I had no education, and no opportunity was given me of procuring any. All that could be learned by the average slave was that which could be gathered from listening to and treasuring up the scraps of conversation we could overhear when our owners were talking together. Having heard so much of this grand country which lay to the north, I became imbued with the resolution to improve the first opportunity and try to find my way to it and freedom.

Many acts of brutality on the part of my master and his overseers occurred during the fourteen years I stayed with Mr. Allen, and one in particular impressed itself on my mind and showed to me the vital necessity of escaping to freedom if I ever wished to call my life my own. On one broiling hot day in midsummer my master called a poor slave out of the cane-field, and for no appreciable cause had an overseer shave his head and afterwards flog him with his blacksnake whip. After the flogging a tight-fitting cap, lined with tar and pitch, was placed on the poor fellow's head, and he was compelled to stand in the hot, torturing sun until he fell to the ground. A few strokes of the lash not serving to revive him, an examination was made, when it was found that the poor slave was dead. His lifeless body was coolly kicked into a corner of the fence and left there until sundown, when some of his fellows were sent to give him a hurried and unblest burial.

Another poor slave was whipped until he couldn't stand because my master caught him in the act of prayer; and a white man, caught teaching the slaves to read and pray, was shot down like a dog.

Opoliceman, a “guardian of the peace,” was what may be called the public whipper. He received a fee of fifty cents per head for every man, woman, boy or girl he flogged. This fee was in addition to his regular salary as a constable, and he found constant employment.

I have seen children taken from their parents with as little compunction as one would exhibit in taking the calf from the cow. I have seen the young woman sold to the buyer, and he in turn would traffic in her charms; the young man taken from his wife and sold to a buyer from a distant part of the States; and one old woman's son was taken from her, tied by a rope around his neck to the pommel of his new owner's saddle, and compelled to leave his poor old mother, probably never more to see her alive.

Hundreds of acts of equally brutal a nature could be told had I the inclination to indulge in a recital of all the horrible events I saw during the days of my captivity, but my book is not intended to deal with the lives of slaves at large, but purely a personal narrative.

Late in the fall of the year 1860 the opportunity of escaping— so long watched and patiently waited for—offered itself, and in company with three other slaves I started upon my perilous journey. Necessity compelled that our road should be far removed from the highways, as large handbills, offering rewards for our capture, were freely distributed, and to be seen meant to be taken and returned to our former homes and punished terribly as an example to the other hands on the plantation and as a warning of the fate that awaited any who desired to take their liberty out of the hands of their oppressors.

We three travelled continually onward towards Canada and freedom, sometimes being hounded from swamp to swamp and bush to bush, and frequently being compelled to ford and swim streams in our efforts to throw the dogs off our tracks. On one occasion, about three months after having started on the hunt for that God-given gift—Liberty, we were nearly overtaken by a pack of hounds, and were compelled to strike out across country and each man shift for himself. Having been in my youth a remarkably rapid runner, I soon left my companions far behind, and I cannot say whether they escaped, were captured, or died from starvation and exposure.

I was now forced to continue my way alone, and under those circumstances was it to be marvelled at that the country through which I passed should appear, to my eyes, to be the most dismal on the face of the earth? To add to my sufferings and discomfort I had to encounter the rigors of winter weather. The ice, sleet and snow were unknown quantities to the slave, who had never before ventured so far north from the place of his birth, and the experience was by no means a pleasant one, unprovided as I was with clothing suitable for cold weather. My means of subsistence consisted of everything that I could in any way obtain, and many a meal have I had from men of my own nationality who endangered their own safety in order to appease the pangs of hunger which assailed me.

One night, after having journeyed all day long, I saw a house standing by itself in a small clearing, and after having taken a close survey of the surroundings and having seen nothing of an alarming nature, I made bold to go to the door and ask for something to eat. A white man answered my summons at the door, and on making known my wants he invited me to enter his house and rest myself while he procured me something to eat, at the same time telling me he was an Abolitionist and a friend to all colored men. The only other occupant of the place at that time was the little child of the man, a girl about three years of age. The man busied himself preparing my meal, and my attention being taken up by the antics of the child, my entertainer managed, unknown to me, to send word to a couple of slave hunters who were in his neighborhood, that there was an escaping slave at his house. Imagine my surprise, when, after having watched the child at play for some time, I accidentally raised my eyes towards the front door, to see the doorway filled by the forms of the two slave-hunters with rifles levelled at my breast, and at the same time hear a stern command to remain where I was on peril of my life.

Quicker than thought was my action. Not waiting to reply to them, I suddenly reached forward and raised the little child from the floor, and holding her between my body and the rifles of my pursuers, I backed to the rear door of the house, darted into the yard, dropped the child to the ground, and ran for the woods at top speed, but, unfortunately, I did not escape unhurt, one of the marksmen being kind enough to leave his card in the shape of a wound along the tips of my fingers, where his rifle bullet hit me.

After dodging and doubling about the bush for a long time they gave up the search for me, and I was enabled to procure some rest in a clump of bushes, which afforded me a safe hiding-place. Soon after entering my retreat I heard a sound somewhat resembling a cough, and, peering out from the bushes, I saw a colored woman who appeared to be trying to find something or somebody. After having watched her actions for some time, I determined to make my presence known to her, with the result that I found I was the one she was searching for. Her name was Taylor, and she was the wife of the man who owned her. Their place of residence was near enough to where I had been betrayed an dso nearly captured to allow of them hearing the rifle shots, and surmising that some poor slave may be running away, she set out from home to endeavor to be of some assistance.

I was afraid of another trap, but became assured after a time that I had nothing to fear from Mrs. Taylor. She and her daughter, a fine, grown young woman, took me to the house, bound up my wounds, hid me in an out-of-the-way place, fed, clothed and cared for me till I was in fit condition to take the road again and shift for myself.

Previous to starting out from the plantation of Mr. Allen I had secured a revolver which at times stood me in good stead, and to which I was fortunate enough to cling through all my vicissitudes, and which trusty weapon I still possess.

After leaving the hospitable roof of the Taylor family my way led along the banks of a small river, and as I was fortunate enough to secure a boat which some one had left moored to a tree, I was able to proceed much more comfortably upon my journey. For some nights I followed the river course, being compelled to secrete my boat in the daytime and betake myself to the bush or some hole in the rocks until night made it safe for me to stir abroad again. One day soon after leaving Taylor's house, I was terrified to see a small boat, containing three men, coming down stream and heading directly for the spot in which my best friend at that time—my boat—was hidden. In a few minutes they again appeared to view with my boat in tow, and I was again reduced to the necessity of walking. On the following Saturday night I resumed my tramp as soon as darkness settled down. I followed the river bank, keeping a sharp lookout for means of conveyance by water, as it left no trail, and I was soon favored by fortune in the shape of another boat which I unhesitatingly confiscated to my own use.

In the morning (Sunday) I left my boat and struck off through the country on foot. I was now in the State of Pennsylvania. I walked on all day, and at night I was near the borders of Pittsburg.On going to a farmhouse I found some kind friends in the persons of the farmer and his family. Their name was Butler, and as Mr. B. was fond of music he asked me could I play an instrument. Fortunately I could play a little on the violin, and as there happened to be one in the house I was enabled, in a small measure, to repay him for his kindness to me. He insisted on my remaining all night, and after a sleep in a comfortable bed, he gave me a hearty breakfast and I again resumed my tramp much refreshed. I travelled all day Monday, meeting with no hindrances, and at night I again found shelter.

On the Tuesday morning I passed through a small village and chanced to meet two men on horseback. They stopped me and wanted to know who I was and where I was going. I gave a fictitious name and stated that I was going on an errand. My questioner wasn't disposed to credit my story, and charged me with being a runaway slave. I denied the soft impeachment and offered to go back with them to the village to prove the truth of my story. My little scheme to deceive them wouldn't work, and one of the men dismounted in order to secure me, but the sight of a dirk in the hands of a powerful young colored man induced him to remount his horse and gallop off towards the village. I was now in rather a hazardous position, for my late interlocutor would certainly rouse the villagers and a chase would be the result. I made use of my abilities as a runner, and soon found shelter in a nearby swamp. As it was the springtime of the year, and I was well towards the north, the waters of the swamp were none too warm, and a cold drizzling rain did not add any to my comfort. For the greater portion of the day I was compelled to wade waist deep in muck, water and ice, and my sufferings were excruciating in the extreme. I had no food, and at night I left the swamp and found my way to a farmhouse, where I procured something to eat.

By this time I thought it passably safe to travel by day and rest at night, and I took advantage of any shelter that offered itself. Before I got far from the village previously mentioned, I one night took refuge in a barn and made myself a bed in the hay-loft. Soon after composing myself to rest, a man entered the barn with his team, fixed the horses for the night and ascended the steps of the loft in order to throw down some hay for the animals. In groping around in the dark for the fodder he accidentally grasped me by the leg. I thought it was all up with me, but luckily I managed to escape from the barn and again entered the swamp. The farmer soon aroused the neighborhood, and as soon as the dogs could be loosed they were set upon my trail. By this time I had secured a good headway in the swamp, and could hear the noise of my pursuers and the baying of the hounds behind me. They followed me across the morass, for I couldn't throw the dogs off my scent. Seeing a barn in a clearing I made for it, and decided to leave my fate to Providence.

My pursuers soon arrived at the building and were going farther into the swamp when one of the men suggested that the barn be searched. Accordingly, one of the dogs was sent in, and after sniffing about for a while he went out without discovering me. They were about to go on again when another man suggested that “Bull” be sent in, and if any one was in the building he would rout him out. “Bull” entered, stayed sniffing about for a time and then retired. My pursuers were then satisfied that no one was in the building, and they departed to continue the search elsewhere.

I continued to hide in barns and outhouses for some weeks longer, and many hazardous ventures and hairbreadth escapes— which I hope to relate fully in a future work I am contemplating— fell to my lot before I at last got into the hands of the Abolitionists, who conducted me, by means of the “Underground Railway” to Canada, where I could freely and gladly sing:

Soon after crossing the line into Canada I found employment on different farms and gardens, and eventually arrived at Hamilton, in which city I decided to remain. About this time Mr. Abraham Lincoln was nominated and elected to the Presidency of the United States. Hardly had the election been ratified when the fire of sedition, which had been for years smouldering and quietly spreading over the Southern States, burst out in all its fury.

Victory for the North in the Presidential campaign had been agreed upon by the Southerners as the signal for immediate action, and the result was that this great nation became embroiled in a disastrous conflict. Os discussion grew warmer and warmer, President Lincoln saw that slavery—which was the root of the trouble—would have to be abolished in order to bring the matter to a focus. Accordingly, he caused to be released from bondage some three thousand of slaves in the District of Columbia, and, in addition, offered freedom to all colored men who would join and serve in the Northern Army. He, by this means, instituted the measure of Emancipation, which brought the dispute to its real issue—a fight for or against slavery.

The proclamation offering freedom to the negroes was issued in 1863, and the result was that fourteen millions of slaves in the Northern States were set at liberty. Many of them immediately entered the army and contributed not a little to the ability of the North to carry on the war.

On the day he signed the proclamation, President Lincoln, after hours of hand-shaking with visitors to the White House, remarked: “My signature looks a little tremulous, but my resolution is firm. I told the Southerners that if they did not return to their allegiance and cease murdering our soldiers I would strike at the pillar of their strength. The promise shall be kept, and not one word will I ever recall.”

On the surrender of Richmond the President visited that city, and it was then that his tender heart was gladdened, for he saw some of the first signs of the benefits of his proclamation regarding emancipation. Hardly had his presence in the city become known before hordes of freed negroes thronged about him with wild eyes of delight, endeavoring to express in their simple way their thanks to the deliverer. In 1864 the colored men of Baltimore presented him with a beautifully bound copy of the Bible. The book was edged with a band of pure gold, and a massive plate of the same precious metal adorned each cover. On the front plate was engraved the figure of Lincoln in the act of removing the shackles from the limbs of a slave, and at his feet was a scroll with the word “Emancipation” engraved thereon. On the back plate was inscribed the following:

“Presented to Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, the friend of universal freedom, from the loyal colored people of Baltimore, as a token of respect and gratitude.”

But a terrible calamity was impending. While all the North was rejoicing over the return of peace, and celebrating the anniversary of the fall of Sumter, the assassination of Lincoln was consummated. John Wilkes Booth was the unhappy assassin, and he chose this occasion as the most fitting opportunity of carrying out his fell purpose. The President was at Ford's theater, attending the performance, in company with his family and some friends, when this fiendish assassin, by a scheme, secured admission to the President's box, placed a uistol to the back of Lincoln's head and pulled the trigger. Soon the dread news was made public, but of all the grief-stricken people none were more cast down than the egroes—for whom it might truthfully be said Abraham Lincoln died. That night thousands of freed slaves walked the streets, wringing their hands and expressing their despair by loud cries of distress.

It was desired by many that Lincoln be laid to rest in Washington, but other opinion prevailed, and he was interred in Illinois. In that State, in one of the cemeteries of Springfield—the town in which many of his most happy days were spent—the body of the good President lies.

On the next page will be found a poem to the memory of Abraham Lincoln. It has been composed by me, and I take this opportunity of presenting it to the public, at the same time placing on record my small tribute to the memory of the man whose glorious career was so fearfully ended by the hand of the grim monster—Death.