Chapter I.

A Slave Among Slaves

I was born a slave on a plantation in Franklin County, Virginia. I am

not quite sure of the exact place or exact date of my birth, but at any

rate I suspect I must have been born somewhere and at some time. As

nearly as I have been able to learn, I was born near a cross-roads

post-office called Hale’s Ford, and the year was 1858 or 1859. I do not

know the month or the day. The earliest impressions I can now recall

are of the plantation and the slave quarters—the latter being the part

of the plantation where the slaves had their cabins.

My life had its beginning in the midst of the most miserable, desolate,

and discouraging surroundings. This was so, however, not because my

owners were especially cruel, for they were not, as compared with many

others. I was born in a typical log cabin, about fourteen by sixteen

feet square. In this cabin I lived with my mother and a brother and

sister till after the Civil War, when we were all declared free.

Of my ancestry I know almost nothing. In the slave quarters, and even

later, I heard whispered conversations among the coloured people of the

tortures which the slaves, including, no doubt, my ancestors on my

mother’s side, suffered in the middle passage of the slave ship while

being conveyed from Africa to America. I have been unsuccessful in

securing any information that would throw any accurate light upon the

history of my family beyond my mother. She, I remember, had a

half-brother and a half-sister. In the days of slavery not very much

attention was given to family history and family records—that is, black

family records. My mother, I suppose, attracted the attention of a

purchaser who was afterward my owner and hers. Her addition to the

slave family attracted about as much attention as the purchase of a new

horse or cow. Of my father I know even less than of my mother. I do not

even know his name. I have heard reports to the effect that he was a

white man who lived on one of the near-by plantations. Whoever he was,

I never heard of his taking the least interest in me or providing in

any way for my rearing. But I do not find especial fault with him. He

was simply another unfortunate victim of the institution which the

Nation unhappily had engrafted upon it at that time.

The cabin was not only our living-place, but was also used as the

kitchen for the plantation. My mother was the plantation cook. The

cabin was without glass windows; it had only openings in the side which

let in the light, and also the cold, chilly air of winter. There was a

door to the cabin—that is, something that was called a door—but the

uncertain hinges by which it was hung, and the large cracks in it, to

say nothing of the fact that it was too small, made the room a very

uncomfortable one. In addition to these openings there was, in the

lower right-hand corner of the room, the “cat-hole,”—a contrivance

which almost every mansion or cabin in Virginia possessed during the

ante-bellum period. The “cat-hole” was a square opening, about seven by

eight inches, provided for the purpose of letting the cat pass in and

out of the house at will during the night. In the case of our

particular cabin I could never understand the necessity for this

convenience, since there were at least a half-dozen other places in the

cabin that would have accommodated the cats. There was no wooden floor

in our cabin, the naked earth being used as a floor. In the centre of

the earthen floor there was a large, deep opening covered with boards,

which was used as a place in which to store sweet potatoes during the

winter. An impression of this potato-hole is very distinctly engraved

upon my memory, because I recall that during the process of putting the

potatoes in or taking them out I would often come into possession of

one or two, which I roasted and thoroughly enjoyed. There was no

cooking-stove on our plantation, and all the cooking for the whites and

slaves my mother had to do over an open fireplace, mostly in pots and

“skillets.” While the poorly built cabin caused us to suffer with cold

in the winter, the heat from the open fireplace in summer was equally

trying.

The early years of my life, which were spent in the little cabin, were

not very different from those of thousands of other slaves. My mother,

of course, had little time in which to give attention to the training

of her children during the day. She snatched a few moments for our care

in the early morning before her work began, and at night after the

day’s work was done. One of my earliest recollections is that of my

mother cooking a chicken late at night, and awakening her children for

the purpose of feeding them. How or where she got it I do not know. I

presume, however, it was procured from our owner’s farm. Some people

may call this theft. If such a thing were to happen now, I should

condemn it as theft myself. But taking place at the time it did, and

for the reason that it did, no one could ever make me believe that my

mother was guilty of thieving. She was simply a victim of the system of

slavery. I cannot remember having slept in a bed until after our family

was declared free by the Emancipation Proclamation. Three

children—John, my older brother, Amanda, my sister, and myself—had a

pallet on the dirt floor, or, to be more correct, we slept in and on a

bundle of filthy rags laid upon the dirt floor.

I was asked not long ago to tell something about the sports and

pastimes that I engaged in during my youth. Until that question was

asked it had never occurred to me that there was no period of my life

that was devoted to play. From the time that I can remember anything,

almost every day of my life had been occupied in some kind of labour;

though I think I would now be a more useful man if I had had time for

sports. During the period that I spent in slavery I was not large

enough to be of much service, still I was occupied most of the time in

cleaning the yards, carrying water to the men in the fields, or going

to the mill to which I used to take the corn, once a week, to be

ground. The mill was about three miles from the plantation. This work I

always dreaded. The heavy bag of corn would be thrown across the back

of the horse, and the corn divided about evenly on each side; but in

some way, almost without exception, on these trips, the corn would so

shift as to become unbalanced and would fall off the horse, and often I

would fall with it. As I was not strong enough to reload the corn upon

the horse, I would have to wait, sometimes for many hours, till a

chance passer-by came along who would help me out of my trouble. The

hours while waiting for some one were usually spent in crying. The time

consumed in this way made me late in reaching the mill, and by the time

I got my corn ground and reached home it would be far into the night.

The road was a lonely one, and often led through dense forests. I was

always frightened. The woods were said to be full of soldiers who had

deserted from the army, and I had been told that the first thing a

deserter did to a Negro boy when he found him alone was to cut off his

ears. Besides, when I was late in getting home I knew I would always

get a severe scolding or a flogging.

I had no schooling whatever while I was a slave, though I remember on

several occasions I went as far as the schoolhouse door with one of my

young mistresses to carry her books. The picture of several dozen boys

and girls in a schoolroom engaged in study made a deep impression upon

me, and I had the feeling that to get into a schoolhouse and study in

this way would be about the same as getting into paradise.

So far as I can now recall, the first knowledge that I got of the fact

that we were slaves, and that freedom of the slaves was being

discussed, was early one morning before day, when I was awakened by my

mother kneeling over her children and fervently praying that Lincoln

and his armies might be successful, and that one day she and her

children might be free. In this connection I have never been able to

understand how the slaves throughout the South, completely ignorant as

were the masses so far as books or newspapers were concerned, were able

to keep themselves so accurately and completely informed about the

great National questions that were agitating the country. From the time

that Garrison, Lovejoy, and others began to agitate for freedom, the

slaves throughout the South kept in close touch with the progress of

the movement. Though I was a mere child during the preparation for the

Civil War and during the war itself, I now recall the many

late-at-night whispered discussions that I heard my mother and the

other slaves on the plantation indulge in. These discussions showed

that they understood the situation, and that they kept themselves

informed of events by what was termed the “grape-vine” telegraph.

During the campaign when Lincoln was first a candidate for the

Presidency, the slaves on our far-off plantation, miles from any

railroad or large city or daily newspaper, knew what the issues

involved were. When war was begun between the North and the South,

every slave on our plantation felt and knew that, though other issues

were discussed, the primal one was that of slavery. Even the most

ignorant members of my race on the remote plantations felt in their

hearts, with a certainty that admitted of no doubt, that the freedom of

the slaves would be the one great result of the war, if the Northern

armies conquered. Every success of the Federal armies and every defeat

of the Confederate forces was watched with the keenest and most intense

interest. Often the slaves got knowledge of the results of great

battles before the white people received it. This news was usually

gotten from the coloured man who was sent to the post-office for the

mail. In our case the post-office was about three miles from the

plantation, and the mail came once or twice a week. The man who was

sent to the office would linger about the place long enough to get the

drift of the conversation from the group of white people who naturally

congregated there, after receiving their mail, to discuss the latest

news. The mail-carrier on his way back to our master’s house would as

naturally retail the news that he had secured among the slaves, and in

this way they often heard of important events before the white people

at the “big house,” as the master’s house was called.

I cannot remember a single instance during my childhood or early

boyhood when our entire family sat down to the table together, and

God’s blessing was asked, and the family ate a meal in a civilized

manner. On the plantation in Virginia, and even later, meals were

gotten by the children very much as dumb animals get theirs. It was a

piece of bread here and a scrap of meat there. It was a cup of milk at

one time and some potatoes at another. Sometimes a portion of our

family would eat out of the skillet or pot, while some one else would

eat from a tin plate held on the knees, and often using nothing but the

hands with which to hold the food. When I had grown to sufficient size,

I was required to go to the “big house” at meal-times to fan the flies

from the table by means of a large set of paper fans operated by a

pulley. Naturally much of the conversation of the white people turned

upon the subject of freedom and the war, and I absorbed a good deal of

it. I remember that at one time I saw two of my young mistresses and

some lady visitors eating ginger-cakes, in the yard. At that time those

cakes seemed to me to be absolutely the most tempting and desirable

things that I had ever seen; and I then and there resolved that, if I

ever got free, the height of my ambition would be reached if I could

get to the point where I could secure and eat ginger-cakes in the way

that I saw those ladies doing.

Of course as the war was prolonged the white people, in many cases,

often found it difficult to secure food for themselves. I think the

slaves felt the deprivation less than the whites, because the usual

diet for slaves was corn bread and pork, and these could be raised on

the plantation; but coffee, tea, sugar, and other articles which the

whites had been accustomed to use could not be raised on the

plantation, and the conditions brought about by the war frequently made

it impossible to secure these things. The whites were often in great

straits. Parched corn was used for coffee, and a kind of black molasses

was used instead of sugar. Many times nothing was used to sweeten the

so-called tea and coffee.

The first pair of shoes that I recall wearing were wooden ones. They

had rough leather on the top, but the bottoms, which were about an inch

thick, were of wood. When I walked they made a fearful noise, and

besides this they were very inconvenient, since there was no yielding

to the natural pressure of the foot. In wearing them one presented an

exceedingly awkward appearance. The most trying ordeal that I was

forced to endure as a slave boy, however, was the wearing of a flax

shirt. In the portion of Virginia where I lived it was common to use

flax as part of the clothing for the slaves. That part of the flax from

which our clothing was made was largely the refuse, which of course was

the cheapest and roughest part. I can scarcely imagine any torture,

except, perhaps, the pulling of a tooth, that is equal to that caused

by putting on a new flax shirt for the first time. It is almost equal

to the feeling that one would experience if he had a dozen or more

chestnut burrs, or a hundred small pin-points, in contact with his

flesh. Even to this day I can recall accurately the tortures that I

underwent when putting on one of these garments. The fact that my flesh

was soft and tender added to the pain. But I had no choice. I had to

wear the flax shirt or none; and had it been left to me to choose, I

should have chosen to wear no covering. In connection with the flax

shirt, my brother John, who is several years older than I am, performed

one of the most generous acts that I ever heard of one slave relative

doing for another. On several occasions when I was being forced to wear

a new flax shirt, he generously agreed to put it on in my stead and

wear it for several days, till it was “broken in.” Until I had grown to

be quite a youth this single garment was all that I wore.

One may get the idea, from what I have said, that there was bitter

feeling toward the white people on the part of my race, because of the

fact that most of the white population was away fighting in a war which

would result in keeping the Negro in slavery if the South was

successful. In the case of the slaves on our place this was not true,

and it was not true of any large portion of the slave population in the

South where the Negro was treated with anything like decency. During

the Civil War one of my young masters was killed, and two were severely

wounded. I recall the feeling of sorrow which existed among the slaves

when they heard of the death of “Mars’ Billy.” It was no sham sorrow,

but real. Some of the slaves had nursed “Mars’ Billy”; others had

played with him when he was a child. “Mars’ Billy” had begged for mercy

in the case of others when the overseer or master was thrashing them.

The sorrow in the slave quarter was only second to that in the “big

house.” When the two young masters were brought home wounded, the

sympathy of the slaves was shown in many ways. They were just as

anxious to assist in the nursing as the family relatives of the

wounded. Some of the slaves would even beg for the privilege of sitting

up at night to nurse their wounded masters. This tenderness and

sympathy on the part of those held in bondage was a result of their

kindly and generous nature. In order to defend and protect the women

and children who were left on the plantations when the white males went

to war, the slaves would have laid down their lives. The slave who was

selected to sleep in the “big house” during the absence of the males

was considered to have the place of honour. Any one attempting to harm

“young Mistress” or “old Mistress” during the night would have had to

cross the dead body of the slave to do so. I do not know how many have

noticed it, but I think that it will be found to be true that there are

few instances, either in slavery or freedom, in which a member of my

race has been known to betray a specific trust.

As a rule, not only did the members of my race entertain no feelings of

bitterness against the whites before and during the war, but there are

many instances of Negroes tenderly caring for their former masters and

mistresses who for some reason have become poor and dependent since the

war. I know of instances where the former masters of slaves have for

years been supplied with money by their former slaves to keep them from

suffering. I have known of still other cases in which the former slaves

have assisted in the education of the descendants of their former

owners. I know of a case on a large plantation in the South in which a

young white man, the son of the former owner of the estate, has become

so reduced in purse and self-control by reason of drink that he is a

pitiable creature; and yet, notwithstanding the poverty of the coloured

people themselves on this plantation, they have for years supplied this

young white man with the necessities of life. One sends him a little

coffee or sugar, another a little meat, and so on. Nothing that the

coloured people possess is too good for the son of “old Mars’ Tom,” who

will perhaps never be permitted to suffer while any remain on the place

who knew directly or indirectly of “old Mars’ Tom.”

I have said that there are few instances of a member of my race

betraying a specific trust. One of the best illustrations of this which

I know of is in the case of an ex-slave from Virginia whom I met not

long ago in a little town in the state of Ohio. I found that this man

had made a contract with his master, two or three years previous to the

Emancipation Proclamation, to the effect that the slave was to be

permitted to buy himself, by paying so much per year for his body; and

while he was paying for himself, he was to be permitted to labour where

and for whom he pleased. Finding that he could secure better wages in

Ohio, he went there. When freedom came, he was still in debt to his

master some three hundred dollars. Notwithstanding that the

Emancipation Proclamation freed him from any obligation to his master,

this black man walked the greater portion of the distance back to where

his old master lived in Virginia, and placed the last dollar, with

interest, in his hands. In talking to me about this, the man told me

that he knew that he did not have to pay the debt, but that he had

given his word to the master, and his word he had never broken. He felt

that he could not enjoy his freedom till he had fulfilled his promise.

From some things that I have said one may get the idea that some of the

slaves did not want freedom. This is not true. I have never seen one

who did not want to be free, or one who would return to slavery.

I pity from the bottom of my heart any nation or body of people that is

so unfortunate as to get entangled in the net of slavery. I have long

since ceased to cherish any spirit of bitterness against the Southern

white people on account of the enslavement of my race. No one section

of our country was wholly responsible for its introduction, and,

besides, it was recognized and protected for years by the General

Government. Having once got its tentacles fastened on to the economic

and social life of the Republic, it was no easy matter for the country

to relieve itself of the institution. Then, when we rid ourselves of

prejudice, or racial feeling, and look facts in the face, we must

acknowledge that, notwithstanding the cruelty and moral wrong of

slavery, the ten million Negroes inhabiting this country, who

themselves or whose ancestors went through the school of American

slavery, are in a stronger and more hopeful condition, materially,

intellectually, morally, and religiously, than is true of an equal

number of black people in any other portion of the globe. This is so to

such an extent that Negroes in this country, who themselves or whose

forefathers went through the school of slavery, are constantly

returning to Africa as missionaries to enlighten those who remained in

the fatherland. This I say, not to justify slavery—on the other hand, I

condemn it as an institution, as we all know that in America it was

established for selfish and financial reasons, and not from a

missionary motive—but to call attention to a fact, and to show how

Providence so often uses men and institutions to accomplish a purpose.

When persons ask me in these days how, in the midst of what sometimes

seem hopelessly discouraging conditions, I can have such faith in the

future of my race in this country, I remind them of the wilderness

through which and out of which, a good Providence has already led us.

Ever since I have been old enough to think for myself, I have

entertained the idea that, notwithstanding the cruel wrongs inflicted

upon us, the black man got nearly as much out of slavery as the white

man did. The hurtful influences of the institution were not by any

means confined to the Negro. This was fully illustrated by the life

upon our own plantation. The whole machinery of slavery was so

constructed as to cause labour, as a rule, to be looked upon as a badge

of degradation, of inferiority. Hence labour was something that both

races on the slave plantation sought to escape. The slave system on our

place, in a large measure, took the spirit of self-reliance and

self-help out of the white people. My old master had many boys and

girls, but not one, so far as I know, ever mastered a single trade or

special line of productive industry. The girls were not taught to cook,

sew, or to take care of the house. All of this was left to the slaves.

The slaves, of course, had little personal interest in the life of the

plantation, and their ignorance prevented them from learning how to do

things in the most improved and thorough manner. As a result of the

system, fences were out of repair, gates were hanging half off the

hinges, doors creaked, window-panes were out, plastering had fallen but

was not replaced, weeds grew in the yard. As a rule, there was food for

whites and blacks, but inside the house, and on the dining-room table,

there was wanting that delicacy and refinement of touch and finish

which can make a home the most convenient, comfortable, and attractive

place in the world. Withal there was a waste of food and other

materials which was sad. When freedom came, the slaves were almost as

well fitted to begin life anew as the master, except in the matter of

book-learning and ownership of property. The slave owner and his sons

had mastered no special industry. They unconsciously had imbibed the

feeling that manual labour was not the proper thing for them. On the

other hand, the slaves, in many cases, had mastered some handicraft,

and none were ashamed, and few unwilling, to labour.

Finally the war closed, and the day of freedom came. It was a momentous

and eventful day to all upon our plantation. We had been expecting it.

Freedom was in the air, and had been for months. Deserting soldiers

returning to their homes were to be seen every day. Others who had been

discharged, or whose regiments had been paroled, were constantly

passing near our place. The “grape-vine telegraph” was kept busy night

and day. The news and mutterings of great events were swiftly carried

from one plantation to another. In the fear of “Yankee” invasions, the

silverware and other valuables were taken from the “big house,” buried

in the woods, and guarded by trusted slaves. Woe be to any one who

would have attempted to disturb the buried treasure. The slaves would

give the Yankee soldiers food, drink, clothing—anything but that which

had been specifically intrusted to their care and honour. As the great

day drew nearer, there was more singing in the slave quarters than

usual. It was bolder, had more ring, and lasted later into the night.

Most of the verses of the plantation songs had some reference to

freedom. True, they had sung those same verses before, but they had

been careful to explain that the “freedom” in these songs referred to

the next world, and had no connection with life in this world. Now they

gradually threw off the mask, and were not afraid to let it be known

that the “freedom” in their songs meant freedom of the body in this

world. The night before the eventful day, word was sent to the slave

quarters to the effect that something unusual was going to take place

at the “big house” the next morning. There was little, if any, sleep

that night. All as excitement and expectancy. Early the next morning

word was sent to all the slaves, old and young, to gather at the house.

In company with my mother, brother, and sister, and a large number of

other slaves, I went to the master’s house. All of our master’s family

were either standing or seated on the veranda of the house, where they

could see what was to take place and hear what was said. There was a

feeling of deep interest, or perhaps sadness, on their faces, but not

bitterness. As I now recall the impression they made upon me, they did

not at the moment seem to be sad because of the loss of property, but

rather because of parting with those whom they had reared and who were

in many ways very close to them. The most distinct thing that I now

recall in connection with the scene was that some man who seemed to be

a stranger (a United States officer, I presume) made a little speech

and then read a rather long paper—the Emancipation Proclamation, I

think. After the reading we were told that we were all free, and could

go when and where we pleased. My mother, who was standing by my side,

leaned over and kissed her children, while tears of joy ran down her

cheeks. She explained to us what it all meant, that this was the day

for which she had been so long praying, but fearing that she would

never live to see.

For some minutes there was great rejoicing, and thanksgiving, and wild

scenes of ecstasy. But there was no feeling of bitterness. In fact,

there was pity among the slaves for our former owners. The wild

rejoicing on the part of the emancipated coloured people lasted but for

a brief period, for I noticed that by the time they returned to their

cabins there was a change in their feelings. The great responsibility

of being free, of having charge of themselves, of having to think and

plan for themselves and their children, seemed to take possession of

them. It was very much like suddenly turning a youth of ten or twelve

years out into the world to provide for himself. In a few hours the

great questions with which the Anglo-Saxon race had been grappling for

centuries had been thrown upon these people to be solved. These were

the questions of a home, a living, the rearing of children, education,

citizenship, and the establishment and support of churches. Was it any

wonder that within a few hours the wild rejoicing ceased and a feeling

of deep gloom seemed to pervade the slave quarters? To some it seemed

that, now that they were in actual possession of it, freedom was a more

serious thing than they had expected to find it. Some of the slaves

were seventy or eighty years old; their best days were gone. They had

no strength with which to earn a living in a strange place and among

strange people, even if they had been sure where to find a new place of

abode. To this class the problem seemed especially hard. Besides, deep

down in their hearts there was a strange and peculiar attachment to

“old Marster” and “old Missus,” and to their children, which they found

it hard to think of breaking off. With these they had spent in some

cases nearly a half-century, and it was no light thing to think of

parting. Gradually, one by one, stealthily at first, the older slaves

began to wander from the slave quarters back to the “big house” to have

a whispered conversation with their former owners as to the future.