There's No Disgrace Like HomeThe Simpsons : Sea...
My spirits this time seemed so broken and subdued, that life appeared not worth the having. My master often tauntingly asked me how I liked the "yoke;" and, while pretending to pity me, always threatened that if I attempted to escape again, I should wear it for life. About this time two gentlemen came on a visit to Mr. Ensor, and frequently asked me if I would like to be free, and go with them to the north; but my constant answer was, "No, I would rather stop with my master, and be a slave." I durst not trust them--I had no confidence in them--slavery destroys confidence between man and man. I was conscious that I was uttering falsehoods, and doing what I ought not to do. And, let me ask my kind readers, who is the party answerable at the judgment seat of God for such wickedness; is it myself or my cruel persecutors? Oh! I could have told them of big thoughts swelling in my bosom--thoughts of Liberty, Liberty. I felt that slavery was a burden too heavy to be borne. My poor degraded fellow slaves laughed at my sorrows, and exultingly exhibited their freedom in contrast to my disgrace. The neighbouring planters forbade me to associate with their slaves, lest I should contaminate them. I was shunned and dreaded in the neighbourhood, and treated as an outcast by all around. However, time works wonders, and so it did for me. I began to feel I was again regaining the confidence of Page 26those around. I became much attached to a number of slaves on the late Mr. Gorsuch's plantation, which joined Mr. Ensor's, and often went to their quarters in the evening, and remained with them till morning. This came to Mr. Gorsuch's ears, who watched his opportunity for forbidding it. One summer's evening I paid one of my usual visits, and as at that time of the year the slaves slept in the hayloft, over the horses, of course I did the same. We were all fast asleep, when about three o'clock in the morning we were all startled by Mr. Gorsuch's voice calling the slaves' names over; he then inquired if there were any stray niggers there. Some said "No;" while others said there was a "darkey" there,--meaning a stranger. He soon found me out, and with a thick stick laid on me most unmercifully. I jumped from the loft into the stable, he after me in quick pursuit; I then attempted to scale a boarded fence, but it was too high for me; so I pushed my head through an opening in the fencing, hoping to drag my body after, but whilst struggling there, neither able to get backward nor forward, Mr. Gorsuch came up and renewed the attack in the most savage manner. At last the boards gave way. I took to my heels; but my unmerciful punisher was not satisfied. He followed me home, related the affair to Mr. Ensor, who encouraged him to give me a second beating before his face, which he did, leaving me in such a state that after a week I had not recovered from the effects of his brutality.*
There's No Disgrace Like HomeThe Simpsons : Sea...
Over Lane, Windsford, Cheshire, Feb. 27, 1856.THE SLAVE.                         Wide o'er the tremulous sea                         The moon spread her mantle of light,                         And the gale gently dying away                         Breathed soft on the bosom of night.                         On the forecastle Maratan stood,                         And pour'd forth his sorrowful tale;                         His tears fell unseen in the flood,                         His sighs died unheard in the gale.                         "Oh, wretch!" in wild anguish he cried,                         "From country and liberty torn!                         Oh, Maratan, would thou hadst died,                         Ere o'er the salt waves thou wert borne.                         "Thro' the groves of Angola I strayed,                         Love and hope made my bosom their home,                         Then I talk'd with my favourite maid,                         Nor dreamt of the sorrow to come.                         "From the thicket the man-hunter sprung,                         My cries echoed loud through the air;                         There was fury and wrath on his tongue:                         He was deaf to the voice of despair.                         "Flow, ye tears, down my cheeks ever flow,                         Still let sleep from my eyelids depart,                         And still may the arrows of woe                         Drink deep from the stream of my heart. Page 88                         "But hark! o'er the silence of night                         My Adela's accents I hear!                         And mournful beneath the wan light,                         I see her loved image appear.                         "Slow o'er the smooth ocean she glides,                         As the mist that hangs light on the wave,                         And fondly her partner she chides,                         Who lingers so long from his grave.                         " 'Oh, Maratan, haste thee,' she cries,                         'Here the reign of oppression is o'er;                         The robber is robbed of his prize,                         And Adela sorrows no more.'                         "Now sinking amidst the dim ray,                         Her form seems to sink from my view--                         Oh stay thee, my Adela, stay--                         She beckons, and I must pursue.                         "To-morrow the white man in vain                         Shall proudly account me his slave,                         My shackles I plunge in the main,                         And rush to the realms of the brave."THE BLIND SLAVE BOY.                         "Come back to me, mother, why linger away                         From thy poor blind boy the long weary day?                         I mark every footstep, I list to each tone,                         And wonder my mother should leave me alone.                         There are voices of sorrow and voices of glee,                         But there's no one to joy or sorrow with me,                         For each has of pleasure and trouble his share,                         And none for the poor little blind boy will care.                         "My mother, come back to me, close to thy breast                         Once more let the poor little blind one be press'd;                         Once more let me feel thy warm breath on my cheek,                         And hear thee in accents of tenderness speak.                         Oh, mother, I've no one to love me,--no heart,                         Can bear like thy own in my sorrow a part;                         No hand is so gentle, no voice is so kind,                         Oh none like a mother can cherish the blind."                         Poor blind one! no mother thy wailing can hear,                         No mother can hasten to banish thy fear,                         For the slave owner drives her o'er mountain and wild,                         And for one paltry dollar hath sold the poor child. Page 89                         Ah! who can in language of mortals reveal                         The anguish that none but a mother can feel,                         When man, in his vile lust for Mammon, hath trod                         On her child who is stricken and smitten of God?                         Blind, helpless, forsaken, with strangers alone,                         She hears in anguish his piteous moan,                         As he eagerly listens, he listens in vain,                         To catch the loved tones of his mother again:                         The curse of the broken in spirit shall fall                         On the wretch who hath mingled his wormwood with gall,                         And his gains like a mildew shall blight and destroy                         Who hath torn from his mother the little blind boy.THE SLAVE'S DREAM.BY LONGFELLOW.                         Beside the ungathered rice he lay,                         With sickle in his hand;                         His breast was bare--his matted hair                         Was buried in the sand.                         Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,                         He saw his native land.                         Wide through the landscape of his dreams                         The lordly Niger flowed;                         Beneath the palm trees on the plain                         Once more a king he strode;                         And heard the tinkling caravans                         Descend the mountain road.                         He saw once more his dark-eyed queen,                         Among her children stand;                         They clasp'd his neck--they kiss'd his cheek--                         They held him by the hand!--                         A tear burst from the sleeper's lids,                         And fell upon the sand.                         And then with furious speed he rode                         Along the Niger's banks--                         His bridle reins were golden chains,                         And with a martial clank                         At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel                         Smiting his stallion's flank.                         Before him like a blood-red flag                         The bright flamingoes flew;                         From morn till night he followd their flight                         O'er plains where the tamarind grew,     &