MY PARENTS.

        My father did not belong to Edloe, but was owned by a Mr. George Harrison, whose plantation adjoined that of my master. Harrison made my

father a slave-driver, placing an overseer over him. He was allowed to visit my mother every Wednesday and every Saturday night. This was the time usually given to the slaves to see their wives. My father would often tell my mother how the white overseer had made him cruelly whip his fellows, until the blood ran down to the ground. All his days, he had to follow this dreadful employment of flogging men, women and children, being placed in this helpless condition by the tyranny of his master. I used to think very hard of my father, and that he was a very cruel man; but when I knew that he could not help himself, I could not but alter my views and feelings in regard to his conduct. I was ten years old when he died.

        When my father died, he left my mother with five children. We were all young at the time, and mother had no one to help take care of us. Her lot was very hard indeed. She had to work all the day for her owner, and at night for those who were dearer to her than life; for what was allowed her by Edloe was not sufficient for our wants. She used to get a little corn, without his knowledge, and boil it for us to satisfy our hunger. As for clothing, Edloe would give us a coarse suit once in three years; mother sometimes would beg the cast-off garments from the neighbors, to cover our nakedness; and when they had none to give, she would sit and cry over us, and pray to the God of the widow and fatherless for help and succor. At last,

my oldest brother was sold from her, and carried where she never saw him again. She went mourning for him all her days, like a bird robbed of her young--like Rachel bereft of her children, who would not be comforted, because they were not. She departed this life on the 27th of September, 1847, for that world "where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest."

CHAPTER II.

FREEDOM.

        My Master! Carter H. Edloe made his will six years before his decease. He said to some of his slaves, just before his death, that he had another will, which he had given into the bands of a lawyer in Petersburg, Va., to keep for him, but this will was never heard from. The slaves knew about it, but their voice or testimony was nothing; therefore, nothing could be done about it.

        I present that will here, together with the decree of the Court respecting it, in order that my readers may judge for themselves as to the intention of our master, and be convinced that what I have to say in reference to the manner in which the will was executed is perfectly just, and warranted by the facts.

        IN THE NAME OF GOD, AMEN!--I, CARTER H. EDLOE, of the County of Prince George, being of sound mind and disposing memory, but considering the uncertainty of life, do make and ordain this to be my last Will and Testament:

        1st. I desire that all debts that I may owe at the time of my decease, shall be paid out of the money on hand or the profits of my estate.

        2nd. I desire that my estate shall be kept together and cultivated to the best advantage, until a sufficient sum can be raised to pay my debts, should there be any deficiency in the amount of money on hand and debts due to me, and to raise a sufficient sum to pay for the transportation of my Slaves to any Free State or Colony which they may prefer, and give to each Slave Fifty Dollars on their departure, either in money or other articles which may suit them better; but should any of my slaves prefer going immediately, they can do so, but they are not to be furnished with money. It is not my wish to force them away without their consent, In the event of any of them preferring to remain in slavery, they must take the disposition hereinafter directed.

        3d. After the provisions in the preceding clauses of my Will have been complied with, I loan to my niece, Elizabeth C. Orgain, my plantation in Prince George, called Mt. Pleasant, during her life, but in the event of her marrying and having children, I then give to her children, at her death, the said land, to them and their heirs forever.

        4th. I loan to my niece, Mary Orgain, my Plantation in Prince George, called Brandon and Dandridge's, during her life; but should she marry and have children, I then give to her children, at her death, the said lands, to them and their heirs forever.

        5th. The rest and residue of my estate, of whatever kind soever, I desire may be divided into two equal parts, and one part to go to each of my nieces, Elizabeth and Mary; and should any of my slaves prefer remaining in slavery, I desire they may be

divided into two equal parts, and one part go to each of my nieces, during their lives, and then to their children, in the same manner as the landed property is given, except my Household Furniture, Wines and Liquors, all of which I give to Mary Orgain during her life and then to her children. Those negroes under age at my death may have until they are twenty-one years of age to decide whether they will go or remain; but in the event of but one of my nieces having children, I desire that those children have the whole of my property at the death of their aunt.

        6th. I give and bequeath to my female slave, Harriet Barber, and her children (all of whom I bought of R. G. Orgain, Esq.), Eight Thousand Dollars, which sum I desire my Executors to take from my estate, and either lay it out in good stock, or put the money out at interest, always taking undoubted security--the stock I should prefer--the interest of which shall be paid to said Harriet yearly. Should there not be a sum sufficient to pay this legacy, either in stock or money, I direct my Executors to sell my land in Southampton. Should that not make up the deficiency, other land must be sold, or horses and cattle, as my Executors may think best.

        7th. It is my wish that the said Harriet and children should remain on my estate, or in any situation which they may prefer that the law will allow; and I direct my Executors to furnish Harriet and her children with their Free Papers, whenever they may desire to have them, and assist them to remove to any place they may choose to locate themselves.

        I do hereby appoint David D. Brydon, of the Town of Petersburg, and John A. Seldon, of

Charles City County, my Executors, requiring them to give no security for the performance of their duty. I do hereby revoke all former Wills, this being my last Will. In testimony whereof, I have hereunto subscribed my name, this 20th day of March, One Thousand Eight Hundred and Thirty-Eight.

CARTER H. EDLOE.

        At a Court of Quarterly Sessions, held for Prince George County, at the Court House thereof, on Tuesday, the 13th day of August, 1844:

        This last Will and Testament of Carter H. Edloe, dec'd, was presented into Court, and there being no subscribing witnesses thereto, William C. Rawlings, P. C. Osborne, and David Tennant, appeared in Court and made oath that they are well acquainted with the hand-writing of the Testator, and they verily believe the said Will to be wholly written by the Testator: And thereupon said Will is ordered to be recorded. On the motion of John A. Seldon, an Executor therein named, who made oath thereto, and entered into and acknowledged a bond in the penalty of One Hundred and Twenty Thousand Dollars (the Testator desiring that no security should be given upon his qualification), conditioned as the law directs, certificate is granted the said John A. Seldon for obtaining a probate of the said Will in due form.

Teste,

RO. GILLIAM, Clerk.

VIRGINIA--Prince George County, to wit:

        I, ROBERT GILLIAM, Clerk of the Court of said county, in the State of' Virginia, do hereby certify the foregoing to be a true copy of the last Will and Testament of Carter H. Edloe, deceased.

        In testimony whereof, I have hereto set

my hand and affixed the seal of the said [SEAL.] Court, this thirty-first day of August, 1847, and in the seventy-second year of the Commonwealth.

RO. GILLIAM, Clerk.

DECREE OF THE COURT.

VIRGINIA:

        At a Circuit Superior Court of Law and Chancery, held for the town of Petersburg, at the court house thereof, on Monday, the 24th day of May, A. D. 1847:

        John A. Seldon, Executor of C. H. Edloe, deceased, Plaintiff,

        against

        Mary Orgain and Elizabeth Orgain, infants, by H. B. Gaines, their Guardian ad litem, &c., Defts.,

        In Chancery.

        This cause came on this day to be further heard on the papers formerly read, on the reports of Commissioner Bernard, and of the special Commissioners appointed to consult the slaves of C. H. Edloe, deceased, and was argued by counsel: On consideration whereof, the court being of opinion that the slave Harriet and her children are entitled to no part of the profits of the plantation, and that the several sums charged in the account of profits as expended for them ought not to have been so charged; and adopting the correction of the report in that particular, contained in the note of the Commissioner, p. 1., doth order that the report of Commissioner Bernard, with that correction, and the report of the special Commissioners, be confirmed: And the court doth further adjudge, order and decree, that the Plaintiff do, on or before the fifteenth day of October, one thousand eight hundred

and forty-seven, as may seem to him best, discharge from servitude all the slaves of his Testator; that he deliver to said slaves, individually or in families, as he may think best, duly authenticated copies of this decree, endorsing on each copy the name or names of the person or persons to whom it is given; that the Executor, out of the money now in his hands and interest thereon from the thirteenth day of March, one thousand eight hundred and forty-seven, together with the nett proceeds of the growing crop or such thereof as may be secured, pay to the slaves, Robert, Old Ben and Caty (who elect to remain in service until the full amount of the provision intended for them shall be raised), each the sum of Fifty Dollars, "on their departure"; that he pay to each of the slaves of the Testator who has remained on the plantation, and shall so remain until the slaves shall be liberated as herein directed, a sum sufficient to pay for his or her transportation to such free State or colony as they may respectively prefer, or provide and pay for their transportation to such free State or colony in such other manner as may to him seem best: And the court doth order that the said Executor do immediately, on discharging the said slaves from servitude, cause them to be removed to the free State or colony which they may respectively select as their future homes; the court being of opinion that it was not the intention of the Testator that they should be emancipated and allowed to receive the bounty provided for them, unless they were removed by the Executor beyond the limits of Virginia; and in case the fund be not sufficient to defray the whole amount of such expenses of transportation, the same shall be divided among the slaves, rateably, taking into consideration their ages,

place selected, &c., and that he distribute the residue, if any there be, equally among all the said slaves, without regard to age, and that he deliver the slaves Sylvia and Jenny, who elect to remain slaves, to the defendants, to whom they are bequeathed by the Will of the Testator.

        And it is further ordered, that the Plaintiff settle before a Commissioner a further account of his transactions as Executor, which account the Commissioner is directed to report to the court, with any matter specially stated deemed pertinent by himself, or which any of the parties may require to be so stated.

A copy--Teste,

R. McMANN, S. C.

        When Edloe died, he gave this will, which was the one finally acted upon, into the hands of one of his slaves, not feeling willing to trust any oneelse.

        The Executor of the estate was John A. Seldon, of Charles City County. The will stated, as will be seen, that if there should be any deficiency of money on hand, sufficient must be raised to pay his debts, and transport his slaves to a place of freedom, and pay each of them fifty dollars. Edloe was gone, and could not act for us in person, so this deed of justice was not carried out. Mr. Seldon interpreted the will thus: We were to stay on the plantation and work there till we had earned this money ourselves, and then we were to be free. Meantime, he took from us what the overseer had hitherto given us, and took our earnings, too.

        For six months, all knowledge of this will was kept from us. I was the only one among the slaves who could read and write. This I had kept secret, for fear of the consequences. A friend, who seemed very much interested in our affairs, showed me a copy of this will, upon promise of secrecy. So I read it, and remembered it all; then he told me of a lawyer who would be a good one for us. I communicated this good news to two of the older and more experienced men of our party, and repeated to them the substance of the will. They went to see the lawyer, and he agreed to take the case in hand. This friend knew how we were treated, and told us it was very unjust and wrong. This lawyer's name was James L. Scarborough, of Prince George County, Va.

        He first went to the bank of Petersburg, where Edloe's money was deposited, and found out that there were thirty-two thousand dollars on hand; so he was going at once to get our free papers for us; but soon he came to us again, and said the executor of the estate would give him five hundred dollars to stop the suit--but he would not stop it. But this did not last long. We soon found that Seldon got all our money, and could give him more than we could; so he began to put us off from one court to another, telling us that the court did not have time to attend to us, but the next would certainly settle the matter. We gave him all our little earnings, which amounted to twenty-two dollars, but he got

no papers. So he kept us for two years and six months. When we found out the deception he had practiced upon us, we felt very wretched indeed--sure that we had no friend left, and should never get our freedom, but were cruelly robbed of what was our own, not only by right, but as an especial gift.

        Seldon used to come and see us when the crops were to be sold, get the money for us (but we never saw it), then go away again, without the least advantage to us. At last, we took courage, and got another man to exert himself for us. He was not a lawyer, but a magistrate. His name was William B. Harrison, the owner of middle Brandon. Though a slaveholder himself, he got our free papers, and procured us a passage to Boston, after we had remained three years and thirty-five days in unlawful bondage, according to the laws of Virginia, to say nothing of a higher law.

        Instead of the fifty dollars we were each to receive on our landing, we had fourteen dollars and ninety-six cents apiece. All our money was taken from us, because we were black people; but glad enough were we of our freedom.

        We were told if we came to Boston, we should be killed, or put in prison, where we should have to work under ground or be obliged to drag carts all round the streets; but we were determined to try it, live or die.

        We came in 1847, and have not been eaten up

yet. And now we claim the fifty dollars, and interest, since 1844. It was given to us by the man we served while he was living, and no law or justice can keep it from us, except by downright fraud. Here are old people of the party unable to do much for themselves, to whom this would be a great blessing. Surely, the day is not far distant when those base men will be shown up to the world for what they are worth. The wrong they committed will not rest upon those ignorant slaves, but will rebound back, covering their white faces, but black hearts, with infamy.

CHAPTER III.

IN BOSTON.

        I CAME to Boston on the 15th of September, 1847, in company with sixty-six men, women and children, who were emancipated by the will of Carter H. Edloe, the owner of a large farm in Prince George County, Virginia, known as the Brandon Plantation, as my readers will see from the copy of the will.

        In order to gain the freedom given us by the provision of the will, it was necessary that we should leave the South, and seek a new home in the North. Consequently, on the 5th of September, we left our homes, embarked on the ship known as the "Thomas H. Thompson," in charge of Captain Wickson, and arrived at Boston, as stated above.

        It was soon noised abroad through the city, that a cargo of emancipated slaves had landed at Long Wharf. A large number of citizens came to the wharf to see the strangers, and to congratulate them on their new birth to freedom. Prominent among these were, William Loyd Garrison, John A.

Andrew, Wendell Phillips, and Samuel May. These noble and patriotic men, who lived in the trying times of the country's history, have all passed away from the active scenes of life, and there are but few left, who lived in their times, to tell the story of their deeds.

        Need I say, we were made welcome to our new home, when we met such distinguished visitors. The kindness and charity shown were more than we expected. Permit me to say here, that John A. Andrew, who was afterward elected governor of Massachusetts, was one of my warmest personal friends, and remained so until his death. As I became acquainted with him he seemed to take great delight in talking with me relative to my former condition, and that of my companions. He was anxious to hear the story of my religious conversion, and how I learned to read and write. He became so familiar with my spiritual convictions, and views of faith, that in his last lecture delivered in Music Hall, Boston, while alluding to the subject of faith, he made the remark that my definition of faith was one of the best he had ever heard.

        Many friends who heard the lecture, afterward spoke to me concerning my definition of faith as I had related it to Governor Andrew. I speak of this, simply to show the noble spirit of the man toward the unfortunate. I, born an ignorant slave, he, an educated lawyer, yet he did not disdain to talk with me on the great subject of religion.

        After we had been visited by the distinguished friends that I have mentioned, we left the vessel and the wharf, and found ourselves promenading up the free streets of Boston.

        You may imagine our curiosity and elation as we were introduced and looked upon the new scenes that were about us. Truly we were in a new world. Think of three score and more souls, blind as bats--so far as the letter is concerned; for I was the only one who could read or write--coming fresh, and directly from a Southern plantation, empty-handed and ignorant of their environments, and you will have some idea of myself and company as we made our advent in Boston.

        I will state here, if I have not elsewhere, that on leaving Virginia, the lawyer, William Joins, who was interested in us, gave us a letter of introduction to William Loyd Garrison, the true friend of the poor slave. On leaving the vessel some of us went to the office of Mr. Garrison, which at that time was located at 21 Cornhill, Boston. Here we met other strong antislavery friends, whose glad welcome and warm grasp of the hand--I imagine I can feel it now--convinced us beyond a doubt that we were among our friends.

        Mr. Garrison and Rev. Samuel May, with others of the Antislavery Party, were active in securing situations for us. About half of our number, without much loss of time, found places out of the city, and the remainder in and about the city.

        Thus distributed, we had to work out our own destiny with all the disabilities that the peculiar institution had entailed upon us. Now, we had to prove to the world, whether or not, the oft-repeated assertion was true, "That the slave, if emancipated, could not take care of himself."

        Of course, in our struggles, many of us felt sorely the need of an education in the midst of the new surroundings. Many of the old ones passed away from earth without realizing this coveted possession. Though they were destitute of a practical education, yet they were not ignorant of a personal knowledge of Christ.

        Permit me to return again and speak more definitely concerning myself. As I have already intimated, I repeat, by saying, that the little education I possessed gave me some advantages that were out of the reach of my companions. Knowing how to read and write was of no little value to me, for it made me more in demand, and assisted me in discharging more effectually the duties I had to perform by those who employed me.

        My chief difficulty was not in getting much work, but in getting much pay--I had much work but little pay. I received a dollar and a half per week with board, until I was employed at the fair given by the members of the Anti-Slavery Society, in December, 1847.

        At this fair I had the opportunity of meeting a number of noble-hearted men and women, who

stood ready to help me in various ways. Also, I listened attentively to the lectures and discussions given under the auspices of this society. The language and words used by some, in describing and denouncing the slave power, were strong and uncompromising, yet the words were inadequate and too weak to express the barbarity and cruelty to which my brethren in the South were exposed.

        As I listened and conversed with these earnest men, I was impressed, also, with the idea that they were not familiar with all the relations that existed between the master and slave, though they were well posted on the subject.

        Another thing impressed me relative to these debates, and that was, that there were honest men in Boston--and some of them my friends--who were in favor of slavery. They seemed to argue from a property point of view; they said that the slaves were the property of the owners, and that the masters as a matter of fact, would not destroy that which they regarded as their legitimate property.

        At a glance this would seem to be a plausible argument, but one familiar with the system as I am could not take that view. I saw at once what was the difficulty: the thing needed was more definite knowledge in regard to the masters and their slaves. This I felt I could supply from my experience in the South as a slave. Accordingly, I was prevailed upon to write and publish the little work, entitled,

"The Sketch of a Slave life, or, an illustration of the peculiar institution."

        In this work I tried to set forth as best I could, in plain and simple language, the true relation that existed between the slave and his owner. Especially did I emphasize the point which seemed to trouble many of my pro-slavery friends. I endeavored to show that much of the cruel treatment inflicted on the slaves did not come directly from the masters, but from the slave-drivers or overseers, who for the time being had unlimited control.

        No one will doubt, that some of the masters were inclined to be humane and have compassion on their slaves, if not from the promptings of humanity, certainly from the property considerations. But even if the master was kind, the overseers, whom the law protected, and from whom there was no appeal on the part of the slave, could maltreat and abuse with impunity. The laws that governed and controlled the inhuman institution were wrong and were the result of a depraved human nature. The time will come when the great Judge of the earth will judge between the oppressed and the oppressor.

CHAPTER IV.

MY FRIENDS.

        IN this chapter I desire to mention some of the business men and firms that gave me employment during my earlier struggles in Boston. And it goes without saying, that the business community to-day in Boston, is not the business community of forty-five or fifty years ago, when I came to the city. Many of the names I shall mention have closed their final accounts on this earth and have gone to join the silent majority.

        If some of the prominent merchants of forty years ago could be permitted to return again to the active scenes of their commercial life, and behold the mammoth and towering business blocks, cars flying through the streets without horses, and see their old aristocratic homes turned into dry-goods houses, I imagine they would ask some stranger, "What city is this."

        I am pleased to say, there are still living children and grandchildren of many of these old families, who have been kind and thoughtful to me, because of my

long and intimate acquaintance with their parents. I feel that I owe them a debt of gratitude, because in the midst of these radical changes, they have not forgotten their fathers or the principles which they espoused.

        I do not think it improper or out of taste for me to mention some of these my early and life-long friends.

        There was the well-known firm of Joseph Dix & Brown, the junior partner of which was Mr. J. C. Elms, who is now the honored president of the Shoe and Leather Bank, of Boston. I would also mention the firms of Isaac Fenno, Michal Simpson, of the Sackville Carpet Co., William Bond & Son, Mr. T. C. Marian, the firm of Little & Brown, the Boston Transcript, then in charge of Messrs. Henry W. Dutton and Daniel Haskill, the well-known merchant, Mr. Henry Callender, Mr. Morey, and the house of Merrett & Mullen, Mr. Tiler Batcheller, of the firm of E.T. Batcheller & Co., shoe manufacturers, Mr. Chas. Adams, William B. Spooner, and Ezekias Chase.

        These are some of the firms and business men I worked for years ago. Most of these had implicit confidence in me, and usually trusted me with their keys.

        Many pleasant anecdotes might be related in connection with some of these. And here I will return and speak of a few in detail.

        During my engagement with Mr. C. Marian, I

must say, I knew little or nothing about how business should be conducted, I was as green as a cucumber, but was instructed by one of the clerks, Mr. Baker, to make a deposit at the bank. On entering the bank I handed over to the Cashier the money and book, who took the same, and said that it was all right, and kept the book. I was much perplexed and excited because he had taken the money and did not return the book. In my perplexed condition I hastened back to the office and began to relate my story, how the bank man had possession of the money and book, and refused to return the book of deposit. I thought sure the cashier had taken advantage of me.

        When Mr. Baker and the other clerks saw my earnestness and excited condition about the matter they began to laugh, and rather enjoyed it at my expense, but Mr. Baker explained to me afterward that he forgot to tell me, that it was time for the book to be posted, and the cashier kept it for that purpose. These gentlemen have stepped off the stage of action, but their memory to me is frought with nothing but kindness.

        While employed with the firm of Little & Brown, the latter manifested his interest in me by securing for me the janitorship of Harvard College buildings. He urged me to take the situation, but I refused, because I did not feel myself competent to assume such a place and responsibility.

        Years after I left the Transcript office, Mr. Henry

Dutton, or some of the family, would always remind me of Thanksgiving, by seeing to it that I had the typical New England dinner--"turkey with fixings."

        Mr. Daniel Haskill, of the Transcript, was a great help to me in getting my little book --"Sketches of Slave Life"--before the public. He gave publicity to it through the columns of his paper, and said in his editorial, that he "had seen more in the little pamphlet, than he had read in volumes on the subject of slavery." From this announcement there was a great demand for my little book, and I was compelled to issue a second edition.

        Mr. Henry Callender, of whom I spoke, and whose family has remained among my warmest friends, was also much help to me in my work at Richmond, Va., among the freedmen, at the close of the war; of which I shall speak later.

        The way in which I got acquainted with Mr. Frank Merrett, of the firm of Merrett & Mullen, was a little singular. He wanted a man to work for him, and Mr. W. B. Morey, with whom I was engaged, recommended me. We talked the matter over, and came to an agreement. Finally, he remarked, that as he did not know me, he wished me to come to his house every morning and get the keys. This gave me the impression that he did not want to trust me with the keys over night. And I said to him, "Sir, I try to act on the square with all mankind." He looked sharply at me, and said, "Are you a mason?" I answered in the affirmative. He

said nothing more, but gave me the keys to carry day and night.

        I gave a lecture in one of the colored churches, on "the Misery and Folly of Idleness." Mr. Merrett made it convenient to come and hear me. Afterward, whenever in his store he saw a place where the feather-duster did not reach, or a stray cobweb about, he would remind me of that lecture, intimating that I should practice what I preached. Mr. Merrett was thoughtful and kind to me. And though a Universalist, he was a true friend to the poor and the oppressed.

        During my stay with Mr. Tiler Batcheller, Mr. Charles Adams, whom I have already mentioned in the list of my friends, asked me to wash up his floor. He inquired how much I wanted for the same.

        I told him I wanted three dollars a day. "Why!" said he, "Deacon (for that was the name they called me), "that is as much as they get in the legislature." Again I reminded him that my work was worth more. Mr. Adams was a member of the legislature and often joked me, because I said that I was worth more per day scrubbing floors, than he was in making laws for the state of Massachusetts. He was afterward elected State treasurer, but continued my warm friend. Oh, how happily I recall those good old times, of friendship and good will.

        Among my list of friends I must not forget to mention Messrs. Fredrick and George Batcheller,

who took much interest in me and always stood ready to help me.

        At the memorial meeting held by the merchants of Boston, in honor of Mr. Geo. Batcheller, I was one of the number that was to make an address. Of course most of the gentlemen assembled were merchants, prominent and successful. I, though a colored man, with humble occupation and the only one among them, felt and sympathized with them on account of the loss of a valuable friend.

        Those who spoke had their notes with them. And doubtless I may have had some of that feeling that accompanies a strange cat in a strange garret, but I was there to speak just as I felt. When I arose to speak without notes my friends exhibited no little anxiety, for they thought I would fail. At the close of the exercises, however, I was highly congratulated. A day or two afterward, a reporter of a New York paper, who was present, came and asked for my written address, as he had others. I informed him that I had none, and that he would have to write what he remembered. In the New York paper he reported a good analysis of my address.

        What old resident of Boston does not remember William B. Spooner, the great temperance advocate. He was among my earliest friends, and I cannot close this chapter without giving him a passing comment. He was a man ready to talk with me on all subjects, secular and religious. Though he was

a Unitarian, and I a Baptist, yet we agreed on many important points, because we both thought man ought to be good. On one occasion, in the course of our conversation, I made the remark that ever since I came out of slavery, I had been trying to make a man of myself.

        As I was passing his office one day, he called me into his counting room, and said--

        "Randolph, you told me something a year or two ago that I have been thinking about." He kept me in suspense for a little while, for, as we had talked over many things, I could not recall what it was. Finally, he said, "You told me some time ago that you had tried to make a man of yourself ever since you had left slavery. I think," said he, "you have succeeded very well."

        Mr. Spooner was a great help to me in my work among the colored people in the South, at the close of the war. He made a visit in that section, and on his return North, gave a good account of my work.

        In this connection, I do not want to forget my old friend, Mr. Nathaniel Conner, of the firm of N. Jones & Company. He belongs in the first rank with many others of my warm friends.

        The last but not least of those of whom I now speak in detail, is Deacon Ezekias Chase, well known in Boston for his generous spirit and Christian principles. I will return and speak of him in connection with my church work in Boston.

CHAPTER V.

CHURCH WORK.

        AMONG the first things I did after arriving in Boston, was that of looking after my church connection. In Virginia, I was a member of the Baptist Church. And naturally enough on coming here I sought to identify myself with that society.

        I found a body of brethren worshiping in a hall on Belknap Street, now Joy Street. They were about fifteen in number, and were being supplied by Leonard A. Grimes. Myself and most of my companions who were professing Christians, joined this small body. Soon after, a council was called and our society was regularly organized and called the Twelfth Baptist Church. Rev. Mr. Grimes was properly ordained, and called to the pastorate of the new church. The history of this church and its distinguished pastor is well known to the older citizens of Boston, because of the prominence of both church and pastor in the early anti-slavery struggles.

        I feel sad when I stop to recount, that I am the only living surviver of that original body.

        I was licensed as a Baptist preacher by the above-named church, and continued my membership with them; but went out working for, and laboring with, other churches and telling the story of my bond-brethren in the South. I felt that God had called me from slavery to freedom, and from spiritual darkness to soul liberty, for a purpose, and that a part of my work was to remember and help those in bonds as if bound with them.

        In 1852, I visited St. John, New Brunswick, as a missionary, for the purpose of preaching and helping the colored people in that vicinity who had gone from the States. About this time the fugitive slave law was in operation. This law was a terror, and brought untold suffering to the colored people, especially those who had escaped from slavery. Many were pursued, hounded down, and carried back into slavery. During this reign of terror, not a few colored people left the States and sought protection under the British Crown, in Canada.

        While in St. John and vicinity I visited Lake Loma, a colored settlement. This was a colony that had been settled and fostered under the auspices of the Queen. During the war of 1812, between England and the United States, slaves from the South made their escape under British protection, and many of them were quartered at this place. At the time I visited them, I found that they had

made little or no progress from an educational point of view, though they had been there fifty years.

        This was probably due to the fact that prior to this time they had had no schools. After this schools were furnished them by the British Government, and the improved development was clearly seen.

        I will here relate a little incident that will illustrate their megre surroundings. Arrangements were made that I should preach for them three times on the Sabbath, but I was urged to stay and preach on Monday morning, also. I consented providing the service would close in time to allow me to catch the ten o'clock stage. This was the mail stage, and the only public conveyance for travelling, coming twice a week. Providence seemed to order it otherwise than I intended. For just as I had commenced my sermon, along came the stage about nine o'clock. Of course I gave up the idea of leaving then, and continued through the whole service. It was a magnificent sight to see such a large congregation out on Monday morning to divine service, just as though it was Sunday. They seemed to enjoy my visit and sermons, and many outward manifestations were given showing the favorable impressions. Naturally enough, after the service, I was a little anxious about how I should get back to St. John, a distance of seventeen miles.

        The brethren were not slow in coming to my assistance in this matter, though I must admit the conveyance was a slow one, namely, an ox-team.

Now, the ox is a valuable animal and distinguished for his strength, but he is not to be counted on for rapidity, especially in catching a train. This was doubtless the best they had, and I accepted and marched on. After they had carried me a part of the journey, I decided that I could travel faster than the oxen. Accordingly, I put my feet in the path, and arrived at St. John about six P. M. I was hungry as a tramp, and needed no persuasion to eat.

        I was disappointed in my visit to St. John, therefore my work there was not very satisfactory to me. I had always cherished the idea that when I stood on British soil, I should leave behind me the miserable race prejudice and hate. But to my surprise I found this state of things as bad in Canada, as in the States, and it may have appeared to me worse, because I was not looking for it. The word "negger", with taunting insults, seemed to meet me at every turn. The boys and young men would sing out, "Hello, negger. There's a negger from the States," and other such epithets. I noticed that the class that was always ready to hurl at me these insults wore worse clothes than I did. This was a source of gratification to me. And besides, I had heard so much about the excellent people in the British Provinces that I came dressed in my best, to the credit of the good people.

        I must say, that it was not the better class that insulted me, but the worst, for I found in this vicinity

many of the best of people, who were sympathetic, and were true friends of the colored race, but the diabolical system of slavery had made its influence felt even in the British territory, and there were those who were ready to look upon the colored man only as a bondman.

        After my short missionary tour to St. John and vicinity, I took the boat for Boston. On my arrival I was taken suddenly ill, and confined to my bed for three weeks. But finally I was restored to health and went on with my work.

        While speaking of my religious work and experience, I will also note a few habits and customs of the times, in connection with the same.

        In these times of which I speak it was not customary for a colored preacher to address a white congregation; various were the views maintained by the white people relative to the colored man. Some said that he was not a member of the human family; others, that he was void of a moral and intellectual nature.

        A large number thought he had little or no right to speak in a religious meeting. Here is a simple illustration of the point in view. I was invited by a brother minister to preach for his congregation, which was then worshiping in Milk Row, Somerville, Mass., in a hall. I reluctantly accepted the invitation, and on the Sunday and hour arranged put in my appearance.

        One of the congregation, a teamster by occupation,

when he saw me enter inquired of the pastor who was going to preach. He remarked that Rev. Peter Randolph, a colored preacher from Boston, would occupy the pulpit. The aforesaid gentleman felt insulted, took his hat and departed, saying that he did not care to hear that "negger" preach.

        After the introductory services were over I had taken my text, and was about entering upon my discourse when in came my offended brother, and took a seat where he could look me right in the face. My text was, "Behold, old things are passed away and all are become new"--my theme being the new birth. At the close of the services he was asked how he liked the sermon. His answer was, that he was happily disappointed. It was quite evident that this man, full of prejudice, could not tell how far a toad could hop, by looking at his size.

        I preached also in the afternoon, and this same brother was present and seemed to enjoy the sermon as well as anyone. My text was taken from Nehemiah--"I am doing a great work and cannot come down." I tried to show the disadvantages under which the children of Israel labored in rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem, and how important it was for them to stick to the work. I did not then know the condition of the society I was addressing, but was afterward informed that they were on the eve of disbanding. I also learned that they were much encouraged by what I had to say to them, and they resolved to continue together.

The church became one of the largest in Somerville. I simply speak of this to show the wonder-working power of God. His ways are not our ways. They are past finding out. Man says, can any good thing come out of Nazareth, but God brings it out, and takes the weak and foolish things to confound the great. He is no respecter of persons, but a discerner of the heart and purposes of men.

        In Dorchester, where I was invited to preach, I had a similar experience to that at Somerville--a strong objection to hearing the "negger preacher". This may be added also that the objector did finally hear me, and it is the last sermon he heard on earth. For he was taken sick and died shortly after his illness. I was informed of this by the pastor who invited me to preach; and he made the remark that it was the last sermon this man heard before going to the judgment. My subject on that occasion was the "boundless love of God".

        And how true it is, my readers, that we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, and render our account. Certainly, if we are to meet the approbation of God, we must go along the way of the golden rule, recognizing all men as brothers, and doing unto them as we would have them do unto us. Think you that this man who did not want to hear me preach, but who heard his last sermon on earth from me, will refuse to meet me at the judgment on account of my color--something I had nothing to do with?

        I am thankful to say that this unpleasant state of things which existed forty-five years ago is now numbered with the past. Since then, I have preached in many white congregations, where, I believe, all heard me gladly. In connection with my early ministry I would also mention Plymouth, Massachusetts, with its historic memories. It was here, where the Pilgrim Fathers landed and established those principles which, like the solid rock on which they stood, have defied the test of the centuries, and extended throughout the length and breadth of this great nation. May these principles ever live, and like those emanating from the impregnable Rock of Ages, produce results that shall be for the blessing of humanity. Plymouth, like many other places I have visited and labored in, is not without its incidents.

        While here I was invited to make one of a party of four to attend a Sunday service at Monument Pond. When we arrived the congregation had assembled, but they had no preacher. The white brethren in my party said, "Here is a colored preacher, why not hear him."

        Accordingly, I was prevailed upon to preach. The people there had never heard a colored preacher, and their curiosity was at a high pitch. Though I was somewhat of a novelty to them, they received my message, and the meeting was declared a success. At Eel River, I had what I may call a slipup--whether the name of the river had anything

to do with my misfortune I am not prepared to say. I was unexpectedly called upon to preach for a white congregation, and when I got into the pulpit I could not find my text. My situation can better be imagined than described. On going home after the service I tried to describe my feelings and the circumstance of losing my text. The remark of my friend was, "Why, we would not have known it, if you had not spoken of it." While carrying on a series of meetings in the little Chapel at Plymouth, I preached on the subject of eternal punishment. There were a few in my audience who took issue with me on the subject, and we had a discussion which lasted nearly three days, they holding to the soul-sleeping doctrine, and I to the conscious existence of the soul. One of my hearers was so well pleased with my argument, that he made me a present of a valuable commentary on the New Testament.

        After the discussion, I met my main antagonist--who was a clergyman-- and put to him another question on the subject. He said, "I will answer you as the slave answered his master. The master had been converted, and while reading in the Epistles of Paul he came across something he did not understand, and asked his slave about it. The slave wanted to know how long he had been reading the Bible, and he said, about three weeks. 'And you have got so far as that already? Go back to the beginning and read up to that point, and you will understand

it better.'" In this allusion my opponent acknowledged his deficiency on the subject.

        In 1856, I was called to take charge of a small struggling church in New Haven, Connecticut, at a salary of two hundred dollars a year. At this time I was doing very well in Boston, in the way of taking care of myself and family. But feeling that this was the ordering of God, I accepted, hoping that I might be a humble instrument in His hands of doing some good among my people. I found the society in a deplorable condition and much discouraged. They reminded me of the vision of Ezekiel in the valley of dry-bones. Their views of Baptist doctrine and church government was much confused.

        After much work and preaching, the dry-bones seem to get back into place and shape. The brethren not at heart Baptist, thought there was no need of a Baptist church in that vicinity, but we thought otherwise and pushed along that line. Though I had taken charge of the church, I was not ordained and could not perform the full duties of a pastor. The church urged my ordination, and I was ordained at Williamsburgh, now Brooklyn, New York.

        A regular council was called according to the Baptist rule, and the ordination took place in the church of which Rev. L. A. Black was pastor. Rev. Mr. Burg, an Englishman, was the chairman of the council. Among the other members were Rev. Sampson White, and Rev. Mr. Herring. After my

ordination at Williamsburgh I returned to New Haven, with all the qualifications of a regular Baptist pastor. I realized what was before me, and raised up the regular Baptist banner. I preached sermons on the subject of Baptism, prepared a special sermon on my reasons for being a Baptist and invited my outside brethren to hear it. I tried to emphasize the great commission and our Saviour's command, and that as his followers we had no right to change that command. A Methodist brother who was present, in speaking, said that he agreed with me that we had no right to change the command of Christ. Much interest was aroused by this opposition, and some of the Methodist pastors had to baptize by immersion some of their members to keep them.

        I will here speak of a noticeable incident in this line. At one of my meetings a candidate presented himself for membership and wanted to be immersed. After hearing his experience, the question was asked, would he comply with the Baptist conditions of membership? He intimated that he was not ready to do so. Thereupon I refused to baptize him. He went to a Methodist minister and he agreed to perform the rite. The Methodist brother, who was better known as "Father Spence," arranged to immerse this candidate on the same Sunday that I was to baptize. There was a large crowd present in all kinds of vehicles and boats. I had led the way and buried beneath the liquid

grave, those who had given evidence of their faith in Christ, and thus professed him before the world. Then came in "Father Spence," with his one candidate. This was a new departure for him and his timidity was evident. He raised his hand and said, "I baptize thee," etc., and plunged the man under the wave. For some reason or other, he lost his hold and his candidate was struggling for dear life, and came near getting drowned. The people regarded this unsuccessful attempt as a special judgment against the Methodist preacher. After this I had but little trouble about my Baptist views.

        After serving the church in New Haven for one year I was compelled to resign my charge on account of pecuniary circumstances, as the church was not able to support a pastor. The sentiment of the church was much against my leaving, but I could not remain, and returned again to Boston. I am pleased to say that my stay in New Haven was not without evidence of good both to the people and to myself. I had a splendid opportunity to attend the lectures given at Yale College, and availed myself of them. So I departed from New Haven richer in knowledge and experience, if in nothing else.

        I was not in Boston very long before I received another call, from a church in Newburgh, New York. This was a beautiful little town on the Hudson River, near West Point, distinguished for its relics, and as being one of the main points of operation

used by General George Washington, in the Revolutionary War. It was in the year of 1858, that I received this call and settled as pastor over the church at Newburgh.

        The condition of the flock was similar to that in which I found the church in New Haven. With this addition, however, they seem to be of Dutch origin and peculiarities, and were destitute of what most colored people needed at that time, and even now, an education. The non-progress of my people in this country is due to the fact that they are not educated.

        The confused state and condition of the colored people in Newburgh prevented the growth and development of the spiritual fruit that one had a right to look for. It was my duty to faithfully sow the seed that another might reap the desired harvest. This I endeavored to do, to the best of my ability, and leaving the result with Him who knows all things.

        I have no remarkable incidents to relate during my stay in this place save one or two. I was invited on one occasion to preach for a brother minister. When I arrived at his meeting-house I found it crowded with both white and colored people. The former being mostly young men.

        The crowd had come together doubtless, expecting to have what they call a good time. After a little while the pastor whispered to me, saying, "There has been an announcement made that a

sermon would be preached here, on the great day of judgment." He wanted to know from me if I could preach on that subject. I told him it was quite a short notice, but I thought I could do so; anyway, I would try.

        He went on with the preliminary part of the service, and at the time for the sermon, I arose and stepped forward with my text: "The great day of his wrath has come, and who shall be able to stand?" As I was getting along, in the midst of my sermon, I noticed quite a number of the white young men, who came looking for fun, leaving. As they did not see anybody jump up, or falling over the benches, they were doubtless disappointed and took their departure.

        I afterward learned from some of his members that the pastor did not have the best motive in view, in forcing me to take this subject without a moment's notice. Many, however, pronounced the sermon good, and some dated their conversion to the same. In this incident, I was reminded of that Scripture where it says that God causes the wrath of men to praise him.

        I shall never forget my visit to Snake Hill, which is just three miles from Newburgh. The origin of the name seems to be founded on fact, as tradition gives it. It is reported that on a certain day a big show was in town, and most of its curiosities consisted of snakes. The authorities of the town ordered that these reptiles should be loosed, and

they found their home in the hill that afterward assumed the name. On the day that I visited this mountain in company with others, these reptiles probably had concealed themselves in the caves, for not many were visible.

        The most interesting thing to me on this mountain was the heavy black cloud which seemed about to burst on us at any moment. We did not get any of the shower while on the mountain, but when we came down we found it had rained considerable. This taught one the lesson that it is one thing to be on the mountain, another thing to be in the valley.

        On one occasion, I happened in the court house here, and was conversing with a white man on the subject of religion, when another informed me if I had anything to do with politics, I would soon find myself in the jail. He may have said this in the way of a joke, but in those times, many a true thing was said in a joke. In closing I can say this about Newburgh, that I have nothing to regret relative to my stay there. I had many warm friends, and pleasant remembrances of the place.

CHAPTER VI.

IN A VIRGINIA PULPIT.

        I NOW propose to speak concerning my preparation and work at Richmond, Virginia. And here I may say, that like General Grant, Benj. F. Butler, and other Northern generals, I made several attempts and was much delayed before I got there.

        When I left my charge in Newburgh, N. Y., I returned to Boston and remained about two years. During this time I was engaged in a small newspaper business and preached for the Old Ladies' Home, then located on Phillip Street. For my two years' service to them I received no compensation. But I shall never forget what the matron, Mrs. Martha Thurston, a devout Christian woman, said to me in regard to my pay. In speaking of my service she remarked: "Brother Randolph, we shall never be able to pay you for your services here, but the Lord will reward you."

        I believe her prayer was answered. A few days after this I went into the well-known store of Hitchcook

& Potter, and was introduced to Mr. J. C. Lester of Boston, as the preacher at the Colored Old Ladies' Home. He asked several questions, and among others, how much money I received for my services. Of course, I told him. He was surprised, and asked how I managed to live, and finished by saying, "If the men in this store will give you a barrel of flour, I will take it home for you." This was said in the way of a joke. But a few days after I was invited to call at the store again, and received in money the value of a barrel of flour. I speak of this to show the answer to faithful prayer, and also for the purpose of introducing my friend, Mr. J. C. Lester, who assisted me to Richmond.

        I must now hasten on to Richmond, the scene of conflict, for I will be delayed somewhat on my journey. As I was in Boston during the latter part of the War, it was my cherished desire to go and serve my country as chaplain in one of the colored regiments. Accordingly I offered myself to Governor Andrew, but there was no opening at the time for me. When Lee surrendered to Grant at Appomattox, and the war was declared at an end, and the slaves free, many of the freedmen in Virginia--those who knew they were free--gathered at the great centres where the Union Soldiers were quartered, mainly for protection from their masters, and to see what freedom meant.

        One of these places was City Point, Virginia.

As there was a large number of men, women and children quartered here, and were in the condition of sheep, without pasture or shepherd, I was urged by Rev. L. A. Grimes, to look after and try and help these poor people. But I had not the necessary means to undertake this work. I presented the matter to my friend, Mr. Lester, and he with others furnished the desired help.

        On my journey I stopped at Baltimore, Md., and during my delay, the nation was thrown in the deepest sorrow over the reported news that President Lincoln had been assassinated. The national flag was lowered at half-mast, proving that the report was true. I remained in Baltimore until after the funeral and then hastened to City Point. On arriving I found the colored people as I have intimated, in a confused state, and wanted more than I was able to give them. My stay at City Point was short, for I realized that that was not the best place for me to make my headquarters. As the way to Richmond had opened and hostilities ceased, I hastened to establish myself there as a place more suited for the work, in every way.

        On my arrival at Richmond I was met at the Rocketts, by Filds Cook, and carried to the house of Mr. John Adams, who had cognizance of my coming. He was one of the most prominent colored men in the city, having been a freeman before the war, and was in fair circumstances. Being in his hands I was taken good care of, and was able to

proceed at once to the needed work. The scene that opened before my eyes as I entered Richmond cannot be accurately described by word or pen. The city was in smoke and ashes, that is, a goodly part of it, for the Confederacy, on taking their departure, fired the city rather than let it fall into the hands of the Union forces.

        The colored people from all parts of the state were crowding in at the capital, running, leaping, and praising God that freedom had come at last. It seems to me I can hear their songs now as they ring through the air: "Slavery chain done broke at last; slavery chain done broke at last--I's goin' to praise God till I die."

        Many of the old people had prayed and looked forward to this day, but like Moses they were permitted to see it afar off, and not enter it.

        The place was literally full of soldiers, "Yanks" and "Rebs."

        The armies were breaking up and returning home. Richmond was the great centre for dispersions, all hours, day and night was the marching of regiments, going and coming. The sight of some of these would bring tears to the dryest eyes, as they beheld men wounded, maimed in every possible shape and form that could be mentioned. And many of these, like the poor colored people, were truly glad that the war was over.

        The city of Richmond did not have accommodations enough for this great mass of colored people,

so many were gathered on the suburbs and taken care of in the best why possible under the circumstances.

        One of these principal camps, where the people were huddled in temporary structures, was called Schinnborazzo. Here I spent a part of my first Sunday in Richmond, and preached to a large congregation. Religious services were held in these camps all day, and several other preachers were present and readily lent their service. Among these was Rev. John Jasper, who has distinguished himself since, as the famous "Sun do move preacher." This was the first time I had the pleasure of meeting him. His preaching was much more excitable than mine, and seemed to effect the people in a way that I could not. This scene, and the day's work, was very impressive upon me, and made me feel and sympathize with these folks only as one who had been in slavery, could feel and sympathize.

        It had been argued by some that, if the Negroes were set free they would murder and kill the white people. But instead of that, they were praising God and the Yankees for life and liberty. Of course, soldiers were stationed about these camps, and in all the streets of the city, to keep in check anything like an outbreak. I am sorry to say here, that the treatment of some of the soldiers toward the poor colored people was indeed shameful. For the slightest provocation, and sometimes for no cause whatever, the butts of their guns and bayonets were used unmercifully upon them.

        The colored people held indignation meetings, resolutions were passed, and a. delegation appointed to lay this whole matter before President Johnson. I was the instigator of the meeting being called. And not until these steps were taken did the colored people have rest from the ill-treatment of the soldiers.

        This, also, must be said, relative to these soldiers: the most of them who committed these depredations were from the Middle States, and sympathizers with the South. They seemed to be mad because the "negger" was free, and took the authority given them by the wearing of the blue to express it.

        The petition of the colored men was noticed by the President, and remedied by General Schofield. In addition to the Provost Marshal's, where soldiers were disciplined, bureaus were established for the freedmen, where they could be heard and assisted. The true condition of the colored people at this time will never be written. When I arrived at Richmond, I had letters of introduction from Governor Andrew to Governor Pierpont, and also to General Schofield. I was appointed by the General to issue tickets or passes, and distribute them to the people, in order that they might get what provisions and clothing there was for them through the agency of the bureau. It was a sight to behold to see these hungry souls crowding in at my office to obtain the slips of paper that was to give them the necessities of life. The Freedman's Bureau also took

the place of the Court House, to protect and settle all difficulties that might arise among the people.

        In this particular some of the incidents were heartrending, the most severe cases being where the former master and slave were concerned. Some of the masters were very reluctant in giving up their servants, and tried to defraud and rob them out of their freedom, and many of the slaves had to run away from their masters to be free. It is true that the proclamation had been accepted, and Lee had surrendered his sword to Grant, but some of the white people still contended that "these are my neggers."

        When some of the white people found that they could no longer retain them as slaves they used them very cruelly. I was often called at the bureau to interest myself in and defend these poor people. One sad case I will here mention--a colored girl about eighteen years of age, who was brought before the bureau, with a charge against her former master. She had been shamefully whipped and her back burned with a hot iron. I well recall the words of General Merrett, who was at the time the president of the bureau.

        As he beheld the condition of this girl, he exclaimed, "What is this!" The officer who had her in charge said, "It is the devil." An eye-witness who was present photographed the back of this girl, and it can be had if my readers would like to see it. Let me make another brief mention, in the

South, especially during the dark days of slavery. The colored man was expected to stop and let the white person pass first, and often had to get off the sidewalk to let the white woman pass. I was an eye-witness to this incident: A white woman was about to cross the street, but the colored teamster, who had the right of way, did not stop for her to cross. She had him arrested for attempting to run over her. I went to the jail, and on my personal testimony, he was released.

        This simply illustrates the condition of things that I speak of, and also the necessity and work of the Freedman's Bureau.

        The Freedman's Bureau was only a temporary arrangement intended to help relieve the condition of the ex-slaves. While it had the means to do so it was inestimable to the poor and needy. But soon the sources of supply failed and the important work was abandoned. This made the suffering and needs of the people more intense than ever. Many had to go back to their former masters to work or starve, and many of the whites tried to make the Negroes feel that freedom was worse than slavery.

        In slavery times the masters would see to it, that the slaves were fed--that is, with such as they had to give them, but now, they would see them starve. It is not hard to understand this state of affairs, when one thinks of the situation; here the whites were smarting under their defeat, the Negroes, who were their main support, were taken away from them

as slaves and goods of chattel, but still remained at their doors. The unvented wrath they had for the Yankees, for meddling with their pet institution, was poured out on the poor Negroes.

        When the bureau closed, the Police Court took its place as a tribunal of justice. I have already stated, that the Freedman's Bureau was not only a place for relief, but also, for the distribution of justice. I will speak briefly of the Police Court, that took its place, and my relation with the same.

        In the return and establishment of the Police Court, the Mayor of the city for the time being was constituted the judge. This happened to be George C. Cabooses, a New Yorker. He studied law in the office of Chief Justice Chase, and was a man of excellent qualities.

        The white South looked upon him, however, as a northern carpetbagger, and did everything to oppose him. He was a faithful administer of the law as he understood it, was patient and full of justice. The colored people, as well as the white, who had violated the law, in his opinion, had to pay the penalty. The court was constantly crowded with colored people with their complaints. I was invited by Mr. Cahoone to look after the interests of these people, for they needed some one who could understand them. I accepted the invitation and was frequently in the court. Many would come to Mr. Cahoone, with their long story, but he would say to them, "You go and tell Mr. Randolph, and he will

tell me." After I had heard the long complaint, I would put it in as short a form as possible and then explain it to the judge. There was no end to complaints and outrages committed on the poor and ignorant. If the farmer lost his horse, cow, dog or chicken, by death, or theft, the "negger" was held responsible, and arrested on the least suspicion.

        I remember a special case, where a man lost his cow by death, and two colored men were accused of it. The evidence showed that they were innocent of the cow's death; but the case had to go to the higher court. I appeared there in their behalf, and they were acquitted.

        The object of many of these arrests can be fully understood by the Southern people only.

        The Negro had suddenly been made a citizen and given the right of franchise; this was an offence to the Southern white people--and one that they will never forgive the North for. In my opinion it should be overlooked just as other war measures are overlooked and forgiven, for it was a necessity.

        The white people were determined to prevent them from voting, if they could, and various methods were resorted to, in order to deprive them of their vote. Chief among these, was to get the men put in jail on some criminal charge, and thus disqualify them; for the law considered all disqualified who had been arrested. The jail house and chain-gang were constantly filled with able-bodied colored men whose offence did not entitle them to be there.

The ballot, though a great privilege, was the cause of much suffering for the freedmen.

        Before I dismiss these court proceedings let me mention one more case in which I had to participate. On one occasion, Mr. Cahoone was absent and his assistant was on the bench. This morning without much delay or inquiry, the judge pro tem-- had sentenced a colored boy to prison for stealing a small sum of money. As I entered I saw the boy standing and weeping bitterly. I interrogated him and found that the man who had brought the charge against him was his father. I sought out the father and found him to be a white man. Several who were in the position to know, verified the statement of the lad that the man was his father. I made known the facts in the case and urged the judge to delay the case until he heard me.

        I endeavored to show in my argument, that this was a case where a father was appearing against his own son, and though his mother was colored and had been sold in slavery, nevertheless this was his flesh and blood. The judge stopped me before I finished my argument, by saying "That will do Sir; I will revoke the sentence, and you can take the boy in charge for three weeks." This is one of many cases of this kind that might be mentioned, but the white South rarely likes to discuss this part of the question. Mr. Cahoone, in spite of his acts of kindness and justice to all, was unable to win over as his friends the local white people.

        They looked upon him as a Northern Carpet-bagger, and were determined to get rid of him, if possible. They watched for their chance as a cat would watch for a rat. An unfortunate circumstance with which Mr. Cahoone was connected, furnished an opportunity for them to commence operations.

        A foreigner died without a proper will; and in such cases the effects go to the state. But Mr. Cahoone acting not as the mayor of the city, but as a lawyer, examined the submitted report and ordered it to be collected, signing his name in approval of the same as a proper document, and received the lawyer's fee for his work.

        When the time came for his re-election, this matter was strongly urged against him on the ground of forgery. He was elected, however, by an overwhelming majority of the votes of colored and union men. This incensed the whites; they destroyed the ballot-boxes and votes, and proceeded to eject the incumbent and appoint another in his place. Mr. Cahoone remonstrated against such procedure, for he was a man of strong convictions and was not afraid to express them.

        The crisis was now at hand. The local whites who held office under him deserted at this trying hour, and he was compelled to depend solely on the colored men and a few unionists. The mob surrounded him and his colored followers in a hall and kept them there all day.

        It was necessary for him to appeal to the United

States authorities for protection, and also to decide who was the rightful incumbent of the office. The decision was in favor of Mr. Cahoone, and he was restored to his former position. In this trial judge Underwood presided, and he was defended by Henry A. Wise, Ex-Governor Wells, and Chandler of Maine.

        The whites were determined, however, not to let Mr. Cahoone remain in office. The charge of forgery relative to the report he had signed, was repeated against him. He was arrested, and tried by the Court of Virginia, found guilty, and sentenced, but Governor Walker, of Virginia, would not see this noble man go to the penitentiary, and therefore pardoned him. After this he took his departure from Virginia, the scene of trial and persecution. It should be understood here, that the colored people did not desert Mr. Cahoone, but supported him to the last, and many suffered with him. I was personally acquainted with one man who was shot. I myself visited him while he was in jail, and heard him, with tears in his eyes, speak of the sad disappointment of justice and cruel treatment he had received at the hands of the southern white people.

        In beginning this chapter, and speaking of my advent in Richmond, I referred to the condition of the people generally as I found them. How the soldiers were passing and repassing for days and weeks. In this connection I wanted to say, that one of the chief divisions was General Sherman's.

It was a wonderful sight to see this army passing for three long days, and colored people standing in the streets with buckets of water to refresh them as they passed. White and colored people alike were surprised to see so many "Yankees," and they commonly remarked, "Where did they come from? They must come from under the ground."

        Also, I want to emphasize another point in connection with this early state of affairs; and that is, the ideas that many of the freedmen had relative to the new state of things. The current view among many, directly after the war was, that they would receive so much land from the government to help them in the new life. This opinion seemed reasonable, and was shared by many. But imagine their disappointment when they were told frankly that the government had no such intentions as they entertained. Well do I remember the impression made on the people when Senator Henry Wilson, on his visit to Richmond, and at the invitation of the colored delegation, answered this question. The kind Senator did not leave them without some good advice. They were not looking for advice, however, but land to plant corn and potatoes, for their wives and children. The condition, as I have intimated, of these people was deplorable. Instead of forty acres and a mule, they had to return to their former masters barefooted, and hat in hand, and ask permission to work for "victuals and clothes". When this part of the freedman's condition

is considered rightfully there will be an opportunity for regrets and tears of repentance. Is there a case in all history, that can be compared with this, where over four millions of people, ignorant and empty-handed, are turned loose into the world to seek for themselves homes in the face of every possible disadvantage?

        During the time Pierpont was governor of Virginia, a report came from Chester County, that the Negroes in that vicinity were in a state of insurrection, and that they were about to rise up and kill all the white people in that section. I was acquainted with the governor through my letter of introduction from Governor Andrew.

        As there was considerable talk about this uprising, Mr. Pierpont requested my views on the subject. I informed him that I was in a position to know, if there was anything of the kind, but did not believe that there was a word of truth in the report; but that it was rather a pretext gotten up on the part of the whites to murder the colored people. The governor paid no attention to the rumor, by sending militia, and there was no riot. A few colored men were out hunting rebels, and the whites cried, "Negro uprising."

        This is a good illustration of many reported uprisings among the colored people of the South. Usually these reports originated among the white and not the colored people. This is one of the sham tricks of the South, to get up a Negro riot, call out the

militia or the citizens in arms to butcher the blacks, for the purpose of keeping them in their places, as they say.

        Of course there are good white people in the South, who took no part in these cruel outrages against the colored people. But they are to be criticised because they do not condemn them.

        Every community is held responsible that permits one class of its citizens to outrage another class with impunity.

        Hundreds of colored people in the South, since emancipation, have been whipped to death, lynched, and burned alive, until the question is asked, and asked rightfully, "Is the South civilized?"

        What Thomas Jefferson said about slavery, so I repeat in substance, relative to the persecution of my people: "I tremble for my country when I think that God is just."

        While speaking on this subject of southern outrages, permit me to say this also: that I believe much responsibility rests on the North in regard to this whole matter. The North should not be content as long as one man is oppressed, and his rights disregarded. If she is inclined to be negligent in this matter, let her remember the two hundred thousand colored soldiers who died in the defence of the Union, and the multitudes of white soldiers who were saved from death-traps, and starvation, by the hands of the poor slave.

        The covenant that General B. F. Butler made

with himself when he walked among so many dead and brave black soldiers, should be the sentiment of the whole North; never to forget them, or be untrue.

        During my stay in Richmond as pastor and carrying on special work among the freedmen, it was my privilege to meet several of the most prominent men. Among these was Judge John C. Underwood, of the United States District Court.

        He was a good, kind-hearted man, and took much interest in the colored people. Often I had to consult with him about local matters. On one occasion he sent for me, and I was to meet him at his boarding-place, which was the Spots Woods Hotel, the most popular hotel in the city. I called at the hotel, entered the bar-room, and enquired for him of the bar-keeper, but he made no reply to my direct question. Finally he said, "If you take off your hat I'll answer you." I had just returned from Boston, and had on a new beaver hat. "Why, sir," said I, a little indignant at his gruff remark, "take off my hat in a barroom! The other gentlemen have on their hats, and they do not look half as good as mine." His blunt reply was, "But neggers take off theirs." "I am a gentleman, sir," said I.

        The gentleman behind the bar ordered me out, and if I had not obeyed he would have had me and my new silk hat out on the sidewalk, upside down, and I couldn't have helped myself. The good judge was provoked when he heard of the occurrence.

But this was Richmond, and not Boston. Before I left Richmond I saw this hotel in ashes, and its bare walls standing white against the sun. When I saw this, it was natural for me to think of the insult I received there, but with no malice in my heart, for I pitied and felt sorry for the poor drunken set, caught there on that fatal night, and whose bodies furnished fuel for the flames. Fifteen or more bodies were found in the ruins beyond identification.

        Here we were brought face to face with the great evil of intemperance. And also the fact that the popular hotel is often the source and the end of the evil. The sight of that fire haunts me now as I think of those human beings, standing at the windows crying for help and no one able to help them.

        The Rev. Dr. Dickenson, D.D., editor of the Religious Herald, was also another man of note, that I met while in Richmond. Soon after my arrival, I called on him in company with a friend, who introduced me as a preacher from Boston. At that time the mention of the name Boston was sufficient to stir the iron in any southern white man's blood. For she had taken the lead in the antislavery struggles and was the first to raise her hand against the Rebellion. So, naturally, he expressed himself quite forcibly in regard to the Massachusetts people, and his general views on the subject of slavery from the southern stand-point. I endeavored to keep my voice under, being reminded

of that scripture which said: "A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger." The doctor felt that the North had committed the unpardonable sin, and there was no forgiveness for them. When I met him again, it was in Boston, at a minister's conference. In addressing the conference, he said in substance that it was a great blessing to the South that slavery was abolished, and it was worth all it had to pay for it, of blood and treasure. He also intimated that he would help to lift up the Negro. I had the pleasure of speaking after him, and referred to our first meeting in Richmond, but did not allude to his views at that time. I was glad to see that he was a converted man, and was able to look at things in a new light.

        Dr. Jeter was another popular and very distinguished personage in and about Richmond. He was a good preacher and theologian. I became acquainted with him in my early ministry at the Ebenezer church. He used to drop in occasionally to hear me preach, and would sit right in front of me where he could see and nod his head to all with which he assented. After hearing me on one occasion he made the remark, that I was as good a colored preacher as he ever heard, and he was proud of me, because I was born in Virginia. I suppose every man should be proud of his birth-place. I am grateful for all the good that Virginia has done me; but I cannot boast very much in this direction, when I remember that her laws forbade me to read

the Bible. I feel more indebted to Massachusetts for what I am than I do to Virginia.

        I had to flee from my natural mother, Virginia, and seek protection under my adopted mother, Massachusetts. I think I love my adopted mother the best.

        In conversation with Dr. Jeter on the subject of slavery, he once remarked, that he believed slavery to be right and a divine institution, because the Bible supported it. He was not particular in quoting that passage, that God had made of one blood all the nations of the earth, or where Christ teaches, "that we must do unto our neighbors as we would have them do unto us."

        While he maintained these views and endeavored to support them by scripture, yet he said, "I hope I am wrong in my views." I did not understand why he should make such a remark, unless it was that he felt the compunctions of conscience.

        I was informed that when the Union soldiers were approaching Richmond, the good doctor intimated his willingness to go out and fight the Yankees. He put on his confederate armor and went forth, but he did not get near enough for anyone to hurt him, or he to hurt anyone else. The doctor was tall and thin, and had very good legs for running. So while he was a good preacher and theologian, and believed in slavery as a divine institution, yet he was a poor soldier. His position reminds me of the quaker in the duel. As the opponents had to

choose weapons, the Quaker selected as his, a long-range rifle, and his antagonist pistols. In approaching each other the Quaker said, "Stand thou there, for thou art near enough for me to hit thee." The other man withdrew, fearing that while the Quaker was near enough with his rifle, he was not near enough with his pistol. So the doctor doubtless found the Yankees' guns too long and effectual for him to face.

        Rev. R. Riland, D.D., was another important character whom I wish to mention in this connection. He was the pastor of what was known as the Old African Baptist Church, of Richmond. The membership of this church was all colored people, and was reported to be between three and four thousand. Mr Riland was the white pastor over this colored flock. In the days of slavery the colored pastor was unknown, the spiritual adviser and teacher was always a white man. There were colored exhorters and class leaders, but the boss preacher was always white. My first meeting of Dr. Riland was in the First African Church. I was introduced as the pastor of the Ebenezer Baptist Church; after the introduction I noticed he wanted to say something, so I commenced the conversation by asking him how many persons he thought the edifice would hold. "About fifteen hundred," was his answer. I expressed surprise, and asked him how it was that the reported membership was so large and the seating capacity so small. He thought I

was a northern man, bred and born, and went on to explain that a large number of his congregation had gone South--meaning of course, that they were sold in slavery.

        He proceeded, also, to tell how mild the form of slavery was in Virginia, compared with other parts of the South, supposing I knew nothing of it. I made a long sigh, and remarked that if Hell was any worse than slavery in Virginia, I did not want to go there. "Why," said he, "what do you mean?" I repeated again, and said that what I meant was, that slavery was a torment in Virginia. I then proceeded to tell him that I was a Virginian by birth, and had lived for years within her borders and tasted much of the bitter cup of slavery, and also showed him just what the true relation between the master and the slave was. When I got through he had but very little to say on the subject.

        When David saw a bear or lion in his flock, he rose up and slew it. The lions and bears of slavery entered Dr. Riland's flock more than once, and took away his lambs; but he never was known to complain, or to make a single protest. How he will explain and settle this matter with the great Shepherd and Bishop of souls, I cannot now say. Yet it is not my purpose to sit in judgment upon him, for he had many good characteristics, and I had a good chance to learn of them, for I was a pupil under him in Dr. Colver's school.

        This school was established at the close of the

war for the benefit of the colored ministers, and Nathaniel Colver, D.D., former pastor of Tremont Temple, Boston, was the President.

        Mr. Riland was employed in this school because of his long intimate relation with the colored people as pastor. He was kind and patient, and a good biblical scholar, and as students we all loved him, regardless of his slave-holding proclivities.

        One remarkable thing about this school was, it was held in what was known as "Lumpkins Jail". This at one time was the greatest slave market in the world. Virginia furnished most of the slaves for the other Southern States, and this was the great place where they were sold on the auction block to the highest bidder. The groans and expressions of sorrow, that used to go up from this accursed spot, when husbands and wives, parents and children, were separated never more to meet, cannot be described by tongue or pen.

        How fitting it was that a school for the instruction of the freedmen, and especially the Christian ministry, should be erected, and occupy this place; verifying that scripture, that God makes even the wrath of men to praise him.

        Let me recall, also, two other characters I met in Richmond during my stay there; though they are not as distinguished as those I have mentioned, yet they have left upon me as strong an impression as any.

        The first of these two that I desire to speak of, is

Uncle Phil. Jones. It was over sixteen years since I had seen him, on the old plantation in the days of cruel slavery. I had left the South for the North, in order to obtain my freedom; now, I had returned as a teacher and preacher of glad tidings. Uncle Phil. Jones had known me from childhood, and naturally enough when he heard of me in Richmond his great joy was to see me and take me by the hand. I shall never forget that meeting, as the old man approached me with head white as cotton, tottering feet and trembling hand.

        "Why, Peter! is this you? Praise the Lord that I have lived to see the day."

        Then he burst into tears and sobs. It was an effecting scene. Poor old man, time and slavery had dealt hard with him, and left the visible marks. I, myself, had seen this old man's back literally furrowed by the overseer's lash, and washed in salt water to preserve it, and keep away the flies.

        And now, like a horse that has been worked nearly to death for all that he is worth, until he becomes old, crippled and poor, this poor old man is turned loose without corn or fodder, on the cold charities of the world. Who are to blame for his destitute condition, himself, his parents, or those who have driven him until they could drive him no longer?

        In connection with Uncle Phil. Jones, I may also relate that I met in Richmond, his master, William B. Harrison. This is the same man who was mentioned in my little book on slave life, as helping the

sixty-six in obtaining our freedom. Though ho was by no means an angel toward his own slaves, yet he was friendly and kind toward us in securing our rights. I called on Mr. Harrison in Richmond. He seemed glad to see me, and had much to say about the unjust treatment we received at the hands of the lawyer and the executors. But he, too, like Phil. Jones, had experienced a great change. He was not the William B. Harrison that once I knew on the James River, with his well-stocked plantation and over a hundred slaves. These all, like a dream of the night, had suddenly vanished from his gaze. He was a great enemy of the North and fought for all he was worth, and in return the Yankees spared neither him nor his chickens.

        I met, also, William Allen, better known as Major Allen. He was a wealthy nephew of my master, who raised and equipped a southern regiment for the rebellion. He invited me to see him, and was pleased to tell his friends that I had been a servant in his family. I do not know why he took so much pleasure in mentioning it. I cannot say that I was ashamed of what happened to be my misfortune. Joseph was a servant in Egypt, but in due time his position was changed and he was a blessing to all succeeding generations. The Major had obtained his wealth from Colonel William Allen, the owner of the celebrated "Clearmount Plantation," on the James River, who was estimated to own nearly a thousand slaves.

        "Old Joe Mayo," as he was commonly called by the colored people of Richmond, also deserves mention in these brief records. The colored people looked upon him as their Nero, a man without a heart. He was a tobacco manufacturer, making the famous Virginia Navy Brand. He was the mayor of the city when Richmond surrendered to the Union forces.

        He had made his boast, however, that before he would surrender he would ride in blood up to his saddle. This statement is something like that made by the boy who said he was going to curse his master; he went to the big gate and cursed his master, but at the time his master was miles away. The Yankees were miles away when Mr. Mayo made this remark, but when they got to the gates of Richmond, he was among the first to flee for safety. Doubtless, he changed his mind and thought that discretion was the better part of valor.

        I was told by one who knew from bitter experience, that when Mr. Mayo became mayor of the city he gave it out, that he had a whipping for "every negger in town". It was his law that every colored person who was caught on the streets without a pass, was to be sent to the jail and receive nine and thirty lashes.

        This public whipping in the jail was not altogether like a circus or a picnic--the more times you went to it the more you wanted to go. But the opposite was true: the strongest and stoutest, after

they had embraced the whipping-post, and received what was for them, rarely cared to visit that place again. A colored woman with her child in her arms was on the streets without a pass; it is said that Mr. Mayo slapped the child's face and sent the woman to the whipping-post, thereby, verifying his statement, that he had a whipping for every "negger in town".

        There was a time when Nero no longer sat on the throne with undisputed sway; his sceptre of power had departed. So with Mr. Mayo when I first saw him in Richmond. His fine residence, where the silver had been buried in the garden--but not so deep that the Yankees could not find it--was occupied by General Roberts, and Mr. E. D. Bean, of the New Hampshire second Regiment. As I beheld him, he excited my sympathy and pity; and I was reminded of the words of the sacred poet: "O Lucifer, thou Son of the morning, how hast thou fallen." Yes, and fallen never to rise again. The old man died and was buried. But the colored people looked on his grave without a tear, and though there was no epitaph written on his tombstone, they could easily supply it by saying:

                         "Here lies I 'old Joe Mayo' in his grave dead,
                         Often he whipped us till we bled.
                         He will send us no more to the whipping-post,
                         For he has gone to join the silent host.
                         To the judgment seat he must come
                         To give account for the deeds he has done."

        Doubtless my readers will be pleased to hear something about the first political meeting I attended after the war, in Richmond. There was much excitement about this time, for the smell of powder was still in the air. A meeting was called by the Union people--including, of course, the colored--to consider plans for a new constitution. The big meeting was in the capitol, the late seat of the head of the Confederacy. This was sacred ground made hallowed because of the distinguished Virginians and statesmen who had stood there. It was a thing unknown for a colored man to stand in those halls and on those steps to mingle his voice with the great men of the past.

        He was known to tread upon those sacred precincts, only as a slave and servant, and never as a man advocating the rights of man.