J. C. Brown

I was born in Frederick county, Va. My father was a white man; my mother a mixed blood. She was given away by a man named N—to a man named B—, so that she could not appear at a court against N. on a suit for her freedom and her three children’s. B. took her to Kentucky: therefore, myself and brother and sister remained slaves with N. He in a short time removed to Kentucky. At fifteen, I was hired to Capt. George Smith, who volunteered to go to Tippecanoe. I was fifer in his company. The freedom of myself, Moses, and some others was promised us on our return. But the last time I saw Moses, he was bowed down in hellish slavery in Little Rock, Ark., and I had the misfortune to have to pay N. eighteen hundred dollars for my freedom—my step-father and mother hiring my time for six years. Neal was captain of the Silver Greys, who did not go to war, being over forty-five,—they reported whether any negroes were disaffected, and strong suspicion fell on me—but it was false. At that time there were many colored people joined in a conspiracy to get their freedom, and wore as a mark, a plait in the hair over the left eye. This was discovered,—many were whipped, and had the plait cut off. The conspiracy extended over three hundred miles, from Maysville to Henderson.

A free colored man named Freeribbon, who lived four miles from Louisville, was suspected as the author of this conspiracy. F., his wife and daughter kept an inn, and he had a blacksmith’s shop to accommodate with farriery those who stopped with him. They searched the shop,—under it they found old guns, butcher-knives, and other implements for killing. He was put in jail and condemned to be hung,—but having many friends, he was reprieved on condition that he should be sent to some Spanish mine, and there remain the rest of his days. He was sent to the mines. After twenty years, a white man in the neighborhood committed murder. Under the gallows he confessed that he had been employed by three near neighbors of Freeribbon, and that they paid him for putting the implements under F.’s floor. One of the three was a congressman, one a colonel, one a gentleman. In consequence of their crime, F. had been sent off, and his fine farm confiscated. When this was made known, the court sent for Freeribbon. He came back, and I saw him—a heart-broken man. The colonel afterward poisoned himself.

After I became a free man, I carried on the mason business in Bardstown, Shelbyville, and Louisville. My misfortunes now began. I had been used well as a slave, for my mistress was my aunt. I was an object of jealousy to the white mechanics, because I was more successful in getting jobs. They threatened me, unless I left the neighborhood, to break every bone in my body. I was then finishing a large building for Capt. Nelson. He said he would see M—, leader of my enemies, and stop their proceedings: but M—still continued his threats. About the same time, I saw a free colored man whipped. This grieved and alarmed me. I burst into tears; I went to my mother and told her I would leave a slave country and go to a free country. I had been married about two years. In 1819, under the advice of Stratford Gowen and Benjamin Lundy, I was sent to Texas to find shelter and suitable situations for free people of color. Meeting there with Mr. Black or Blake, then a member of the council of that colony, he told me that Texas was to be a great cotton and sugar-growing country, and would one day be annexed to the United States. He said a majority of the council were opposed to having a free colored settlement in Texas, and it would be useless for me to look further. I then returned to Louisville, and in a short time removed with my family to Cincinnati.

At this time, a white man of a Quaker family, named Hethers, was teaching colored children in Louisville. The slaveholders being very suspicious of him, hired a colored barber named Tillman, a slave, to get Hethers into his shop and ask him to write a free paper. Capt. T—G—and S—B—concealed themselves under the counter in Tillman’s shop. Hethers came in, and the colored man asked him his charge for writing a free paper to come to Canada. He told him, if he was to write one, he would not charge him any thing. Tillman said, “No—you must have twenty dollars,”—as he had been instructed. He asked Hethers if he thought the papers would pass him good to Canada. Hethers told him “Yes, but he had better call on J. C. Brown, in Cincinnati, who was, he understood, a very clever man, and could give him instructions.” So I got into a scrape without knowing it.

It was a few days after that, I went to Louisville to settle up some business. Hethers had been seized by the two white men and was now in jail. The night I got down, a man named Shaw came to me, and told me that some gentlemen wanted to see me in Dr. Talbot’s shop. I went there; M—, my old enemy was there. He asked me who raised me? “‘Squire Neal of Shelby.” “You are a sample of some of his raising. Do you know what we sent for you for?” “I do not.” He then raised an oil cloth, and showed pistols, bowie-knives, ropes, and cow-hides. Said he, “this is what we sent for you for; and I’ll tell you what you are to do. To-morrow morning at 10 o’clock, you are to go to court, where Hethers is to be tried, and testify that Hethers is writing free passes for our niggers to be taken to you, and for you to forward to Canada.” I denied that it was so, and told them I did n’t know Hethers. “Take me to the jail and let Hethers see me, and if he says he ever saw me or knew me, turn the key upon me and give me a trial.” M—was then a Methodist preacher, and is yet. He said, “Hear him,—he wants to be tried like a white man! but we have a trial for you in Bullock’s woods.” He then told me if I failed to appear and testify as they said, I should be taken to the woods at night, then tied up and receive nine hundred lashes: one hundred apiece from nine of them. They consulted Dr. T—, as to whether I could take the nine hundred blows and live. He felt of my body and said I was a man of great muscle,—he told them where to chalk me about the shoulders, and so as to avoid the kidneys. I said to them, “Gentlemen, I have a wife and two children, and of what use can I be to take care of them after you have given me nine hundred lashes?” M—said, “That’s their look-out, not ours.” They dismissed me with the injunction that I should attend the court. I did not attend it, believing that I had many friends in Louisville who would not let them use me so.

Just after dark, on the evening after the court, I was at my mother-in-law’s with my family, and was invited to stop to supper. Knowing that I drank water, the old lady was going to the pump, when she met a mob of white men coming. One of them told her to run to the house and tell me to flee for my life, or my life would be taken. She fainted and fell. While I sat at the table, fearing that all was not right, I came down to the foot of the stairs, and there saw three or four white-hatted gentlemen looking up the stairs, and many others behind them. I walked out through them bareheaded—they did not recognize me—I heard them say, “Hush! hush!” to each other as I passed through the crowd. I got to a steamboat landing, where were several boats going next day, and went on board a Pittsburg boat bound to Cincinnati. I told my situation to a man, who then locked me up in a state-room. Next morning, the slaveholders went aboard all the boats and ordered them not to take me out of the city. We left next morning at 9 o’clock, Capt. Y—not knowing that I was on board.

After we got twelve miles from Louisville, they rung the bell for passengers to pay their fare. Not wishing any charge against the man who had concealed me, I had come out on deck. The clerk asked my name,—I told him “J. C. Brown.” He would n’t take my money, but went for the captain. He came and said, “I can get more money by running back to Louisville, than I can by going to Pittsburg.” I told him he had better do it. He said, “No insolence!” and then told a young man, a deck hand, to “camp me.” That fellow’s back soon felt the deck, and I made for the captain; he rang the bell, and called help, who seized me, and chained me to the capstan-bar, where I was kept nearly all the distance to Cincinnati. I got a warrant for false imprisonment against Capt. Y. It was to be served by one Doty, but he always pretended he never could catch him. I got no recompense nor justice for that treatment.

Three years after this affair, the law of 1804, known as the Ohio black law, was revived in that State, and enforced. By this law, every colored man was to give bonds in $500 not to become a town charge, and to find bonds also for his heirs. No one could employ a colored man or colored woman to do any kind of labor, under penalty of $100. There were then about 3,000 colored people there—by this law they were thrown out of employment. I was then clearing $600 a year, and refused to give bonds. The colored people had a meeting, and talked about a court of appeals to test the law. Some talked of going to Texas,—we knew not what to do: we were sore perplexed. I spoke to them of Canada, and we formed a Colonization Society, of which I was President. I wrote for the Board to Sir John Colborne, at Little York, now Toronto, to know if we could find in Canada an asylum for ourselves, our wives, and children. Two members of the Board went with the letter to Toronto, and were well received by Sir John. He wrote us to remove into Canada with our wives and children, if we chose to do so; and that so long as we remained true and loyal subjects, we should have every privilege extended to us that was enjoyed by any of her majesty’s subjects, no distinction being made on account of color. I have his letter now in my possession—his memorable words. Mr. Hammonds, our friend, editor of a daily paper in Cincinnati, published the letter at my request. The publication made an excitement in the corporation of Cincinnati. Two or three of us, including myself, were sent for by the city government, next day. The reason was, as Mr. Hotchkiss said, that I, as one of the leading spirits, was doing a great deal of mischief; for every one that I took off to Canada was a sword drawn against the United States. At this time Cincinnati was full of women, without husbands, and their children. These were sent there by planters from Louisiana and Mississippi, and some from Tennessee, who had now got fortunes, and had found that white women could live in those States. In consequence, they had sent their slave-wives and children to Cincinnati, and set them free. They had begun to come about the close of the last war. Cincinnati was the great point for them. I was agent of a man who had eighteen of these headless families in one house. I asked the Mayor, “Now that they have deprived us of work, who is to go begging for these people, to keep them alive?” He said they were taking steps to have the law repealed, and wished me to stay any action about sending people to Canada.

I paid no attention to what he told me, and sent three wagon loads out to Sandusky next day. In three or four weeks I and my family left—came to Sandusky—thence I took a boat, the “Gov. Cass,” and went to Little York, where I entered into a contract with the Canada Company, for a township of land, agreeing to pay $6,000 a year, for ten years. It was the township of Biddulph. The black law had now become inoperative in Cincinnati, and the colored people wrote me, that they could now walk without being pushed off the side-walks, were well used, and were living in clover. Of 2,700 who were to have come, only 460 came out. They settled promiscuously in the province, buying land here and there, and getting work. Only five or six families of them settled in Biddulph. Three weeks after they settled, fifteen families from Boston, Mass., met them there, and settled there, where they remain. We only paid for 1,220 acres, which was divided, from 25 to 50 acres to a family. Numbers, who came afterward, had to leave for other places. These families in Biddulph are now independent. Their lands now will sell at forty to fifty dollars an acre: it cost one dollar and fifty cents. I settled in Toronto, where I could have some means of making myself useful for them among the white people, and where my trade was good.

My wife became dissatisfied, and I removed with her and my daughter,—my son having died,—to Cincinnati, where I remained thirteen months. I went on to Louisville, to see my old mother. This was some six or seven years from the M—scrape. I saw my old mother, and just as I was taking a seat at the table, an officer popped into the room, shook hands with me, and said he wanted to speak with me. I went into another room with him—he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, “You are my prisoner.” I was put in jail, charged with running off large quantities of slaves: my accuser, Mr. G—D—, said I had crossed the river at Utica, Charleston, and Madison, with large droves of slaves. The third day I wrote an advertisement for Mr. Penn’s paper, offering $100 reward for any credible evidence of my having done as was alleged. The court released me on $2,500 bail: two persons recognized in $1,000 each, and I was taken for the $500. On the evening of the day I gave the bonds, three men came out at me, and drew pistols, which they fired at the ground about my feet: this, my friends supposed, was to frighten me, and induce me to run off, so that my securities might forfeit their bonds. The Grand-Jury failed to find a bill, and I was discharged.

I returned to Cincinnati. My wife had seen so much of my persecution, that she was more anxious to return to Canada than she had been to leave it. We returned to Toronto, and I was a gunner there in the Patriot war. I removed to Dawn, and was elected one of the trustees of the school in that place. From Dawn I came to Chatham about 1849. Chatham was then a little village of frame buildings and log cabins. There were then no masons, bricklayers, or plasterers among the colored men. I went for some, and got them here, and we are now able to build a house from the stump. We can cut the timber and make the brick. The greater part of the bricklaying and plastering is in the hands of the colored mechanics. There are four churches of colored people which are well filled. We have separate schools which are tolerably well attended,—the Sunday school is very numerously attended. There are three charitable societies of men, and two of women, which do much good, relieving the wants of the sick and destitute. There is a great deal of property owned here by the colored people: their number has doubled in two years, mainly by immigration, which continues still—especially of fugitive slaves,—sometimes twenty in one day. Many agents have come here, nominally to assist the fugitives, but some of them have not been so honest as one could wish. They collected money, but the fugitives did not get it. However, what money the fugitives have received, has been an injury, rather than a benefit. I have seen cases where the money would have done good, if rightly distributed.

Our children growing up in this country, and not having the fear of any white man, and being taught to read and write, will grow up entirely different from their fathers,—of more benefit to themselves, of more benefit to the government, and will be more able to set good examples to the rising generation. Intelligent parents will raise up intelligent children.

Slavery disarms a man of virtue,—of every thing: it prevents his being a man. Anticipation is what we live for,—it makes us anxious to improve ourselves and our children; but the slave anticipates nothing, but the setting of the sun, or the passage of some law to curtail what little of privilege he possesses. The effects of slavery are perceptible here in our courts. I have seen fugitives, brought as witnesses, afraid to testify against a white man. This is a part of the horrid effects of slavery. The younger ones are better than this. They grow up without slavish fear: they know nothing about it.