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Mary Anne Rawson's The Bow in the Cloud (1834): A Scholarly Edition

Knibb, William

Name ID: https://www.wikidata.org/wiki/Q8014079

Born: 1803

Died: 1845

Faith: Baptist

Note: William Knibb was a Baptist minister and missionary in Jamaica.

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The Little African Pleader, by William Knibb

The usual punishment for playing the truant in the Lancasterian School in Kingston, Jamaica, was confinement for the same period as the culprit had absconded. This offence was far from being of frequent occurrence, but one little pickaninnie gave me some trouble. He was a black curly-headed rogue, infinitely better pleased when roaming among orange and mango groves, than in poring over "Reading made Easy." One day, the little urchin was brought to the school, after he had been taking one of his rambling excursions, when, with all the anthority of a pedagogue, I demanded where he had strayed, and what reason he could give, why smnmary punishment should not be inflicted.

Summoning as much penitence as he could into his little roguish face, he looked at me with the most irresistible impudence, and said,

"Stop, Schoolmassa, make me speak, me no tell a lie, me know me do wrong; but you see, Schoolmassa, you is one great big buckra man [Author note: Buckra man, i.e. White man.] me is one little neger; 'pose, Schoolmassa, you lock me up in de school all night, why dere is no man in de whole world can hinder you.

"You see, Schoolmassa, you is one great big buckra man, me is one little neger; 'pose, Schoolmassa, you flog me, you flog me till your arm him so tire, dat you no able to lift him up to give me one more stroke, me know dat dere is no man in de whole world can hinder you.

"You stop, Schoolmassa, you see den, Schoolmassa, dat you is one great big buckra man, and dat me is one poor little neger; 'pose, den, Schoolmassa, dat you forgive me dis once, why, Schoolmassa, dere is no man in de whole world can hinder you."

William Knibb.
The Persecuted Missionary, by William Knibb and Thomas Burchell

"Persecuted, but not forsaken."

I had laboured on the slave-cursed, though otherwise lovely island of Jamaica, in the humble character of a missionary, for the space of seven years, when some faint intimations reached me and my brethren that the unhappy victims of despotic power, the deeply-injured slaves, goaded by the cruelties and taunts of their guilty oppressors, had resolved on freeing themselves from the iron yoke of bondage under which they were held; but we had not the smallest idea of the extent to which the spirit of insubordination had been awakened. After having successfully allayed the excitement amongst the Christian slaves by whom we were surrounded, we assembled with our beloved flock in the house of prayer, that we might enjoy that comfort which communion with God in His ordinances imparts. All was hurry, confusion, and sin without, -- within the sanctuary was that peace which Jesus alone bestows. In the evening of this ever-memorable Sabbath, the small band of missionaries solemnly commended each other to God; Jesus was in our midst, and the protracted evening devotions were a preparative for the trials which awaited us. On the following Tuesday I was arrested, with two of my brother-missionaries. In vain did we demand the reason of this proceeding: martial law bad been proclaimed, which was the signal that every enormity might be practised with impunity. While walking to and fro in the barracks, one of the officers came, and said, "I am commanded by the colonel of the militia to inform you that you are to proceed to head-quarters in half an hour." The request to be permitted to take leave of our wives and children having been denied by these christian slave-drivers, and our pockets having been searched, marched between four soldiers with their muskets loaded, we commenced our melancholy journey. On our arrival at the sea-beach, a small boat was procured, in which we were placed with our infuriated guards. Exposed to a tropical sun, and our feet saturated with water from the leakage of the boat, we were rowed a distance of twenty-two miles. Arriving at Montego Bay, we were marched and counter-marched from one place to another, exposed to the insults of those who thirsted for our blood. At length we were placed in the jury-box in the Courthouse, which had been converted into a prison, where the most horrid scene presented itself. The curses of the slave-drivers were of the most revolting description, and, together with the inhuman cruelties practised upon the slaves whom they had captured, produced an impression upon my mind which will never be effaced. Being overcome by fatigue, I requested permission to lie down on the boards, when the sentinel replied, "No, you villain; if you stir one step I'll stab you to the heart: you are to be shot in the morning, and I shall be very glad to have a shot at you." God, however, in His mercy interposed, and in this time of need raised up a friend, who, with much difficulty and personal hazard, effected our deliverance; and thus we were rescued from the hands of those who intended our death, and who gloried in the prospect of imbruing their hands in our blood. "Cursed be their anger, for it was fierce; and their wrath, for it was cruel."

During the following six weeks we were held on bail, and frequently exposed to imminent peril, while every effort was made by the colonists to effect our destruction. Every means they used to implicate us in the rebellion completely failed; and God, in His mercy, saved His servants "because they trusted in Him." When we were released from restraint, I returned to the people of my charge; their joy was unbounded, and their expressions of affection quite overwhelming; some clasped my knees, some my hands, and others my feet; while, with eyes suffused with tears, they thanked that God who had again restored to them the minister they loved.

William Knibb.

----

[A Letter which the Editor has lately received from another devoted Missionary, contains the following striking and affecting account of the feelings of the Christian Slaves towards their cruel persecutors.]

"You are aware of my arrest and imprisonment, as well as that of other Missionaries, during the sanguinary persecutions of 1831 and 1832. The cruel sufferings inflicted upon many of the christian negroes during that period, for their attachment to the Redeemer and His cause, can never be fully related; so that had they given vent to their feelings, by the most indignant expressions, it could not have excited our surprise: but so far from this, I do not remember to have heard one christian slave, during the whole of those terrible persecutions, indulge in a vindictive term towards any of his malignant oppressors. When I arrived at my lodgings, on the day of my liberation from incarceration, crowds of my afflicted friends thronged to see me, giving vent to their feelings by their many tears and their kindly expressions of sympathy on account of my sufferings, and congratulations for my triumph over my bitter foes, who were thirsting for my blood. Amongst many other interesting remarks, one poor christian negro addressed me in the following manner: 'Massa,' said he, 'no you feel too bad. We enemy, -- dem wicked, -- dem bad for true, Massa; -- dem take we neger, -- dem shoot we, -- dem hang we, -- dem flog we, -- dem 'pill we blood, as though we no worth at all -- but, minister, we must pray for dem -- dem very bad, -- dem very wicked, -- but, Dem no convert yet!!!' A noble apology made by one of those despised slaves in behalf of those cruel men, and which cannot but remind us of the spirit and prayer of the blessed Redeemer upon the cross, 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.' 'Dem no convert yet!!!'"
The Death of a Female Slave, by William Knibb

(Extract from a Letter.)

--Her name, if I remember right, was Mary. She had long been a consistent Christian, and to her affliction's full cup of sorrows had been meted out. When I was requested to visit her, she was in the last stage of a consumption. On entering her lowly hut, I found her lying on a mat, her head supported by a box, which I suppose contained her little all. Never "while memory holds her seat," shall I forget the interview. She looked at me with much affection, and said,

"Minister, me is glad to see you. Me did not like to die, minister, till me see you."

"Why so, my friend?" I replied.

"Minister, me wish to tell you how good God is; Him is too good--Him is too good, minister."

After speaking with her for some time, I said,

"Well, you are about to die, my sister; are you afraid to die?"

"No, minister, me is not afraid to die."

"Do you not know that you have been a great sinner?"

"Yes, me feel that; but, minister, Jesus, Him die for sinner, and me is not afraid to die. Me shall soon be with Jesus, and me shall sing with Jesus for ever and ever."

At her request I read a portion of the word of God, and, kneeling by her side, prayed with her. On leaving, I took her by the hand and said, "I wish you, my sister, an abundant entrance into the kingdom of God."

"Thank you, minister," the dying saint replied. "Me shall soon be there, and please, when you go home, tell the other minister, that me hope God will give him two crowns, when him come to Heaven, because him leave him country, and teach me, a poor slave, the way to go there."

In a few hours, calm and resigned, she breathed her last; and her happy spirit, wafted by angels into the presence of her Saviour, took possession of the promised rest. Thus ended the mortal career of one, on whom the curse of slavery rested heavily for years. Sweet indeed must heaven be to the toil-worn negro. She hears not the voice of the oppressor, while the Lamb that is in the midst of the throne leads her, and feeds her; and God, having wiped the last tear from her eyes, the days of her mourning are ended. The next day her remains were committed to the lowly tomb.

"Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear,
Invade thy bounds--no mortal woes
Can reach the lonely sleeper here,
And angels watch her soft repose."

William Knibb
A Brief Account of a Much-Persecuted Christian Slave, by William Knibb

"Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake; for their's is the kingdom of heaven."

-- Yes, he was a lovely Christian, and to him was given, not only to believe on the name of Jesus, but also to suffer pain for his sake. He was a plantation-slave, and had been promoted for his consistent conduct. A few years ago, one of the slave-members belonging to the Baptist Church at Montego Bay was banished from his home, and sent to the estate where David lived, to be cured of his praying. By the pious conversation of this exiled christian negro, David was brought under serious concern for his soul, which ended in his conversion to God. Acting up to the christian negro's motto, that "what good for one negro, good for him brother too," David spoke to his fellow-slaves about Jesus, and his love in dying for poor sinners. God, who despiseth not the humblest instrument, blessed the efforts of this poor negro, and, in a short time, about thirty on the estate began to pray, and at length built a small hut, in which, after the labours of the day, they might assemble and worship God. Tidings of these things reached the ears of the white persons employed on the estate, and David was summoned before his attorney, and asked whether he was teaching the slaves to pray. On replying in the affirmative, the hut was demolished and burnt, and David was stretched upon the earth and flogged with the cart-whip till his flesh was covered with his blood. Next Lord's-day I missed my faithful deacon at the house of God. His afllicted wife came and told me the sad tale of his sufferings, and informed me, that his hands were bound and his feet made fast in the stocks. Often did I inquire after him, and for him, and the same answer was returned, "Massa, him in the stocks;" till one morning, as I sat in my piazza, he appeared before the window. There he stood -- I have his image now before me -- he was hand-cuffed, barefoot, unable to wear his clothes from his yet unhealed back; his wife had fastened some of her garments round his lacerated body. I called him in, and said,

"David, David, what have you done?"

With a look of resignation I shall never forget, he replied,

"Don't ask me, ask him that bring me, massa."

Turning to the negro who had him in charge, I said,

"Well, what has this poor man done?"

"Him pray, massa," was the reply, "and Buchra sending him to the workhouse for punishing."

I gave him some refreshment, for in the state I have described he had walked thirteen miles under a burning sun, and followed him to that den of cruelty, properly designated a Jamaica inquisition. He was chained to a fellow-slave by the neck, and sent to work on the public roads. The next day I went to visit him again, when I was informed by the supervisor of the workhouse, that he had received orders to have him flogged again, as soon as his back was well enough to bear it. In these chains David remained for months; frequently I saw him, but never did I hear one murmur or one complaint, except when he heard that the partner of his joys and sorrows was ill on the estate, and he was forbidden to go and see her.

At the end of three months he was liberated, and returning to the estate, was asked,

"Now, sir, will you pray again?"

"Massa," said the persecuted disciple, "you know me is a good slave, but if trouble come for dis, me must pray, and me must teach me broder to pray too."

Again he was immured in a dungeon, and his feet made fast in the stocks.

William Knibb.

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