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

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LIBRARY OF

£J e&TS-

The Experience of

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 toward 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 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

30 narrative ok a refugee slave,

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 marriage was not permitted to the slaves as a sacred right of the loving heart. Lucilla was seventeen years old when we were married. I loved her with all my heart, and she gave me a return for my affection with which I was contented. Oh, God of love, thou 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 children increased the current feeling of love for each other, which filled our hearts. They were bright, precious things, those little babes ; at least so they seemed to us. Lucilla and I were never tired of planning to improve their condition, as far as might be done for slaves. We prayed with new 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 ? " 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

NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLA*E. 3 1

founded, as our sorrowing hearts too soon learned. A few years of very pure and constant happiness for slaves, passed away, and we were parted to meet but once again till we meet in eternity. Mrs. Moore left Wilmington, and moved to 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 months. And oh, how lonely and dreary and desponding were those months of lonely life to my crushed heart ! My dear wife and my precious children were seventy-four miles distant from me, carried away from me in utter scorn of my beseeching words. I was tempted to put an end to my wretched life. I thought of my dear family by day and by night. A deep despair was in my heart, such as no one is called to bear in such cruel, crushing power as the poor slave, severed forever from the objects of his love by the cupidity of his brother. But that dark time of despair passed away, and I saw once more my wife and children. Mrs. Moore left Newbern for Tuscaloosa, Ala., and passing through Wilmington on her journey, she spent one night in her old home. That night 1 passed with my wife and children. Lucilla had pined away under the agony of our separation, even more than I had done. That night she wept on my bosom, and we mingled bitter tears 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.

^Thanext morning Mrs. Moore embarked on board the packet. I followed my wife and children to the boat, and parted from them without a word of 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 1 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, imprisoned, 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 $150 per year, paid monthly. I rented a house 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 that terrible thought, "lama slave, my wife is a slave, my precious children are slaves," grew bitter and insupportable, just as the happiness in the society of my beloved home became more distinct and abounding. And this one cup of bitterness was ever at my lips. Hearts of kind sympathy and tender pity, did I not drain that cup of bitter woe to its very dregs, when my family were carried off into returnless exile, and I was left a heart-broken, lonely man ? Can you be still inactive while thousands are drinking that potion of despair every year in this land of schools and bibles ? After I parted from my family, I continued to toil on, but not as I had done before. My home was darker than the holds of the 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. Were 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 ? Is not the answer, the unqualified condemnation of the government and religion of this land ? I could not go into my cold, dark, cheerless house ; the sight of its deserted room was despair to my soul. So I worked on, taking jobs whenever I could get them, and working often till nearly morning, and never going to my home for rest till I could toil no more. And so I passed four years, and I began to feel that I could not live in utter loneliness any longer. My heart was still and always yearning for affection and sympathy and loving communion. My wife was torn from me. I had ceased to hope for another meeting with her in this world of oppression and suffering ; so I sat down and wrote to Lucilla, that I could live alone no longer, and saying to her the sad farewell, which we could not say when we were sundered. I asked Mary R. Moore to come and cheer me in my desolate home. She became my wife, and, thank God, she has been rescued from slavery by the blessing of God and my efforts to save her. She is now my wife, and she is with me to-day, and till death parts us, secure from the iron hand of slavery. Three of onr 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, inasmuch as the rulers of this place permit me to send my children to any school at all. After my second marriage, 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 purchased my wife for $350. We had before determined to try to accomplish this enterprise in order that our dear babes might be free. Besides I felt that I could not bear another cruel separation from my wife and children. Yet the dread of it was strong and unceasing upon my mind. So we made a box, and, through a hole in the top, we put in every piece of money, from five cents up to a dollar, that we could save from our hard earnings. This object nerved us for unceasing toil, for twenty months or about that time.

What hopes and fears beset us as those months wore away ! I have been compelled to hide that box in a hole dug for it, when I knew the patrollers were coming to search my cabin. For well did I know, if they found my box, I should be penniless again. How often have I started and turned, in sudden and terrible alarm, as I have dropped a piece of money into my box, and heard its loud ring upon the coin below, lest some prowling enemy should hear it, and steal from me my hoarded treasure I 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, O God, they have taken my box, and my wife and babes are still slaves ! " When my box was broken open, I still lacked a little of the $350 necessary to buy my wife. The kind friend who had promised to aid me in the contemplated purchase, made up the deficiency, and I became the owner of my wife. We had three children at this time, and oh, 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 incurable woe by the degradation of slavery, that his dear child is never to be a slave I Would to God the fathers of this nation were all possessed of a true consciousness of these things ; for then, surely, they would will and secure the immediate ending of human bondage.

After I had purchased my wife, we still worked hard and saved our earnings with great care, in order to get some property in hand for future use. As I saved my earnings, I got a white man whom I thought my friend (his name I choose to keep back for the present), to lay it out for me. In this way I became the owner of the cabin in which I lived, and two other small houses, all of which were held in the name of this supposed friend. He held them in his own name for me. A slave cannot hold property, I will here remark that I was deceived by this man ; and when I ran away from my chains, after sending on my family, I was compelled to sacrifice the whole of this property. I left it, because I could not get my own from his hands, and came off entirely destitute. Thank God, /got away, and now I have no tears to shed over the loss of my houses.

During the winter of 1848-9, a kind lady came and told me that some white men were plotting to enslave my 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 Legislature. 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 determined to do, if possible. I kept a good lookout for a vessel. I found one, and made a bargain with the captain to take on board for New York a free colored woman and her three children. A kind friend gave me a certificate of their freedom to the captain, and I brought my wife and children on board at night, paid the captain $25 for their fare, and staid on the wharf in torturing fear till about sunrise, when I saw the vessel under way. It was soon out of sight. When I went home, I threw myself on my knees, and poured out my soul to God, to carry that ship and its precious cargo safely and swiftly on to a free haven, and to guard and guide me soon to a free home with my beloved family. And so I kept on, praying, working, hoping, pining, for nearly three weeks, when I received the happy news that my dear ones were 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 arranged with Mary when she left, to come on myself as soon as I

T,6 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE.

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 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 design 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 letters which passed between me and my wife, while I remained in the land of bondage after her escape. These letters, with their post marks, are all in my possession, and can be examined by any one who may doubt their authenticity, or the fidelity with which they are here given. The kind friend who has written this narrative for me, has corrected some mistakes in the construction 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 n, 1S49.

My Dear Wife. — I write these few lines to inform you that 1 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

CharfT Sh. a m g ? d b 7 tiU * See him - X must n °t 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 T hop™ dear h lo'JtZZ and i aithfuI ; o ,, God - , Tell sister Chavis that He'nry will

money outVh er ™ h ^ t0 ^^ g °° d heart and he wlU send as she cZ £ l! -n " he , Says she must write to h ™ « soon hU ™ \ ^f, W,U n0t Stay lon 8 ^hind her. As soon as he gets his money he will come. I hope to see you all very soon. Tell my Brethermg to pray for me, that God may help me get he e safe and make my way clear before me. Help me by youfprayers that

£av £ To h tT T ? 1 br ° th u er R ° be ' t H - Cousins thafh" mu^ Sister Tn^ifJ for * i° n g tom eet him one time more in this world.

and «J tWv"" 1 Sband / 1Ve their loVe to you and sister Cha ™. and say that you must pray for them. Dear wife, you may look for

me soon But what way I will come, I can't tell you now You

Se°stvo? rme f i n t T hree WC t kS fl ° m n ° W - You Lst try and do the bes 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 hone to reach th t { d if T ^ ^ j want & P £ »*. for ^hope^

til' J, tmde a tr ny m ° re ^ thlS tiMe; bUt J remab ' y ° Ur d6ar

THOMAS JONES.

V^ S 'T^ ear W ' fe ' I - Want y0U t0 make out that y° u d °n't like New

write.' you wnte to me you must say s0 - Do mind how y° u

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

Wilmington, N. C , July 17, 1849.

My Dear Wife.-I write to tell you I am well, and I hope these few hnes will find you and the children well. I long to see you all

vo,? I 1 ,? 6 n° re - v D °. Pray f ° r me ' that God may he *P me to get to rZ f' t l° * sk *} ster *° P ra y ^e Lord to help m.. I will trust'in God, for I know that He is my friend, and He will help me. My dear wife, tell my children I say they must be good till I see them

^r T T re " f ??• m - y love t0 brother R - H - Cousi ns, and tell him I hope to meet him in two or three weeks from now. Then I can tell him all I want to say to him. Tell sister Chavis I say, do not come back to this place till I come. Her husband says he wants f er , to ,f ta [' and he Wl11 come on s °on. My dear wife, I want you to do the best you can till I come. I will come as soon as I can \ ou and sister Chavis must live together, for you went together, and and WK try to stay together Do give my love to sister Johnson and husband, and all of my fnends. 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 home soon. You know what I told you to do, and now you must not forget it when you write. I will send you some money in my next letter. I have not sold my houses yet, and if I can't sell, I will leave them all, and come to you and the children. I will trust in that God who can 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 en, and may God help them to go forth to glorious war. Tell them to see on the mountain top the standard of God. Tell them to follow their Captain, and be led to certain victory. Tell them I can but sing with my latest breath, happy, if I may to the last speak His name, preach Him to all, and cry, in death, "Behold the Lamb." Go on, my dear wife, and trust in God for all things.

I remain your husband,

THOMAS TONES.

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

Wilmington, N. C., July 25, 1849.

My Dear Wife. — Do tell my children they must be good children till I come to them ; and you, my dear wife, must do the best you can; for I don't know how I will come, but I will do the best I can for you. I hope God will help me, for if He don't, I don't know what I will do. My dear wife, I have not sold rr.y houses yet, but I will do the best I can. If I had money I would leave all I have and come, for I know the Lord will help me. It is for want of money that I can't come. But I hope, my dear wife, the Lord will help me out. Tell brother Cousins I hope he and all the people of God will pray for me ; and you, my dear wife, must not forget to pray for me. Ask 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.

I'. 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 x>f God, I will see you in a few days. Your husband is coming on soon, but I will be on before him. I would have been on before now, but I could not get my money. I have had a hard time to get money to leave with. I am sorry to hear that you think we can't get a living 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 children. Don't forget that God is ever present, for we must trust Him till death. Don't get out of heart, for I know we can live out there, if any one can. You may look for me before your 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.