When this news reached St. Domingo, the people were excited and alarmed. They asked each other anxiously, "How long shall we be excepted?" On that point no assurances were given, and all suspected that the French government was dealing with them hypocritically and treacherously. The soul of Toussaint was on fire. If the names of the men who voted for the restoration of Slavery were mentioned in his presence, his eyes flashed and his whole frame shook with indignation. He published a proclamation, in which he counselled obedience to the mother country, unless circumstances should make it evident that resistance was unavoidable. In private, he said to his friends: "I took up arms for the freedom of my color. France proclaimed it, and she has no right to nullify it. Our liberty is no longer in her hands; it is in our own. We will defend it, or perish."
General Toussaint had sent his two eldest sons to Paris to be educated. As a part of the plan of deception, General Bonaparte invited the young men to visit him. He spoke of their father as a great man, who had rendered very important services to France. He told them he was going to send his brother-in-law, General Le Clerc, with troops to St. Domingo; but he assured them it was not for any hostile purpose; it was merely to add to the defence of the island. He wished them to go with General Le Clerc and tell their father that he intended him all protection, glory, and honor. The next day Bonaparte's Minister of Marine invited the young men to a sumptuous dinner, and at parting presented each with a splendid military uniform. The inexperienced youths were completely dazzled and deceived.
In January, 1802, General Le Clerc sailed with sixty ships and thirty thousand of Bonaparte's experienced troops. When Governor Toussaint received tidings that a French fleet was in sight, he galloped to the coast they were approaching, to take a view of them. He was dismayed, and for a moment discouraged. He exclaimed, "All France has come to enslave St. Domingo. We must perish." He had no vessels, and not more than sixteen thousand men under arms. But his native energy soon returned. The people manifested a determination to die rather than be enslaved again. He resolved to attempt no attack on the French, but to act wholly on the defensive. Le Clerc's army attacked Fort Liberty, killed half the garrison, and forced a landing on the island. Toussaint entrenched himself in a position where he could harass the invaders; and the peaceful, prosperous island again smoked with fire and blood. Le Clerc, still aiming to accomplish Bonaparte's designs by hypocrisy, scattered proclamations among the blacks of St. Domingo, representing that Toussaint kept them in a kind of Slavery on the plantations, but that the French had come to set them wholly free. This did not excite the rebellion which he intended to provoke, but it sowed the seeds of doubt and discontent in the minds of some. At the same time that he was playing this treacherous game, he sent Toussaint's two sons to their father, accompanied by their French tutor, to deliver a letter from the First Consul, which ought to have been sent three months before. The letter was very complimentary to General Toussaint; but it objected to the constitution that had been formed, and spoke in a very general way about the liberty which France granted to all nations under her control. It counselled submission to General Le Clerc,and threatened punishment for disobedience. The tone of the letter, though apparently peaceful and friendly, excited distrust in the mind of General Toussaint, which was increased by the fact that the letter had been so long kept from him. Knowing the strength of his domestic affections, orders had been given that if he surrendered, his sons should remain with him, but if he refused they were to return to the French camp as hostages. Though his heart yearned toward his children, from whom he had been so long separated, he said to their tutor: "Three months after date you bring me a letter which promises peace, while the action of General Le Clerc is war. I had established order and justice here; now all is confusion and misery. Take back my sons. I cannot receive them as the price of my surrender. Tell General Le Clerc hostilities will cease on our part when he stops the progress of his invading army." His sons told him how kindly they had been treated by Bonaparte, and what promises he had made concerning St. Domingo,—promises which had been repeated in the proclamation brought by General Le Clerc. Toussaint had had too severe an experience to be easily deceived by fair words. He replied: "My sons, you are no longer children. You are old enough to decide for yourselves. If you wish to be on the side of France, you are free to do so. Stay with me, or return to General Le Clerc, whichever you choose. Either way, I shall love you always." Isaac, his oldest son, had been so deceived by flattery and promises, that he declared his wish to return to the French camp, feeling very sure that his father would be convinced that Bonaparte was their best friend. But Placide, his step-son, said: "My father, I will remain with you. I dread the restoration of Slavery, and I am fearful about thefuture of St. Domingo." Who can tell what a pang went through the father's heart when he embraced Isaac and bade him farewell?
General Le Clerc was very angry when he found that his overtures were distrusted. He swore that he would seize Toussaint before he took his boots off. He forthwith issued a proclamation declaring him to be an outlaw. When General Toussaint read it to his soldiers, they cried out with one accord, "We will die with you." He said to his officers: "When the rainy season comes, sickness will rid us of our enemies. Till then there is nothing before us but flame and slaughter." Orders were given to fire the towns as the French army approached, and to deal destruction upon them in every way. He gathered his army together at the entrance of the mountains, and, aided by his brave generals Christophe and Dessalines, kept up active skirmishing with the enemy. Horrible things were done on both sides. The Bay of Mancenille was red with the blood of negro prisoners slaughtered by the French. The blacks, infuriated by revenge and dread of Slavery, killed white men, women, and children without mercy. General Dessalines was of a savage temper, and incited his troops to the most ferocious deeds.
But the natural kindliness of the negro character was manifested on many occasions, even in the midst of this horrible excitement. In many cases they guided their old masters to hiding-places in the mountains or forests, and secretly conveyed them food.
Toussaint, with only a plank to sleep on and a cloak to cover him, was constantly occupied with planning attacks and ambuscades, and preaching on Sundays, exhorting the people, with fiery eloquence, to remember thatthe cause of Liberty was the cause of God. General Le Clerc, meanwhile, was disappointed to find so many difficulties in the way of his wicked project. His troops wilted under the increasing heat of the climate, and began to murmur. He issued proclamations, promising, in the most solemn manner, that the freedom of all classes in St. Domingo should be respected. These assurances induced several black regiments to go over to the French. Toussaint's brother Paul, and two of his ablest generals, Bellair and Maurepas, did the same. Still the Commander-in-Chief, aided by Christophe and Dessalines, kept up a stout resistance. But news came that fresh troops were coming from France, and Christophe and Dessalines had an interview with General Le Clerc, in which, by fair promises, he succeeded in gaining them over to the French side. A messenger was then sent to ask for a conference with General Toussaint. Solemn assurances were repeated that the freedom of the blacks should be protected; and a proposition was made that he should be colleague with General Le Clerc in the government of the island, and that his officers should retain their rank in the army. With reinforcements coming from France, and with his best generals gained over, Toussaint had no longer hopes of defeating the invaders, though he might send out skirmishers to annoy them. He had too little faith in the promises of General Le Clerc to consent to take an oath of office under him. He therefore replied: "I might remain a brigand in the mountains, and harass you with perpetual warfare, so far as your power to prevent it is concerned. But I disdain fighting for mere bloodshed; and, in obedience to the orders of the First Consul, I yield to you. For myself, I wish to live in retirement; but I accept your favorable terms for the people and the army."
With four hundred armed horsemen he set out for the Cape, to hold the proposed conference with General Le Clerc. On the way, the people, thinking peace was secured without the sacrifice of their freedom, hailed him as their benefactor. Girls strewed flowers in his path, and mothers held up their children to bless him. General Le Clerc received him with a salute of artillery, and made a speech in which he highly complimented his bravery, magnanimity, and good faith, and expressed a hope that, though he chose to live in retirement, he would continue to assist the government of the island by his wise counsels. In the presence of the troops on both sides, he took an oath on the cross to protect the freedom of St. Domingo. With the same solemn formalities, General Toussaint promised that the treaty of peace should be faithfully observed.
The next day, he explained fully to his officers and soldiers what were the terms of the treaty, and impressed upon their minds that such a promise could not be violated without committing the sin of perjury. He thanked them all for the courage and devotedness they had shown under his command, embraced his officers, and bade them an affectionate farewell. They shed tears, and expressed the greatest reluctance to part with him; but he told them that such a course would best conduce to public tranquillity. The soldiers were inconsolable. They followed him, calling out in the saddest tones, "Have you deserted us?" He replied: "No, my children. Do not be uneasy. Your officers are all under arms, and at their posts."
Twelve years had passed since he was working on the Breda estate, and seeing houses and cane-fields on fire in every direction, had said to his wife, "The slaves haverisen." Since that time, his life had been one scene of excitement, danger, ceaseless exertion, and overwhelming responsibility. He had been commander-in-chief of the armies of St. Domingo during five years, and governor of the island about one year. Now, with a heart full of anxiety for his people, but cheered by hopes of domestic happiness, he retired, far from the scene of his official splendor, to Ennery, a beautiful valley among the mountains. Surrounded by his family, he busied himself with clearing up the land and cultivating oranges, bananas, and coffee. The people round about often came to him for advice, and he freely assisted his neighbors in making repairs and improvements. Strangers often visited him, and when he rode abroad he was greeted with every demonstration of respect.
General Le Clerc, meanwhile, was attacked by a new and terrible enemy. His troops, unused to the climate, were cut down by yellow fever, as a mower cuts grass. In this situation, had Toussaint excited the blacks against them, they might have been exterminated; but he had sworn to observe the treaty, and he was never known to break his word. The kind-hearted negroes, in many cases, took pity on the suffering French soldiers; they carried them many little comforts, and even took them into their houses, and nursed them tenderly.
Meanwhile, General Le Clerc's difficulties increased. His troops were dying fast under the influence of the hot season; provisions were getting scarce; he wanted to disband the negro troops that had joined him, but they were wide awake and suspicious on the subject of Slavery, and he dared not propose to disarm them. He was so treacherous himself that he could not believe in the sincerity of others. He was always suspecting that Toussaint would again take command of the blacks and attack the remnant of his army while it was enfeebled by disease. Bonaparte also felt that the popularity of Toussaint stood much in the way of his accomplishing the design of restoring Slavery. It was desirable to get him out of the way upon some pretext. The French officers made him the object of a series of petty insults, and wantonly destroyed the fruit on his grounds. By these means they hoped to provoke him to excite an insurrection, that they might have an excuse for arresting him. His friends warned him that these continual insults and depredations foreboded mischief, and that he ought not to submit to them. He replied, "It is a sacred duty to expose life when the freedom of one's country is in peril; but to rouse the people to save one's own life is inglorious."
Finding private remonstrances of no use, he reported to the French head-quarters that he and his neighbors were much annoyed by the conduct of the French troops, and that the people in the valley were made very uneasy by their rude manners and their depredations on property. He received a very polite answer from General Brunet, inviting him to come to his house to confer with him on that and other matters connected with the public tranquillity. The letter closed with these words: "You will not find all the pleasures I would wish to welcome you with, but you will find the frankness of an honorable man, who desires nothing but the happiness of the colony, and your own happiness. If Madame Toussaint, with whom it would give me the greatest pleasure to become acquainted, could accompany you, I should be gratified. If she has occasion for horses, I will send her mine. Never, General, will you find a more sincere friend than myself."
Toussaint, who was sincerely desirous to preserve the public peace, and who was too honest to suspect treachery under such a friendly form, went to General Brunet's head-quarters, with a few attendants, on the 10th of June, 1802. He was received with the greatest respect and cordiality. His host consulted with him concerning the interests of the colony; and they examined maps together till toward evening, when General Brunet left the room. An officer with twenty armed men entered, saying: "The Captain-General has ordered me to arrest you. Your attendants are overpowered. If you resist, you are a dead man." Toussaint's first impulse was to defend himself; but seeing it would be useless against such numbers, he resigned himself to his hard fate, saying, "Heaven will avenge my cause."
His papers were seized, his house rifled and burned, his wife and children captured, and at midnight they were all carried on board the French ship Hero, without being allowed to take even a change of clothing. His wrists were chained, he was locked in a cabin guarded by soldiers with fixed bayonets, and not permitted to hold any communication with his family. As the vessel sailed away from St. Domingo, Toussaint, gazing on the outline of its mountains for the last time, said, "They have cut down the tree of Liberty; but the roots are many and deep, and it will sprout again."
Toussaint l'Ouverture was even then incapable of imagining the base designs against him. He supposed that he had been accused of something, and was to be carried to France for trial. Conscious of uniform fidelity to the French government, he felt no uneasiness as to the result, though the treachery and violence with which he had been treated in return for his great services madehim very sad. Arrived on the shores of France, he was removed to another vessel, and allowed only a few moments to say farewell to his wife and children. They embraced him with tears, and begged him to remember them, who had always loved him so dearly.
From the vessel, instead of being carried to Paris for trial, as he expected, he was hurried into a carriage, and, followed by a strong guard, was carried to the dismal Castle of Joux, near the borders of Switzerland. That ancient castle stands among the mountains of Jura, on the summit of a solid rock five hundred feet high. He was placed in a deep, dark dungeon, from the walls of which the water dripped continually. This was in August, 1802. But though it was summer elsewhere, it was damp and cold in Toussaint's dreary cell. The keeper was allowed about four shillings a day to provide food for him; and one faithful servant, who had accompanied the family from St. Domingo, was allowed to remain with him.
His spirits were kept up for some time with the daily expectation of being summoned to attend his trial. But time passed on, and he could obtain no tidings from the French government, or from his family. In a letter to General Bonaparte, beseeching him to let him know of what he was accused, and to grant him a trial, he wrote:—
"I have served my country with honor, fidelity, and integrity. All who know me will do me the justice to acknowledge this. At the time of the revolution, I spent all I had in the service of my country. I purchased but one small estate, on which to establish my wife and family. I neglected nothing for the welfare of St. Domingo. I made it my duty and pleasure to develop all the resourcesof that beautiful colony. Since I entered the service of the republic I have not claimed a penny of my salary. I have taken money from the treasury only for public use. If I was wrong in forming a constitution, it was through my great desire to do good, and thinking it would please the government under which I served. I have had the misfortune to incur your displeasure; but I am strong in the consciousness of integrity and fidelity; and I dare affirm that among all the servants of the state no one is more honest than myself."
This letter is still in existence, and some of the words are blotted out by tears that fell while the noble captive was writing it. Bonaparte paid no attention to this manly appeal. After weary waiting, Toussaint wrote again:—
"First Consul, it is a misfortune to me that I am not known to you. If you had thoroughly known me while I was in St. Domingo, you would have done me more justice. I am not learned; I am ignorant: but my heart is good. My father showed me the road to virtue and honor, and I am very strong in my conscience in that matter. If I had not been so devoted to the French government I should not be here. All my life I have been in active service, and now I am a miserable prisoner, without power to do anything, sunk in grief, and with health impaired. I ask you for my freedom, that I may labor for the support of my family. For my venerable father, now a hundred and five years old, who is blind, and needs my assistance; for my dearly loved wife, who, separated from me, cannot, I fear, endure the afflictions that overwhelm her; and for my cherished family, who have made the happiness of my life. I call on your greatness. Let your heart be softened by my misfortunes."
This touching appeal met with the same fate as the first. Bonaparte even had the meanness to forbid the prisoner's wearing an officer's uniform. When he asked for a change of clothing, the cast-off suit of a soldier and a pair of old boots were sent him. There seemed to be a deliberate system of heaping contempt upon him. The daily sum allowed for his food was diminished, and the cold winds of autumn began to howl round his dungeon. They doubtless thought that so old a man, accustomed to tropical warmth, and the devotion of a loving family, would die under the combined influence of solitude, cold, and scanty food. But his iron constitution withstood the severe test. The next step was to deprive him of his faithful servant, Mars Plaisir. Seeing him weep bitterly, Toussaint said to him: "Would I could console thee under this cruel separation. Be assured I shall never forget thy faithful services. Carry my last farewell to my wife and family."
The farewell never reached them. Mars Plaisir was lodged in another prison, lest he should tell of the slow murder that was going on in the Castle of Joux. Toussaint's supply of food was gradually diminished, till he had barely enough to keep him alive,—merely a little meal daily, which he had to prepare for himself in an earthen jug. The walls sparkled with frost, and the floor was slippery with ice, except immediately around his little fire. Thus he passed through a most miserable winter. He was thin as a skeleton; but still he did not die. As a last resort, the governor of the castle went away and took the keys of the dungeon with him. He was gone three days; and when he returned, Toussaint was lying stiff and cold on his heap of straw. Doctors were called in to examine him, and they certified that hedied of apoplexy. This was in April, 1803, after he had been more than eight months in that horrid dungeon, and when he was a little more than sixty years old. The body was buried in the chapel under the castle. It was given out to the world that the deceased prisoner was a revolted slave, who had been guilty of every species of robbery and cruelty; and that he had been thrown into prison for plotting to deliver the island of St. Domingo into the hands of the English.
When the family of Toussaint l'Ouverture were informed of his death, they were overwhelmed with grief, though they had no idea of the horrid circumstances connected with it. The two oldest sons tried to escape from France, but were seized and imprisoned. The French government feared the consequences of their returning to St. Domingo. The youngest son soon after died of consumption. Madame Toussaint sank under the weight of her great afflictions. Her health became very feeble, and at times her mind wandered. When the power of Bonaparte was overthrown, and a new government introduced into France, a pension was granted for her support, and her two sons were released from prison. She died in their arms in 1816.
There was great consternation in St. Domingo when it was known that Toussaint l'Ouverture had been kidnapped and carried off. There was an attempt at mutiny among the black soldiers; but the leaders were shot by the French, and the spirit of insurrection was put down for a time. No tidings could be obtained from Toussaint, and after a while he was generally believed to be dead. But his prediction was fulfilled. The tree of Liberty, that had been cut down, did sprout again. Bonapartesent new troops to St. Domingo to supply the place of those cut off by yellow fever. The French officers frequently subjected black soldiers to the lash, a punishment which had never been inflicted upon them since the days of Slavery. An active slave-trade was carried on with the other French colonies, where Slavery had been restored, and people were frequently smuggled away from St. Domingo and sold. The mulattoes found out that people of their color were sold, as well as blacks. They had formerly acted against their mothers' race, not because they were worse than other men, but because they had the same human nature that other men have. Being free born, and many of them educated and wealthy, and slaveholders also, they despised the blacks, who had always been slaves; but when Slavery touched people of their own color, they were ready to act with the negroes against the whites. Toussaint's generals, though they still held their old rank in the army, grew more and more distrustful of the French. When General Christophe accepted an invitation to dine with General Le Clerc, he ordered his troops to be in readiness for a sudden blow. The French officer who sat next him at table urged him to drink a great deal of wine; but Christophe was on his guard, and kept his wits about him. At last he repulsed the offer of wine with great rudeness, whereupon Le Clerc summoned his guard to be in readiness, and began to accuse Toussaint of treachery to the whites. "Treachery!" exclaimed the indignant Christophe. "Have you not broken oaths and treaties, and violated the sacred rights of hospitality? Those whose blood flows for our liberty are rewarded with prison, banishment, death. Friends, soldiers, heroes of our mountains, are no longer around me. Toussaint, thepride of our race, the terror of our enemies, whose genius led us from Slavery to Liberty, who adorned peace with lovely virtues, whose glory fills the world, was put in irons, like the vilest criminal!"
General Le Clerc deemed it prudent to preserve outward composure, for General Christophe had informed him that troops were in readiness to protect him. But notwithstanding many ominous symptoms of discontent among the blacks and mulattoes, he blindly persevered in carrying out the cruel policy of Bonaparte. Shiploads of slaves were brought into St. Domingo and openly sold. Then came a decree authorizing slaveholders to resume their old authority over the blacks. Bitterly did Toussaint's officers regret having trusted to the promises of the French authorities. The consciousness of having been deceived made the fire of freedom burn all the more fiercely in their souls. The blacks were everywhere ready to die rather than be slaves again. In November, 1803, General Christophe published a document in which he said:—
"The independence of St. Domingo is proclaimed. Toward men who do us justice we will act as brothers. But we have sworn not to listen with clemency to any one who speaks to us of Slavery. We will be inexorable, perhaps even cruel, toward those who come from Europe to bring among us death and servitude. No sacrifice is too costly, and all means are lawful, when men find that freedom, the greatest of all blessings, is to be wrested from them."
The closing scenes of the revolution were too horrible to be described. General Rochambeau, who commanded the French army after the death of General Le Clerc, was a tyrannical and cruel tool of the slaveholders.Everywhere colored men were seized and executed without forms of law. Maurepas, who had been one of Toussaint's most distinguished generals, was seized on suspicion of favoring insurrection. His epaulets were nailed to his shoulders with spikes, he was suspended from the yard-arm of a vessel, while his wife and children, and four hundred of his black soldiers, were thrown over to the sharks before his eyes. The trees were hung with the corpses of negroes. Some were torn to pieces by bloodhounds trained for the purpose; some were burnt alive. Sixteen of Toussaint's bravest generals were chained by the neck to the rocks of an uninhabited island, and left there to perish. Most of these victims were firm in the midst of their tortures, and died with the precious word Freedom on their lips. A mother, whose daughters were going to be executed, said to them: "Be thankful. You will not live to be the mothers of slaves."
I am happy to record that all the whites were not destitute of feeling. Some sea-captains, who were ordered to take negroes out to sea and drown them, contrived to aid their escape to the mountains, or landed them on other shores.
The blacks, driven to desperation, became as cruel as their oppressors. They visited upon white men, women, and children all the barbarities they had seen and suffered. The wife of General Paul, brother of Toussaint, was dragged from her peaceful home, and drowned by French soldiers. This murder made him perfectly crazy with revenge. Though naturally of a mild disposition, he thenceforth had no mercy on anybody of white complexion. His old father, Gaou-Guinou, who survived Toussaint about a year, was filled with the same spirit,and the last words he uttered were a malediction on the whites. The spirit of the infernal regions raged throughout all classes, and it was all owing to the wickedness of Slavery.
On the last day of November, 1803, little more than a year after the abduction of Toussaint, the French were driven from the island, never more to return. The colony, which might have been a source of wealth to them, if Toussaint had been allowed to carry out his plans, was lost to France forever. St. Domingo became independent, under its old name of Hayti; and General Christophe, who was as able as Toussaint, but more ambitious, was proclaimed emperor. A law was passed, and still remains in force, that no white man should own a foot of soil on the island. But white Americans and Europeans reside there, and transact various kinds of business under the protection of equal laws.
Perhaps it sometimes seemed to Toussaint, in the loneliness of his dungeon, as if all his great sacrifices and efforts for his oppressed race had been in vain. But they were not in vain. God raised him up to do a great work, which he faithfully performed; and his spirit is still "marching on." Slavery becomes more and more odious in the civilized world, and nation after nation abolishes it. Fifty years after the death of Toussaint all the slaves in the French colonies were emancipated. How his spirit must rejoice to look on the West Indies now!
In 1850 the grave of Toussaint l'Ouverture was discovered by some engineers at work on the Castle of Joux. His skull was placed on a shelf in the dungeon where he died, and is shown to travellers who visit the place.
For a long while great injustice was done to the memory of Toussaint l'Ouverture, and also to the blacks who fought so fiercely in resistance of Slavery; for the histories of St. Domingo were written by prejudiced French writers, or by equally prejudiced mulattoes. But at last the truth is made known. Candid, well-informed persons now acknowledge that the blacks of St. Domingo sinned cruelly because they were cruelly sinned against; and Toussaint l'Ouverture, seen in the light of his own actions, is acknowledged to be one of the greatest and best men the world has ever produced. A very distinguished English poet, named Wordsworth, has written an admirable sonnet to his memory. The celebrated Harriet Martineau, of England, has made him the hero of a beautiful novel. Wendell Phillips, one of the most eloquent speakers in the United States, has eulogized his memory in a noble lecture, delivered in various parts of the country, before thousands and thousands of hearers. And James Redpath has recently published in Boston a biography of Toussaint l'Ouverture, truthfully portraying the pure and great soul of that martyred hero.
Well may the Freedmen of the United States take pride in Toussaint l'Ouverture, as the man who made an opening of freedom for their oppressed race, and by the greatness of his character and achievements proved the capabilities of Black Men.
It is better to be a lean freeman than a fat slave.—A Proverb in Hayti.
A slave in one of our Southern States, named Mingo, was endowed with uncommon abilities. If he had been a white man, his talents would have secured him an honorable position; but being colored, his great intelligence only served to make him an object of suspicion. He was thrown into prison, to be sold. He wrote the following lines on the walls, which were afterward found and copied. A Southern gentleman sent them to a friend in Boston, as a curiosity, and they were published in the Boston Journal, many years ago. The night after Mingo wrote them, he escaped from the slave-prison; but he was tracked and caught by bloodhounds, who tore him in such a shocking manner that he died. By that dreadful process his great soul was released from his enslaved body. His wife lived to be an aged woman, and was said to have many of his poems in her possession. Here are the lines he wrote in his agony while in prison:—
"Good God! and must I leave them now,My wife, my children, in their woe?'Tis mockery to say I'm sold!But I forget these chains so cold,Which goad my bleeding limbs; though highMy reason mounts above the sky.Dear wife, they cannot sell the roseOf love that in my bosom glows.Remember, as your tears may start,They cannot sell the immortal part.Thou Sun, which lightest bond and free,Tell me, I pray, is libertyThe lot of those who noblest feel,And oftest to Jehovah kneel?Then I may say, but not with pride,I feel the rushings of the tideOf reason and of eloquence,Which strive and yearn for eminence.I feel high manhood on me now,A spirit-glory on my brow;I feel a thrill of music roll,Like angel-harpings, through my soul;While poesy, with rustling wings,Upon my spirit rests and sings.Hesweeps my heart's deep throbbing lyre,Who touched Isaiah's lips with fire."
"Good God! and must I leave them now,My wife, my children, in their woe?'Tis mockery to say I'm sold!But I forget these chains so cold,Which goad my bleeding limbs; though highMy reason mounts above the sky.Dear wife, they cannot sell the roseOf love that in my bosom glows.Remember, as your tears may start,They cannot sell the immortal part.Thou Sun, which lightest bond and free,Tell me, I pray, is libertyThe lot of those who noblest feel,And oftest to Jehovah kneel?Then I may say, but not with pride,I feel the rushings of the tideOf reason and of eloquence,Which strive and yearn for eminence.I feel high manhood on me now,A spirit-glory on my brow;I feel a thrill of music roll,Like angel-harpings, through my soul;While poesy, with rustling wings,Upon my spirit rests and sings.Hesweeps my heart's deep throbbing lyre,Who touched Isaiah's lips with fire."
May God forgive his oppressors.
BY FRANCES E. W. HARPER.
Make me a grave where'er you will,In a lowly plain or a lofty hill;Make it among earth's humblest graves,But not in a land where men are slaves.I ask no monument proud and high,To arrest the gaze of the passers by;All that my yearning spirit cravesIs, Bury me not in a Land of Slaves.
Make me a grave where'er you will,In a lowly plain or a lofty hill;Make it among earth's humblest graves,But not in a land where men are slaves.
I ask no monument proud and high,To arrest the gaze of the passers by;All that my yearning spirit cravesIs, Bury me not in a Land of Slaves.
BY L. MARIA CHILD.
Phillis Wheatley was born in Africa, and brought to Boston, Massachusetts, in the year 1761,—a little more than a hundred years ago. At that time the people in Massachusetts held slaves. The wife of Mr. John Wheatley of Boston had several slaves; but they were getting too old to be very active, and she wanted to purchase a young girl, whom she could train up in such a manner as to make her a good domestic. She went to the slave-market for that purpose, and there she saw a little girl with no other clothing than a piece of dirty, ragged carpeting tied round her. She looked as if her health was feeble,—probably owing to her sufferings in the slave-ship, and to the fact of her having no one to care for her after she landed. Mrs. Wheatley was a kind, religious woman; and though she considered the sickly look of the child an objection, there was something so gentle and modest in the expression of her dark countenance, that her heart was drawn toward her, and she bought her in preference to several others who looked more robust. She took her home in her chaise, put her in a bath, and dressed her in clean clothes. They could not at first understand her; for she spoke an African dialect, sprinkled with a few words of broken English; and when she could not make herself understood, she resorted to a variety of gestures and signs. She did not know her own age, but, from her shedding her front teeth at thattime, she was supposed to be about seven years old. She could not tell how long it was since the slave-traders tore her from her parents, nor where she had been since that time. The poor little orphan had probably gone through so much suffering and terror, and been so unable to make herself understood by anybody, that her mind had become bewildered concerning the past. She soon learned to speak English; but she could remember nothing about Africa, except that she used to see her mother pour out water before the rising sun. Almost all the ancient nations of the world supposed that a Great Spirit had his dwelling in the sun, and they worshipped that Spirit in various forms. One of the most common modes of worship was to pour out water, or wine, at the rising of the sun, and to utter a brief prayer to the Spirit of that glorious luminary. Probably this ancient custom had been handed down, age after age, in Africa, and in that fashion the untaught mother of little Phillis continued to worship the god of her ancestors. The sight of the great splendid orb, coming she knew not whence, rising apparently out of the hills to make the whole world glorious with light, and the devout reverence with which her mother hailed its return every morning, might naturally impress the child's imagination so deeply, that she remembered it after she had forgotten everything else about her native land.
A wonderful change took place in the little forlorn stranger in the course of a year and a half. She not only learned to speak English correctly, but she was able to read fluently in any part of the Bible. She evidently possessed uncommon intelligence and a great desire for knowledge. She was often found trying to make letters with charcoal on the walls and fences. Mrs. Wheatley'sdaughter, perceiving her eagerness to learn, undertook to teach her to read and write. She found this an easy task, for her pupil learned with astonishing quickness. At the same time she showed such an amiable, affectionate disposition, that all members of the family became much attached to her. Her gratitude to her kind, motherly mistress was unbounded, and her greatest delight was to do anything to please her.
When she was about fourteen years old, she began to write poetry; and it was pretty good poetry, too. Owing to these uncommon manifestations of intelligence, and to the delicacy of her health, she was never put to hard household work, as was intended at the time of her purchase. She was kept constantly with Mrs. Wheatley and her daughter, employed in light and easy services for them. Her poetry attracted attention, and Mrs. Wheatley's friends lent her books, which she read with great eagerness. She soon acquired a good knowledge of geography, history, and English poetry; of the last she was particularly fond. After a while, they found she was trying to learn Latin, which she so far mastered as to be able to read it understandingly. There was no law in Massachusetts against slaves learning to read and write, as there have been in many of the States; and her mistress, so far from trying to hinder her, did everything to encourage her love of learning. She always called her affectionately, "My Phillis," and seemed to be as proud of her attainments as if she had been her own daughter. She even allowed her to have a fire and light in her own chamber in the evening, that she might study and write down her thoughts whenever they came to her.
Phillis was of a very religious turn of mind, and when she was about sixteen she joined the Orthodox Church,that worshipped in the Old-South Meeting-house in Boston. Her character and deportment were such that she was considered an ornament to the church. Clergymen and other literary persons who visited at Mrs. Wheatley's took a good deal of notice of her. Her poems were brought forward to be read to the company, and were often much praised. She was not unfrequently invited to the houses of wealthy and distinguished people, who liked to show her off as a kind of wonder. Most young girls would have had their heads completely turned by so much flattery and attention; but seriousness and humility seemed to be natural to Phillis. She always retained the same gentle, modest deportment that had won Mrs. Wheatley's heart when she first saw her in the slave-market. Sometimes, when she went abroad, she was invited to sit at table with other guests; but she always modestly declined, and requested that a plate might be placed for her on a side-table. Being well aware of the common prejudice against her complexion, she feared that some one might be offended by her company at their meals. By pursuing this course she manifested a natural politeness, which proved her to be more truly refined than any person could be who objected to sit beside her on account of her color.
Although she was tenderly cared for, and not required to do any fatiguing work, her constitution never recovered from the shock it had received in early childhood. When she was about nineteen years old, her health failed so rapidly that physicians said it was necessary for her to take a sea-voyage. A son of Mr. Wheatley's was going to England on commercial business, and his mother proposed that Phillis should go with him.
In England she received even more attention than hadbeen bestowed upon her at home. Several of the nobility invited her to their houses; and her poems were published in a volume, with an engraved likeness of the author. In this picture she looks gentle and thoughtful, and the shape of her head denotes intellect. One of the engravings was sent to Mrs. Wheatley, who was delighted with it. When one of her relatives called, she pointed it out to her, and said, "Look at my Phillis! Does she not seem as if she would speak to me?"
Still the young poetess was not spoiled by flattery. One of the relatives of Mrs. Wheatley informs us, that "not all the attention she received, nor all the honors that were heaped upon her, had the slightest influence upon her temper and deportment. She was still the same single-hearted, unsophisticated being."
She addressed a poem to the Earl of Dartmouth, who was very kind to her during her visit to England. Having expressed a hope for the overthrow of tyranny, she says:—
"Should you, my Lord, while you peruse my song,Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,—Whence flow these wishes for the common good,By feeling hearts alone best understood,—I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate,Was snatched from Afric's fancied happy state.What pangs excruciating must molest,What sorrows labor in my parent's breast!Steeled was that soul, and by no misery moved,That from a father seized his babe beloved.Such was my case; and can I then but prayOthers may never feel tyrannic sway."
"Should you, my Lord, while you peruse my song,Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,—Whence flow these wishes for the common good,By feeling hearts alone best understood,—I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate,Was snatched from Afric's fancied happy state.What pangs excruciating must molest,What sorrows labor in my parent's breast!Steeled was that soul, and by no misery moved,That from a father seized his babe beloved.Such was my case; and can I then but prayOthers may never feel tyrannic sway."
The English friends of Phillis wished to present her to their king, George the Third, who was soon expected in London. But letters from America informed her that her beloved benefactress, Mrs. Wheatley, was in declininghealth, and greatly desired to see her. No honors could divert her mind from the friend of her childhood. She returned to Boston immediately. The good lady died soon after; Mr. Wheatley soon followed; and the daughter, the kind instructress of her youth, did not long survive. The son married and settled in England. For a short time Phillis stayed with a friend of her deceased benefactress; then she hired a room and lived by herself. It was a sad change for her.
The war of the American Revolution broke out. In the autumn of 1776 General Washington had his head-quarters at Cambridge, Massachusetts; and the spirit moved Phillis to address some complimentary verses to him. In reply, he sent her the following courteous note:—
"I thank you most sincerely for your polite notice of me in the elegant lines you enclosed. However undeserving I may be of such encomium, the style and manner exhibit a striking proof of your poetical talents. In honor of which, and as a tribute justly due to you, I would have published the poem, had I not been apprehensive that, while I only meant to give the world this new instance of your genius, I might have incurred the imputation of vanity. This, and nothing else, determined me not to give it a place in the public prints."If you should ever come to Cambridge, or near head-quarters, I shall be happy to see a person so favored by the Muses,[4]and to whom Nature had been so liberal and beneficent in her dispensations."I am, with great respect,"Your obedient, humble servant,"George Washington."
"I thank you most sincerely for your polite notice of me in the elegant lines you enclosed. However undeserving I may be of such encomium, the style and manner exhibit a striking proof of your poetical talents. In honor of which, and as a tribute justly due to you, I would have published the poem, had I not been apprehensive that, while I only meant to give the world this new instance of your genius, I might have incurred the imputation of vanity. This, and nothing else, determined me not to give it a place in the public prints.
"If you should ever come to Cambridge, or near head-quarters, I shall be happy to see a person so favored by the Muses,[4]and to whom Nature had been so liberal and beneficent in her dispensations.
"I am, with great respect,"Your obedient, humble servant,"George Washington."
The early friends of Phillis were dead, or scattered abroad, and she felt alone in the world. She formed an acquaintance with a colored man by the name of Peters, who kept a grocery shop. He was more than commonly intelligent, spoke fluently, wrote easily, dressed well, and was handsome in his person. He offered marriage, and in an evil hour she accepted him. He proved to be lazy, proud, and harsh-tempered. He neglected his business, failed, and became very poor. Though unwilling to do hard work himself, he wanted to make a drudge of his wife. Her constitution was frail, she had been unaccustomed to hardship, and she was the mother of three little children, with no one to help her in her household labors and cares. He had no pity on her, and instead of trying to lighten her load, he made it heavier by his bad temper. The little ones sickened and died, and their gentle mother was completely broken down by toil and sorrow. Some of the descendants of her lamented mistress at last heard of her illness and went to see her. They found her in a forlorn situation, suffering for the common comforts of life. The Revolutionary war was still raging. Everybody was mourning for sons and husbands slain in battle. The country was very poor. The currency was so deranged that a goose cost forty dollars, and other articles in proportion. In such a state of things, people were too anxious and troubled to think about the African poetess, whom they had once delighted to honor; or if they transiently remembered her, they took it for granted that her husband provided for her. And so it happened that the gifted woman who had been patronized by wealthy Bostonians, and who had rolled through London in the splendid carriages of the English nobility, lay dying alone, in a cold, dirty, comfortlessroom. It was a mournful reverse of fortune; but she was patient and resigned. She made no complaint of her unfeeling husband; but the neighbors said that when a load of wood was sent to her, he felt himself too much of a gentleman to saw it, though his wife was shivering with cold. The descendants of Mrs. Wheatley did what they could to relieve her wants, after they discovered her extremely destitute condition; but, fortunately for her, she soon went "where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are at rest."
Her husband was so generally disliked, that people never called her Mrs. Peters. She was always called Phillis Wheatley, the name bestowed upon her when she first entered the service of her benefactress, and by which she had become known as a poetess.
BY FREDERICK DOUGLASS.
"Is it not astonishing, that while we are ploughing, planting, and reaping, using all kinds of mechanical tools, erecting houses and constructing bridges, building ships, working in metals of brass, iron, and copper, silver and gold; that while we are reading, writing, and ciphering, acting as clerks, merchants, and secretaries, having among us lawyers, doctors, ministers, poets, authors, editors, orators, and teachers; that while we are engaged in all manner of enterprises common to other men, digging gold in California, capturing the whale in the Pacific, breeding sheep and cattle on the hillside; living, moving, acting, thinking, planning; living in families as husbands, wives, and children; and, above all, confessing and worshipping the Christian's God, and looking hopefully for immortal life beyond the grave;—is it not astonishing, I say, that we are called upon to prove that we aremen?"
BY PHILLIS WHEATLEY.
[Written at sixteen years of age.]