The following Narrative was taken entirely from the lips of Peter Wheeler. I have in all instances given his own language, and faithfully recorded his story as he told it, without any change whatever. There are many astonishing facts related in this book, and before the reader finishes it, he will at least feel that “Truth is stranger than fiction.”
But the truth of every thing here stated can be relied on. The subject of this story is well known to the author, who for a long time brake unto him “the bread of life,” as a brother in Christ, and beloved for the Redeemer’s sake. There are, likewise, hundreds of living witnesses, who have for many years been acquain’ted with the man, and aware of the incidents here recorded, who cherish perfect confidence in his veracity.
He has many times, for many years, related the same facts, to many persons, in the same language verbatim; and individuals to whom the author has read some of the following incidents, have recognized the story and language, as they heard them from the hero’s lips long before the author ever heard his name. There are also persons yet living, whom I have seen and known, who witnessed many of Peter’s most awful sufferings.
Of course, the book lays no claim to the merit of literature, and will not be reviewed as such; but it does claim the merit of strict verity, which is no mean characteristic in a book, in these days.
The subject, and the author, have but one object in view in bringing the book before the public:—a mutual desire to contribute as far as they can, to the freedom of enchained millions for whom Christ died. And if any heart may be made to feel one emotion of benevolence, and lift up a more earnest cry to God for the suffering slave; if one generous impulse may be awakened in a slaveholder’s bosom towards his fellow traveller to God’s bar, whose crime is, in being “born with a skin not coloured like his own;” and if it may inspire in the youthful mind, the spirit of that sweet verse, consecrated by the hallowed associations of a New-England home—
“I was not born a little slave
To labour in the sun,
And wish I were but in my grave,
And all my labor done.”
it will not be in vain.
That it may hasten that glorious consummation which we know is fast approaching, when slavery shall be known only in the story of past time, is the earnest prayer of the
AUTHOR.