"One day Aunt Milla, the cook, sent me to pick up an armful of wood for her. While I stood lookin' up to de clouds, huntin' for God, I hear a sweet soft voice say, 'Chile, pray.' I look all 'mong de tree-tops, to see who's thar, an' it say, 'Chile, pray,' again. An' I was sure somebody up in de tree-tops, an' I got scared, an' drop my armful of wood, an' run to Aunt Milla, all out o' bref. 'What ails you, Phil? What's the matter?' she said. 'Somebody's in de tree-tops, an' say, "Chile, pray."' 'Hush, chile,' Aunt Milla said, 'dat's God talkin to you.' 'No 't ain't. I's been huntin' for God a good many days, an' can't fin' im.' 'Honey, you can't see God wid de eyes you sees Aunt Milla. God is a great good spirit dat knows all 'bout what you want, an' what you're thinkin' 'bout. I wish I was a Christian, but I ain't. I's hearn Christians talk, an' I knows dat God's talkin' to you, honey. Now, you go by yourse'f, alone like, an' ask God to make you good, as you say you want to, an' he'll do it, sure.'
"Here was a new thought, dat I could fin' God, an' not see 'im. But I did as Aunt Milla tole me. It 'peared like I must fin' God. My heart ached like, all thro' me, I's so anxious. Only a few days after I was totin' an armful o' plates to the dinin'-room for Aunt Milla. All at once I's so happy I didn't know myse'f. I drop my plates, an' broke I don't know how many. But I didn't stop for plates; I shouted, 'Bless Massa Jesus! Glory! Glory hallelujah to God! I 'a foun' 'im; I knows it's God.' I got hold of my papa and mamma, an' tole 'em to ask God to make 'em good, an' he'd do it; an' took hold of my little mate July, 'bout my age, an' tole 'im he mus' pray, an' I'd pray for 'im. In a few days he got 'ligion too. An' two young white ladies, Massa Malachi's nieces, lived thar', an' learned us to sing the sweet hymn:
"'My Savior, my Almighty Friend,
When I begin thy praise,
Where shall the growing numbers end,
The numbers of thy grace?'
An' I tole July we'd have prayer-meetin's in our cabin of nights, an' de ole folks gathered 'round us, an' our cabin was full. Massa Malachi Murphy was angry 'bout it; sometimes he'd scold, sometimes make fun o' me, an' call me de 'big preacher, Howlin' Phil.' But as all dat didn't put me down, he call me to 'im an' say, 'You shall stop this prayin' an' singin' in your cabin, or I'll whip you to death,' an' he swore I was ruinin' his plantation. My papa an' mamma tried to get me to stop. They said, 'You know Massa Malachi will do jus' as he say.' 'O no, I can't stop prayin' to Jesus, he's so good to poor me. I can't stop prayin', I said. But we did stop our prayer-meetin's in our cabin, but we had our night meetin's in a deep ravine over a quarter of a mile away. Forty or fifty of our fellow slaves would, meet us thar to hear us pray an' sing. At las' massa set de overseer, Munday, to watch us, an' he found us out. He ordered Munday to bring July an' me to 'im afore sun up. When we come in sight of de yard we seen two ropes hangin' to a big tree limb, an' I stop an' look to July, an' to de woods, wid a half a min' to run. But July says, 'We knows we can't stop prayin', an' we knows what we'll take jus' as well firs' as las'.' Then I was 'shamed to think I was firs' in de cause, an' July stronger'n me. An' we went through de gate an' stood afore massa, settin' in de back door in his night shirt. He began to swear we was ruinin' his whole plantation, an' now he was goin' to have us whipped to death. 'Now you see you've got to die or stop prayin'; will you stop this d——d prayin'?' 'O massa, do please let me pray to God, do please.' 'Strip off your slip, tie 'im up thar, Mun, an' give 'im a full round.' It was done accordin' to order; twenty lashes with the bull whip, an' twenty strokes with the paddle. Turning to July, he said, 'Will you stop prayin' or die?' 'Massa, do please let me pray to God,' said July. With an oath, he was bidden to take off his slip, an' tied to the other rope with a rail at the lower end, nearly touching the ground. The paddle was an inch board four inches wide, three or four feet long, whittled at one end for the handle, having six or eight inches bored full of holes, each hole drawing a blister at every stroke. The full round was given to July as ordered, twenty lashes with the bull whip and twenty strokes with the paddle. With an oath he turned again to me, 'Now, have you got enough to stop your praying or will the devil die?' 'O massa, do please let me pray to God, he is so good,' I answered. 'Mun, give 'im another full round,' and twenty lashes with the whip, and twenty strokes with the paddle was again given. Again he queried July, who gave the same reply as before, and the full round was ordered and given again. Then he ordered him to be cut down, swearing that he would whip him to death the next time he heard of his praying. But he swore he'd have the little devil, Phil, whipped to death now, as he was first in this 'devilish' praying. As I expected to die, I prayed all through this terrible ordeal that Jesus would come near to help me endure it, in his name.
"I felt him like he was by my side," continued Uncle Philip, as the tears dropped thick and fast, often stopping a moment to find utterance. "Massa bid July go home an' behave, an' he order' de overseer to give me another round unless I'd promise to stop prayin'. But it 'peared like I felt stronger in de Lo'd, an' I give de same answer, and I can't tell how long I was whipped an' paddled, for when I cum to, I was cut down, and layin' in de blood on de groun'—I fainted away. Massa was lookin' at me thar in his night shirt; I see him as cl'ar as if't was done yesterday. He swore I should never cum in his sight again, or cum inside dat gate, pointing to it. I prayed in my heart for God to give me strength to git up and walk to de quarters, for the pain an' loss of blood made me so weak an' faint. But de good Lo'd was thar, an' I presently got strong enough to get up an' took my slip in han', an' staggered out dat yard, and cum up to July. He stop on de way to see if I was 'live. When we pass de quarters all along, de old men an' women stood at their doors cryin'.
When we got out o' sight of de great house, one ole man an' 'oman called us to 'em an' oiled our backs. Da said we was all cut up to a jelly, an' put soft cloth over de gashes. Our people tried harder'n ever to stop our prayin' an' singin', caze Massa Malachi sure to kill us.
"A few days after massa sent for me, an' I 'spected he'd finish me dis time sure. But I felt Jesus was close by me; I was weak in de body, but strong in de Lo'd. I obeyed, as I stood all trimbly afore 'im. 'Well, howlin' preacher, if you are boun' to preach you shall preach,' an' he swore I should have enough of it. 'Next Sunday, at eleven o'clock you shall preach; I'm going to invite all the white folks an' black people 'round here to cum to hear de big preacher. I'm going to have a pulpit built under that big tree' (pointing to one in the yard two rods from the one the ropes were tied to when we was whipped). 'Now we'll have a big meetin' to hear de big preacher. You understan', do you?' 'Yes, massa,' I say, an' he sent me away. I tol' July what massa said. 'Now we mus' pray to God to sen' a minister, an' pray God to soften massa's heart, to let 'im preach, for you knows Massa Malachi mil do jus' as he says he will, an' God will answer our prayer.' At nights I went to one plantation an' July went to another, an' we tried to git some Christian man or some Christian woman to promise to preach if massa would consent. But not one would promise. They all knew it was just for sport. Sunday morning came with a great parade of hauling boards, an' a pulpit was built."
Uncle Philip said it looked more terrifying to him than would a gallows if built for his own hanging. People gathered from all directions, both white and colored, and filled the whole yard. The hour of eleven brought the master to the door in his arm-chair, with his family Bible in his lap. Taking his watch from his pockets, he called out, "Come on, my big preacher."
"I obeyed the command," said Uncle Philip, "as I stood afore 'im. 'Now we are to hear this howling preacher,' he said, sneeringly, 'ad you can't preach without the Bible, an' I'll hold it wide open, an' you must look right at me when you preach. The time is up; go to your pulpit.' I asked July if he would go up with me and help me sing—
"'My Savior, my Almighty Friend'