Up from Slavery: An Autobiography
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.
Chapter II.
Boyhood Days
After the coming of freedom there were two points upon which
practically all the people on our place were agreed, and I found that
this was generally true throughout the South: that they must change
their names, and that they must leave the old plantation for at least a
few days or weeks in order that they might really feel sure that they
were free.
In some way a feeling got among the coloured people that it was far
from proper for them to bear the surname of their former owners, and a
great many of them took other surnames. This was one of the first signs
of freedom. When they were slaves, a coloured person was simply called