Narrative of William W. Brown, a Fugitive Slave. Second Edition — Background and Themes

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Authors: Brown, William Wells, 1814?-1884 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2019 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Fugitive slaves -- United States -- Biography; African Americans -- Biography; Enslaved persons -- Missouri -- Biography; Brown, William Wells, 1814?-1884; Enslaved persons -- United States -- Social conditions -- 19th century Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 34,870

Reading time 152 min

Text sections 4

Narrative of William W. Brown, a Fugitive Slave. Second Edition — Background and Themes can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 34,870 words, 2 hr 32 min estimated reading time, and 4 detected text sections.

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Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Fugitive slaves -- United States -- Biography,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #59500

William Wells Brown's 1848 narrative recounts his enslavement in Missouri and escape to freedom, with a focus on the psychological and physical toll of slavery, the role of fortune-telling, and the strategic planning of his flight.

Editorial Edition Score 4.6/5

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File: pg59500

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I was born in Lexington, Ky. The man who stole me as soon as I was born, recorded the births of all the infants which he claimed to be born his property, in a book which he kept for that purpose. My mother's name was Elizabeth. She had seven children, viz.: Solomon, Leander, Benjamin, Joseph, Millford, Elizabeth, and myself. No two of us were children of the same father. My father's name, as I learned from my mother, was George Higgins. He was a white man, a relative of my master, and connected with some of the first families in Kentucky.

My master owned about forty slaves, twenty-five of whom were field hands. He removed from Kentucky to Missouri when I was quite young, and settled thirty or forty miles above St. Charles, on the Missouri, where, in addition to his practice as a physician, he carried on milling, merchandizing and farming. He had a large farm, the principal productions of which were tobacco and hemp. The slave cabins were situated on the back part of the farm, with the house of the overseer, whose name was Grove Cook, in their midst. He had the entire charge of the farm, and having no family, was allowed a woman to keep house for him, whose business it was to deal out the provisions for the hands.

A woman was also kept at the quarters to do the cooking for the field hands, who were summoned to their unrequited toil every morning at four o'clock, by the ringing of a bell, hung on a post near the house of the overseer. They were allowed half an hour to eat their breakfast, and get to the field. At half past four a horn was blown by the overseer, which was the signal to commence work; and every one that was not on the spot at the time, had to receive ten lashes from the negro-whip, with which the overseer always went armed. The handle was about three feet long, with the butt-end filled with lead, and the lash, six or seven feet in length, made of cow-hide, with platted wire on the end of it. This whip was put in requisition very frequently and freely, and a small offence on the part of a slave furnished an occasion for its use. During the time that Mr. Cook was overseer, I was a house servant--a situation preferable to that of a field hand, as I was better fed, better clothed, and not obliged to rise at the ringing of the bell, but about half an hour after. I have often laid and heard the crack of the whip, and the screams of the slave. My mother was a field hand, and one morning was ten or fifteen minutes behind the others in getting into the field. As soon as she reached the spot where they were at work, the overseer commenced whipping her. She cried, "Oh! pray--Oh! pray--Oh! pray"--these are generally the words of slaves, when imploring mercy at the hands of their oppressors. I heard her voice, and knew it, and jumped out of my bunk, and went to the door. Though the field was some distance from the house, I could hear every crack of the whip, and every groan and cry of my poor mother. I remained at the door, not daring to venture any further. The cold chills ran over me, and I wept aloud. After giving her ten lashes, the sound of the whip ceased, and I returned to my bed, and found no consolation but in my tears. Experience has taught me that nothing can be more heart-rending than for one to see a dear and beloved mother or sister tortured, and to hear their cries, and not be able to render them assistance. But such is the position which an American slave occupies.

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William Wells Brown opens his 1848 narrative with a dedication to Wells Brown of Ohio, the man who gave him shelter and a name when he arrived as a fugitive. The epigraph from Cowper—'Is there not some chosen curse... to blast the man who gains his fortune from the blood of souls?'—sets a tone of moral indictment. Brown's preface to the second edition notes that the first edition of three thousand copies sold in under six months, and he has enlarged the work with additional matter. A letter from Edmund Quincy praises the manuscript for presenting 'a different phase of the infernal slave-system' from Frederick Douglass's narrative, hinting at Brown's distinctive focus on the Missouri region and river-based escape.

A Dedication That Frames the Narrative

The dedication to Wells Brown is not a mere formality. Brown writes that slavery had denied him even a name, and his benefactor bestowed his own. This act of naming is central: the author becomes William Wells Brown, a self-made identity. The language of the dedication—'a weary fugitive from chains and stripes'—echoes biblical phrasing ('I was a stranger, and you took me in') and establishes a tone of gratitude that recurs throughout. Brown's insistence that he can never forget this kindness, 'until I forget God and myself,' personalizes the narrative as a testimony of debt and transformation. Readers should note how this opening shapes the voice: Brown is not merely recounting events but offering a gift of remembrance.

The Fortune-Teller as a Narrative Device

In the later excerpts, Brown describes a visit to 'Uncle Frank,' a slave fortune-teller. The old man, 'about seventy years of age, something over six feet high, and very slender,' predicts that Brown will be free, though he will meet 'many severe trials.' Brown admits skepticism—'any fool could tell me that!'—yet he records the episode in detail, noting that many of Frank's predictions 'were verified.' This passage serves multiple purposes: it humanizes the enslaved community's spiritual practices, introduces an element of folk belief, and foreshadows Brown's eventual escape. The fortune-teller's method—looking into a gourd of water—is described with ethnographic precision, and Brown's ambivalence ('I am no believer in soothsaying; yet I am sometimes at a loss') adds complexity. The episode also marks a turning point: after consulting Frank, Brown's resolve hardens.

The Agony of Leaving Family Behind

On the night before his escape, Brown writes that he 'did not close my eyes a single moment.' His mind dwells on his mother, sister, and three brothers still in slavery. He imagines his mother 'in the cotton-field, followed by a merciless taskmaster' and his sister 'in the hands of a slave-driver.' The passage is notable for its restraint: Brown does not describe actual scenes but hypothetical ones, driven by love and fear. He confesses that if he could be assured of their death, he 'should have felt satisfied'—a stark admission of the psychological torment of separation. This interior focus distinguishes Brown's narrative from more action-driven accounts. The reader is invited into the emotional calculus of escape, where freedom comes at the cost of abandoning loved ones to unknown suffering.

The Mechanics of Flight: A River Escape

Brown's escape is meticulously planned. He chooses a landing point on the Ohio River, waits for the boat to discharge cargo, and slips ashore 'with my little effects.' He carries only provisions and a half-worn suit of clothes. Once on land, he heads directly for the woods, knowing he cannot travel even in Ohio during daylight 'without danger of being arrested.' The narrative emphasizes the practical risks: the need to blend in, the fear of slave catchers, the reliance on darkness. Brown's description of his state of mind—'I had long since made up my mind'—contrasts with the earlier emotional turmoil. The river itself becomes a character: Cairo, at the mouth of the Ohio, is the first free soil he touches, and Louisville marks the start of his upward journey. These geographic details ground the story in a specific, verifiable route.

The Role of the Second Edition

The second edition includes a note from Brown explaining that he has 'enlarged the work by the addition of matter which, he thinks, will add materially to its value.' The first edition sold rapidly, and this new version aims to be 'instrumental in helping to undo the heavy burdens, and letting the oppressed go free.' The additions likely include the fortune-teller episode and the detailed escape sequence, which are not present in the first edition's outline. Readers of this edition encounter a more developed narrative, one that balances personal reflection with strategic detail. Brown's stated goal—to aid the abolitionist cause—shapes every choice, from the epigraph to the appendix. The narrative is both a memoir and a political document, and the second edition refines that dual purpose.

Brown's narrative rewards attention to its structure: the dedication, the fortune-teller, the sleepless night, and the river escape form a coherent arc from gratitude to action. Readers should note how Brown uses specific names (Wells Brown, Uncle Frank, Sarpee) and places (Cairo, Louisville) to authenticate his story. The second edition's additions deepen the psychological portrait without sacrificing momentum. For a first reading, focus on the tension between Brown's stated skepticism and his willingness to include folk elements—this tension reveals the complexity of his voice as both a witness and a literary craftsman.

There’s something about William Wells Brown’s careful planning, the way he timed his escape around a fortune-teller’s predictions, that stays with me. It makes me think of another quiet life story, one carried across a different landscape of loss and resilience: Goodbird the Indian: His Story — Background and Themes. Both feel less like history and more like remembered voices, asking only to be heard.