Up from Slavery: An Autobiography
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