W. Wells Brown.

  22, Cecil street, Strand,
     London.

LETTER I.

Departure from Boston—­the Passengers—­Halifax—­the Passage—­First Sight of Land—­Liverpool.

Liverpool, July 28.

On the 18th July, 1849, I took passage in the steam-ship Canada, Captain Judkins, bound for Liverpool.  The day was a warm one; so much so, that many persons on board, as well as several on shore, stood with their umbrellas up, so intense was the heat of the sun.  The ringing of the ship’s bell was a signal for us to shake hands with our friends, which we did, and then stepped on the deck of the noble craft.  The Canada quitted her moorings at half-past twelve, and we were soon in motion.  As we were passing out of Boston Bay, I took my stand on the quarter-deck, to take a last farewell (at least for a time), of my native land.  A visit to the old world, up to that time had seemed but a dream.  As I looked back upon the receding land, recollections of the past rushed through my mind in quick succession.  From the treatment that I had received from the Americans as a victim of slavery, and the knowledge that I was at that time liable to be seized and again reduced to whips and chains, I had supposed that I would leave the country without any regret; but in this I was mistaken, for when I saw the last thread of communication cut off between me and the land, and the dim shores dying away in the distance, I almost regretted that I was not on shore.

An anticipated trip to a foreign country appears pleasant when talking about it, especially when surrounded by friends whom we love; but when we have left them all behind, it does not seem so pleasant.  Whatever may be the fault of the government under which we live, and no matter how oppressive her laws may appear, yet we leave our native land (if such it be) with feelings akin to sorrow.  With the steamer’s powerful engine at work, and with a fair wind, we were speedily on the bosom of the Atlantic, which was as calm and as smooth as our own Hudson in its calmest aspect.  We had on board above one hundred passengers, forty of whom were the “Viennese children”—­a troop of dancers.  The passengers represented several different nations, English, French, Spaniards, Africans, and Americans.  One man who had the longest pair of mustaches that mortal man was ever doomed to wear, especially attracted my attention.  He appeared to belong to no country in particular, but was yet the busiest man on board.  After viewing for some time the many strange faces around me, I descended to the cabin to look after my luggage, which had been put hurriedly on board.  I hope that all who take a trip of so great a distance may be as fortunate as I was, in being supplied with books to read on the voyage.  My friends had furnished me with literature, from “Macaulay’s History of England” to “Jane Eyre,” so that I did not want for books to occupy my time.