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The Parties Versus the People
The Parties
Versus

N E W H AV E N & L O N D O N
the People
How to Turn Republicans and
Democrats into Americans

Mickey Edwards
Published with assistance from the Louis Stern Memorial Fund.
Copyright © 2012 by Mickey Edwards.
All rights reserved.
This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, including illustra-
tions, in any form (beyond that copying permitted by Sections 107 and 108
of the U.S. Copyright Law and except by reviewers for the public press),
without written permission from the publishers.

Yale University Press books may be purchased in quantity for educational,


business, or promotional use. For information, please e-mail
[email protected] (U.S. office) or [email protected] (U.K. office).

Set in Janson Roman type by Integrated Publishing Solutions.


Printed in the United States of America.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data


Edwards, Mickey, 1937–
The parties versus the people : how to turn Republicans and Democrats into
Americans / Mickey Edwards.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-300-18456-3 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Political parties—
United States. 2. Democracy—United States. 3. Polarization (Social
sciences)—United States. 4. Two-party systems—United States. 5. Di-
vided government—United States. I. Title.
JK2265.E38 2012
320.973—dc23
2012013008

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This paper meets the requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48–1992


(Permanence of Paper).

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To Bill Budinger, whose vision and generosity are helping to create an
American politics based on common purpose and mutual respect. And
to the more than 150 public leaders who are members of the Aspen
Institute’s Rodel Fellowship.
This page intentionally left blank
Contents

Preface ix
Acknowledgments xxi

Part I Partisan Poison

one
American Tribalism 3

two
The Disappearing Dream 19

Part II Reforming the Election System

three
Reclaiming Our Democracy 35

four
Drawing a Line in the Sand 56
Contents

five
The Money Stream 70

Part III Reforming the Governing System

six
Government Leaders, Not Party Leaders 91

seven
Debate and Democracy 113

eight
Rearrange the Furniture 129

nine
Rivals, Not Enemies 136

ten
The Partisan Presidency 146

eleven
Declarations of Independence 152

Part IV A New Politics

twelve
Beyond Partisanship 159

thirteen
The Way Forward 171

Appendix: Citizen Initiative Information by State 183


Notes 187
Suggested Reading 193
Index 197

viii
Preface

Year after year, through nearly two decades and ten national elec-
tions, American voters have grown angrier and more frustrated with
a government that they theoretically control. After all, they are citi-
zens, not subjects, and they live in a democracy. The presidents and
the members of Congress with whom they are so disappointed are
the very men and women they themselves have chosen. Yet when
national elections are held, these voters go to the polls and repeatedly
cast their votes for “something different,” for “change,” for what
golfers call a “mulligan,” a do-over. A government that once met, and
solved, enormous challenges, overcoming the inevitable disagree-
ments between competing philosophies, no longer does so. Differ-
ences have hardened into polarization, and simple party identification
has been overtaken by a rigid partisanship. Presidents, governors,
and state legislators engage actively in partisan combat, but the
Congress, where the problem is worst and the effects most damag-
ing, has become utterly dysfunctional, unable to come together on
almost any issue of national importance. There are many causes for

ix
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Preface

this evolution, but at its root the problem is systemic. As I will show
in these pages, we have been unable to overcome the effects of these
changes because we conduct our elections, and our leaders attempt
to govern, in a political system that makes common effort almost
impossible to achieve.
Voters are resilient: like Charlie Brown, determined to kick his
football knowing full well that Lucy will probably once again pull it
away, they persist in trying to fix a government that seems to now be
intractably, and dangerously, unable to come to agreement on al-
most anything. Some years voters hand power to Democrats and
some years they elect Republicans; they try candidates who have
long and impressive business or government résumés, or they may
choose candidates who substitute youth, dynamism, or “new ideas”
for the experience they lack. But whichever choice the voters make,
our government no longer seems to work as it once did. One group
of elected leaders may adopt policies that another group might not
have enacted, federal spending may go up or down, taxes may rise
or fall, and our national budget priorities may change, but beneath
it all American government today functions not as a collective en-
terprise of citizens working together to solve our common prob-
lems, but as a never-ending battle between two warring tribes.
The damage is greatest in the Congress, which, with 435 mem-
bers in the House of Representatives and 100 in the Senate, requires
a degree of good faith cooperation and compromise that no longer
exists. But it is also true in the White House where, no matter who
is president, teams of legislative and political advisers map political
strategies to attack opponents rather than seek common ground
across party lines. And it is true as well among the governors and
legislators in the states, with minority party members sometimes
fleeing their states altogether to prevent legislative action because
neither party is able or willing to hammer out necessary compro-
mise. This is not a problem that can be laid at the feet of one politi-

x
Preface

cal party or one set of public officials; it is the result of a fundamen-


tal flaw in the way we conduct our elections and in the way those
who are elected must subsequently govern. That flaw—the attempt
to govern a diverse nation with a system based on a partisan war for
control—has grown steadily worse in recent decades. In the world
of the twenty-first century, it has worsened to a degree that seri-
ously threatens our system of self-government.
I first presented the argument I will make here in an annual “big
ideas” issue of the Atlantic; it was the magazine’s editors who gave
that article the title “How to Turn Republicans and Democrats into
Americans.”1 Too often our elected leaders seem to think of them-
selves not as trustees for America’s future but as members of a politi-
cal club whose principal obligation is to defeat other Americans
who do not share an allegiance to the same club. As a result, after
every election we discover yet again that our political “leaders”
don’t lead; they quarrel, slinging verbal and legislative missiles at
each other and threatening to punish any deserters who cross over
to the other side. What we thought was a democratic government
made up of leaders committed to the national good has turned into
a new form of contact sport, an attempt to score more points than
the other team by any means possible. Meanwhile, our bridges grow
old and collapse, our banks and investment houses pursue policies
that cripple our economy, and we become ever more dependent on
Chinese money and Middle Eastern oil.
This persistent partisan dysfunction has been analyzed, dissected,
hashed, and rehashed for more than a decade, and countless books,
articles, blogs, and broadcasts have assessed blame and offered pre-
scriptions. All of them are wrong. They blame the people we elect
(“Where are all the leaders?”) or the people who elect them (too
apathetic, too profligate, too penurious), the money that is spent on
political campaigns (which is, in fact, a significant part of the prob-
lem but not the root of it), the media, the appalling lack of civics edu-

xi
Preface

cation in our public and private primary and secondary schools and
in our universities, and the failure to teach critical thinking. Each of
those things is a contributing factor, but each one ignores the cancer
at the heart of our democracy.
Most political commentators today (except those who themselves
fuel the partisan wars) complain endlessly about the polarization
that has become evident in the American political system, and there
is considerable evidence that Americans have tended in recent years
to sort themselves into communities of like-minded souls. Conser-
vatives dominate some regions of the country, liberals others. In
many cases, we and our friends tend to read the same opinion arti-
cles, vote similarly, and seldom engage in serious conversation with
people whose political views differ from our own. But it is not this
political segregation that is driving the dysfunction in Washington.
For one thing, it is wrong to conclude that those politically segre-
gated groups are necessarily extreme. Even a separateness that in-
hibits serious consideration of divergent viewpoints does not mean
that the voters within these camps are mindlessly hostile to alterna-
tives or compromise. As University of Chicago professor Geoffrey
Stone has pointed out, 40 to 45 percent of Americans “are more or
less moderate in their views.”2 The nation’s leading political poll-
ster, Andy Kohut, president of the Pew Research Center, has made
a similar point, noting that while both major parties contain signifi-
cant numbers of philosophical hard-liners, the vast majority of vot-
ers are more moderate (and thus, one might suppose, amenable to
compromises that might break through the partisan gridlock).
As Stone told the American Academy of Arts and Sciences in
2011, “Understanding polarization requires a closer look at how
Congress is constituted. In 1970, 47 percent of the members of the
U.S. Senate were regarded as moderate. Today, that figure is 5 per-
cent, and it is even lower in the House of Representatives. The de-
cline of moderate views in Congress suggests a kind of dysfunction:

xii
Preface

a dramatic gap between the views and attitudes of the American


people and the commonalities and differences that exist among our
citizens, on the one hand, and what we wind up with in our elected
representatives, on the other. Something is going wrong in our
politics.”
Precisely. The dysfunction that has almost paralyzed our federal
government has its roots not in the people, not in any fundamental
flaw in our constitutional processes, but in the political party frame-
work through which our elected officials gain their offices and
within which they govern.
It is not my goal, therefore, to take the easy path of simply blam-
ing “polarization,” the most common description of the problems
that plague our political life. To the extent that to be polarized is to
inhabit the extreme reaches of a viewpoint, it is clear that the greater
the degree of polarization—the more voters there are on the far
right and the far left—the harder it will be to come together in the
national interest. Zealots do not compromise. But most experts
agree with Kohut and Stone that while a number of Americans re-
side on the political fringe, a great many more do not. It should be
relatively simple to say to those who do, “Howl at the moon if you
wish . . . but in the meantime the rest of us will govern the country.”
But if such a large voting population is amenable to a search for
common ground, why is that common ground so hard to reach? It’s
because the problem is not the extent of polarization but the extent
of partisanship, and the two are not the same thing. As I will argue
in this book, it is the party system—Democrats against Republicans,
not liberals against conservatives—that is at the heart of our politi-
cal mess.
Consider the important issues with which the nation has grap-
pled just since the beginning of the Obama presidency. When the
Obama administration proposed to address deteriorating condi-
tions in the economy by an infusion of federal spending, virtually no

xiii
Preface

Democrats found the proposal unacceptable and virtually no Re-


publicans found it acceptable. When Democratic Senator Christo-
pher Dodd of Connecticut and Democratic Congressman Barney
Frank of Massachusetts drafted a plan to increase oversight of finan-
cial institutions, Republicans were united on one side, Democrats
on the other. Plans to reframe the government’s role in health care
pitted a solid phalanx of Republicans against an equally cohesive
army of Democrats. Budget deliberations fell apart because Demo-
crats were almost uniformly lined up in supporting higher tax rates
for citizens who earn more than $250,000 annually per couple and
Republicans were equally unified on the other side. The same thing
happened with consideration of the president’s nominations for
seats on the Supreme Court. In a sane world, in which the men and
women we elect to Congress apply their own research and intelli-
gence to the important decisions that confront them, we would ex-
pect some number of Republicans to vote with Democrats and some
Democrats to line up with Republicans. But on the big issues, the
ones that matter most, solid blocs face other solid blocs, unmovable,
unflinching in their loyalty to the party “team.” And that is because
of the framework within which our politics unfolds. As we will see,
party leaders control important committee assignments, provide or
withhold money for reelection campaigns, and advance or block
team members’ legislative priorities; in our political system, one
often pays a significant price for exercising independent judgment.
This book is not about the symptoms of our dysfunction but
about the system in which our government functions. A brief anal-
ogy: baseball teams that play in extraspacious stadiums, with great
distances between home plate and the outfield walls, consciously
develop strategies to accommodate that reality. They forgo trying
to build teams that are dependent on home-run hitters and instead
develop lineups made up of players who are adept at hitting singles
and stealing bases; these teams also don’t feel the need to find pitch-

xiv
Preface

ers who are good at inducing opposing batters to hit ground balls
because most fly balls are likely to remain in the ballpark. On the
other hand, teams that play in smaller stadiums, where home runs
are easier to hit, fill their lineups with power hitters; but because
visiting teams likewise will find it easier to hit home runs, the small-
stadium team will try to sign pitchers who are adept at inducing
opposing batters to hit ground balls. In other words, the system
within which one plays affects the outcome. That’s true in politics,
too. If the game of government rewards intransigence and punishes
compromise, we shouldn’t be surprised if we get a lot of intransi-
gence and not much compromise. Incentives work: if the greatest
incentives are to behave badly, we will get bad behavior. If our gov-
ernment continues to fail us—and it will—then we need to change
the incentives, change the architecture of the field on which we play.

In the world of political science, many academics have argued that


strong political parties, dominated by strong party leaders, are es-
sential to democratic governance. As long ago as the 1950s, a num-
ber of prominent voices within the American Political Science As-
sociation were urging greater party homogeneity based on the belief
that efficiency and accountability—the power to enact one’s prefer-
ences and the corresponding ability of voters to know who to blame
if things didn’t work out—are the principal requirements of a gov-
erning system. This is, in fact, a transposition to America of Euro-
pean-style parliamentary systems, in which voters, in essence, elect
ideologies, not representatives, and it is a convenient formula, sub-
ject to the easy measurements that the academic world requires. But
it leaves little room for legislators to serve as the voice of those who
have elected them (thus ignoring the Founders’ clear intention that
members of Congress be familiar with the interests of the voters
they represent and that the voters likewise be familiar with the can-
didates who seek their votes). The parliamentary model leaves little

xv
Preface

room for the fair interplay of competing interests. In parliamentary


systems, voters choose to hand great power to a single political fac-
tion, with the voters’ only recourse being the periodic ability to re-
move that faction from power; the American model of representa-
tive democracy, which is very different, is designed to give voice to
a multiplicity of factions and to allow for competing views to be
weighed, often resulting in compromises designed to balance inter-
ests. It is precisely for that reason that the rigid partisanship which
today inhibits compromise is so destructive.
In one sense the party solidarity that has developed in recent
years differs from the model that many political scientists advocated:
they equated party strength with strong party leaders who would
dictate to their followers what was expected of them and use various
carrot-and-stick tools to ensure compliance. Today’s party strength
is bottom-up: although during the Newt Gingrich Speakership—the
one that most closely followed the blueprint the academics desired—
the Speaker was a bully and called the shots, in today’s Congress,
considerably more power rests with the party caucus. Party leaders
may or may not prevail in determining who will run under the party
label; instead, party activists will make that decision. Many academ-
ics argue that parties today are weak, but that is because they equate
“party” with “party leader.” These are different things. Party lead-
ers may be strong (Gingrich) or constrained (current Speaker John
Boehner), but the ability of party primaries, party-controlled redis-
tricting, and caucus-enforced party solidarity to shape the political
landscape is indisputable.
What follows in this book is a different way of looking at things.
It’s about etiology, not observable effect. I will not shock anybody
with my assertion that our political system is broken, at times seem-
ingly beyond repair. That the system is annoyingly unresponsive to
our frustrations, and that our leaders often seem unwilling to try
very hard to address the nation’s problems (and appear incapable of

xvi
Preface

doing so even when they do try), seem self-evident. Political colum-


nist Mary Curtis has written that the people want their represen-
tatives “to grow up . . . they wish leaders would spend as much
time figuring out how to solve the country’s problems as they do
plotting to be king of the playground.”3 Except in times of national
emergency—and not always then—common effort seems beyond
us. The essentials of a pluralistic democracy—reasoned debate and
a probing examination of policy options—have been replaced by
unreasoned and uncivil squabbles.
In this book I intend to look at why the people we elect spend so
much time “plotting to be king of the playground.” It’s not because
they’re stupid or uncaring—it’s because of the field on which they
play and the rules that govern the game. We have engendered
a political system in which the necessary and inevitable “interest-
based factions” the Founders anticipated, understood, and worried
about have been supplanted by permanent factions whose primary
focus is on gaining and retaining political power.
In the Federalist No. 10, James Madison argued for ratification of
the Constitution largely on the grounds that it would provide a bul-
wark against the fractious spirit that had “tainted” the previous
workings of government. He described the evil against which he
hoped to inoculate the new government as “a number of citizens,
whether amounting to a majority or a minority of the whole, who
are united and actuated by some common impulse of passion, or of
interest” who would be adverse to “the permanent and aggregate
interests of the community.” It is a perfect description of the politi-
cal parties that have come to dominate the politics of the twenty-
first century.
It is my aim in this book to describe how to end the parties’ con-
trol over the process by which we govern ourselves. My goal is not
necessarily to create a more moderate or more centrist Congress,
though that might be one of the end results of the reforms I pro-

xvii
Preface

pose, and this might actually be a more accurate reflection of the


electorate. At the same time, changing our system to guarantee that
neither women nor African-Americans would be denied the right to
participate in the election process was not the work of centrists; it
was a radical reform. So were the efforts to mandate that workers be
paid a living wage. I am not proposing a system that would drive
serious reform out of the discussion.
Nor is this book about increasing voter turnout, though that,
too, might result from the reforms I propose. Professor Alan Abram-
owitz of Emory University convincingly argues, with the support of
considerable research, that among “engaged” voters—voters who
pay attention and participate—those who prefer Republicans are
farther to the right than they used to be, and those who favor Dem-
ocrats are farther to the left than in the past.4 Abramowitz also finds
that among those who are most engaged, more than half identify
strongly with a specific political party. Although he does not make
this point, clearly it is those “engaged” voters who participate in
our current system of closed party primaries; and if those primaries
determine our available choices in the November elections, we
will thus likely have more conservative, or more liberal, elected of-
ficials than if we can increase the number of choices available to the
voters—and thereby make participation more attractive to voters
who prefer neither extreme. That, not a mere increase in the num-
ber of voters, should be the goal.
Finally, I am not objecting to the fact that the Congress does not
move more swiftly than it does nor that it does not pass more legis-
lation. Peter Baker of the New York Times, referring to what he called
a “standstill nation,” wrote that “it’s useful to remember that the
founders devised the system to be difficult, dividing power between
states and the federal government, then further dividing the federal
government into three branches, then further dividing the legisla-
tive branch into two houses. The idea, James Madison wrote, was to

xviii
Preface

keep factions from gaining too much power . . . and to be sure, grid-
lock is in the eyes of the beholder . . . one person’s obstructionism
is another’s principled opposition.”5 When a government is con-
templating taking more from its citizens in taxes, or eliminating its
support for the suffering, or sending its citizens to war, or permit-
ting police to track a citizen’s every movement without a search
warrant or an assertion of “probable cause,” moving too speedily or
doing too much can pose a great danger; taking time for thoughtful
deliberation is an indispensable virtue. Vigorous conflict over com-
peting values, principles, and policies is a strength, not a weakness,
of democracy. This book is not about avoiding dissent but about
avoiding conflict that is based on party rather than principle.
My aim is to open up the process to give American voters more
choice and more voice, and to eliminate the partisan forces that
limit options and dilute representation. I wish to restore democracy
to our democracy. That is not as hard a task as it may seem: a few
simple changes are all that’s required. In these pages I will describe
what those changes are and how to make them happen.

xix
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Acknowledgments

Ever since a constituent berated me for blaming “the other party”


for the failures in Washington—and was greeted with loud applause
for doing so—I have found myself thinking often about the role
party rivalry plays in the increasing inability of our elected officials
to work together in search of common ground. I don’t remember
that constituent’s name, but he’s at the top of the list of those to
whom I’m indebted.
I have discussed this concern over the years with a number of
men and women whose opinions I respect greatly, including several
of my colleagues during the years when I taught government at
Harvard and Princeton. After I left full-time teaching I continued
to teach occasional night classes at Georgetown University, George
Washington University, and the University of Maryland, and had
many interesting discussions with my students about their frustra-
tions with the current political environment. I have also had long
discussions with former and current members of Congress and with
many of the outstanding young elected officials who make up the

xxi
Acknowledgments

Rodel leadership program I now direct for the Aspen Institute. It


would take another book just to mention them all.
Congressional scholars Lou Fisher and Don Wolfensberger, Vir-
ginia Sloan and Steve Hanlon of the Constitution Project, and
Nancy Jacobson of No Labels all gave me good advice and much to
think about. Jeanine Plant-Chirlin of the Brennan Center at New
York University was part of this project from the very beginning,
and her help was indispensable as it moved from an idea to a maga-
zine article to, finally, this book. I learned a lot from Frank Barry,
whose excellent book about Progressive Party politics I cite in these
pages. I pestered my friend Sean Theriault, of the LBJ school at the
University of Texas, to read drafts of articles and newspaper col-
umns (Sean has written his own excellent book about party politics).
Scott Olson helped with research and was fast and dependable.
Kathleen Godfrey became a critical part of the project, and her help
was invaluable. Gia Regan is, technically, the assistant director of
the Rodel Fellowships, but she’s far more than that; I cannot imag-
ine how I could have written this book without her help.
I am frequently invited to speak at universities and to business,
professional, and academic groups; in the process I have bounced my
concerns, and my ideas, off of thousands of bright men and women,
with each such occasion sharpening my thinking and strengthening
my resolve to write this book. I thank all of them, particularly the
participants with whom I interacted in programs at the Montpelier
Institute, the Academy of Arts and Sciences, The Carnegie Council
for Ethics in International Affairs, New York University’s Brademas
Center for the Study of Congress, and Harvard’s Center for Ameri-
can Political Studies. Conversations with former Supreme Court
Justices Sandra Day O’Connor and David Souter helped me sharpen
my thinking. So, too, did my conversations with Geoff Stone of the
University of Chicago and Akhil Amar and Heather Gerken of Yale.
Liftoff came when James Bennet, editor of the Atlantic, asked me

xxii
Acknowledgments

to put my ideas into an article for the annual “Big Ideas” issue of the
magazine. The article generated an enthusiastic response and James,
more than anyone else, gets the credit for helping elevate the argu-
ment I make here. The Atlantic’s James Gibney took on the task of
working with me to reduce my original draft to magazine length
and made the article, and consequently the book, much better than
what I had sent to him.
Allison Stanger, whose excellent book One Nation Under Contract
I had admired and praised, not only helped me think through my
conclusions but led me to her editor, William Frucht of Yale Uni-
versity Press. If there’s such a thing as an indispensable editor, it’s
Bill Frucht. Lucky is the author who gets to work with him.
Lucky, too, is the man who gets to be married to Elizabeth Sher-
man. She’s my partner, my best friend, my Lizzie.

xxiii
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content Scribd suggests to you:
gamblin’, and all kinds of sin, and oh! ‘twould make your heart ache
to hear their oaths. I’ve seen ’em tremble, and try to pray durin’ a
dreadful storm, and all looked like goin’ to the bottom—for I don’t
care how heathenish and devilish any body is, if they see death
starin’ on ’em in the face, and they ‘spect to die in a few minutes,
he’ll cry to God for help—but no sooner than the storm abated
they’d cuss worse than ever. Now this was jist my fashion, and if any
body says that a man who abuses a good God like that don’t
desarve to be cut off and put into hell, why then he han’t got any
common sense.
“But all this comes pretty much from the officers. I never knowed
but one sea captain but what would swear sometimes, and most all
on ’em as fast as a dog can trot; and jist so sure as our officers
swears, the hands will blaspheme ten times worse; and if the
captain wouldn’t swear, and forbid it on board, his orders would be
obeyed like any other orders, but, as long as officers swears, so long
will sailors. ☜
“But sailors have some noble things about ’em as any body of
men. They will always stand by their comrades in the heart of
danger or misfortune, or attack; and if a company on ’em are on
shore, you touch one you touch the whole; and if a sailor was on the
Desert of Arabia, and hadn’t but a quart of water, he’d go snacks
with a companion. They are sure to have a soft spot in their hearts
somewhere, that you can touch if you can git at it, and when they
feel, they feel with all their souls. But, arter all, it’s the ruination of
men’s characters to go to sea, for they become heathens, and
ginerally, ain’t fit for sober life arter it, and ten to one they ruin their
souls.
“But my v’yges are finished, and I’ll sing you one sailor’s song,
and then my yarn is done.”
Author. “Well, strike up, Peter.”
Peter sings—
“THE SAILOR’S RETURN.
“Loose every sail to the breeze,
The course of my vessel improve;
I’ve done with the toil of the seas,
Ye sailors I’m bound to my love.

Since Solena’s as true as she’s fair,


My grief I fling all to the wind;
‘Tis a pleasing return for my care,
My mistress is constant and kind.

My sails are all filled to my dear;


What tropic birds swifter can move;
Who, cruel, shall hold his career,
That returns to the nest of his love?

Hoist ev’ry sail to the breeze,


Come, shipmates, and join in the song;
Let’s drink, while our ship cuts the seas,
To the gale that may drive her along.

I’ve reached, spite of tempests, the port,


Now I’ll fly to the arms of my love;
And, rather than reef I will court,
And win my beautiful dove.”

END OF THE SECOND BOOK.


BOOK THE THIRD.

PETER WHEELER AT THE CROSS.


INSCRIBED

To the Free People of Color in the Free States.


Dear Friends:
I inscribe this Book to you, for several reasons. I love you, and feel
anxious to have you become intelligent and virtuous. I know that there
are only a few books adapted to your taste and acquirements; and I have
had my eye upon your good in writing this history. I have thought you
would understand it a great deal better if it was told in Peter’s own
language, and so I wrote it just as he told it. I hope you will read it
through, and follow Peter to the Lamb of God who taketh away the sin of
the world. And if you are oppressed by the strong arm of power, and kept
down by an unholy and cruel prejudice, forget it and forgive it all, and go
to that blessed Redeemer who came to save your souls, that he might
clothe you, at last, with clean white linen, which is the righteousness of
the sain’ts.
Your friend,
THE AUTHOR.
CHAPTER I.

Lives at Madam Rylander’s—Quaker Macy—Susan a colored girl lives with Mr. Macy
—she is kidnapped and carried away, and sold into slavery—Peter visits at the
“Nixon’s, mazin’ respectable” colored people in Philadelphia—falls in love with
Solena—gits the consent of old folks—fix wedding day—“ax parson”—Solena
dies in his arms—his grief—compared with Rhoderic Dhu—lives in New Haven—
sails for New York—drives hack—Susan Macy is redeemed from slavery—she
tells Peter her story of blood and horror, and abuse, and the way she made her
escape from her chains.

Author. “Well, Peter, what did you go about when you quit the
seas?”
Peter. “The year I quit the seas, I went to live with Madam
Rylander, and stayed with her a year, and she gin me twenty-five
dollars a month, and I made her as slick a darkey as ever made a
boot shine, and she was as fine a lady as ever scraped a slipper over
Broadway. While I lived there, I used to visit at Mr. John Macy’s, a
rich quaker who lived in Broadway, across from old St. Paul’s. There
was a colored girl lived with his family, by the name of Susan, and
they called her Susan Macy; she was handsome and well edicated
tu, and brought up like one of his own children; and they thought as
much on her as one of their daughters, and she was as lovely a
dispositioned gal as ever I seed; and I enjoyed her society mazinly.
“Well, one mornin’ she got up and went to her mistress’ bedroom,
and asked her what she’d have for breakfast—’Veal cutlet’ says she;
and the old man says, ‘Thee’ll find money in the sideboard to pay for
it;’ and she did, and took her basket and goes to the market a
singin’ along as usual—she was a great hand to sing; and gits her
meat, and on her return, she meets a couple of gentlemen, and one
had a bundle, and says he, ‘Girl if you’ll take this bundle down to the
wharf, I’ll give you a silver dollar;” and she thought it could do no
harm, and so she goes with it down to the ship they described, and
as she reached out the bundle, a man catched her and hauled her
aboard and put her down in the hole.
“Her master and mistress got up and waited and waited, and she
didn’t come; and they went and sarched the street, and finds the
basket, but nothin’ could be heard of Susan in the whole city; and
they finally gin up that she was murdered.
“Well, I’ll tell you the rest of the story, for I heard on her arter
this.
“I stayed my year out with Madam Rylander, and then I quit; and
she was despod anxious to keep me, but I had other fish to fry, and
took a notion I’d drive round the country and play the gentleman.
“I come across, in New York, a young feller of color, his parents
very respectable folks who lived in Philadelphia; and they took an
anxious notion for me to go home with ’em; and I started with ’em
for Philadelphia; and I had as good clothes as any feller, and a
considerable money, and I thought I might as well spend it so as any
way. Well come to Philadelphia, I found the Nixon’s very rich and
mazin’ respectable; and I got acquain’ted with the family, and they
had a darter by the name of Solena, and she was dreadful
handsome, and she struck my fancy right off the first sight I had on
her. She was handsome in fetur and pretty spoken and handsome
behaved every way. Well I made up my mind the first sight I had on
her, I’d have her if I could git her. I’d been in Philadelphia ’bout a
week, and I axed her for her company, and ’twas granted. I made it
my business to wait on her, and ride round with her, and visit her
alone, as much as I could. The old folks seemed to like it mazinly,
and that pleased me, and I went the length of my rope, and felt my
oats tu. I treated her like a gentleman as far as I knew how—I took
her to New York three times, in company with her brothers and their
sweethearts; and we went in great splendor tu, and I found that
every day, I was nearin’ the prize, and finally I popped the question,
and arter some hesitation, she said, ‘Yis, Peter.’ But I had another
Cape to double, and that was to git the consent of the old folks; and
so one Sunday evenin’, as we was a courtin’ all alone in the parlor, I
concluded, a fain’t heart never won a fair lady; and so I brushes up
my hair, and starts into the old folks’ room, and I right out with the
question; and he says.
“‘What do you mean, Mr. Wheeler?’
“‘I mean jist as I say, Sir! May I marry Solena.’
“‘Do you think you can spend your life happy with her?’
“‘Yis, Sir.’
“‘Did you ever see any body in all your travels, you liked better?’
“‘No, Sir! She’s the apple of my eye, and the joy of my heart.’
“‘I have no objection Mr. Wheeler. Now Ma, how do you feel?’
“‘Oh! I think Solena had better say, Yis.’
“And then I tell ye, my heart fluttered about in my bosom with joy.
“‘Oh, love ’tis a killin’ thing;
Did you ever feel the pang?’

“So the old gentleman takes out a bottle of old wine from the
sideboard, and I takes a glass with him, and goes back to Solena.
When I comes in, she looks up with a smile and says, ‘What luck?’ I
says, ‘Good luck.’ I shall win the prize if nothin’ happens! and now
Solena you must go in tu, and you had better go in while the broth
is hot. So she goes in, pretty soon she comes trippin’ along back,
and sets down in my lap, and I says, ‘what luck?’ and she says
‘good.’ So we sot the bridal day, and fixed on the weddin’ dresses,
and so we got all fixin’s ready and even the Domine was spoke for.
And one Sabba-day arter meetin,’ I goes home and dines with the
family, and arter dinner we walked out over Schuylkill bridge, and at
evenin’ we went to a gentleman’s where she had been a good deal
acquain’ted; and there was quite a company on us, and we carried
on pretty brisk. She was naturally a high-lived thing, and full of glee;
and she got as wild as a hawk, and she wrestled and scuffled as gals
do, and got all tired out, and she come and sets down in my lap and
looks at me, and says, ‘Peter help me;’ and I put my hand round her
and asked her what was the matter, and she fetched a sigh, and
groan, and fell back and died in my arms!!! A physician come in, and
says he, ‘she’s dead and without help, for she has burst a blood-
vessel in her breast.’ And there she lay cold and lifeless, and I
thought I should go crazy.
“She was carried home and laid out, and the second day she was
buried, and I didn’t sleep a wink till she was laid in the grave; and
oh! when we come to lower her coffin down in the grave, and the
cold clods of the valley begun to fall on her breast, I felt that my
heart was in the coffin, and I wished I could die and lay down by her
side.
“For weeks and months arter her death, I felt that I should go
ravin’ distracted. I couldn’t realize that she was dead; oh! Sir, the
world looked jist like a great dreadful prison to me. I stayed at her
father’s, and for weeks I used to go once or twice a day to her tomb,
and weep, and stay, and linger round, and the spot seemed sacred
where she rested.
“Well, I stayed in Philadelphia some months arter this, and I tell
ye I felt as though my all was gone. I stood alone in the world, as
desolate as could be, and I determined I never would agin try to git
me a wife. It seemed to me I was jist like some old wreck, I’d seen
on the shore.
A. “Peter, you make me think of Walter Scott’s description of
Rhoderic Dhu, in his ‘Lady of the Lake.’
“‘As some tall ship, whose lofty prore,
Shall never stem the billows more,
Deserted by her gallant band,
Amid the breakers lies astrand;
So on his couch lay Rhoderic Dhu,
And oft his feverish limbs he threw,
In toss abrupt; as when her sides
Lie rocking in the advancing tides
That shake her frame with ceaseless beat
But cannot heave her from her seat.
Oh! how unlike her course on sea,
Or his free step, on hill and lea.’

P. “Yis, Sir! I was jist like that same Rhoderic; what’de call him?
Oh! I was worse, the world was a prison to me, and I wanted to lay
my bones down at rest by the dust of Solena. I finally went back to
New York, and stayed there for a while, and then up to New Haven,
and stayed there two months, in Mr. Johnson’s family; and we used
to board college students; and we had oceans of oysters and clams;
and New Haven is by all odds the handsomest place I ever see in
this country or in Europe; and finally I sailed back to New York, arter
try in’ to bury my feelin’s in one way and another. But in all my
wanderin’s, I couldn’t forgit Solena. She seemed to cling to me like
life, and I’d spend hours and hours in thinkin’ about her, and I never
used to think about her without tears.
“Well, I thought I would try to bury my feelin’s and forgit Solena,
and so I hires out a year to Mr. Bronson, to drive hack, and arter I’d
been with him a few months, I called up to Mr. Macy’s, my Quaker
friend, and I felt kind’a bad to go there tu and not find Susan, for I
had the biggest curiosity in the world to find out where she’d
departed tu; but I thought I’d go and talk with the old folks, and see
if they’d heard any thing about Susan.
“Well, I slicks up and goes, and pulls the bell, and who should
open the door but Susan herself. ☜
“I says, ‘my soul, Susan, how on ‘arth are you here? I thought you
was dead.’ And she says as she burst into tears, ‘I have been all but
dead. Come in and set down, and I’ll tell you all about it.’
“I says, ‘my heavens! Susan where have you been and how have
ye fared?’
“She says, ‘I’ve been in slavery, ☜ and fared hard enough;’ and
then she had to go to the door, for the bell rung; and agin pretty
soon she comes back and begins her story, and as ’tain’t very long,
and pretty good, I’ll tell it, and if you’re a mind to put it in the book
you may, for I guess many a feller will be glad to read it.
“‘Well,’ begins Susan, ‘I went down to the vessel, to carry a
bundle, and three ruffins seized hold on me, and I hollered and
screamed with all my might, and one on ’em clapped his hand on my
face, and another held me down, and took out a knife and swore if I
didn’t stop my noise he’d stick it through my heart; and they
dragged me down into the hold, where there was seven others that
had been stole in the same way; and these two fellers chained me
up, and I cried and sobbed till I was so fain’t I couldn’t set up. Along
in the course of the forenoon they fetched me some coarse food, but
I had no appetite, and I wished myself dead a good many times, for
I couldn’t git news to master. I continued in that state for two or
three days, and found no relief but by submitting to my fate, and I
was doleful enough off, for I couldn’t see sun, moon, or stars, for I
should think two weeks; and then a couple of these ruffins come
and took me out into the forecastle, and my companions, and they
told me all about how they’d been stole; and we was as miserable a
company as ever got together. Come on deck, I see five gentlemen,
☜ and one on ’em axed me if I could cook and wait on gentlemen
and ladies, and I says ‘yis, Sir,’ with my eyes full of tears, and my
heart broke with sorrow; and he axed me how old I was? I says,
‘seventeen,’ and he turns round to the master of the vessel and says,
‘I’ll take this girl.’ And he paid four hundred and fifty dollars for me,
and he took me to his house; and I found out his name was
Woodford, and he told me I was in Charleston; but I couldn’t forgit
the happy streets of New York. Now I gin lip all expectation of ever
seem’ my own land agin’, and I submitted to my fate as well as I
could, but ’twas a dreadful heart-breakin’ scene. Master was dreadful
savage, and his wife was a despod cross ugly woman. When he goes
into the house he says to his wife, ‘now I’ve got you a good gal, put
that wench on the plantation.’ And he pointed to a gal that had been
a chambermaid; and then turnin’ to me says, ‘and you look out or
you’ll git there, and if you do you’ll know it.’
“I’d been there four or five weeks, and I heard master makin’ a
despod cussin’ and swearin’ in the evenin’, and I heard him over-say,
‘I’ll settle with the black cuss to-morrow; I’ll have his hide tanned.’
“So the next day, arter breakfast, mistress orders me down into
the back yard, and I found two hundred slaves there; and there was
an old man there with a gray head, stripped and drawed over a
whipping-block his hands tied down, and the big tears a rollin’ down
his face; and he looked exactly like some old gray headed, sun-burnt
revolutioner; and a white man stood over him with a cat-o’-nine-tails
in his hand, and he was to give him one hundred lashes. ☜ And he
says, ‘now look on all on ye, and if you git into a scrape you’ll have
this cat-o’-nine-tails wrapped round you;’ and then he begun to
whip, and he hadn’t struck mor’n two or three blows, afore I see the
blood run, and he was stark naked, and his back and body was all
over covered with scars, and he says in kind’a broken language, ‘Oh!
massa don’t kill me.’ ‘Tan his hide,’ says master, and he kept on
whippin’, and the old man groaned like as if he was a dyin’, and he
got the hundred lashes, ☜ and then was untied and told to go about
his work; and I looked at the block, and it was kivered with blood,
and that same block didn’t git clear from blood as long as I stayed
there. ☜
“‘Well, this spectacle affected me so, I could scarcely git about the
house, for I expected next would be my turn; and I was so afraid I
shouldn’t do right I didn’t half do my work.
“‘It wore upon me so I grew poor through fear and grief. I would
look out and see the two hundred slaves come into the back yard to
be fed with rice, and they had the value of about a quart of rice a
day, I guess.
“‘Every day, more or less would be whipped till the blood run to
the ground; and every day fresh blood could be seen on the block,—
and what for I never found out, for I darn’t ax any body, and I had
no liberty of saying any thing to the field hands.
‘“I used often to look out of the window to see people pass and
repass, and see if I couldn’t see somebody that I knew; and I finally
got sick, and was kept down some time, and I jist dragged about
and darn’t say one word, for I should have been put on the
plantation for bein’ sick! and I meant to do the best I could till I
dropped down dead; but the almost whole cause on it was grief, and
the rest was cruel hardship. Well, things got so, I thought I must die
soon, and in the height of my sorrow, I looked out and see Samuel
Macy—Master Macy’s second son, walkin’ along the street, and I
could hardly believe my eyes; and I was stand in’ in the door, and I
catches the broom, and goes down the steps a sweepin’, and calls
him by name as he comes along, and I tells him a short story, and
he says ‘I’ll git thee free, only be patient a few weeks.’ I neither sees
nor hears a word on him for over four weeks, but I was borne up by
hope, and that made my troubles lighter. Well, in about four weeks,
one day, jist arter dinner, there comes a gentleman and raps at the
front door, and I goes and opens the door, and there stood old
Master Macy, and I flies and hugs him, and he says ‘how does thee
do, Susan?’ I couldn’t speak, and as soon as I could I tells my story;
and Master Macy then speaks to mistress, who heard the talk and
had come out of the parlor, and says, ‘this girl is a member of my
family, and I shall take her,’ and then master come in and abused
Master Macy dreadfully; but he says, ‘come along with me, Susan;’
and, without a bonnet or anything on to go out with I took him by
the hand, and went down to the ship; and, afore I had finished my
story, an officer comes and takes old Master Macy, and he leaves me
in the care of his son Samuel, aboard, and he was up street about
three hours, tendin’ a law-suit, and then he come back, and about
nine o’clock that evenin’ we hauled off from that cussed shore, and
in two weeks we reached New York, and here I am, in Master Macy’s
old kitchen.
“‘Well, he watches for this slave ship that stole me, and one day
he come in and said he had taken it, and had five men imprisoned;
and the next court had them all imprisoned for life, and there they
be yit. And now there’s no man, gentle or simple, that gits me to do
an arrant out of sight of the house. Bought wit is the best, but I
bought mine dreadful dear. When I got back the whole family cried,
and Mistress Macy says,
“‘Let us rejoice! for the dead is alive, and the lost is found.”’
CHAPTER II.

Kidnappin’ in New York—Peter spends three years in Hartford—couldn’t help


thinkin’ of Solena—Hartford Convention—stays a year in Middletown—hires to a
man in West Springfield—makes thirty-five dollars fishin’ nights—great revival in
Springfield—twenty immersed—sexton of church in Old Springfield—religious
sentiments—returns to New York—Solena again—Susan Macy married—pulls up
for the Bay State again—lives eighteen months in Westfield—six months in
Sharon—Joshua Nichols leaves his wife—Peter goes after him and finds him in
Spencertown, New York—takes money back to Mrs. Nichols—returns to
Spencertown—lives at Esq. Pratt’s—Works next summer for old Captain Beale—
his character—falls in love—married—loses his only child—wife helpless eight
months—great revival of 1827—feels more like gittin’ religion—“One sabba’day
when the minister preached at me”—a resolution to get religion—how to
become a christian—evening prayer-meeting—Peter’s convictions deep and
distressing—going home he kneels on a rock and prayed—his prayer—the joy of
a redeemed soul—his family rejoice with him.

Peter. “Well, I sot a hearin’ Susan’s story till midnight, and that
brought back old scenes agin, and there I sot and listened to her
story till I had enemost cried my eyes out of my head, and I have
only gin you the outline. And that kidnappin’ used to be carried on
that way in New York year after year, and it’s carried on yit. ☜ [15]
Why, they used to steal away any and every colored person they
could steal, and this is all carried on by northern folks tu, and it’s
fifty times worse than Louisiana slavery.
15. It became so common in New York that there was no safety for a colored
person there, and philanthropy and religion demanded some protection for
them against such a shocking system.—At last there was a vigilance
committee organized for the purpose of ascertaining the names and
residences of every colored person in the city; and this committee used
regularly to visit all on the roll, and almost every day some one was missing.
The result has been that several hundreds of innocent men and women and
children have been retaken from their bondage, from the holds of
respectable merchantmen in New York, to the parlours of southern gentry in
New-Orleans. The facts which have been brought out by this committee are
awful beyond description.—It is one of the noblest, and most patriotic and
efficient organization on the globe. But their design expands itself beyond
the protection and recovery of kidnapped friends;—it also lifts a star of
guidance and promise upon the path of the fugitive slave; it helps him on his
way to freedom, and not one week passes by without witnessing the glorious
results of this humane and benevolent institution, in the protection of the
free or the redemption of the enslaved. The Humane Society, whose object is
to recover to life those who have been drowned, enlists the patronage and
encomiums of the great and good, and yet this Vigilance Committee are
insulted and abused by many of the public presses in New York, and most of
the city authorities.—Why? Slavery has infused its deadly poison into the
heart of the North.
“Well, I stayed in New York till my time was out, and then went to
Hartford and worked three years, and enjoyed myself pretty well,
only I couldn’t help thinkin’ ’bout Solena. She was mixed up with all
my dreams and thoughts, and I used to spend hours and hours in
thinkin’ about what I’d lost. But arter all I suffered, I’m kind’a
inclined to think ’twas all kind in God to take her away, for arter this,
I never was so wicked agin nigh. I hadn’t time or disposition to hunt
up my old comrades, and if any time I begun to plunge into sin, then
the thought of Solena’s memory would come up afore me and check
me in a minute, but I was yit a good ways from rale religion.
“While I was there, in December, 1814, the famous Hartford
Convention sot with closed doors, and nobody could find out what
they was about, and every body was a talkin’ about it, and they
han’t got over talkin’ about it, and I don’t b’lieve they ever will. The
same winter the war closed and peace was declared. I could tell a
good many stories about the war, but I guess ‘twould make the book
rather too long, and every body enemost knows all about the last
war.
“Well, I went down to Middletown and stayed a year there, and
then I went to hire out to a man in West Springfield, and he was a
farmer, and he hadn’t a chick nor child in the world, and he had a
share in a fishin’ place on the Connecticut, and he was as clever as
the day is long. He let me fish nights and have all I got, and
sometimes I’ve made a whole lot of money at one haul, and in that
season I made thirty-five dollars jist by fishin’ nights, besides good
wages—and I didn’t make a dollar fishin’ for Gideon Morehouse
nights for years!
“While I was there a Baptist minister come on from Boston and
preached some time, and they had a great revival, and I see twenty
immersed down in the Connecticut, and ’twas one of the most
solemn scenes that ever I witnessed.
“They went down two by two to the river, and he made a prayer
and then sung this hymn, and I shan’t ever forget it, for a good
many on ’em was young.
“‘Now in the heat of youthful blood,
Remember your Creator God;
Behold the months come hastening on
When you shall say ‘my joys are gone.’”

“And then he went in and baptized ’em; and I know I felt as


though I wished I was a christian, for it seemed to me there was
somethin’ very delightful in it, and then they sung and prayed agin,
and then went home.
“Arter this I lived in Old Springfield and was sexton of the church
there; and while I rung that bell I heard good preachin’ every
Sunday, and I larnt more ’bout religion than I’d ever knowed in all
my life. I begun to feel a good deal more serious and the need of
gettin’ religion.
“Arter my time was out there, I went down to New York, and there
I met Solena’s brother, and that brought every thing fresh to mind
agin, and for weeks agin I spent sorrowful hours. I thought I had
about got over it and the wound was healed; but then ‘twould git
tore open agin and bleed afresh, and sorrowful as ever. It did seem
to me that nothin’ would banish the image of that gal from my
heart.
“I used to call and see Susan Macy occasionally, and she was now
Mrs. Williams, and lived in good style tu, for a colored person. She
was married at Mr. Macy’s and they made a great weddin’, and all
the genteel darkies in New York was there; and I wan’t satisfied with
waitin’ on one, I must have two, and if we didn’t have a stir among
our color about them times I miss my guess; and Mr. Macy set her
out with five hundred dollars, and she had a fine husband and they
lived together as comfortable as you please.
“Now I concluded I’d quit the city for good, I spent more money
there and had worse habits, and besides all this I wanted to git away
as fur as I could from the scene of my disappintment.
“Well, I pulled up stakes agin and put out for the Bay State agin,
and I put into Westfield, and stayed there eighteen months, and
made money and saved it, and behaved myself, and ‘tended meetin’
every sabba’day, and gained friends and was as respectable as any
body. From Westfield I went to Sharon and there I stayed six
months, and ‘tended a saw mill, and there was a colored man there
by the name of Joshua Nichols, who had married a fine gal, and he
lived with her till she had one child and then left her, and went out
to Columbia county, New York; and I started off for Albany, and she
axed me if I wouldn’t find her husband on my route, and so I left
Sharon and got here to Spencertown, and found him, and axed him
why he would be so cruel as to leave his wife? He says ‘if you’ll go
and carry some money and a letter down to her I’ll pay you.’ So he
gin me the things and I put out for Sharon, and when Miss Nichols
broke open the letter she burst into tears, and says I, “why Miss
Nichols what’s the matter?” “Why Joshua says this is the last letter I
may ever expect from him.”—Well, I stayed one night, and come
back and concluded I’d go on for Albany, but when I got to Erastus
Pratt’s he wanted to hire me six months, and I hired, and his family
was nice folks, and he had a whole fleet of gals—and they was all as
fine as silk, but I used to tell Aunt Phebe, that Harriet was the rather
the nicest—on ’em all. Arter my six months was out, I worked a
month in shoein’ up his family, and I guess like enough some on ’em
may be in the garret yet.
“Next summer I hired out to old Capt. Beale, and he was a noble
man, and did as much for supportin’ Benevolent Societies as any
other man in town, and in the mean time, I had got acquain’ted with
her who is now my wife, and this summer I was married to her by
Esq. Jacob Lawrence, and in the winter we went to keepin’ house.
“When we had been married over a year, we had a leetle boy
born, and the leetle feller died and I felt bad enough, for he was my
only child, and it was despod hard work too, to give him up. I had at
last found a woman I loved, and all my wanderings and
extravagancies was over, and I was gettin’ in years, and I thought I
could now be happy and enjoy all the comforts of a home and
fireside, but this was all blasted when I laid that leetle feller in the
grave, and my wife was sick and helpless eight months.
“In 1827 a great Revival spread over this whole region, and was
powerful here, and I used to go to all the meetin’s, and I begun to
think more about religion than I ever did in all my life; and these
feelin’s hung on to me ’bout a year, and agin I gin myself up to the
world, and plunged into sin, and grieved the Spirit of God, and grew
dreadful vile, as all the folks ‘round here will say, if you ax ’em.—And
I myself, who knows more ’bout myself than any other body, s’pose
that at heart, I was one of the wickedest men in the world.
“Well, along in 1828 the religious feelin’ ‘round in this region,
begun to rise agin ‘round in this neighbourhood, and there was a
good many prayer meetin’s held, principally at Deacon Mayhew’s,
and Esq. Pratt’s, and I used to ‘tend ’em pretty steady, and I got
back my old feelin’ agin, and now felt more a good deal like gittin’
religion, than I ever had; and rain or shine, I’d be at the meetin’s,
and I detarmined I’d go through it, if I went at all. This church here,
which has since got so tore and distracted, was all united, and
seemed to be a diggin’ all the same way, and Christ was among ’em.
There was one Sabbath day, I shan’t ever forgit, and when I went to
meetin’, and the minister took his text ‘Turn ye, turn ye, for why will
ye die?’ the very minute the words come out of his mouth, an arrow
went to my heart, and I felt the whole sarmint was aimed at me,
and I felt despod guilty. I went home, and that night I was
distressed beyond all account, and I went to bed troubled to death.
But I formed the resolution, if there was any thing in religion I’d
have it, if I could git it, and I was detarmined as I could be that I
would hunt for the way of Salvation; and when I found it, I travelled
in it, and consider that there I begun right. But I was as ignorant of
rale religion as a horse-block, and I didn’t know how to go to work.
Sometimes, something would say, ‘Oh! Peter, give up the business,
you can’t git it through,’ but I held on to my resolution despod tight;
and I think, that is the way for a body to go about getting religion;
on the start, be detarmined to hunt for the path of duty, and as soon
as you find it, go right to travellin’ on it, and keep on; I knew I had
some duty to do to God, and I knew I must hunt for it if I found it,
and do it if I ever got the favor of God.
“Well, one night there was a prayer meetin’ in the church, and a
shower of prayer come down on the house like a tempest, and oh!
how they did beseech God that night—as the Bible says, ‘with strong
cryin’ and tears.’
“Deacon Mayhew got up and says, ‘There’s full liberty for any body
to git up and speak or pray.’ And I felt as though I must git up and
say somethin’ or pray, I was so distressed; but then I was a black
man, and was afeard I couldn’t pray nice enough, and so I set still,
but I felt like death. A number of young converts, prayed and made
good prayers, and there was a despod feelin’ there I tell ye.
“Arter meetin’ a good many folks spoke to me, but I couldn’t
answer ’em for tears; and so I started for home, when I was goin’
cross the lots a cryin’ I come to a large flat rock, and looked round
to see if any body was near by, and then I kneeled down and ’twas
the first time I ever raly prayed.
“I begun, but I was so full I couldn’t only say these words and I
recollect ’em well.
“‘Oh! Lord, here I be a poor wretch; do with me just as you
please; for I have sinned with an out stretched arm, and I feel
unworthy of the least mercy, but I beg for blood, the blood of him
that died Calvary! Oh! help me, keep up my detarmination to do my
duty, and submit to let you dispose on me jist as you please, for
time and eternity; oh! Lord hear this first prayer of a hell-desarving
sinner.’”
“Well, I got up, and felt what I never felt afore; I felt willing to do
God’s will, and that I was reconciled to God; afore this, I had felt as
though God was opposed to me, and I’d got to shift round afore
he’d meet me, and feel reconciled to me. I looked up to heaven, and
I couldn’t help sayin’, ‘My Father:’ never before nor sence, have I felt
so much joy and peace as I felt then, I was glad to be in God’s
hands, and let him reign, for I knew he would do right, and I felt
sich a love for him, as I can’t describe.
“I got up from the rock, and the world did look beautiful round
me; the moon shone clear, and the stars, and then I thought about
David, when he tells about his feelin’s when he looked at the same
moon and stars; you see I was changed and that made the world
look so new; and this beautiful world was God’s world, and God was
my Father, and that made me happy, and that is ’bout all I can say
’bout it.
“I went home, and found my wife and mother-in-law abed and
‘sleep, and I lit up the candle and wakes ’em up, and says,
“I’ve found the pearl of great price.”
“I gits down the New Testament, for I had no Bible, and never
owned one till this time, and says, “I’ll read a chapter and then
make a prayer, (for you see my wife had larnt me to read arter a
fashion,) and they say ‘That’s right Peter, I’m glad you feel as though
you could pray,’ I opened the Testament to the 14th chapter of John,
‘Let not your heart be troubled; ye believe in God, believe also in
me,’ &c. Then I made a prayer and set up my family altar, and I have
prayed in my family every day, and mean to keep it up, for I believe
all christians ought to pray mornin’ and evenin’ in their families.
“Well, I went to bed and talked to my wife ’bout religion, till I
fairly talked her asleep, and then I lay awake and thought, and
prayed, and wept for joy, and it will be a good while afore I forgit
that night.
“For who can express
The sweet comfort and peace
Of a soul in its arliest Love.”

END.
Transcriber’s Notes:
Missing or obscured punctuation was silently
corrected.
Typographical errors were silently corrected.
Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were
made consistent only when a predominant
form was found in this book.
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