Читать книгу Twenty-Two Years a Slave and Forty Years a Freeman (Autobiography) - Austin Steward - Страница 3

FROM GOVERNOR CLARK

Table of Contents

STATE OF NEW YORK, EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENT,

Albany, May 10, 1856.

MR. A. STEWARD, Canandaigua,

Dear Sir: — I notice a paragraph in the "Ontario Times" of this date, making the announcement that you are preparing "a sketch of events occurring under your own observation during an eventful life," to be entitled, "Twenty Years a Slave, and Forty Years a Freeman;" and that you design soon to make an effort to obtain subscribers for the book.

Being desirous of rendering you what encouragement I may in the work, you are permitted to place my name on your list of subscribers.

Respectfully Yours,

MYRON H. CLARK.

* * * * *

ROCHESTER, SEPTEMBER, 1856

MR. WM. ALLING,

Dear Sir: — The undersigned have heard with pleasure, that you are about issuing a Book made up from incidents in the life of Austin STEWARD. We have been the early acquaintances and associates of Mr. Steward, while a business man in Rochester in an early day, and take pleasure in bearing testimony to his high personal, moral and Christian character. In a world of vicissitude, Mr. Steward has received no ordinary share, and we hope, while his book may do the world good, it may prove a substantial benefit to him in his declining years.

ASHLEY SAMPSON, THOMAS KEMPSHALL, FREDERICK STARR, CHAS. J. HILL, L.A. WARD, EDWIN SCRANTOM, JACOB GOULD.

* * * * *

RECOMMENDATORY.

ROCHESTER, JULY 1, 1856.

A. STEWARD, ESQ.,

Dear Sir: — In reply to your letter upon the propriety of publishing your life, I answer, that there is not only no objection to it, but it will be timely, and is demanded by every consideration of humanity and justice. Every tongue which speaks for Freedom, which has once been held by the awful gag of Slavery, is trumpet-tongued — and he who pleads against this monstrous oppression, if he can say, "here are the scars," can do much.

It is a great pleasure to me to run back to my boyhood, and stop at that spot where I first met you. I recollect the story of your wrongs, and your joy in the supposition that all were now ended in your freedom; of your thirst for knowledge, as you gathered up from the rudimental books — not then very plenty — a few snatches of the elements of the language; of playing the school-master to you, in "setting copies" for your writing — book; of guiding your mind and pen. I remember your commencement in business, and the outrage and indignity offered you in Rochester, by white competitors on no other ground than that of color.1 I saw your bitter tears, and recollect assuring you — what afterwards proved true — that justice would overtake the offenders, and that you would live to see these enemies bite the dust! I remember your unsullied character, and your prosperity, and when your word or endorsement was equal to that of any other citizen. I remember too, when yourself, and others of your kind, sunk all the gatherings of years of toil, in an unsuccessful attempt to establish an asylum for your enslaved and oppressed brethren — and, not to enumerate, which I might do much farther, I remember when your "old master," finding you had been successful, while he himself had lost in the changes on fortune's wheel — came here and set up a claim to yourself and your property — a claim which might have held both, had not a higher power suddenly summoned him to a tribunal, where both master and slave shall one day answer each for himself!

But to the book. Let its plain, unvarnished tale be sent out, and the story of Slavery and its abominations, again be told by one who has felt in his own person its scorpion lash, and the weight of its grinding heel. I think it will do good service, and could not have been sent forth at a more auspicious period. The downfall of the hateful system of Slavery is certain. Though long delayed, justice is sure to come at length; and he must be a slow thinker and a poor seer, who cannot discern in the elements already at work, the mighty forces which must eventually crush this oppression. I know that you and I have felt discouraged at the long delay, years ago, — when we might have kept up our hopes by the fact that every thing that is slow is sure. Your book may be humble and your descriptions tame, yet truth is always mighty; and you may furnish the sword for some modern Sampson, who shall shout over more slain than his ancient prototype. I close with the wish, that much success may attend your labors, in more ways than one, and that your last days may be your best — and am,

Your old Friend,

And obed't serv't,

EDWIN SCRANTOM.