THE LIFE AND SUFFERINGS OF LEONARD BLACK, A FUGITIVE FROM SLAVERY.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
NEW BEDFORD: PRESS OF BENJAMIN LINDSEY. 1847.
NOTICE.
Doubts having been expressed upon sundry matters connected with the
following little narrative, Mr. Black has requested me to say a few
words concerning its authorship and claims to belief.
The book was written substantially by Mr. Black himself, but, in
consequence of his deficiency of education--growing out of the
fact that his childhood and youth were spent in slavery--it needed
considerable correction to fit it for the press. This work was
kindly performed, gratuitously, by a friend of the author, who was,
however, very careful to preserve the narrative as nearly unchanged
as possible--confining himself mostly to punctuating, correcting the
orthography, striking out unnecessary words and sentences, &c. &c.
I am well acquainted with Mr. Black, and have the fullest confidence
in the truth of his narrative, as has the friend who assisted him in
preparing it for the press, and, indeed, every one who knows him.
A. M. MACY.
Nantucket, October 30th, 1847.
INTRODUCTION.
In putting this little volume before the public, it is well, perhaps,
that I should speak of my motive.
Born and reared in slavery, I was, of course, deprived of education;
and believing that I can be of service to the public in the ministry,
I have published this account of my life and sufferings, with the hope
that I might realize a sufficient sum from its sale, to enable me to
procure a greater degree of education, thereby increasing my usefulness
as a preacher.
With this simple statement I present myself to the humane, in the hope
that I may not appeal in vain.
LEONARD BLACK.
April, 1847.
LIFE AND SUFFERINGS
OF
LEONARD BLACK.
CHAPTER I.
It is my object to give to the reader a plain, simple narrative of the
more interesting portion of my life, while in slavery.
I was born in Annarundel County, State of Maryland, about sixty miles
below Baltimore, and lived a slave more than twenty years. My old
master was a physician, but I think it prudent to withhold his name.
No one, who has always enjoyed the right of liberty, can realize the
horrors of slavery. To be at the will of another, to be _owned_ like
a cow or horse, and liable at any moment to be sold to the highest
bidder, to be transported to a distant part of the country, leaving
the dearest relatives behind; to be, in fine, ground down mentally and
physically by the untold curses of slavery, may be a very pretty thing
to the masters of the “peculiar institution,” but it is death to the
slaves.
After more than twenty years of bondage, God delivered me from it, with
a strong hand and an outstretched arm, as he did Israel of old.
As near as I can remember, my mother and sister were sold and taken
to New Orleans, leaving four brothers and myself behind. We were all
placed out. At six years of age I was placed with a Mr. Bradford,
separated from my father, mother and family. But the eye of God was
upon me, and blessed me. My master was a carpenter, and much from
home--Mrs. Bradford beat me so much that her husband sent me to his
father’s. Mrs. Bradford ordered me one day to take a bushel of corn
up stairs; but I was unable to do it, upon which she knocked me
down with the johnny-cake board, cutting my head so badly that it
bled more than a quart. It was then that I thought of my mother. My
little friends--who have your liberty, and the protecting hand of
parents--these are some of the fruits of slavery; let your hearts warm
with gratitude to the great Giver of all good, for the blessings you
enjoy. Mrs. Bradford had a son about ten years old; she used to make
him beat me and spit in my face. Here I was, a poor slave boy, without
father or mother to take my part.
At the end of two years, Mrs. Bradford beat me so much, that her
husband, fearing she would kill me, placed me at his father’s, where I
remained until the death of the old gentleman. But old Mr. Bradford was
worse than Mrs. Bradford! He had been a professor of religion, a class
leader in the Methodist Church, but at this time he was a backslider;
yea, a wanderer from God, and as cold as though he had never been
warmed by the vivifying power of the religion of Jesus Christ.
I lived in this family seven and a half years, and when I left I was
thirteen years old. During this time I had no hat, no pantaloons, but
one pair of shoes, and wore a lindsey slip only. I was not allowed
to sit down while I ate my meals. For my breakfast I had a pint of
pot liquor, half a herring, and a little piece of bread. Whether this
would stay the cravings of a young appetite or not, there was no more
to be had. For my dinner I had a pint of pot liquor, and the skin off
of the pork. I must say as the colored people say at the south, when
singing to cheer their hearts while under the burning sun, and the
crack of the whip, remembering what is placed before them every day for
food--“My old master is a hard-hearted man; he eats the meat, and gives
poor nigger bones.” At night I had a bit of bread for my supper, and
a piece of carpet for my bed, spread down on the hearth, winter and
summer. In the winter, when the fire got low, I used to burn my feet by
getting them into the embers.
My work, in the winter time, was to fetch wood from the swamp up to the
house. Being without shoes or hat, and thinly clad, I used to go into
the house to warm myself. When in the house for this purpose, at one
time, old Mr. Bradford followed me in, and said: “If you want to be
warmed, I’ll warm you.” He took the tongs, heated them in the fire, and
branded my legs; and the scars are there to this day. I could not sit
down in consequence of the wound. He whipped me also, and used to put
my head under the fence.
Christians! I beseech you, do not become backsliders; especially
slave-holding Christians! for the terrible effects of backsliding,
slave-holding Christianity are awfully developed in my history!
Shortly after this, the death of this man delivered me from his hands.
I rejoiced. God only knows whether he went to perdition. With all my
heart I have forgiven him. I expect to meet him at the bar of God with
the scars and the tongs. Farewell, Mr. Bradford! But this is not all.
He left all his property to his daughter Elizabeth; and her brother
Nathan, a tax-gatherer, was overseer of the farm for her. One year
after her father’s death, Elizabeth got married to Wm. Gardener, a
gentleman from Baltimore, a member of the Methodist Church. I then
thought I should have a good master. But oh, my soul! it was worse and
worse! All is not gold that shines, nor silver that glitters. He had
not been married a great while before my heart beat and my feet burned.
He was a collier, engaged in burning charcoal, and used to draw it to
the village landing, and sometimes to Baltimore.
One day he left me twenty-five bushels of coal to draw. By being
broken of my rest the night previous, engaged in watching the coal pit,
I was tired and sleepy. When I had drawn all the coal out, supposing
I had put the fire out, I laid down to rest my weary limbs. The coal
burned up. Mr. Gardner came into the woods where I lay asleep, hallooed
and scared me up; he struck me with the shovel, and cut my head so that
I knew nothing for two days. I was so weak from the loss of blood, that
he was compelled to carry me home on his shoulders, covering himself
with blood. His wife was very much alarmed. We were about a mile from
home, and he told me not to speak of it.
At another time, he cut my head with a hoe handle, so that altogether
I was sick for a long time. Mr. Gardner had a very quick temper, and
would strike me with anything he happened to have in his hand, reckless
of consequences.
One day, Eliza (a slave girl of his,) and myself, went into the
water-melon patch, procured a melon and ate it. We were compelled to
this by the promptings of hunger, for the living had not altered since
the death of Mr. Bradford. Eliza was about eighteen years of age.
For that offence, our cruel master stripped us and tied us both up
together, and whipped us till the blood ran down on the ground in a
puddle.
When I was sick, he used to send me into the place where they smoked
meat, for fear I should vomit on the floor. On Wednesdays, there were
meetings in the meeting-house, and Mr. Gardner used to make me stay
away from the house, for the minister would come home with him, and he
was fearful I should tell him of his cruel treatment. He did not say as
Hagar of old--“Thou, God, seest me.”
One day he sent me to drive the horse from the peach tree. The horse
kicked me in the head, and I was laid up six months. My head was
sewed up; and I also received a great many knocks in the side, from
the effects of which I have not yet recovered! On one occasion, he
struck me in the mouth with an iron-toothed rake, which knocked out
one of my front teeth. All this time, my more fortunate reader, I was
a poor slave boy, with no one to pity me, with no parents to take my
part. I had no father; no mother! But God pitied me. The eye of the
all-merciful God, without whose notice not a sparrow falls to the
ground, was upon me. He it was that bore my feeble spirit up, when my
lacerated and quivering frame was writhing under the God-defying curse
of slavery.