On my return to St. Louis I met my old master, Lewis, who strove so
hard to sell us away that he might avoid seeing us free, on the
street. He was so surprised that before he was aware of it he dropped
a bow. My mother met Mrs. Lewis, her old mistress, with a large basket
on her arm, trudging to market. It appeared she had lived to see the
day when her children had to wait upon themselves, and she likewise.
The Yankees had taken possession, and her posterity were on an
equality with the black man. Mr. Lewis despised the Irish, and often
declared he would board at the hotel before he would employ Irish
help, but he now has a dissipated Irish cook. When I was his slave I
was obliged to keep away every fly from the table, and not allow one
to light on a person. They are now compelled to brush their own flies
and dress themselves and children. Mr. Lewis' brother Benjamin was a
more severe slave master than the one who owned me. He was a
tobacconist and very wealthy. As soon as the war commenced he turned
Unionist to save his property. He was very severe in his punishments.
He used to extend his victim, fastened to a beam, with hands and feet
tied, and inflict from fifty to three hundred lashes, laying their
flesh entirely open, then bathe their quivering wounds with brine,
and, through his nose, in a slow rebel tone he would tell them "You'd
better walk a fair chalk line or else I'll give yer twice as much."
His former friends, the guerrillas, were aware he only turned Union to
save his cash, and they gave those persons he had abused a large share
of his luxury. They then, in the presence of his wife and another
distinguished lady, tortured him in a most inhuman manner. For
pretending Unionism they placed him on a table and threatened to
dissect him alive if he did not tell them where he kept his gold. He
immediately informed them. They then stood him against the house and
fired over his head. From that, they changed his position by turning
him upside down, and raising him two feet from the floor, letting him
dash his head against the floor until his skull was fractured, after
which he lingered awhile and finally died. There was a long piece
published in the paper respecting his repentance, benevolence, & c.
All the slaves who ever lived in his family admit the Lord is able to
save to the uttermost. He saved the thief on the cross, and perhaps he
saved him.
When I made my escape from slavery I was in a query how I was to raise
funds to bear my expenses. I finally came to the conclusion that as
the laborer was worthy of his hire, I thought my wages should come
from my master's pocket. Accordingly I took twenty-five dollars. After
I was safe and had learned to write, I sent him a nice letter,
thanking him for the kindness his pocket bestowed to me in time of
need. I have never received any answer to it.
When I complete my education, if my life is spared, I shall endeavor
to publish further details of our history in another volume from my
own pen.