The Sailorwho had served in the Slave TradeIn September, 1798, a Dissenting Minister of Bristol, discovered a Sailor in the neighbourhood of that City, groaning and praying in a hovel. The circumstance that occasioned his agony of mind is detailed in the annexed Ballad, without the slightest addition or alteration. By presenting it as a Poem the story is made more public, and such stories ought to be made as public as possible.He stopt,—it surely was a groanThat from the hovel came!He stopt and listened anxiouslyAgain it sounds the same.It surely from the hovel comes!And now he hastens there,And thence he hears the name of ChristAmidst a broken prayer.He entered in the hovel now,A sailor there he sees,His hands were lifted up to HeavenAnd he was on his knees.Nor did the Sailor so intentHis entering footsteps heed,But now the Lord’s prayer said, and nowHis half-forgotten creed.And often on his Saviour call’dWith many a bitter groan,In such heart-anguish as could springFrom deepest guilt alone.He ask’d the miserable manWhy he was kneeling there,And what the crime had been that caus’dThe anguish of his prayer.Oh I have done a wicked thing!It haunts me night and day,And I have sought this lonely placeHere undisturb’d to pray.I have no place to pray on boardSo I came here alone,That I might freely kneel and pray,And call on Christ and groan.If to the main-mast head I go,The wicked one is there,From place to place, from rope to rope,He follows every where.I shut my eyes,—it matters not—Still still the same I see,—And when I lie me down at night’Tis always day with me.He follows follows every where,And every place is Hell!O God—and I must go with himIn endless fire to dwell.He follows follows every where,He’s still above—below,Oh tell me where to fly from him!Oh tell me where to go!But tell me, quoth the Stranger then,What this thy crime hath been,So haply I may comfort giveTo one that grieves for sin.O I have done a cursed deedThe wretched man replies,And night and day and every where’Tis still before my eyes.I sail’d on board a Guinea-manAnd to the slave-coast went;Would that the sea had swallowed meWhen I was innocent!And we took in our cargo there,Three hundred negroe slaves,And we sail’d homeward merrilyOver the ocean waves.But some were sulky of the slavesAnd would not touch their meat,So therefore we were forced by threatsAnd blows to make them eat.One woman sulkier than the restWould still refuse her food,—O Jesus God! I hear her cries—I see her in her blood!The Captain made me tie her upAnd flog while he stood by,And then he curs’d me if I staidMy hand to hear her cry.She groan’d, she shriek’d—I could not spareFor the Captain he stood by—Dear God! that I might rest one nightFrom that poor woman’s cry!She twisted from the blows—her bloodHer mangled flesh I see—And still the Captain would not spare—Oh he was worse than me!She could not be more glad than IWhen she was taken down,A blessed minute—’twas the lastThat I have ever known!I did not close my eyes all night,Thinking what I had done;I heard her groans and they grew faintAbout the rising sun.She groan’d and groan’d, but her groans grewFainter at morning tide,Fainter and fainter still they cameTill at the noon she died.They flung her overboard;—poor wretchShe rested from her pain,—But when—O Christ! O blessed God!Shall I have rest again!I saw the sea close over her,Yet she was still in sight;I see her twisting every where;I see her day and night.Go where I will, do what I canThe wicked one I see—Dear Christ have mercy on my soul,O God deliver me!To morrow I set sail againNot to the Negroe shore—Wretch that I am I will at leastCommit that sin no more.O give me comfort if you can—Oh tell me where to fly—And bid me hope, if there be hope,For one so lost as I.Poor wretch, the stranger he replied,Put thou thy trust in heaven,And call on him for whose dear sakeAll sins shall be forgiven.This night at least is thine, go thouAnd seek the house of prayer,There shalt thou hear the word of GodAnd he will help thee there!
who had served in the Slave TradeIn September, 1798, a Dissenting Minister of Bristol, discovered a Sailor in the neighbourhood of that City, groaning and praying in a hovel. The circumstance that occasioned his agony of mind is detailed in the annexed Ballad, without the slightest addition or alteration. By presenting it as a Poem the story is made more public, and such stories ought to be made as public as possible.
He stopt,—it surely was a groanThat from the hovel came!He stopt and listened anxiouslyAgain it sounds the same.It surely from the hovel comes!And now he hastens there,And thence he hears the name of ChristAmidst a broken prayer.He entered in the hovel now,A sailor there he sees,His hands were lifted up to HeavenAnd he was on his knees.Nor did the Sailor so intentHis entering footsteps heed,But now the Lord’s prayer said, and nowHis half-forgotten creed.And often on his Saviour call’dWith many a bitter groan,In such heart-anguish as could springFrom deepest guilt alone.He ask’d the miserable manWhy he was kneeling there,And what the crime had been that caus’dThe anguish of his prayer.Oh I have done a wicked thing!It haunts me night and day,And I have sought this lonely placeHere undisturb’d to pray.I have no place to pray on boardSo I came here alone,That I might freely kneel and pray,And call on Christ and groan.If to the main-mast head I go,The wicked one is there,From place to place, from rope to rope,He follows every where.I shut my eyes,—it matters not—Still still the same I see,—And when I lie me down at night’Tis always day with me.He follows follows every where,And every place is Hell!O God—and I must go with himIn endless fire to dwell.He follows follows every where,He’s still above—below,Oh tell me where to fly from him!Oh tell me where to go!But tell me, quoth the Stranger then,What this thy crime hath been,So haply I may comfort giveTo one that grieves for sin.O I have done a cursed deedThe wretched man replies,And night and day and every where’Tis still before my eyes.I sail’d on board a Guinea-manAnd to the slave-coast went;Would that the sea had swallowed meWhen I was innocent!And we took in our cargo there,Three hundred negroe slaves,And we sail’d homeward merrilyOver the ocean waves.But some were sulky of the slavesAnd would not touch their meat,So therefore we were forced by threatsAnd blows to make them eat.One woman sulkier than the restWould still refuse her food,—O Jesus God! I hear her cries—I see her in her blood!The Captain made me tie her upAnd flog while he stood by,And then he curs’d me if I staidMy hand to hear her cry.She groan’d, she shriek’d—I could not spareFor the Captain he stood by—Dear God! that I might rest one nightFrom that poor woman’s cry!She twisted from the blows—her bloodHer mangled flesh I see—And still the Captain would not spare—Oh he was worse than me!She could not be more glad than IWhen she was taken down,A blessed minute—’twas the lastThat I have ever known!I did not close my eyes all night,Thinking what I had done;I heard her groans and they grew faintAbout the rising sun.She groan’d and groan’d, but her groans grewFainter at morning tide,Fainter and fainter still they cameTill at the noon she died.They flung her overboard;—poor wretchShe rested from her pain,—But when—O Christ! O blessed God!Shall I have rest again!I saw the sea close over her,Yet she was still in sight;I see her twisting every where;I see her day and night.Go where I will, do what I canThe wicked one I see—Dear Christ have mercy on my soul,O God deliver me!To morrow I set sail againNot to the Negroe shore—Wretch that I am I will at leastCommit that sin no more.O give me comfort if you can—Oh tell me where to fly—And bid me hope, if there be hope,For one so lost as I.Poor wretch, the stranger he replied,Put thou thy trust in heaven,And call on him for whose dear sakeAll sins shall be forgiven.This night at least is thine, go thouAnd seek the house of prayer,There shalt thou hear the word of GodAnd he will help thee there!