The Freedmen's Book Part 7

She faded from our vision, Like a thing of love and light; But we feel she lives forever, A spirit pure and bright.

KINDNESS TO ANIMALS.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.

There are not many people who are conscientious about being kind in their relations with human beings; and therefore it is not surprising that still fewer should be considerate about humanity to animals. But the Father of all created beings made dumb creatures to enjoy existence in their way, as he made human beings to enjoy life in their way. We do wrong in his sight if we abuse them, or keep them without comfortable food and shelter. The fact that they cannot speak to tell of what they suffer makes the sad expression of their great patient eyes the more touching to any compa.s.sionate heart. Fugitive slaves, looking out mournfully and wearily upon a cold, unsympathizing world, have often reminded me of overworked and abused oxen; for though slaves were endowed by their Creator with the gift of speech, their oppressors have made them afraid to use it to complain of their wrongs. In fact, they have been in a more trying situation than abused oxen, for they have been induced by fear to use their gift of speech in professions of contentment with their bondage. Therefore, those who have been slaves know how to sympathize with the dumb creatures of G.o.d; and they, more than others, ought to have compa.s.sion on them. The great and good Toussaint l'Ouverture was always kind to the animals under his care, and I consider it by no means the smallest of his merits.

It is selfish and cruel thoughtlessness to stand laughing and talking, or to be resting at ease, while horses or oxen are tied where they will be tormented by flies or mosquitos. Last summer I read of a horse that was left fastened in a swamp, where he could not get away from the swarm of venomous insects, which stung him to death, while his careless, hard-hearted driver was going about forgetful of him. It would trouble my conscience ever afterward if I had the death of that poor helpless animal to answer for.

There is a difference in the natural disposition of animals, as there is in the dispositions of men and women; but, generally speaking, if animals are bad-tempered and stubborn, it is owing to their having been badly treated when they were young. When a horse has his mouth hurt by jerking his bridle, it irritates him, as it irritates a man to be violently knocked about; and in both cases such treatment produces an unwillingness to oblige the tormentor. Lashing a horse with a whip, to compel him to draw loads too heavy for his strength, makes him angry and discouraged; and at last, in despair of getting any help for his wrongs, he stands stock still when he finds himself fastened to a heavy load, and no amount of kicking or beating will make him stir. He has apparently come to the conclusion that it is better to be killed at once than to die daily. Slaves, who are under cruel taskmasters, also sometimes sink down in utter discouragement, and do not seem to care for being whipped to death. The best way to cure the disheartened and obstinate laborer is to give him just wages and kind treatment; and the best way to deal with the discouraged and stubborn horse is to give him light loads and humane usage.

It is a very bad custom to whip a horse when he is frightened. It only frightens the poor creature all the more. Habits of running when frightened, or of sheering at the sight of things to which they are not accustomed, is generally produced in horses by mismanagement when they are colts. By gentle and rational treatment better characters are formed, both in animals and human beings. There was a gentleman in the neighborhood of Boston who managed colts so wisely, that all who were acquainted with him wanted a horse of his training. He was very firm with the young animals; he never allowed them to get the better of him; but he was never in a pa.s.sion with them. He cured them of bad tricks by patient teaching and gentle words; holding them tight all the while, till they did what he wanted them to do. When they became docile, he rubbed their heads, and patted their necks, and talked affectionately to them, and gave them a handful of oats. In that way, he obtained complete control over them. He never kicked them, or jerked their mouths with the bridle; he never whipped them, or allowed a whip to be used; and the result was that they learned to love him, and were always ready to do as he bade them.

I have read of a horse that was so terrified by the sound of a drum, that if he heard it, even from a distance, he would run furiously and smash to pieces any carriage to which he was harnessed. In consequence of this, he was sold very cheap, though he was a strong, handsome animal. The man who sold him said he had whipped and whipped him, to cure him of the trick, but it did no good. People laughed at the man who bought him, and said he had thrown money away upon a useless and dangerous creature; but he replied, "I have some experience in horses, and I think I can cure him."

He resolved to use no violence, but to deal rationally and humanely with the animal, as he would like to be dealt with if he were a horse.

He kept him without food till he had become very hungry, and then he placed a pan of oats before him on the top of a drum. As soon as he began to eat, the man beat upon the drum. The horse reared and plunged and ran furiously round the enclosure. He was led back to the stable without any provender. After a while, oats were again placed before him on the top of a drum. As soon as the drum was beaten, the horse reared and ran away. I suppose he remembered the terrible whippings he had had whenever he heard a drum, and so he thought the thing that made the noise was an enemy to him. The third time the experiment was tried, he had become excessively hungry. He p.r.i.c.ked up his ears and snorted when he heard the sound of the drum; but he stood still and looked at the oats wistfully, while the man played a loud, lively tune. Finding the noise did him no harm, he at last ventured to taste of the oats, and his owner continued to play all the while he was eating. When the breakfast was finished, he patted him on the neck and talked gently to him. For several days his food was given to him in the same way. He was never afraid of the sound of a drum afterward. On the contrary, he learned to like it, because it made him think of sweet oats.

The fact is, reasonable and kind treatment will generally produce a great and beneficial change in vicious animals as well as in vicious men.

JAMES FORTEN.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.

James Forten was born in 1766, nearly a hundred years ago. His ancestors had lived in Pennsylvania for several generations, and, so far as he could trace them, they had never been slaves. In his boyhood the war of the American Revolution began. The States of this Union were then colonies of Great Britain. Being taxed without being represented in the British Parliament, they remonstrated against it as an act of injustice.

The king, George the Third, was a dull, obstinate man, disposed to be despotic. The loyal, respectful pet.i.tions of the Colonies were treated with indifference or contempt; and at last they resolved to become independent of England. When James Forten was about fourteen years old he entered into the service of the Colonial navy, in the ship Royal Louis, commanded by Captain Decatur, father of the celebrated commodore.

It was captured by the British ship Amphion, commanded by Sir John Beezly. Sir John's son was on board, as midshipman. He was about the same age as James Forten; and when they played games together on the deck, the agility and skill of the brown lad attracted his attention.

They became much attached to each other; and the young Englishman offered to provide for the education of his colored companion, and to help him on in the world, if he would go to London with him. But James preferred to remain in the service of his native country. The lads shed tears at parting, and Sir John's son obtained a promise from his father that his friend should not be enlisted in the British army. This was a great relief to the mind of James; for his sympathies were on the side of the American Colonies, and he knew that colored men in his circ.u.mstances were often carried to the West Indies and sold into Slavery. He was transferred to the prison-ship Old Jersey, then lying near New York. He remained there, through a raging pestilence on board, until prisoners were exchanged.

After the war was over, he obtained employment in a sail-loft in Philadelphia, where he soon established a good character by his intelligence, honesty, and industry. He invented an improvement in the management of sails, for which he obtained a patent. As it came into general use, it brought him a good deal of money. In process of time, he became owner of the sail-loft, and also of a good house in the city. He married a worthy woman, and they brought up a family of eight children.

But though he had served his country faithfully in his youth, though he had earned a hundred thousand dollars by his ingenuity and diligence, and though his character rendered him an ornament to the Episcopal Church, to which he belonged, yet so strong was the mean and cruel prejudice against his color, that his family were excluded from schools where the most ignorant and vicious whites could place their children.

He overcame this obstacle, at great expense, by hiring private teachers in various branches of education.

By the unrivalled neatness and durability of his work, and by the uprightness of his character, he obtained extensive business, and for more than fifty years employed many people in his sail-loft. Being near the water, he had opportunities, at twelve different times, to save people from drowning, which he sometimes did at the risk of his own life. The Humane Society of Philadelphia presented him with an engraving, to which was appended a certificate of the number of people he had saved, and the thanks of the Society for his services. He had it framed and hung in his parlor; and when I visited him, in 1835, he pointed it out to me, and told me he would not take a thousand dollars for it. He likewise told me of a vessel engaged in the slave-trade, the owners of which applied to him for rigging. He indignantly refused; declaring that he considered such a request an insult to any honest or humane man. He always had the cause of the oppressed colored people warmly at heart, and was desirous to do everything in his power for their improvement and elevation. He early saw that colonizing free blacks to Africa would never abolish Slavery; but that, on the contrary, it tended to prolong its detestable existence. He presided at the first meeting of colored people in Philadelphia, to remonstrate against the Colonization Society. He was an earnest and liberal friend of the Anti-Slavery Society; and almost the last words he was heard to utter were expressions of love and grat.i.tude to William Lloyd Garrison for his exertions in behalf of his oppressed race. He never drank any intoxicating liquor, and was a steadfast supporter of the Temperance Society. Being of a kindly and humane disposition, he espoused the principles of the Peace Society. His influence and pure example were also given to those who were striving against licentiousness. Indeed, he was always ready to a.s.sist in every good word and work.

He died in 1842, at the age of seventy-six years. His funeral procession was one of the largest ever seen in Philadelphia; thousands of people, of all cla.s.ses and all complexions, having united in this tribute of respect to his character.

THE MEETING IN THE SWAMP.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.

In 1812 there was war between the United States and Great Britain; and many people thought it likely that a portion of the British army would land in some part of the Southern States and proclaim freedom to the slaves. The more intelligent portion of the slaves were aware of this, and narrowly watched the signs of the times.

Mr. Duncan, of South Carolina, was an easy sort of master, generally thought by his neighbors to be too indulgent to his slaves. One evening, during the year I have mentioned, he received many requests for pa.s.ses to go to a great Methodist meeting, and in every instance complied with the request. After a while, he rang the bell for a gla.s.s of water, but no servant appeared. He rang a second time, but waited in vain for the sound of coming footsteps. Thinking over the pa.s.ses he had given, he remembered that all the house-servants had gone to Methodist meeting.

Then it occurred to him that Methodist meetings had lately been more frequent than usual. He was in the habit of saying that his slaves were perfectly contented, and would not take their freedom if he offered it to them; nevertheless the frequency of Methodist meetings made him a little uneasy, and brought to mind a report he had heard, that the British were somewhere off the coast and about to land.

The next morning, he took a ride on horseback, and in a careless way asked the slaves on several plantations where was the Methodist meeting last night. Some said it was in one place, and some in another,--a circ.u.mstance which made him think still more about the report that the British were going to land. He bought a black mask for his face, and a suit of negro clothes, and waited for another Methodist meeting. In a few days his servants again asked for pa.s.ses, and he gave them. When the last one had gone, he put on his disguise and followed them over field and meadow, through woods and swamps. The number of dark figures steering toward the same point continually increased. If any spoke to him as they pa.s.sed, he made a very short answer, in the words and tones common among slaves. At last they arrived at an island in the swamp, surrounded by a belt of deep water, and hidden by forest-trees matted together by a luxuriant entanglement of vines. A large tree had been felled for a bridge, and over this dusky forms were swarming as thickly as ants into a new-made nest. After pa.s.sing through a rough and difficult path, they came out into a large level s.p.a.ce, surrounded by majestic trees, whose boughs interlaced, and formed a roof high overhead, from which hung down long streamers of Spanish moss. Under this canopy were a.s.sembled hundreds of black men and women. Some were sitting silent and thoughtful, some eagerly talking together, and some singing and shouting. The blaze of pine torches threw a strong light on some, and made others look like great black shadows.

Mr. Duncan felt a little disturbed by the strange, impressive scene, and was more than half disposed to wish himself at home. For some time he could make nothing out of the confused buzz of voices and chanting of hymns. But after a while a tall man mounted a stump and requested silence. "I suppose most all of ye know," said he, "that at our last meeting we concluded to go to the British, if we could get a chance; but we didn't all agree what to do about our masters. Some said we couldn't keep our freedom without we killed the whites, but others didn't like the thoughts of that. We've met again to-night to talk about it. An'

now, boys, if the British land here in Caroliny, what shall we do about our masters?"

As he sat down, a tall, fierce-looking mulatto sprang upon the stump, at one leap, and exclaimed: "Scourge _them_, as they have scourged _us_.

Shoot _them_, as they have shot _us_. Who talks of mercy to our masters?"

"I do," said an aged black man, who rose up tottering, as he leaned both hands on a wooden staff,--"I do; because the blessed Jesus always talked of mercy. They shot my bright boy Joe, an' sold my pretty little Sally; but, thanks to the blessed Jesus! I feel it in my poor old heart to forgive 'em. I've been member of a Methodist church these thirty years, an' I've heard many preachers, white and black; an' they all tell me Jesus said, Do good to them that do evil to you, an' pray for them that spite you. Now I say, Let us love our enemies; let us pray for 'em; an'

when our masters flog us, let us sing,--

'You may beat upon my body, But you cannot harm my soul.

I shall join the forty thousand by and by.'"

When the tremulous chant ceased, a loud altercation arose. Some cried out for the blood of the whites, while others maintained that the old man's doctrine was right. Louder and louder grew the sound of their excited voices, and the disguised slaveholder hid himself away deeper among the shadows. In the midst of the confusion, a young man of graceful figure sprang on the stump, and, throwing off a coa.r.s.e cotton frock, showed his back and shoulders deeply gashed by a whip and oozing with blood. He made no speech, but turned round and round slowly, while his comrades held up their torches to show his wounds. He stopped suddenly, and said, with stern brevity, "Blood for blood."

"Would you murder 'em all?" inquired a timid voice. "Dey don't _all_ cruelize us."

"Dar's Ma.s.sa Campbell," pleaded another. "He neber hab his boys flogged.

You wouldn't murder _him_, would you?"

"No, no," shouted several voices; "we wouldn't murder _him_."

"I wouldn't murder _my_ master," said one of Mr. Duncan's slaves. "I don't want to work for him for nothin'; I'se done got tired o' that; but he sha'n't be killed, if I can help it; for he's a good master."

"Call him a good master if ye like," said the youth with the bleeding shoulders. "If the white men don't cut up the backs that bear their burdens, if they don't shoot the limbs that make 'em rich, some are fools enough to call 'em good masters. What right have they to sleep in soft beds, while we, who do all the work, lie on the hard floor? Why should I go in coa.r.s.e rags, to clothe my master in broadcloth and fine linen, when he knows, and I know, that we are sons of the same father?

Ye may get on your knees to be flogged, if ye like; but I'm not the boy to do it." His high, bold forehead and flashing eye indicated an intellect too active, and a spirit too fiery, for Slavery. The listeners were spell-bound by his superior bearing, and for a while he seemed likely to carry the whole meeting in favor of revenge. But the aged black, leaning on his wooden staff, made use of every pause to repeat the words, "Jesus told us to return good for evil"; and his gentle counsel found response in many hearts.

A short man, with roguish eyes and a laughing mouth, rose up and looked round him with an expression of drollery that made everybody begin to feel good-natured. After rubbing his head a little, he said: "I don't know how to talk like Bob, 'cause I neber had no chance. But I'se _thought_ a heap. Many a time I'se axed myself how de white man always git he foot on de black man. Sometimes I tink one ting, and sometimes I tink anoder ting; and dey all git jumbled up in my head, jest like seed in de cotton. At last I finds out how de white man always git he foot on de black man." He took from his old torn hat a bit of crumpled newspaper, and smoothing it out, pointed at it, while he exclaimed: "_Dat's_ de way dey do it! Dey got de _knowledge_; and dey don't let poor n.i.g.g.e.r hab de knowledge. May be de British lan', and may be de British no lan'. But I tell ye, boys, de white man can't keep he foot on de black man, ef de black man git de knowledge. I'se gwine to tell ye how I got de knowledge. I sot my mind on larning to read; but my ole boss he's de most begrudgfullest ma.s.sa, an' I knows he wouldn't let me larn. So when I sees leetle ma.s.sa wid he book, I ax him, 'What you call dat?' He tell me dat's A. So I take ole newspaper, an' ax missis, 'May I hab dis to rub de boots?' She say yes. Den, when I find A, I looks at him till I knows him bery well. Den I ax leetle ma.s.sa, 'What you call dat?' He say dat's B. I looks at him till I knows him bery well. Den I find C A T, an' I ax leetle ma.s.sa what dat spell; an' he tell me _cat_.

Den, after a great long time, I read de newspaper. An' dar I find out dat de British gwine to lan'. I tells all de boys; and dey say mus' hab Methodist meetin'. An' what you tink dis n.i.g.g.e.r did todder day? You know Jim, Ma.s.sa Gubernor's boy? Wal, I wants mighty bad to tell Jim dat de British gwine to lan'; but he lib ten mile off, and ole boss nebber let me go. Wal, Ma.s.sa Gubernor come to ma.s.sa's, an' I bring he hoss to de gate. I makes bow, and says, 'How Jim do, Ma.s.sa Gubernor?' He tells me Jim bery well. Den I tells him Jim and I was leetle boy togeder, an' I wants to sen' Jim someting. He tells me Jim hab 'nuff ob eberyting. I says, 'O yes, Ma.s.sa Gubernor, I knows you good ma.s.sa, and Jim hab eberyting he want. But Jim an' I was leetle boy togeder, and I wants to sen' Jim some backy.' Ma.s.sa Gubernor laugh an' say, 'Bery well, Jack.'

So I gibs him de backy in de bery bit ob newspaper dat tell de British gwine to lan'. I marks it wid brack coal, so Jim be sure to see it. An'

Ma.s.sa Gubernor hisself carry it! Ma.s.sa Gubernor hisself carry it! I has to laugh ebery time I tinks on't."

He clapped his hands, shuffled with his feet, and ended by rolling heels over head, with peals of laughter. The mult.i.tude joined loudly in his merriment, and it took some time to restore order. There was a good deal of speaking afterward, and some of it was violent. A large majority were in favor of being merciful to the masters; but all, without exception, agreed to join the British if they landed.

With thankfulness to Heaven, Mr. Duncan again found himself in the open field, alone with the stars. Their glorious beauty seemed to him clothed in new and awful power. Groups of shrubbery took startling forms, and the sound of the wind among the trees was like the unsheathing of swords. He never forgot the lesson of that night. In his heart he could not blame his bondmen for seeking their liberty, and he felt grateful for the merciful disposition they had manifested toward their oppressors; for alone that night, in the solemn presence of the stars, his conscience told him that Slavery _was_ oppression, however mild the humanity of the master might make it. He did not emanc.i.p.ate his slaves; for he had not sufficient courage to come out against the community in which he lived. He felt it a duty to warn his neighbors of impending danger; but he could not bring himself to reveal the secret of the meeting in the swamp, which he knew would cause the death of many helpless creatures, whose only crime was that of wishing to be free.

After a painful conflict in his mind, he contented himself with advising the magistrates not to allow any meetings of the colored people for religious purposes until the war was over.

I have called him Mr. Duncan, but I have in fact forgotten his name.

Years after he witnessed the meeting in the swamp, he gave an account of it to a gentleman in Boston, and I have stated the substance of it as it was told to me.