2. And, first, to the captains employed in this trade. Most of _you_ know, the country of _Guinea_: several parts of it at least, between the river _Senegal_ and the kingdom of _Angola_. Perhaps now, by _your_ means, part of it is become a dreary uncultivated wilderness, the inhabitants being all murdered or carried away, so that there are none left to till the ground. But you well know, how populous, how fruitful, how pleasant it was a few years ago. You know the people were not stupid, not wanting in sense, considering the few means of improvement they enjoyed. Neither did you find them savage, fierce, cruel, treacherous, or unkind to strangers. On the contrary, they were in most parts, a sensible and ingenious people. They were kind and friendly, courteous and obliging, and remarkably fair and just in their dealings. Such are the men whom you hire their own countrymen, to tear away from this lovely country; part by stealth, part by force, part made captive in those wars, which you raise or foment on purpose. You have seen them torn away, children from their parents, parents from their children: husbands from their wives, wives from their beloved husbands, brethren and sisters from each other. You have dragged them who had never done you any wrong, perhaps in chains, from their native shore. You have forced them into your ships like an herd of swine, them who had souls immortal as your own: (only some of them, leaped into the sea, and resolutely stayed under water, till they could suffer no more from you.) You have stowed them together as close as ever they could lie, without any regard either to decency or convenience. And when many of them had been poisoned by foul air, or had sunk under various hardships, you have seen their remains delivered to the deep, till the sea should give up its dead. You have carried the survivors into the vilest slavery, never to end but with life: such slavery as is not found among the Turks at _Algiers_, no nor among the Heathens in _America_.
3. May I speak plainly to you? I must. Love constrains me: love to _you_, as well as to those you are concerned with.
Is there a God? You know there is. Is he a just God? Then there must be a state of retribution: a state wherein the just God will reward every man according to his works. Then what reward will he render to _you_? O think betimes! Before you drop into eternity! Think now, _He shall have judgment without mercy that hath shewed no mercy_. Are you a _man_? Then you should have a _human_ heart. But have you indeed? What is your heart made of? Is there no such principle as compassion there? Do you never _feel_ another’s pain? Have you no sympathy? No sense of human woe? No pity for the miserable? When you saw the flourishing eyes, the heaving breasts, or the bleeding sides and tortured limbs of your fellow-creatures, was you a stone, or a brute? Did you look upon them with the eyes of a tiger? When you squeezed the agonizing creatures down in the ship, or when you threw their poor mangled remains into the sea, had you no relenting? Did not one tear drop from your eye, one sigh escape from your breast? Do you feel no relenting _now_? If you do not, you must go on, till the measure of your iniquities is full. Then will the great God deal with _you_, as you have dealt with _them_, and require all their blood at your hands. And at that day it shall be more tolerable for Sodom and Gomorrah than for _you_! But if your heart does relent, though in a small degree, know it is a call from the God of love. And to-day, if you will hear his voice, harden not your heart. To-day resolve, God being your helper, to escape for your life. Regard not money! All that a man hath will he give for his life! Whatever you lose, lose not your soul: nothing can countervail that loss. Immediately quit the horrid trade: at all events, be an honest man.