09 - Biography of an American Bondman, By His Daughter by Josephine Brown

Delve into the captivating life of an American Bondman, as lovingly presented by his daughter, Josephine Brown. This biography not only revisits the significant experiences documented in her fathers own narratives, but also introduces fresh anecdotes and her unique perspective on his life. While the book draws heavily from previously published autobiographical accounts, it is enriched by a narrative style brimming with humor and wit. As observed by Andrews, the biographys exceptional contribution to the legacy of William Wells Brown is the insights it provides into the rhetorical strategies employed by both father and daughter in their united stand against slavery.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapters seventeen and eighteen of Biography of an American Bondman
by his Daughter by Josephine Brown. This LibriVox recording is
in the public domain. Chapter seventeen. Erin my country or
the Swelling Wave, Join in the cry ask freedom for

(00:25):
the slave natives of a land of glory, Daughters of
the good and brave, hear the injured Negro's story here
and help the kneeling slave. From Liverpool, mister Brown went
to Dublin, where he was warmly greeted by the Webbs, Houghton's, Allen's,
and others of the slave's friends in Ireland. Her Britannic

(00:48):
Majesty visiting her Irish subjects. At that time, the fugitive
had an opportunity of witnessing Royalty in all its magnificence
and regal splendor of Burke, Sheridan and O'Connell would not
permit the American to leave without giving him a public welcome.
A large and enthusiastic meeting, held in the rotunda and

(01:11):
presided over by James houghton Es, gave mister Brown the
first reception which he had in the Old World. After
a sojourn of twenty days in the Emerald Isle, the
fugitive started for the Peace Congress, which was to assemble
at Paris. The Peace Congress and especially the French, who
were in attendance at the great meeting, most of whom

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had never seen a colored person, were somewhat taken by surprise.
On the last day, when mister Brown made a speech,
his reception, said La Press was most flattering. He admirably
sustained his reputation as a public speaker. His address produced
a profound sensation. At its conclusion, the speaker was warmly

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greeted by Victor Hugo, President of the Congress, Richard Cobden Esquire,
and other distinguished men. On the platform at the saret
given by Monsieur de Togvilla, the Minister for Foreign Affairs,
the American slave was received with marked attention. More than
thirty of the English delegates at the Congress gave mister

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Brown invitations to visit their towns on his return to
England and lecture on American slavery. Having spent a fortnight
in Paris and Vicinity viewing the sites, he returned to London.
George Thompson Esquire, was among the first to meet the
fugitive on his arrival at the English metropolis. A few

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days after, a very large meeting, held in the spacious
Music Hall, Bedford Square and presided over by Sir Francis
Knowles Bart welcomed mister Brown to England. Many of Britain's
distinguished public speakers spoke on the occasion. George Thompson made
one of his most brilliant efforts. This flattering reception gained

(03:03):
for the fugitive, pressing invitations from nearly all parts of
the United Kingdom. At the City of Worcester, His Honor
the Mayor presided over the meeting and introduced mister Brown
as the honorable gentleman from America. In the city of Norwich,
the meeting was held in Saint Andrew's Hall, one of
the oldest and most venerated buildings in the Kingdom, and

(03:25):
the chairman on the occasion was John Henry Gurney Esquire,
the distinguished banker and son of the late Joseph John Gurney.
At Newcastle on Tyne, two meetings were held, His Honor
the Mayor presided over one and Sir John Fife over
the other. Here, the Friends of Freedom gave mister Brown
a public soiree at which eight hundred sat down to tea.

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After tea was over, the Mayor arose and on behalf
of the meeting presented to mister Brown a purse containing
twenty sovereigns, accompanied with the following address. This purse containing
twenty sovereigns is presented to William Wells Brown by the
following ladies and some other friends of the slave in Newcastle,

(04:08):
as a token of their high esteem for his character
and admiration of his zeal in advocating the claims of
three millions of his brethren and sisters in bonds in
the Southern States of America. They also expressed their sincere
wish that his life may be long spared to pursue
his valuable labours, that success may soon crown his efforts

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in those of his fellow abolitionists on both sides of
the Atlantic, and his heart be gladdened by the arrival
of the happy period when the last shackle shall be
broken which binds the limbs of the last slave. At Glasgow,
four thousand persons attended the meeting at the City Hall,
which was presided over by Alexander Hasty, Esquire mp Meetings

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given to welcome mister Brown were also held at Edinburgh, Perth, Dundee, Aberdeen,
and nearly every city or town in the Kingdom. At Sheffield,
James Montgomery, the poet attended the meeting and invited the
fugitive to visit him at his residence. The following day,
mister Brown went by invitation to visit the silver electroplate

(05:15):
manufactory of Messrs Broadhead and Atkins. While going through the premises,
a subscription was set on foot by the workmen and
on the fugitives entering the counting room. The purse was
presented to him by the designer, who said that the
donors gave it as a token of their esteem for
mister Brown. At Bolton, a splendid suare was given to

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him and the following address presented. Dear friend and brother,
we cannot permit you to depart from among us without
giving expression to the feelings which we entertained towards yourself personally,
and to the sympathy which you have awakened in our
breasts for the three millions of our sisters and brothers
who still suffer and groan in the prison house of

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American bondage. You came among us an entire stranger. We
received you for the sake of your mission, and, having
heard the story of your personal wrongs, and gazed with
horror on the atrocities of slavery as seen through the
medium of your touching descriptions, we are resolved henceforward in
reliance on divine assistance, to render what aid we can

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to the cause which you have so eloquently pleaded in
our presence. We have no words to express our detestation
of the crimes which, in the name of liberty are
committed in the country which gave you birth. Language fails
to tell our deep abhorrence of the impiety of those who,
in the still more sacred name of religion rob immortal

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beings not only of an earthly citizenship, but do much
to prevent them from obtaining a heavenly one. And as
mothers and daughters, we embrace this opportunity of giving utterance
to our utmost indignation at the cruelties perpetuated upon our
sex by a people professedly acknowledging the quality of all mankind.

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Carry with you on your return to the land of
your nativity, this our solemn protest against the wicked institution,
which like a dark and baleful cloud hangs over it.
And ask the unfeeling in slavers, as best you can,
to open the prison doors to them that are bound,
and let the oppressed go free. Allow us to assure
you that your brief sojourn in our town has been

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to ourselves and to vast multitudes of a character long
to be remembered. And when you are far removed from
us and toiling, as we hope you may long be
spared to do in this righteous enterprise, it may be
some solace to your mind to know that your name
is cherished with affectionate regard, and that the blessing of
the Most High is earnestly supplicated in behalf of yourself

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and family, and the cause to which you have consecrated
your distinguished talents. Signed by two hundred ladies in the
spring of eighteen five, if the mister Brown was publicly
welcomed at a large meeting held in the Broadmead Rooms
at Bristol and presided over by the late John b.
Estlin Esquire, one of the most liberal minded and philanthropic

(08:11):
men of any country, a man who never appeared better
satisfied than when doing good for others, and whose loss
has been so universally lamented by the genuine friends of
freedom in both hemispheres. But should we undertake to give
a detailed account of the various meetings called to receive
the American fugitive slave, it would occupy more space than

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we can think of giving in this volume. End of
Chapter seventeen. Chapter eighteen tis a glorious thing to send
abroad a soul as free as air, to throw aside
the shackles which sectarian bondmen ware. The following extract from

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mister Brown's sketches of places and people abroad will show
that all was not so unshine with him. While in Europe.
It was not the first time that forgetfulness for himself
and a desire to add to the comfort of others
placed him in an unpleasant position. The incident related below
occurred during the first three months of the fugitive's sojourn
in England. Having published the narrative of my life and

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escaped from slavery and put it into the bookseller's hands,
and seeing a prospect of a fair sale, I ventured
to take for my purse the last sovereign to make
up a small sum to remit to the United States
for the support of my daughters, who were at school there.
Before doing this, however, I had made arrangements to attend
a public meeting in the city of Worcester, at which

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the mayor was to preside. Being informed by the friends
of the slave there that I would, in all probabilities
sell a number of copies of my book, and being
told that Worcester was only ten miles from London, I
felt safe in parting with all but a few shillings,
feeling sure that my purse would soon be again replenished.
But you may guess my surprise when I learned that

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Worcester was above one hundred miles from London, that I
had not retained money enough to defray my expenses there.
In my haste and wish to make up ten pounds
to send to my children, I had forgotten that the
payment for my lodgings would be demanded before I left town.
Saturday morning came, I paid my lodging bill and had
three shillings and fourpence left. Out of this sum, I

(10:24):
was to get three dinners. As I was only served
with breakfast and tea at my lodgings. Nowhere in the
British Empire do the people witness such dark days as
in London. It was on Monday morning in the fourth
part of October, as the clock on Saint Martin's Church
was striking ten, that I left my lodgings and turned
into the strand. The street lamps were all burning, and

(10:46):
the shop lamps were all lighted, as if day had
not made its appearance. This great thoroughfare, as usual at
this time of the day, was thronged with businessmen going
their way and women sauntering about for pleasure or for
want of something to do. I passed down the strand
to Charing Cross and looked in vain to see the
majestic statue of Nelson upon the top of the great shaft.

(11:09):
The clock on Saint Martin's Church struck eleven, but my
sight could not penetrate through the dark veil that hung
between its face and me. In fact, day had been
completely turned into night, and the brilliant lights from the
shop windows almost persuaded me that another day had not appeared.
A London fog cannot be described to be appreciated. It
must be seen, or rather felt, for it is altogether

(11:31):
impossible to be clear and lucid on such a subject.
It is the only thing which can give you an
idea of what Milton meant when he talked of darkness visible.
There's a kind of light, to be sure, but it
only serves as a medium for a series of optical illusions.
And for all useful purposes of vision, the deepest darkness

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that ever felt from the heavens is infinitely preferable. A
man perceives a coach a dozen yards off, and a
single stride brings him under the horse's feet. He sees
a gas light faintly glimmering as he thinks at a distance,
but scarcely has he advanced a step or two towards
it when he becomes convinced of its actual station by
finding his head rattling against the post. And as for attempting,

(12:14):
if he once get mystified to distinguish one street from another,
it is ridiculous to think of such a thing. Turning,
I retraced my steps and was soon passing through the
massive gates of Temple Bar, wending my way to the city,
when a beggar boy at my heels accosted me for
a halfpenny to buy bread. I had scarcely served the
boy when I observed nearby, and standing close to a

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lamp post, a colored man, and from his general appearance
I was satisfied that he was an American. He eyed
me as tentively as I passed him, and seemed anxious
to speak. When I'd got some distance from him, his
eyes were still upon me. No longer able to resist
the temptation to speak to him, I returned, and, commencing
conversation with him, learned a little of his history, which

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was as follows. He had he set escape from slavery
in Maryland and reached New York, but not feeling himself
secure there, he had, through the kindness of the captain
of an English ship, made his way to Liverpool, and,
not being able to get employment there, he had come
up to London. Here he had met with no better
success in having been employed in the growing of tobacco,

(13:15):
and being unaccustomed to any other kind of work, he
could not get labor in England. I told him he
had better try to get to the West Indies, but
he informed me that he had not a single penny
and that he had had nothing to eat that day.
By this man's story, I was moved to tears, and
going to a neighboring shop, I took from my purse
my last shilling, changed it and gave this poor fugitive

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one hat. The poor man burst into tears and exclaimed,
you are the first friend I have met in London.
I bat him farewell and left him with a feeling
of regret that I could not place him beyond the
reach of want. I went on my way to the city.
While going through cheapside, a streak of light appeared in
the east that reminded me that it was not night.
In Vain. I wandered from street to street with the

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hope that I might meet someone who would lend me
money enough to get to Worcester. Hungry and fatigued, I
was returning to my lodgings when the great clock on
Saint Paul's Cathedral, under whose shadow I was then passing,
struck four a stroll through Fleet Street in the strand,
and I was again pacing my room. On my return
I found a letter from Worcester had arrived during my absence,

(14:21):
informing that a party of gentlemen would meet me the
next day. On reaching the place, and saying bring plenty
of books, as you will doubtless sell a large number.
The last expence have been spent for postage stamps in
order to send off some letters to other places, and
I could not even stamp a letter in answer to
the last one from Worcester. The only vestige of money
about me was a smooth farthing that a little girl

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had given me at a meeting in Croydon, saying this
is for the slaves. I was three thousand miles from
home with but a single farthing in my pocket. Where
on Earth could a man be more destitute for the
want of money than in the great metropolis. The cold
hills of the Arctic regions have no a more inhospitable
appearance than London to the stranger with an empty pocket.

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But whilst I felt depressed at being in such a
sad condition, I was conscious that I had done right
in remitting the last ten pounds to America for the
support of those whom God had committed to my care.
I had no friend in London to whom I could
apply for aid. My friend mister T was out of town,
and I did not know his address. The dark day
was rapidly passing away. The clock in the hall had

(15:26):
struck six. I'd given up all hopes of reaching Worcester
the next day, and had just rung the bell for
the servant to bring me some tea, when a gentle
tap at the door was heard. The servant entered and
informed me that a gentleman below wished to see me.
I better that July and ask him up. The stranger
was my young friend, Frederick Stephenson, son of the excellent
Minister of the Borough Road Chapel. I lectured in this

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chapel a few days previous, and this young gentleman, with
more than ordinary zeal and enthusiasm for the cause of
bleeding humanity and respect for me, had gone among his
father's congregation and sold a number of copies of my book,
and had come to bring me the money. I wiped
the silent tears from my eyes as the young man
placed the thirteen half crowns in my hand. I did

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not let him know under what obligation I was to
him for this disinterested act of kindness. Like the man
who called for bread and cheese, when feeling in his
pocket for the last threepence with which to pay for it,
found a sovereign that he was not aware he possessed.
Countermanded the order for lunch and told them to bring
him the best dinner they could get. So I told
the servant, when she brought up tea, that I had

(16:31):
changed my mind and should go out to dine with
the means in my pocket of reaching worst of the
next day, I sat down to dinner at the Adelphi,
with a good cut of roast beef before me, and
felt myself once more at home. Thus ended a dark
day in London, Endo, Chapter eighteen.