Another instance we have in Phillis Wheatley; she was purchased by Mrs. F. Wheatley in Boston slave-market, (America,) when she was about seven or eight years old. Shewing great natural talents, her mistress had her taught reading, writing, &c. As she grew up to womanhood, she attracted the notice of many literary characters, who supplied her with books and directed her studies. When about fourteen years of age, she attempted compositions both in prose and verse; and between that and nineteen, all her works were published.[[5]]
While upon this subject, we must not forget Ignatius Sancho. Ignatius was born on board a slave-ship a few days after it had left Guinea, in 1729. The severities his mother met with put an end to her existence a short time after her arrival in the West Indies; and his father took it so much to heart that he committed suicide. This plainly proves that negroes are not so utterly devoid of natural affections as some would have us believe—
“Skins may differ, but affection
Dwells in black and white the same.”
But to return to our hero. After some years, he was brought to England, through the kindness of the Duke of Montague, and obtained means of instruction. He wrote a great many letters, which were deemed worthy of being published; and a large subscription was raised. They were reckoned very well written; one of them, upon slavery, may not prove uninteresting to many of my readers. It was addressed to the Rev. L. Sterne, 1776.
“Rev. Sir,—It would be an insult to your humanity (or perhaps look like it) to apologize for the liberty I am taking. The first part of my life was rather unlucky, as I was placed in a family who judged ignorance to be the best and only security for obedience; a little reading and writing I got by unwearied application. The latter part of my life has been, through God’s blessing, truly fortunate, having spent it in the service of one of the best and greatest families in the kingdom: My chief pleasure has been books—philanthropy I adore. How much, very much, good sir, am I (among millions) indebted to you for the character of your amiable Uncle Toby. I declare I would walk ten miles in the dog-days to shake hands with the honest Corporal. Your sermons have touched me to the heart, and, I hope, have amended it, which brings me to the point.
“In your tenth discourse is this very affecting passage:—‘Consider how great a part of our species, in all ages down to this, have been trod under the feet of cruel and capricious tyrants, who would neither hear their cries nor pity their distress. Consider slavery, what it is—how bitter a draught, and how many millions are made to drink of it!’
“Of all my favourite authors, not one has drawn a tear in favour of my miserable black brethren excepting yourself and the humane author of ‘Sir George Ellison.’ I think you will forgive me—I am sure you will applaud me—for beseeching you to give one half-hour to slavery as at this day practised in our West Indian colonies. That subject handled in your striking manner, would ease the yoke perhaps of many; but if only one—gracious God! what a feast to a benevolent heart. And I am sure you are an Epicurean in acts of charity; you, who are universally read, and as universally admired, you cannot fail.
“Dear Sir, think in me you behold the uplifted hands of thousands of my brethren Moors. Grief, you pathetically observe, is eloquent. Figure to yourself their attitudes; hear their supplicating addresses; alas! you cannot refuse—humanity must comply. In which hope I beg permission to subscribe myself,
“Rev. Sir, &c. &c.”
This is the letter; all must know Sterne’s beautiful piece on “Slavery,” which it produced. At one time, Ignatius Sancho had an idea of going upon the stage, and actually offered himself to Mr. Garrick, to perform the character of Othello and Oronooko; but an irreparable defect in his articulation prevented him from putting his designs into execution. Ignatius died from a complication of disorders in the year 1780, aged fifty-one; he was much esteemed by his friends in England.