shook my head; I had never been up a mast in my life, and dare not go. He then asked me if I did not engage as an able-bodied seaman, to which I told him the “runner” had instructed me to say yes to all I was asked, and it would be right.

He then called the second mate, who showed me round the vessel, and told me the names of the ropes, &c., and when I forgot any of them he took the rope end to me. He then brought me to the foot of the mast and ordered me up, but of course I would not go; so he took the rope to me until I did go, and chased me up to the top, beating me all the way.

I ran up, got to the top, dodged to the other side of the mast, and, slipping down a rope, ran into the men’s cabin in the forecastle, where I was safe, as the sailors would not allow him to come in. I got to know the ropes, &c., better after awhile, but “Darkie” got kicked about a good deal all the way to Brunswick Dock, Liverpool. We were twenty-eight days on the voyage from New York. Although I did not know where Liverpool was when I set sail, the good Lord took care of me and directed me.

CHAPTER IX.

Landed at Liverpool, a boarding-house master came on board and took the baggage of most of the sailors, so I slung my few odds and ends into the cart, and got in too. By and bye he asked me if I had any money. I said, “No.” “Well,” said he, “I can’t take you into my house.” He then sold by auction my few traps for a shilling, and told me he required that for the carriage. Here I was (December, 1862)—no money, no friends, nothing. Now I know of the dear friend in heaven—the Lord Jesus—but I didn’t then, so I was sad and downcast.

I slept in outhouses, water-closets, timber-yards, &c., and each morning I roamed about the ashpits for bits of bread, potato peelings, anything I could eat for my breakfast; sometimes I managed to beg an odd meal. Footsore, cold, hungry, and weary I lived, or shall I say existed, a fortnight. One day I saw a man with a piece of bread, and I could not help asking him for it. He gave it me—about a quarter of a pound—but some lads “set” on me, took my bread away, pulled my hat off, and ill-used me.

A policeman got my hat back, but no bread. I asked two policemen for a trifle, they told me they could lock me up. I said I could not help asking, I was starving, so they gave me twopence halfpenny, with which I bought some meal. I asked a woman to allow me to cook it, which she did. She suggested I should pawn my boots instead of starving, and she lent me a pair of slippers while she went out with them.

As she was a long while away I went out to look for her, and when I came back her door was locked, and my sea boots were gone for nothing, I was now worse than ever— cotton stockings and a pair of slippers in bleak December, friendless and homeless, roaming the streets of Liverpool.

I walked over to Southport, and finding nothing to do, walked by Ormskirk to St. Helens, on to Warrington, thence to Manchester; again on to Wigan, Huddersfield, Leeds, York, Beverley, and Hull, where I took to singing, dancing, and rattlebones, which I found was easier and pleasanter than begging. From Hull I came through Sheffield, &c., to Swansea, went on board a vessel, as cook, to Alicant, in Spain; came back, sailed to Glasgow, and spent my money in drinking, &c., tramped again through Whitehaven, West Hartlepool, Sunderland, Bristol, Worcester, Yarmouth, Oxford, Cambridge, Nottingham, Leicester, Birmingham. Walsall, to Sheffield, where I picked up with Chuckey Harris’s Boxing Tent, where I met with the celebrated fighter, Bendigo.

It was my place to be the sparring man—otherwise be the butt for anyone to spar at, and becoming sick of the ill-treatment and boxing I got, I left it. I may just state here that, having had practical experience of boxing tents, &c., they are the most abominable places, and the language used, the life led, and the scenes enacted, are of the most detestable character. I wandered about once more “busking” at the public-houses, &c., until I reached Oldham in September, 1866. I looked about for work, and went to Messrs. Dawson & Stanier, Flat Top Foundry. Mr. Stanier gave me one shilling to go on with, and I worked there for six months. I next went to Messrs. Platt Bros. & Co.

CHAPTER X.

While working at Messrs. Platt’s, a man named Taylor drew my attention to the fact that the Sheffield Hallelujah Band was in Oldham, and said, “Don’t you think it’s time you began to lead a different life?” I replied, “I’m right enough.” He and his wife kneeled down and prayed for me there and then that I might be saved.

They asked me to go to a meeting of the Band that night—it was Saturday. I never saw anything like it before. Men singing, and praying, and shouting “Glory be to God,” &c. On coming back he prayed and asked me to pray. I told him I did not know what to say He asked me to repeat after him, “Our Father which art in Heaven,” &c, which I did.

On the Monday there was a “fellowship” meeting. Taylor asked me to go with him; I would not. He left me in charge of his shop. After he had gone I locked the door, and kneeled down and prayed, and wept, and determined I would find out this “great joy,” “blessed peace,” “perfect rest,” &c., so I prayed over and over again the prayers I had been taught by Taylor, but this “glorious joy” did not come to me that night, although I felt quite satisfied about saying my prayers. Taylor asked me to pray, after he had done so, before going to bed, and I did my best.

They wanted me to go to their “fellowship” meetings. I went once; but as I could not read, everyone stared at me, and I told them I would not go again to be like a “dummy,” and more especially as the men at the shop began to call me “Hallelujah Jim.” I came to the conclusion that instead of “peace” this sort of work was causing me a “very deal” of trouble.

I started attending the Oldham church, occasionally going to meetings of the Hallelujah Band at the Co-operative Hall. At last I slipped into the Town Hall services, conducted by Mr. Street, where light began to dawn more fully into my soul; and one night, in the after meeting, I heard them singing, “Oh, the Lamb, the bleeding Lamb,” when I realised that “The blood of Jesus Christ, God’s Son, cleansed ‘me’ from all sin.”

Oh, gladsome day, when I was able to say, Free from the slavery of the master in America—the master of my body. But what a still more glorious one when I realised I was free from the soul-master—the devil Now I am free, body and soul; praise the Lord for His goodness. For six years I sat and never opened my mouth for the Lord. The first time I spoke for the Lord of Life and Glory was about four years ago, in the Old Court Room, Ashton. Since, at many places in and around Oldham, many souls have professed to find peace, while I have told “The old, old story of Jesus and His love.”

I was married in 1869 to Sarah Preston, through whose instrumentality and patience I have acquired the blessed boons of being able to read and write.

Dear reader in conclusion, are you a born free-man and yet a slave—a slave to sin—a slave to that hard task master—the devil. If so, I entreat of you to “Come to Jesus just now.” He will make you free through the blood of His cross, for “He was wounded and bruised for our transgressions, and by His stripes we are healed” If you are a Christian—“Freely you have received, freely give.’

“Hallelujah for ever. Amen.”