Louis Asa-Asa's Story

The following interesting narrative is a convenient supplement to the history of Mary Prince. It is given, like hers, as nearly as possible in the narrator's words, with only so much correction as was necessary to connect the story, and render it grammatical. The concluding passage in inverted commas, is entirely his own.

The following interesting account is a useful supplement to the history of Mary Prince. Like her account, it is given as nearly as possible in the narrator's own words. Only the corrections needed to connect the story and make it grammatical have been made. The final passage, in quotation marks, is entirely his own.

While Mary's narrative shews the disgusting character of colonial slavery, this little tale explains with equal force the horrors in which it originates.

Mary's account shows the disgusting nature of colonial slavery. This little tale shows just as powerfully the horrors from which slavery originates.

It is necessary to explain that Louis came to this country about five years ago, in a French vessel called the Pearl. She had lost her reckoning, and was driven by stress of weather into the port of St. Ives, in Cornwall. Louis and his four companions were brought to London upon a writ of Habeas Corpus at the instance of Mr. George Stephen; and, after some trifling opposition on the part of the master of the vessel, were discharged by Lord Wynford. Two of his unfortunate fellow-sufferers died of the measles at Hampstead; the other two returned to Sierra Leone; but poor Louis, when offered the choice of going back to Africa, replied, "Me no father, no mother now; me stay with you." And here he has ever since remained; conducting himself in a way to gain the good will and respect of all who know him. He is remarkably intelligent, understands our language perfectly, and can read and write well. The last sentences of the following narrative will seem almost too peculiar to be his own; but it is not the first time that in conversation with Mr. George Stephen, he has made similar remarks. On one occasion in particular, he was heard saying to himself in the kitchen, while sitting by the fire apparently in deep thought, "Me think,—me think——" A fellow-servant inquired what he meant; and he added, "Me think what a good thing I came to England! Here, I know what God is, and read my Bible; in my country they have no God, no Bible."

It is necessary to explain that Louis came to this country about five years ago aboard a French vessel called the Pearl. The vessel had lost its bearings and was driven by bad weather into the port of St. Ives, in Cornwall. At Mr. George Stephen’s request, Louis and his four companions were brought to London under a writ of Habeas Corpus. The vessel’s captain raised some minor objections, but Lord Wynford released them. Two of Louis’s unfortunate fellow sufferers died of measles at Hampstead. The other two returned to Sierra Leone. But when poor Louis was offered the choice of returning to Africa, he replied, "I have no father or mother now. I will stay with you." He has remained here ever since, behaving in a way that has earned him the goodwill and respect of all who know him. He is remarkably intelligent, understands our language perfectly, and can read and write well. The last sentences of the following narrative may seem almost too unusual to be his own. But he has made similar remarks before in conversations with Mr. George Stephen. On one particular occasion, he was sitting by the kitchen fire, apparently deep in thought. He was heard saying to himself, "I am thinking, I am thinking." A fellow servant asked what he meant. He added, "I am thinking what a good thing it was that I came to England! Here, I know what God is and can read my Bible. In my country, they have no God, no Bible."

How severe and just a reproof to the guilty wretches who visit his country only with fire and sword! How deserved a censure upon the not less guilty men, who dare to vindicate the state of slavery, on the lying pretext, that its victims are of an inferior nature! And scarcely less deserving of reprobation are those who have it in their power to prevent these crimes, but who remain inactive from indifference, or are dissuaded from throwing the shield of British power over the victim of oppression, by the sophistry, and the clamour, and the avarice of the oppressor. It is the reproach and the sin of England. May God avert from our country the ruin which this national guilt deserves!

What a harsh and just rebuke to the guilty wretches who come to his country bringing only fire and sword! It is an equally deserved condemnation of the no less guilty men who dare to defend slavery. They do so on the false pretext that its victims are inferior by nature! Almost as worthy of condemnation are those who have the power to prevent these crimes but do nothing out of indifference. Others fail to extend the protection of British power to victims of oppression. They are deterred by the oppressors’ deceitful arguments, outcry, and greed. This is England’s shame and sin. May God spare our country the ruin that this national guilt deserves!

We lament to add, that the Pearl which brought these negroes to our shore, was restored to its owners at the instance of the French Government, instead of being condemned as a prize to Lieut. Rye, who, on his own responsibility, detained her, with all her manacles and chains and other detestable proofs of her piratical occupation on board. We trust it is not yet too late to demand investigation into the reasons for restoring her.

We regret to add that the Pearl, which brought these Black people to our shore, was returned to its owners at the French Government’s request. Instead, the ship should have been awarded to Lieut. Rye as a prize. He had detained the ship on his own authority, with all its manacles, chains, and other hateful evidence of its piratical trade still on board. We trust it is not too late to demand an investigation into why the ship was returned.

My father's name was Clashoquin; mine is Asa-Asa. He lived in a country called Bycla, near Egie, a large town. Egie is as large as Brighton; it was some way from the sea. I had five brothers and sisters. We all lived together with my father and mother; he kept a horse, and was respectable, but not one of the great men. My uncle was one of the great men at Egie: he could make men come and work for him: his name was Otou. He had a great deal of land and cattle. My father sometimes worked on his own land, and used to make charcoal. I was too little to work; my eldest brother used to work on the land; and we were all very happy.

My father's name was Clashoquin. My name is Asa-Asa. He lived in a country called Bycla, near Egie, a large town. Egie is as large as Brighton and was some distance from the sea. I had five brothers and sisters. We all lived together with my father and mother. My father kept a horse and was respectable, but he was not one of the great men. My uncle Otou was one of the great men at Egie. He could make men come and work for him. He had a great deal of land and cattle. My father sometimes worked on his own land and used to make charcoal. I was too little to work. My eldest brother used to work on the land, and we were all very happy.

A great many people, whom we called Adinyés, set fire to Egie in the morning before daybreak; there were some thousands of them. They killed a great many, and burnt all their houses. They staid two days, and then carried away all the people whom they did not kill.

A great many people, whom we called Adinyés, set fire to Egie before daybreak. There were thousands of them. They killed many people and burned all their houses. They stayed for two days, then carried away all the people they had not killed.

They came again every now and then for a month, as long as they could find people to carry away. They used to tie them by the feet, except when they were taking them off, and then they let them loose; but if they offered to run away, they would shoot them. I lost a great many friends and relations at Egie; about a dozen. They sold all they carried away, to be slaves. I know this because I afterwards saw them as slaves on the other side of the sea. They took away brothers, and sisters, and husbands, and wives; they did not care about this. They were sold for cloth or gunpowder, sometimes for salt or guns; sometimes they got four or five guns for a man: they were English guns, made like my master's that I clean for his shooting. The Adinyés burnt a great many places besides Egie. They burnt all the country wherever they found villages; they used to shoot men, women, and children, if they ran away.

They came back from time to time for a month, as long as they could find people to carry away. They tied the captives by their feet, except when taking them away. Then they untied them, but they would shoot anyone who tried to run away. I lost about a dozen friends and relatives at Egie. They sold everyone they carried away into slavery. I know this because I later saw them enslaved on the other side of the sea. They took away brothers and sisters, husbands and wives. They did not care about separating them. They sold them for cloth or gunpowder, and sometimes for salt or guns. Sometimes they got four or five guns for one man. The guns were English, made like my master's gun, which I clean for him to shoot with. The Adinyés burned many places besides Egie. They burned the whole country wherever they found villages. They shot men, women, and children if they ran away.

They came to us about eleven o'clock one day, and directly they came they set our house on fire. All of us had run away. We kept together, and went into the woods, and stopped there two days. The Adinyés then went away, and we returned home and found every thing burnt. We tried to build a little shed, and were beginning to get comfortable again. We found several of our neighbours lying about wounded; they had been shot. I saw the bodies of four or five little children whom they had killed with blows on the head. They had carried away their fathers and mothers, but the children were too small for slaves, so they killed them. They had killed several others, but these were all that I saw. I saw them lying in the street like dead dogs.

They came to us around eleven o'clock one day. As soon as they arrived, they set our house on fire. We had all run away. We stayed together and went into the woods, where we stayed for two days. Then the Adinyés went away, and we returned home to find everything burned. We tried to build a small shelter and were beginning to get comfortable again. We found several of our neighbors lying wounded nearby. They had been shot. I saw the bodies of four or five young children whom the Adinyés had killed with blows to the head. They had carried away the children's fathers and mothers. But the children were too small to be slaves, so they killed them. They had killed several others, but these were all I saw. I saw them lying in the street like dead dogs.

In about a week after we got back, the Adinyés returned, and burnt all the sheds and houses they had left standing. We all ran away again; we went to the woods as we had done before.—They followed us the next day. We went farther into the woods, and staid there about four days and nights; we were half starved; we only got a few potatoes. My uncle Otou was with us. At the end of this time, the Adinyés found us. We ran away. They called my uncle to go to them; but he refused, and they shot him immediately: they killed him. The rest of us ran on, and they did not get at us till the next day. I ran up into a tree: they followed me and brought me down. They tied my feet. I do not know if they found my father and mother, and brothers and sisters: they had run faster than me, and were half a mile farther when I got up into the tree: I have never seen them since.—There was a man who ran up into the tree with me: I believe they shot him, for I never saw him again.

About a week after we got back, the Adinyés returned. They burned all the sheds and houses they had left standing. We all ran away again and went into the woods as we had done before. The Adinyés followed us the next day. We went farther into the woods and stayed there for about four days and nights. We were half-starved and had only a few potatoes to eat. My uncle Otou was with us. At the end of that time, the Adinyés found us. We ran away. They called for my uncle to come to them, but he refused. They shot him immediately and killed him. The rest of us kept running, and the Adinyés did not reach us until the next day. I climbed a tree, but they followed me and brought me down. They tied my feet. I do not know if they found my father, mother, brothers, and sisters. They had run faster than I had. When I climbed the tree, they were half a mile farther ahead. I have never seen them since. A man climbed the tree with me. I believe the Adinyés shot him, because I never saw him again.

They carried away about twenty besides me. They carried us to the sea. They did not beat us: they only killed one man, who was very ill and too weak to carry his load: they made all of us carry chickens and meat for our food; but this poor man could not carry his load, and they ran him through the body with a sword.—He was a neighbour of ours. When we got to the sea they sold all of us, but not to the same person. They sold us for money; and I was sold six times over, sometimes for money, sometimes for cloth, and sometimes for a gun. I was about thirteen years old. It was about half a year from the time I was taken, before I saw the white people.

They took away about twenty people besides me. They took us to the sea. They did not beat us. They only killed one man, who was very ill and too weak to carry his load. They made all of us carry chickens and meat for our food. But this poor man could not carry his load, so they stabbed him through the body with a sword. He was a neighbor of ours. When we reached the sea, they sold all of us, but not to the same person. They sold us for money. I was sold six times, sometimes for money, sometimes for cloth, and sometimes for a gun. I was about thirteen years old. About half a year passed between the time I was taken and when I saw the white people.

We were taken in a boat from place to place, and sold at every place we stopped at. In about six months we got to a ship, in which we first saw white people: they were French. They bought us. We found here a great many other slaves; there were about eighty, including women and children. The Frenchmen sent away all but five of us into another very large ship. We five staid on board till we got to England, which was about five or six months. The slaves we saw on board the ship were chained together by the legs below deck, so close they could not move. They were flogged very cruelly: I saw one of them flogged till he died; we could not tell what for. They gave them enough to eat. The place they were confined in below deck was so hot and nasty I could not bear to be in it. A great many of the slaves were ill, but they were not attended to. They used to flog me very bad on board the ship: the captain cut my head very bad one time.

We were taken by boat from place to place and sold at every stop. After about six months, we reached a ship where we saw white people for the first time. They were French, and they bought us. We found many other slaves there, about eighty in all, including women and children. The Frenchmen sent all but five of us to another, very large ship. The five of us stayed on board until we reached England, about five or six months later. The slaves we saw on board were chained together by their legs below deck. They were so close together that they could not move. They were whipped very cruelly. I saw one of them whipped to death. We could not tell why. They were given enough to eat. The place where they were held below deck was so hot and filthy that I could not bear to be there. Many of the slaves were ill, but no one cared for them. I was often whipped badly on board the ship. Once, the captain cut my head badly.

"I am very happy to be in England, as far as I am very well;—but I have no friend belonging to me, but God, who will take care of me as he has done already. I am very glad I have come to England, to know who God is. I should like much to see my friends again, but I do not now wish to go back to them: for if I go back to my own country, I might be taken as a slave again. I would rather stay here, where I am free, than go back to my country to be sold. I shall stay in England as long as (please God) I shall live. I wish the King of England could know all I have told you. I wish it that he may see how cruelly we are used. We had no king in our country, or he would have stopt it. I think the king of England might stop it, and this is why I wish him to know it all. I have heard say he is good; and if he is, he will stop it if he can. I am well off myself, for I am well taken care of, and have good bed and good clothes; but I wish my own people to be as comfortable."

"I am very happy to be in England, as I am very well here. But I have no friend of my own except God, who will take care of me as he already has. I am very glad I came to England to learn who God is. I would very much like to see my friends again, but I do not now wish to go back to them. If I return to my own country, I might be taken as a slave again. I would rather stay here, where I am free, than go back to my country to be sold. God willing, I shall stay in England as long as I live. I wish the King of England could know all I have told you, so that he could see how cruelly we are treated. We had no king in our country, or he would have stopped it. I think the King of England might stop it, and that is why I wish him to know it all. I have heard that he is good. If he is, he will stop it if he can. I am well off myself. I am well cared for and have a good bed and good clothes. But I wish my own people could be as comfortable."

"LOUIS ASA-ASA."

"LOUIS ASA-ASA."

"London, January 31, 1831."

"London, January 31, 1831."