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Page 8
W.F.
PREFACE.
While I feel conscious that most of the contents of these Letters will
be interesting chiefly to American readers, yet I may indulge the hope,
that the fact of their being the first production of a Fugitive Slave,
as a history of travels, may carry with them novelty enough to secure
for them, to some extent, the attention of the reading public of Great
Britain. Most of the letters were written for the private perusal of a
few personal friends in America; some were contributed to "Frederick
Douglass's paper," a journal published in the United States. In a
printed circular sent some weeks since to some of my friends, asking
subscriptions to this volume, I stated the reasons for its publication:
these need not be repeated here. To those who so promptly and kindly
responded to that appeal, I tender my most sincere thanks. It is with no
little diffidence that I lay these letters before the public; for I am
not blind to the fact, that they must contain many errors; and to those
who shall find fault with them on that account, it may not be too much
for me to ask them kindly to remember, that the author was a slave in
one of the Southern States of America, until he had attained the age of
twenty years; and that the education he has acquired, was by his own
exertions, he never having had a day's schooling in his life.
W. WELLS BROWN.
22, CECIL STREET, STRAND,
LONDON.
LETTER I.
_Departure from Boston--the Passengers--Halifax--the Passage--First
Sight of Land--Liverpool._
LIVERPOOL, _July 28_.
On the 18th July, 1849, I took passage in the steam-ship _Canada_,
Captain Judkins, bound for Liverpool. The day was a warm one; so much
so, that many persons on board, as well as several on shore, stood with
their umbrellas up, so intense was the heat of the sun. The ringing of
the ship's bell was a signal for us to shake hands with our friends,
which we did, and then stepped on the deck of the noble craft. The
_Canada_ quitted her moorings at half-past twelve, and we were soon in
motion. As we were passing out of Boston Bay, I took my stand on the
quarter-deck, to take a last farewell (at least for a time), of my
native land. A visit to the old world, up to that time had seemed but a
dream. As I looked back upon the receding land, recollections of the
past rushed through my mind in quick succession. From the treatment that
I had received from the Americans as a victim of slavery, and the
knowledge that I was at that time liable to be seized and again reduced
to whips and chains, I had supposed that I would leave the country
without any regret; but in this I was mistaken, for when I saw the last
thread of communication cut off between me and the land, and the dim
shores dying away in the distance, I almost regretted that I was not on
shore.
An anticipated trip to a foreign country appears pleasant when talking
about it, especially when surrounded by friends whom we love; but when
we have left them all behind, it does not seem so pleasant. Whatever may
be the fault of the government under which we live, and no matter how
oppressive her laws may appear, yet we leave our native land (if such
it be) with feelings akin to sorrow. With the steamer's powerful engine
at work, and with a fair wind, we were speedily on the bosom of the
Atlantic, which was as calm and as smooth as our own Hudson in its
calmest aspect. We had on board above one hundred passengers, forty of
whom were the "Viennese children"--a troop of dancers. The passengers
represented several different nations, English, French, Spaniards,
Africans, and Americans. One man who had the longest pair of mustaches
that mortal man was ever doomed to wear, especially attracted my
attention. He appeared to belong to no country in particular, but was
yet the busiest man on board. After viewing for some time the many
strange faces around me, I descended to the cabin to look after my
luggage, which had been put hurriedly on board. I hope that all who take
a trip of so great a distance may be as fortunate as I was, in being
supplied with books to read on the voyage. My friends had furnished me
with literature, from "Macaulay's History of England" to "Jane Eyre," so
that I did not want for books to occupy my time.
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