Father Henson’s Story of His Own Life

said he. “But is it possible that you are not a scholar?” “I am not,” said I. “But I should never have suspected that you were not a liberally educated man. I have heard many negroes talk, but have never seen one that could use such language as you. Will you tell me, Sir, how you learned our language?” I then explained to him, as well as I could, my early life; that it had always been my custom to observe good speakers, and to imitate only those who seemed to speak most correctly. “It is astonishing,” said the archbishop. “And is it possible that you were brought up ignorant of religion? How did you attain to the knowledge of Christ?” I explained to him, in reply, that a poor ignorant slave mother had taught me to say the Lord’s Prayer, though I did not know then how, truly, to pray. “And how were you led to a better knowledge of the Saviour?” I answered that it was by the hearing of the Gospel preached. He then asked me to repeat the text, and to explain all the circumstances. I told him of the first sermon I heard, of the text, “He, by the grace of God, tasted death for every man.” “A beautiful text was that,” said the archbishop, and so affected was he by my simple story that he shed tears freely.

I had been told by Samuel Gurney that perhaps the archbishop would give me an interview of a quarter of an hour; I glanced at the clock and found that I had already been there an hour and a half, and arose to depart. He followed me to the door, and begged of me if ever I came to England to call and see him again; and shaking hands affectionately with me, while the tears trembled in his eyes, he put into my hands graciously five golden sovereigns, (about twenty-five dollars,) and bade me adieu. I have always esteemed him as a warmhearted Christian.

Thus ended the interview with the venerable Archbishop of England. On my second visit to England, I had an invitation, in company with a large number of Sabbath School Teachers, to spend a day on the beautiful grounds of Lord John Russell, then Prime Minister of England. His magnificent park, filled with deer, of all colors, and from all climes, and sleek hares, which the poet Cowper would have envied, with numberless birds, whose plumage rivalled the rainbow in gorgeous colors, together with the choicest specimens of the finny tribe, sporting in their native element, drew from me the involuntary exclamation: “O, how different the condition of these happy, sportive, joyful, creatures, from what was once my own condition, and what is now the lot of millions of my colored brethren in America!” This occupancy of the elegant grounds of England’s Prime Minister, for the day, by a party of Sabbath School Teachers, was what we should call, in America, a picnic, with this difference, that, instead of each teacher providing his own cakes, and pies, and fruit, they were furnished by men and women, who were allowed to come on to the grounds, with every variety of choice eatables for sale. After strolling over these charming grounds, enjoying the beautiful scenery, and the happy gambols of the brute creation, and the conversation of the many intelligent men and women, with whom we came in contact, we were most unexpectedly, at five o’clock, sent for to visit the elegant mansion of the proprietor. There we found what I will call a surprise party, or at any rate, we were taken by surprise, for we were ushered, three hundred of us at least, into a spacious dining hall, whose dimensions could not have been less than one hundred feet by sixty, and here were tables, groaning under every article of luxury for the palate, which England could supply, and to this bountiful repast we were all made welcome. I was invited to take the head of the table; I never felt so highly honored. The blessing was invoked by singing the two following verses.

“Be present at our table, Lord,
Be here and everywhere adored:
These creatures bless,
And grant that we may feast
In Paradise with thee!”

After dinner, various toasts were proposed, on various subjects, and in my humble way I offered the following:

“First to England. Honor to the brave, freedom to the Slave, success to British emancipation. God bless the Queen!”

Cheers and laughter followed the reading of this toast, succeeded by the usual English exclamations, “Up, up, up again!” I again arose and gave, To our most Sovereign Lady, the Queen:

“May she have a long life, and a happy death. May she reign in righteousness, and rule in love!”

And to her illustrious consort, Prince Albert:

“May he have peace at home, pleasure abroad, love his Queen, and serve the Lord!”

Among the distinguished persons who made speeches on this joyous occasion, I will mention the names of Rev. William Brock, Hon. Samuel M. Peto, and a Mr. Bess, brother-in-law of Mr. Peto, with his accomplished and beautiful lady. Thus ended one of the pleasantest days of my life.

XXIII

Closing Up My London Agency

My Narrative Published⁠—Letter from Home Apprising Me of the Sickness of My Wife⁠—Departure from London⁠—Arrival at Home⁠—Meeting with My Family⁠—The Great Sorrow of My Life, the Death of My Wife.

The dinner at Lord John Russell’s, as detailed in the previous chapter, was in the month of June, 1852; from that time to the first of August I was busily employed in finishing up all matters connected with my agency, in which I was very successful, having accomplished the objects of my mission. During the month of August, I was engaged in publishing a narrative of incidents in my slave-life, which I had been urgently requested to do by some of the noblest men and women in England. Just as I had completed the work, and issued an edition of