Glimpses of Christian History Presents Pastwords #146: Black Pioneer Evangelist Succeeds where Others Failed, from the Forward by Bishop Thoburn and her own writings ©2007

SMITH, AMANDA. An Autobiography. The Story of the Lord's Dealings with Mrs. Amanda Smith the colored Evangelist. Containing an Account of Her Life Work of Faith, and Her Travels in America, England, Ireland, Scotland, India and Africa, as a Independent Missionary. With an Introduction by Bishop Thoburn, of India. Chicago: Meyer & Brother, Publishers, 108 Washington Street, 1893, octavo.

Amanda Smith (1837-1915) African Methodist Episcopal Church evangelist and missionary; born a slave in Maryland in 1837. She preached throughout the country, spent one year in England, two years in India, and 8 years in Monrovia, Liberia, West Africa. She later opened an orphanage in Illinois which was the only institution open to Negro orphans in the state. Jones: Guide to the Holiness Movement #6753.

Bishop Thoburn's Testimony About Amanda's Ministry.

uring the summer of 1876, while attending a camp meeting at Epworth Heights, near Cincinnati, my attention was drawn to a colored lady dressed in a very plain garb, which reminded me somewhat of that worn by the Friends in former days, who was engaged in expounding a Bible lesson to a small audience.

I was told that the speaker was Mrs. Amanda Smith, and that she was a woman of remarkable gifts, who had been greatly blessed in various parts of the country.

Having spent nearly all my adult years on the other side of the globe, my acquaintance in America was by no means an extensive one, and this will explain the fact that I had never heard of this devout lady until I met her at this camp meeting.

Her remarks on the Bible lesson did not particularly impress me, and it was not until the evening of the same day, when I chanced to be kneeling near her at a prayer meeting, that I became impressed that she was a person of more than ordinary power.

The meetings of the day had not been very successful, and a spirit of depression rested upon many of the leaders. A heavy rain had fallen, and we were kneeling somewhat uncomfortably in the straw which surrounded the preacher's stand.

A number had prayed, and I was myself sharing the general feeling of depression, when I was suddenly startled by the voice of song. I lifted my head, and at a short distance, probably not more than two yards from me, I saw the colored sister of the morning kneeling in an upright position, with her hands spread out and her face all aglow.

She had suddenly broken out with a triumphant song, and while I was startled by the change in the order of the meeting, I was at once absorbed with interest in the song and the singer.

Something like a hallowed glow seemed to rest upon the dark face before me, and I felt in a second that she was possessed of a rare degree of spiritual power.

That invisible something which we are accustomed to call power, and which is never possessed by any Christian believer except as one of the fruits of the indwelling Spirit of God, was hers in a marked degree.

From that time onward I regarded her as a gifted worker in the Lord's vineyard, but I had still to learn that the enduement of the Spirit had given her more than the one gift of spiritual power.

A week later I met her at Lakeside, Ohio, and was again impressed in the same way, but I then began to discover that she was not only a woman of faith, but that she possessed a clearness of vision which I have seldom found equaled.

Her homely illustrations, her quaint expressions, her warmhearted appeals, all possess the supreme merit of being so many vehicles for conveying the living truths of the Gospel of Jesus Christ to the hearts of those who are fortunate enough to hear her.

A few years after my return to India, in 1876, I was delighted to hear that this chosen and approved worker of the Master had decided to visit this country. She arrived in 1879, and after a short stay in Bombay, came over to the eastern side of the empire, and assisted us for some time in Calcutta. She also returned two years later, and again rendered us valuable assistance.

The novelty of a colored woman from America, who had in her childhood been a slave, appearing before an audience in Calcutta, was sufficient to attract attention, but this alone would not account for the popularity which she enjoyed throughout her whole stay in our city.

She was fiercely attacked by narrow minded persons in the daily papers, and elsewhere, but opposition only seemed to add to her power.

During the seventeen years that I have lived in Calcutta, I have known many famous strangers to visit the city, some of whom attracted large audiences, but I have never known anyone who could draw and hold so large an audience as Mrs. Smith.

She assisted me both in the church and in open-air meetings, and never failed to display the peculiar tact for which she is remarkable.

I shall never forget one meeting which we were holding in an open square, in the very heart of the city. It was at a time of no little excitement, and some Christian preachers had been roughly handled in the same square a few evenings before. I had just spoken myself, when I noticed a great crowd of men and boys, who had succeeded in breaking up a missionary's audience on the other side of the square, rushing towards us with loud cries and threatening gestures.

If left to myself I should have tried to gain the box on which the speakers stood, in order to command the crowd, but at the critical moment, our good Sister Smith knelt on the grass and began to pray. As the crowd rushed up to the spot, and saw her with her beaming face upturned to the evening sky, pouring out her soul in prayer, they became perfectly still, and stood as if transfixed to the spot! Not even a whisper disturbed the solemn silence, and when she had finished we had as orderly a meeting as if we had been within the four walls of a church!

In those days a well known theatrical manager, much given to popular buffoonery, wrote to me inviting me to arrange to have Mrs. Smith preach in his theatre on a certain Sunday evening. I was much surprised on receiving the letter, and taking it to her told her I did not know what it meant. Several friends, who chanced to be present, at once began to dissuade her:

"Do not go, Sister Amanda," said several, speaking at once, "the man merely wishes to have a good opportunity of seeing you, so that he can take you off in his theatre. He had no good purpose in view. Do not trust yourself to him under any circumstances."

After a moment's hesitation Mrs. Smith replied in language which I shall never forget:

"I am forbidden," she said, "to judge any man. You would not wish me to judge you, and would think it wrong if any of us should judge a brother or sister in the church. What right have I to judge this man? I have no more right to judge him than if he were a Christian."

She said she would pray over it and give her decision. She did so, and decided to accept the invitation.

When Sunday evening came the theatre was packed like a herring box, while hundreds were unable to gain admission. I took charge of the meeting, and after singing and prayer introduced our strange friend from America.

She spoke simply and pointedly, alluding to the kindness of the manager who had opened the doors of his theatre to her, in very courteous terms, and evidently made a deep and favorable impression upon the audience. There was no laughing, and no attempt was ever made subsequently to ridicule her. As she was walking off the stage the manager said to me;

"If you want the theatre for her again do not fail to let me know. I would do anything for that inspired woman."

During Mrs. Smith's stay in Calcutta she had opportunities for seeing a good deal of the native community. Here, again, I was struck with her extraordinary power of discernment. We have in Calcutta a class of reformed Hindus called Brahmos. They are, as a class, a very worthy body of men, and at that time were led by the distinguished Keshub Chuder Sen.

Every distinguished visitor who comes to Calcutta is sure to seek the acquaintance of some of these Brahmos, and to study, more or less, the reformed system which they profess and teach. I have often wondered that so few, even of our ablest visitors, seem able to comprehend the real character either of the men or of their new system. Mrs. Smith very quickly found access to some of them, and beyond any other stranger whom I have ever known to visit Calcutta, she formed a wonderfully accurate estimate of the character, both of the men and of their religious teaching.

She saw almost at a glance all that was strange and all that was weak in the men and in their system.

This penetrating power of discernment which she possesses in so large a degree impressed me more and more the longer I knew her. Profound scholars and religious teachers of philosophical bent seemed positively inferior to her in the task of discovering the practical value of men and systems which had attracted the attention of the world!

I have already spoken of her clearness of perception and power of stating the undimmed truth of the Gospel of Christ. Through association with her, I learned many valuable lessons from her lips, and once before an American audience, when Dr. W. F. Warren was exhorting young preachers to be willing to learn from their own hearers, even though many of the hearers might be comparatively illiterate, I ventured to second his exhortation by telling the audience that I had learned more that had been of actual value to me as a preacher of Christian truth from Amanda Smith than from any other one person I had ever met.

Throughout Mrs. Smith's stay in India she was always cheerful and hopeful. In this respect, too, she differed from most visitors to our great empire. Some adopt gloomy views as they look at the weakness of Christianity, and observe the stupendous fortifications which have been reared by the followers of the various false religions of the people.

Some even yield to despair, and refuse to believe that India ever can be saved or even benefited, while only a very few are able to believe not only that India will yet become a Christian empire, but that Christ will yet lift up the people of this land, and so revolutionize or transform society as it exists to-day, as to make the people practically a new people.

Our good Sister Amanda Smith never belonged to any of these despondent classes.

She sometimes was touched by the pictures of misery which she saw around her, but never became hopeless. She was of cheerful temperament, it is true, but aside from personal feeling, she always possessed a buoyant hope and an overcoming faith, which made it easy for her to believe that the Saviour, whom she loved and served, really intended to save and transform India.

Soon after Mrs. Smith's visit to India, another Virginian visited Calcutta on his way around the globe. This was Mr. Moncure D. Conway.

These two persons, Mrs. Smith and Mr. Conway, were representative Virginians. They had been born in the same section of the country, brought up as Methodists, and were thoroughly acquainted, one by observation and the other by experience, with the terrible character of the American slave system.

Mr. Conway in early life was for several years a Methodist preacher, but by his own published confession he never comprehended what the true spirit of Methodism was. He was at one time a well known and somewhat popular Unitarian minister, but finding the Unitarians too narrow and orthodox for a man of his liberal mind, he set up an independent church or organization of some kind, in London, and preached to an obscure little congregation for a number of years, until his last experiment ended in confessed failure.

His recorded impressions received in India were of the most gloomy kind. He saw nothing to hope for in the condition of the people, and looked at them in their helpless state with blank bewilderment, if not despair. He passed through the empire without leaving a single trace of light behind him, without making an impression for good upon any heart or life, without finding an open door by which to make any man or woman happier or better, without, in short, seeing even a single ray of hope shining upon what he regarded as a dark and benighted land.

Mrs. Smith, the other Virginian, without a title of Mr. Conway's learning, and deprived of nearly every advantage which he had enjoyed, not only retained the faith of her childhood, but matured and developed it until it attained a standard of purity and strength rarely witnessed in our world.

She also came to India, but unlike the other Virginian, she cherished hope where he felt only despair, she saw light where he perceived only darkness, she found opportunities everywhere for doing good which wholly escaped his observation, and during her two years' stay in the country where she went, she traced out a pathway of light in the midst of the darkness!

As she left the country she could look back upon a hundred homes which were brighter and better because of her coming, upon hundreds of hearts whose burdens had been lightened and whose sorrows had been sweetened by reason of her public and private ministry.

She is gratefully remembered to this day by thousands in the land.

Her life affords a striking comment at once upon the value of the New Testament to those who receive it, both in letter and in spirit, and upon the hopefulness of the Gospel of unbelief which obtains so wide a hearing at the present day.

A thousand Virginians of the Conway stripe might come and go for a thousand years without making India any better, but a thousand Amanda Smiths would suffice to revolutionize an empire!

I am very glad to learn that Mrs. Smith has at last been induced to yield to the importunities of friends and prepare a sketch of her eventful life. I trust that the story will be told without reserve in all its simplicity, as well as in all its strength, and I doubt not that God will crown this last of her many labors with abundant blessings.

J. M. Thoburn
Calcutta, October 22, 1891.

How Amanda Bought Her Sister Out Of Slavery in 1862.

It was in September, 1862. The Union soldiers were stationed all along the line, from Havre de Gras and Monkton, MD. My aunt, my mother's sister, lived about a mile and a half from Hereford, on the old homestead, where my grandmother lived and died. After the death of my mother there were six of us children at home with father. My aunt, who had been married about two years, wanted my father to let one of my sisters go with her to Maryland. She had but one child of her own at that time, and she wanted my sister to be company for her little child, and to look after him, as she worked out by the day very often. So my father gave her my sister Frances, who was then about ten years old. It was not very safe for colored people to pass up and down, but sometimes they could do it without being molested at all. My aunt used to come back and forth once a year to the camp meeting, as many of the colored people, round about did. The camp meeting was then called the old Baltimore Camp. It was held on Lowe's campground. My sister was very anxious to go with my aunt. She promised to take very good care of her, so father was quite willing to have her go. She had been there about three years, I think; my aunt then had two children; and my sister took care of them while she would be away at work every day; of course things didn't always go on with children as they should, and then my aunt was very severe on Frances: several times she whipped her very severely, so that the neighbors interfered, and that made unpleasant feelings between the neighbors and my aunt. Word came to my father about it, but he could not go very well, nor did any of the rest feel that we could go; there was so much excitement about the war we did not like to risk it. After the war begun, these soldiers were stationed, as I have said, and I had made up my mind that I would risk it, and go and see about my sister. Prior to this my aunt had written father that Frances had got very unruly, and when she would whip her she would run away, and that she had gone off somewhere, and he must come and see after her. I was living in Lancaster, Pa., with Col. H. S. Mc Graw's family. I got six dollars a month. I told Mrs. McGraw about my sister, and told her I thought it was safe for me to go now; that I would be safer under the protection of the Union soldiers. I got her to advance me fifty dollars and I started on my journey down to Monkton. I went to Little York, Pa., and from York to Monkton, Md. I got to my aunt's house about one o'clock in the afternoon. She was not at home. The children were there, and they told me Frances was living with Mr. Hutchinson. Well, I didn't know where Mr. Hutchinson lived, but by inquiring got on the right road. Finally I came to the man who had been magistrate in that part of the country; I wanted to see him, for I had heard in that time my sister had been sold, so I went in to inquire what could be done. My sister was born free-born in Pennsylvania-and my father and mother were free, and I wanted to see what could be done. He told me and as he saw she had been very badly treated, and as she was very kind to the children, his wife thought they would keep her. She came to him for protection. Well, just at that time they were selling black people; every one they could pick up anywhere that could not prove they were free born, were sold for so much. My aunt was a little vexed, so she did not bother about Frances, and my father could not go and swear for her, consequently she was sold to Mr. Hutchinson for a term of ten years. He told me that all I could do was to see Mr. Hutchinson, and if he would consent to give her up, I could get her by paying him what he paid for her. He said there was nobody to come forward and swear for her, and he saw she was not kindly treated, but that was all he could do about it. He did not take much pains to give me satisfaction. Oh! Those were times! However, after he told me what he did, I started for Mr. Hutchinson's. My! How I cried. How I thought of my dear mother. I was all alone. I walked and prayed. I had had nothing to eat all day. I was very hungry. I had passed several farm houses, and wanted to go in and ask for a drink of water, but I was afraid. Finally I came to a very fine house, standing back from the road; beautiful grounds, green grass and trees, a beautiful white veranda, and an old lady in a white cap, sitting out on the veranda; there was a pump in the yard, with a nice bright tin cup hanging on it, but there was a large dog lying on the stoop, so I stood at the gate a moment; the old lady got up and walked to the end of the veranda, and I called out to her, "Madame, I'm very thirsty; will you please let me come in and get a drink of water?" She said "no, no; go on, go on." I nearly fainted for a moment, and I lifted my heart and said, 'Now, Lord, help me, and take away the thirst;" and in an instant every bit of thirst and hunger left me; I had not a bit, no more than if I never had been thirsty. I walked on about a mile further in the sun; I got to Mr. Hutchinson's and saw my poor sister. I don't think I ever saw a heathen in Africa, that looked so much like a heathen as she did. I could hardly speak to her. She was busy at work, and seem to be happy, but I was not. I told her I had come after her, and to see Mr. Hutchinson. Poor think, she was so glad to see me!

I don't know how many black people Mr. Hutchinson owned; he was excited over the war; and while he was considered to be a very good man to his black people, yet he was rough when I told him what my errand was. When I told him my sister was free born, was not a slave and never had been, he simply said he had nothing to do with that; he had paid forty dollars for her, and he was not going to let her go for less. Well, I didn't know what to do. I cried, but he raved; he swore, and said Frances had not been of any use anyhow. At first he said he would not let her go at all. Then he went into the house. His wife was a very nice woman. How well I remember her. I cried, and cried, and could not stop. I was foolish, but I could not help it. She said something to him. He went into the house, and by and by he came back and said he was not going to let her go for less than forty dollars. Then my sister told me if I would go over to Mrs. Hutchinson's father's (I think his name was Matthews, and he was a Quaker), and see him, she thought he might help me. They were very nice people, and had always been kind to her. It was about a quarter of a mile across the fields. So I went over there and old Mr. Matthews told me I was to go on back, and next morning he would ride over. So, sure enough; next morning the old man came over. He pitied me, I saw, but he could not help me much. Mr. Hutchinson walked up and down and swore. I told Mr. Matthews that I had no money scarcely, and I did not know how to get back if I paid out the forty dollars. I would only have enough to get back to York, and how was I going to get form York to Lancaster, where I lived, and get my sister there besides? Well, Mr. Hutchinson said, he had nothing to do with that. So he told my sister she could get ready and go. I paid him the money. Then she got ready. She went to get her shawl, and he said to her she should not have anything but what she had on. They had given her a shawl, a dress and a pair of great big brogan shoes; and they let her take the dress ( a blue cotton striped) she had on; Madame had given her a gingham apron; that she was to leave. So we started; just what she stood up in, with on domestic dress under her arm, was all she had. He flourished the horsewhip around so I didn't know but we were both going to get a flogging before we left; but we got out without the flogging. But oh! Wasn't he mad! I thanked the Lord for the old Quaker gentlemen. But for him it would have been much worse. Then how I prayed the Lord would bless Mrs. Hutchinson. I believe she was good. There were a number of little black children around there, and Mr. Hutchinson was kind to them, and played with them, and put them on the horse and held them on to ride, and they seemed to be very fond of him. But then they were slaves. What a difference it made in his feelings toward them. My sister was free. He had not any business with her, and I had no right to pay him any money; and if I had had as much sense then as I have now, I would not have paid him a cent; I would have just waited till he went to bed, and taken the underground railroad plan. But it is all over now, and my poor sister has long since gone to her reward.

When I came back to Lancaster, to Mrs. McGraw's, she allowed me to bring my sister there, and she helped around with the work till I got her trained somewhat; for she had always worked in the field, and had very little idea about housework. Now I worked, as it were, for a dead horse; for I was in debt to Mrs. McGraw fifty dollars. She paid my wages regularly, but there was this debt; and with Frances on my hands, I was not able to pay a cent of the fifty dollars. Oh! How it worried me. I hated to think of it; I hated so to have debt. But then I could not help it, and I had no one to help me. My sisters were all poor, and worked hard for themselves. Father was not able to help me. One day Mr. Robert McGraw, Col. McGraw's brother, came to spend some time with them in Lancaster. He was a man that had plenty of means, and was very generous. I was always very glad when Mr. Robert came to see them. I was always sure of two dollars and fifty cents of five dollars when he went away. We dined at three o'clock in the afternoon; had breakfast at nine. Mr. Robert had had his breakfast and gone down town. He went into a bank to get a bill changed. He had four one hundred dollar bills rolled together. He went into the bank and got one bill changed as he went down in the morning. He came back at three o'clock to dinner. After dinner was over he always came out in the kitchen to light his cigar. Mrs. McGraw's son, Henry, a boy of about ten years of age, had a very fine dog, and thought a great deal of him. I was very particular about my kitchen, and they would come out into the kitchen and get to playing, and would sometimes make my kitchen look pretty well upset. Of course I didn't say anything, for Mr. Robert was kind; but I did not like it. Now, when he got the bill changed and went to put the three hundred dollars back in his pocket, instead of putting the money into his pocket, he slipped in inside his pants; and strange as it may seem, he had come all the way home and it was not lost on the street. But while he was playing in the kitchen with little Henry after dinner it slipped down and dropped on the floor. It just looked like a piece of paper he had twisted up to light his cigar. I saw it lying there, but did not bother to pick it up at first. He had gone away down the street. It was a little rainy. After awhile the dog came running in to go upstairs after Henry. The middle door was shut and he could not get upstairs. As he came back past me I went to give him a send off with my foot, and kicked this roll of paper that lay there. Something seemed to whisper to me, "You had better pick that up and look at it. It might be a twenty dollar bank note." So I picked it up; and Oh, my! In all my born days did I ever have such a surprise. Three hundred dollars! Three one hundred dollar bills on the Baltimore Bank! My! But I said, "this is Mr. Robert McGraw's." Mrs. McGraw was very kind, but I knew if I gave it to her that I would not get more than a dollar; but if I kept it and gave it to Mr. Robert I was sure he would give me five dollars. There was no one in the kitchen but myself. The other two servants were upstairs. So I said to myself, "Mr. Robert will be here in a few minutes." This was between half past four and five o'clock in the afternoon. I said nothing to any one. Mr. Robert did not come till along about six or seven o'clock in the evening. I had not said a word to anybody. The suggestion came to me, "Now this is a good chance for you to get out of debt to Mrs. McGraw. None of these bills are marked, and you can't take it to the bank and give it to somebody and you can get that money." I let all these thoughts play through my mind, and then I said, "Now, Mr. Devil, you lie. I don't mean to get into any trouble about that money at all" After awhile I heard some one coming, talking, and I saw two or three persons. Mr. Robert did not come in at the front door; he came around through the yard and come in the side door. Two boys were with him, and they had lanterns, and they had looked all along the street for his money.

This is the way he missed it. He went into a barber shop to get shaved. After he was shaved he put his hand into his pocket to get the money to pay for it, and found that he had only the money that he had got changed. The other bills were gone. He was very jolly, and said, "I have lost three or four hundred dollars; I don't know which. I will give fifty dollars if I can find it." And of course they were all out looking for it. So he came into the yard.

"What is the matter, Mr. Robert?"

"Amanda," he replied, "I have lost three or four hundred dollars," and then saying a word with two d's in it, he said he didn't know which, and continued looking about with the boys. I said, "Mr. Robert, three hundred dollars?"

"Yes, three or four. I don't know which. I will give fifty dollars if I can find it."

As soon as he said, "I will give fifty dollar if I can find it," I said "Mr. Robert, what did you say?"

"I said I will give fifty dollar if I can find it." Then he looked up at me through his glasses, and I said, "I wonder if I can find it," and at the same time reached way down in my pocket.

"Amanda," he said, "did you find it?"

"Hold on; wait till I see." And making a desperate effort I hauled it out. There were the three one hundred dollar bills. My! Weren't the boys surprised! He turned right around to the flour chest that stood in the kitchen and counted me out fifty dollars in ten dollar bills.

I got down on my knees right there and then and thanked the Lord, and Mr. Robert said, "Oh, Amanda, it's all right, it's all right; you are welcome to it."

And that is the way the Lord got me out of that debt. "In some way or other the Lord will provide." Amen. Amen.