The treatment of slaves was different at the North from the South; at
the North they were admitted to be a species of the human family. I was
told when a slave boy, that some of the people said that slaves had no
souls, and that they would never go to heaven, let them do ever so well.
My father was born in the State of New York, I think in Columbia
county. He had, I think, three different masters in that State, one by
the name of Vanepps, and he was Gen. Van Rensaeller’s slave in the time
of the Revolution, and was a soldier in that war; he was then owned
by a man whose name was Rutser, and then was owned in Connecticut, in
Salisbury, and then by the minister in North Canaan.
My mother was born in old Virginia, in Loudin county; I do not remember
the name of the town. The minister of North Canaan, whose name was
Thompson, went to Virginia for a wife, or she came to him; in some way
they got together, so that they became man and wife. He removed her to
Canaan, and she brought her slaves with her, and my mother was one of
them. I think there were two of my mother’s brothers also. The Rev. Mr.
Thompson, as he was then called, bought my father, and he was married
to my mother by him. Mr. Thompson ministered to the people of Canaan
in holy things; his slaves worked his farm. For a short time things
went on very well; but soon the North and the South, as now, fell out;
the South must rule, and after a time the North would not be ruled. The
minister’s wife told my father if she only had him South, where she
could have at her call a half dozen men, she would have him stripped
and flogged until he was cut in strings, and see if he would do as she
bid him. She told him, You mind, boy, I will have you there yet, and
you will get your pay for all that you have done. My father was a man
of considerable muscular strength, and was not easily frightened into
obedience. I have heard my mother say she has often seen her mother
tied up and whipped until the blood ran across the floor in the room
where she was tied and whipped.
Well, as I said, the South and the North could not agree; the South
seceded and left the North; the minister’s wife would not live North,
and she and her husband picked up and went South, and left my father
and mother in Canaan to work the farm, and they lived on the farm until
I was eight years old. My mother had one child when she came from the
South; I was the first she had after she was married. They had five
children born in Canaan,――three died in infancy. I was born March 3d,
1790.
Mr. Thompson used to come up from Virginia and talk about our going
South. He would pat me on the head and tell me what a fine boy I was.
Once when he was in Canaan, he asked me if I would not like to go with
him and drive the carriage for my mistress. He said if I would go he
would give me twenty-five cents, or as it was then called, twenty-five
coppers. I told him I wanted the money first. He gave me a quarter,
and then I would not agree to go, and he put me in the oven; that I
did not like, and when I got out I would not give him the money, but
his business I did not yet know. He had come to sell his farm and to
take us all South. My father said he would not go alive; the minister
told him he must go; my father said he never would. Well, the man that
had formerly ministered to the people in holy things, sold the farm,
and stock, and tools, and effects, with a few exceptions. He kept a
pair of horses and harness, a wagon, a bed, and a few such articles.
The harness and wagon he kept to take us to the South with. After he
sold his place, he took us all to a wealthy friend of his, until he had
settled up all his affairs, so as to show to the world that he was an
honest and upright man. He would have them think that he feared God and
let alone evil; for he was born or raised in the State of New York, and
had taught the people of North Canaan the way to do, as you will see,
for in former days he spoke to the people from the pulpit morally, and
they thought much of the man. He had taught them slavery was right,
and that the Great Almighty God had sanctioned the institution, and
he would practice it. He now made his arrangements to set out on his
journey; the day was fixed to leave his much-loved people and home for
his southern home, where he had obtained a new home and friends and
acquaintances.
My father, although a slave without education, was intensely watching
the movements of the teacher of the people, but kept all that he saw to
himself, yet he was steadily planning his escape. The set day had now
within about thirty-six hours come; all went on well with the man from
the South. He had had no thought but all was well; those fine chattels
were his, and would fetch him in a southern market, at a moderate
estimate, two thousand dollars; they would furnish him pocket change
for some time, and also his loving wife could have a chance to wreak
her vengeance on my father for what she called disobedience.
It was a matter of doubt with my father what course to take,――how he
could get away with his family the best and safest; whether to go to
Massachusetts, which joined Canaan on the north, or to Norfolk, which
joined Canaan on the east. Very fortunately for us, there was at that
time an unpleasant feeling existing between the two towns or the
inhabitants of Canaan and Norfolk. He said that the people of Canaan
would side with their former pastor, and he found that the people
of Norfolk would take sides against Canaan and their pastor; then
he thought the best that he could do would be to take his family to
Norfolk, where they would be the safest. He concluded to take them to
Norfolk, but how was he to get them there with what he wanted to take
with them? He came to the conclusion that the horses he had for a long
time driven might as well help him now in this hour of distress as
not. He got a colored man to help him that was stout and healthy. They
hitched up the parson’s team, put on board what few things he had and
his family, in the still of a dark night, for it was very dark, and
started for Norfolk, and on the way we run afoul of a man’s wood-pile,
for it was so dark he could not see the road; but we got off from the
wood-pile without harm, and arrived in Norfolk about one o’clock. I
think we stopped at a tavern kept by Mr. G. Pettibone, and in him we
found a friend. We unloaded what we had, and father and the man that
was with him took the team back to Canaan, so that the parson might
set out on his journey and not have to wait for his team, and father
returned to where he had left his family. He felt that he had done all
for the parson that he well could, for he had taken away his family
off from his hands, so that the parson would be relieved from the care
that must necessarily occur in such a long journey with a family on
his hands to see to, and my father thought that the parson’s old Jewel
would be relieved from some of her pardoned habits and from a promise
she had so often made to him when she got him South. Well, how the
parson felt when he had got himself out of bed, and found that he was
left to pursue his journey alone, the reader can tell as well as I, for
he was a big and bristle man; but I will leave him for a while, and see
what is to be done with us.
It was soon known in the morning that we were in Norfolk; the first
inquiry was, where will they be safe. The place was soon found. There
was a man by the name of Phelps that had a house that was not occupied;
it was out of the way and out of sight. After breakfast, we went to
the house; it was well located; it needed some cleaning, and that my
mother could do as well as the next woman. We all went to work and got
it cleaned, and the next day went into it and stopped some time. Father
did what work he could get out of the way, where he would not be seen,
and it was necessary for him to keep out of sight, for Norfolk was the
thoroughfare to Hartford. Days and weeks passed on, and we began to
feel quite happy, hoping that the parson had gone South, as we heard
nothing from him. At length we heard that he said he would have the
two boys at all hazards. It was thought best that the boys should be
away. So one dark night we heard that the parson was coming out with
his men to find the boys, for have them he would. A man that lived near
to us said he would take the boys where they would be safe. His name
was Cady. It was agreed on, and he went with us over a mountain, over
rocks and logs. It was very rough and steep, and the night was so dark
that we could only see when it lightened. At last we got through the
woods on the top of what is called Burr Mountain. We could look down
in low grounds and see logs that were laid for the road across the
meadow; at every flash they could be seen, but when it did not lighten
we could not see anything; we kept on,――our pilot knew the way. At
last we arrived at the place. The name of the family was Tibbals. The
family consisted of an old man, a middle-aged man and his wife and four
children, and a very pleasant family it was. We had not been there long
before it was thought best that my brother should be still more out
of the way, as he was about six years older than I, which made him an
object of greater search, and they were at a loss where to send him,
as he was then about fourteen years of age. There was a young man by
the name of Butler, from Massachusetts; he was in Norfolk at the time,
studying law; he said he would take him home with him, and he did so,
as I supposed, and I saw him no more for more than two years.
I stopped with the family a few days, and then went home, or what I
called home. It was where my parents and sister were. I found them very
lonely. I had not been home many days before our quiet was disturbed,
for the parson had his hunters out to find our whereabouts. He somehow
found where we were. My sister and myself were at play out at the door;
we saw two men in the woods, a little from the house, coming very fast,
and they came into the house. My father was not far from the house;
mother was in the house. The men were Captain Phelps, the man who owned
the house, and Mr. Butler, the law-student. They told us that we must
now say whether we would go with the parson or not, and we must decide
quick, for the parson was coming, and he would soon be on the spot, and
there was no time to lose. Mother had said she was not unwilling to
go herself, if it was not for father and the children, and the parson
had made her such promises that she was somewhat inclined to go. The
parson talked so fair to her, he beguiled her, I suppose, somewhat as
our first mother was beguiled in the garden. The beguilers were both,
I do not say preachers, but they were both deceivers, and he talked so
smooth to mother that he beguiled her. He told her if she would go to
Canaan and see to his things and pack them up for him, then if she did
not want to go, she need not. Mother talked with father; he did not
incline to go, but finally he consented. The parson ordered a wagon,
and it was soon on the spot; but where was Joseph?――he is not here. “I
want him to go with us, that we may be all together,” said the parson.
Father saw what the parson’s plan was: he told him the boy was on the
way,――he could get him when we got to Canaan. I should have said that
those two men that came to tell us that the parson was coming, hid in
the barn before the parson arrived, and were not seen by him. They had
a few words with my father while the parson went for his team. We set
off for Canaan, and in the land of Canaan we arrived that day. Where is
Joseph? Father said he would go for him the next day in the morning, or
in the day. Father went, as the parson supposed, for Joseph. The parson
was loading; mother was packing; all was now going on well. Night came,
and when all was still, for father had told some one it would be late
before he got back, he came and took the parson’s horses, and took
mother and the two children on horseback, and instead of going South,
went to Norfolk, and got there about two o’clock in the morning. We
stopped at a tavern kept by Captain Lawrence. The horses were sent back
for the parson, for he said he should start the next day; but it seemed
that he did not start for old Virginia, for we often heard of him after
that day.
We stopped with Capt. Lawrence a few days. It was thought best by our
friends that we should not all be together, for it was found that the
parson was still in the land, and on the lookout for us. I was sent
to a woman in the neighborhood, by the name of Darby――a poor woman. I
stopped with her a few days, with instructions to keep still. The old
lady had but one room in her house. You may wonder why I was sent to
such a place; most likely it was thought she had so little room that
she would not be suspected of harboring a fugitive.
A man by the name of Walter lived near by; he was in the habit of
coming in to see how his boy did, as he called me. He told me when any
one came there I must get under the bed. I used to sit in the corner of
the room, so that I should not be seen from the window. I stayed there
a number of days,――I do not now remember how many. One day I ventured
to take a peep through the key-hole; the door was locked. Some one came
to the door; I made a bound, and then a roll, and I was out of sight.
The door was opened, and it was my friend Mr. Walter. He was quite
amused to hear the performance; he said he would take me with him the
next day, he was going to work in a back lot where it would be out of
sight. So the next day I went with him; it was quite a treat. At noon
we ate our dinner in the field; that was new to me. After dinner Mr.
Walter lay down on the ground; he told me he should go to sleep, and I
must keep a look-out to see if any one came in sight. If I saw any one,
I must wake him. I kept watch, but there was none came to disturb him
in his repose. The day passed away, and we returned home at night――all
well, as I supposed; but it seemed that the parson had his pickets out,
and had got an idea that I was somewhere in the street. That night I
had to leave my place at Mrs. Darby’s, and went about a mile to a man’s
house by the name of Upson; he lived on a back street. I thought him
to be a friend; I do not know but he was,――but as I find that men now
act in relation to slavery, I am inclined to think otherwise. The next
morning the man went to his work; he was painting for the minister in
Norfolk. Mrs. Upson sent me to the brook, a little way from the house,
to fetch a pail of water. I did not like going into the street very
much, but being taught by my parents to obey, I went without any words.
As I got to the brook, a man rode into the brook with a cocked hat on.
I did not much like his looks. I did not know who he was. Said he,――“My
boy, where is your father and mother?” I said, “I don’t know, sir.”
“Where is your brother?” “I don’t know, sir.” “Where do you live?” “I
don’t know, sir.” “Whom do you stay with?” “I don’t know, sir.” I did
not then know the name of the man. He rode off, or rather I left him
asking questions. He looked after me till I got to the house, and rode
up. I asked Mrs. Upson who it was that came to the brook when I was
there. She said it was Mr. Robbins, the minister. I thought nothing of
it, for I thought all the people in Norfolk were our friends. In a few
hours, the woman sent me to the neighbor’s to get some water from the
well. It was a widow woman where I went to get the water, and there I
found my father. He said that Capt. Lawrence had been there and told
him that Mr. Robbins had sent his son to Canaan to tell parson Thompson
that he had seen one of his boys, and we must go in the woods, for he
thought the parson would come out to look for me. Father took the water
and went with it to the house that I brought the pail from. The family
where I went for the water, I shall always remember with the kindest
feelings. We have ever, from that day to the present, been on the best
terms, and I believe three of them are living now. Two of them live in
that same house that they then lived in, and the transactions of this
narrative took place sixty five years ago. Their name is Curtiss.
When father came back, we set off for the woods pointed out by our
friends; we went across the lots and came to a road, and crossed that
into another open field. The woods were in the backside of the field.
As we went on, we ascended a ridge of land, and we could see the
road that led from Canaan to Norfolk. The road then went past the
burying-ground, and we could see it from where we were. We saw fourteen
men on horseback; they were men we knew; the parson was one of them. We
hid behind a log that was near us until they got out of sight; we then
went into the woods, and there we found my mother and sister; they had
been sent there by the man that had told us of the parson’s information
of where I was. We all remained there. This I should think was about
two or three o’clock in the afternoon. Very soon the thought of night
came to mind; how we were to spend the night, and what we should do
for something to eat; but between sundown and dark a man passed along
by the edge of the woods, whistling as he went. After he had passed
on, father went up where the man went along, and came back with a pail
or basket, and in it was our supper. We sat down and ate. The man we
saw no more that night, but how were we to spend the night I could not
tell; it was starlight, yet it was out in the woods, but father and
mother were there, and that was a comfort to us children, but we soon
fell asleep and forgot all our troubles, and in the morning we awoke
and were still in the woods. In due time the man that passed along the
night before, came again with more food for us, and then went his way;
his name was Walter. We spent several days in the woods,――how many I
do not remember. I think it was the fore part of the week when we went
into the woods; we were there over the Sabbath, for I well remember a
man by the name of Bishop had a shop where he fulled and dressed cloth
not very far from where we were, and he came to the back door of his
shop and stood and looked out a while, and went in and shut the door. I
felt afraid he would see us. We kept very still, but I think he did not
know that we were there; if he did, it did us no hurt. We were fed by
kind friends all the time we were in the woods.
One afternoon, or towards night, it was thought it would be safe to go
to a barn and sleep. After it was dark we went to a barn belonging to a
Mr. Munger and slept, but left it while the stars were shining, and so
for a few nights, and then it was thought we might sleep in the house.
The next night after dark, we went in the house of Mr. Munger for the
night. My sister and myself were put up in a back chamber, behind
barrels and boxes, closely put together, out of sight for safe-keeping.
We had not been there long before mother came and told us we must get
up, for Captain Lawrence, our friend, had sent word that the parson
said he would have the boys at any rate, whether he got the parents or
not. His pickets were going to search every house within a mile of the
meeting-house that night, or search until he found them. But we went
into the woods again; we were there awhile again; when it rained, we
went sometimes into a barn when we dared. After a time it was rather
still, and we were at one house and sometimes at another. We had
pickets out as well as the parson. It was thought best that I should
not be with the rest of the family, for the hunt seemed to be for the
boys. My brother, I have said, was out of the State. I was sent to
one family, and then to another, not in one place long at a time. The
parson began to think the task harder than he had an idea; it rather
grew worse and more perplexing; he did not know what to do. He was
outwitted in all his attempts; every effort or trial he had made, had
failed. He now thought of giving my father and mother and sister their
freedom if they would let him have the boys to take with him; this they
would not do.
After some time was spent, the parson or his pickets had an idea that
we were all at Capt. Lawrence’s house, shut up there; how to find
out if we were there or not, was the puzzle. They contrived various
plans, but did not succeed. Finally there was one thing yet. They knew
that Mr. Lawrence loved money; they thought they would tempt him with
that; so they came to his house and made trial. They met together one
day and wanted to search his house; he would not consent for a time;
they urged and he refused. He finally told them on certain conditions
they might go into every room but one. They went into all the rooms
but one. They then wanted to go into the room that they had not been
into; they offered him money to let them go into the room,――how much
he did not tell, as I know of. He finally consented. The much-desired
room was a chamber over the kitchen. Mr. Lawrence opened the door at
the foot of the stairs, and called and said, “Jupiter! (for that was
my father’s first name,) you must look out for yourself now, for I
can not hide you any longer.” He then told the parson’s pickets they
must take care, for Jupiter says he will kill the first man that lays
hands on him. They hesitated some; they then went up stairs still, and
stopped a short time, and then with a rush against the door, it gave
way, and they all went in. They found the landlady sitting there as
composed as summer, with her knitting-work, unconscious of an arrest
to go south as a slave! but they found us not, although the room they
last went into was the one we had occupied all the time we were in that
house, sometimes one night, sometimes a week, and then in the woods or
elsewhere, as was thought best to keep out of the way.
The pickets returned to the land of Canaan to see what was to be the
next move. The parson then proposed to give my father and mother and
sister their freedom, if they would let him have the boys. That they
would not do; but the boys he said he must have. As my brother was
away, it was thought best that I should be away. I was sent to Mr.
Pease, well-nigh Canaan, and kept rather dark. I was there for a time,
and I went to stay with a man by the name of Camp, and was with him
a time, and then I went to stay with a man by the name of Akins, and
stayed with him a few days, and went to a man by the name of Foot,
and was with him a few days. I went to another man by the name of
Akins, and was there some time. The parson was not gone south yet,
for he could not well give up his prey. He then proposed to sell the
boys until they were twenty-five, to somebody here that my parents
would select, for that was as long as the law of Connecticut could
hold slaves, and he would give the other members of the family their
freedom. It was finally thought best to do that if the purchasers that
were acceptable could be found. Some friends were on the lookout.
Finally a man by the name of Bingham was found; it was a man that my
father was once a slave to; he would take my brother,――then a man by
the name of Munger would buy me if they could agree. Mr. Bingham lived
in Salisbury, Mr. Munger lived in Norfolk; the two men lived about
fifteen miles apart, both in Connecticut.
The trade was made, and we two boys were sold for one hundred pounds a
head, lawful money,――yes, sold by a man, a minister of the gospel in
Connecticut, the land of steady habits. It would seem that the parson
was a worshiper with the Athenians, as Paul said unto them when he
stood on Mars Hill, he saw an inscription on one of their altars; and
it would seem that the parson forgot or passed over the instruction of
the apostle that God made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell
on all the face of the earth.
The parson was a tall man, standing six feet in his boots, and had no
legitimate children to be heirs to his ill-gotten gains. The bargain
was made on the 12th of September, 1798. Then I was informed that I
was sold to Mr. Munger, and must go and live with him. The man I did
not know, but the thought of being sold, not knowing whether I was
ever to see my parents, or brother, or sister again, was more than I
could endure; the thought that I was sold, as I did not then know for
how long, it was hard to think of; and where were my parents I knew
not: It was a sad thought, but go I must. The next morning (I was to
go the morning of the 13th) was a sad morning to me. The morning was
clear, without a cloud. I was told where the man lived, and I must go,
for he had bought me. I thought of my parents; should I, oh! should I
never see them again? As I was taught to obey my superiors, I set out;
it was a little over a mile. The way was long. I went alone. Tears ran
down my cheeks. I then felt for the first time that I was alone in the
world, no home, no friends, and none to care for me. Tears ran, but it
did no good; I must go, and on I went. And now sixty-five years have
passed away since that time; those feelings are fresh in my memory.
But on my way to my new home I saw my father; I will not attempt to
describe my feelings when he told me he had taken rooms in the same
neighborhood, and should be near me. That made the rough way smooth.
I went on then cheerful and happy. I arrived at the place. I found a
man with a small family; it consisted of himself and wife and three
daughters. The oldest was near my age. The family appeared pleasant. I
ate a bowl of bread and milk, and was told to mount a horse that was
at the door with a bag of rye on his back, and ride to the field; that
was about a mile off. The man went with me, and on the way we passed
the house of Mrs. Curtiss, where I mentioned in the former part of
this narrative of going for well-water for Mrs. Upson. We went to the
field and worked that day; went home at night. The family appeared very
pleasant, and I felt pleased to think that the parson had gone, for I
was told that he went the same day that I went to my new home. In a
short time my father and mother and sister came into the neighborhood
to live. I was allowed to go and see them one evening in two weeks.
They lived about sixty rods from where I lived. Things went on well.
I was very contented, and felt glad that the fear of being carried
south was at an end. The parson was out of town and out of mind. I soon
became acquainted with Mrs. Curtiss’ boys, for I passed the house where
they lived every day, as Mr. Munger’s farm was beyond where they lived.
I soon was feeling contented and happy. There was one thing that was
unfortunate for me; Mr. Munger was not a stout, strong man, and not
very healthy, and had no other help but me, and of course I had many
things to do beyond my strength. I do not complain of many things, yet
there are two things more I will mention. One of them I feel to this
day, and that I feel the most is that I did not have an opportunity
to go to school as much as I should, for all the books I ever had in
school were a spelling-book, a primer, a Testament, a reading-book
called Third Part, and after that a Columbian Orator. My schooling was
broken and unsteady after the first and second winters, as Mr. Munger
had no help, and had to go something like two miles for his wood. He
would take me with him to the woods, and he would take a load and go
home, and leave me to chop while he was gone. The wood was taken off
from a fallow where he had sowed rye. It was in piles. Some had to be
cut once, and some twice, and some three times. I went to school the
most of the first winter; after that my schooling was slim. The other
thing was, he was fond of using the lash. I thought so then, and made
up my mind if I ever was the strongest I would pay back some of it.
However, things went on, and I thought a good deal of Mr. Munger; yet
I wonder sometimes why I was not more contented than I was, and then I
wonder why I was as contented as I was. The summers that I was thirteen
and fourteen, I was sick; they began to think I had the consumption.
They sometimes would say to me, “If you should die we should lose a
hundred pounds.” I do not know as Mr. Munger ever said that, but it was
said to me. But I will pass on with my story.
I soon found out that I was to live or stay with the man until I was
twenty-five. I found that white boys who were bound out, were bound
until they were twenty-one. I thought that rather strange, for those
boys told me they were to have one hundred dollars when their time
was out. They would say to me sometimes, “You have to work four years
longer than we do, and get nothing when you have done, and we get one
hundred dollars, a Bible, and two suits of clothes.” This I thought of.
Some of the family or friends of the family would tell me what a good
boy I should be, because Mr. Munger saved me from slavery. They said
I must call him Master; but Mr. Munger never told me to, so I never
did. If he had told me to, I should have done so, for I stood greatly
in fear of him, and dreaded his displeasure, for I did not like the
lash. I had made up my mind that I would not stay with him after I
was twenty-one, unless my brother did with the man he lived with. My
brother had been home to see us, and we went once to see him. I asked
my brother how long he was going to stay with Mr. Bingham. He said
Mr. Bingham said he should have his time when he was twenty-one. Well
then, I would have my time, I said to myself. Things went on, and I
found Mr. Munger to be a very good sort of a man. I had now got to be
fifteen years of age. I had got my health, and had grown to be a big
boy, and was called pretty stout, as the word is, yet I was afraid of
Mr. Munger. I actually stood in fear of him.
I had now got to be in my sixteenth year, when a little affair
happened, which, though trivial in itself, yet was of consequence to
me. It was in the season of haying, and we were going to the hayfield
after a load of hay. Mr. Munger and I were in the cart, he sitting on
one side and I on the other. He took the fork in both of his hands, and
said to me very pleasantly, “Don’t you wish you were stout enough to
pull this away from me?” I looked at him, and said, “I guess I can;”
but I did not think so. He held it toward me with both his hands hold
of the stale. I looked at him and then at the fork, hardly daring to
take hold of it, and wondering what he meant, for this was altogether
new. He said, “Just now see if you can do it.” I took hold of it rather
reluctantly, but I shut my hand tight. I did as Samson did in the
temple; I bowed with all my might, and he came to me very suddenly. The
first thought that was in my mind was, my back is safe now. All went on
well for two months or more; all was pleasant, when one day he――or Mr.
Munger, I should have said――was going from home, and he told me, as was
usual, what to do. I went to my work, and did it just as he told me.
At night, when he came home, he asked me what I had been doing. I told
him, but he did not seem satisfied. I told him I had done just what he
told me. He said I had not done what I ought to have done. I told him I
had done what he told me. That was more than I had ever said before. He
was angry and got his horsewhip, and said he would learn me. He raised
his hand and stood ready to strike. I said, “You had better not!” I
then went out at the door. I felt grieved to see him in such a rage
when I had done just as he told me, and I could not account for it. If
he had been a drinking man, I should not have wondered; but he was not,
he was a sober man. I could not get over my feeling for some time, but
all was pleasant the next day. I said to his daughters that I would not
stay there a day after I was twenty-one, for I did not know what their
father meant. I did just as he told me, and thought I was doing what
he would be satisfied with. They told me not to mind it. Things went
on from that time as well as I could wish. From that time until I was
twenty-one, I do not remember that he ever gave me an unpleasant word
or look. While I lived with him, after that time, I felt that I had now
got as good a place as any of the boys that were living out. I often
went with his team to Hartford and to Hudson, which the other boys did
not that lived in the neighborhood. I now felt that I could do anything
for the family; I was contented and happy.
The year that I was eighteen, Mr. Munger was concerned in an iron
establishment, manufacturing iron. He had a sister living in Oneida
county, and he learned that iron was high or brought a good price
there. He told me he thought he would send a load out there and get a
load of wheat, and asked me if I would go out with a load. I told him
I would if he wished me to; he said he did. He got every thing ready,
and I set out the 17th day of October, and thought it would take me
about two weeks or thereabouts. On I went, and when I got there I could
exchange my iron for wheat readily, but none had their wheat out, and
their barn-floors were so full that they could not thrash. I had to
wait a week. As soon as I got my load, I set out for home. I was gone
a day or two over three weeks. After I got to Norfolk, I passed the
house where my parents lived. They told me that it was very current
with the people that I had sold the horses and wagon, and was seen
by some one that knew me, and was on my way to Canada. They said that
Mr. Munger said he did not believe it,――he said he should not trouble
himself. Yet I went on home. He was glad to see me; asked if I had any
bad luck. I told how it was, and he was satisfied, and said when he
saw the team that they were in better condition than they were when I
left home. “Now they may talk as much as they please; you and the team,
wagon and load are here.” And when I told him what I had done, he said
he was perfectly satisfied, I had done well; he had no fault to find.
Every thing went on first-rate. I did my best to please him, and it
seemed to me that the family did the same. I now took the hardest end
of the work. I was willing to do what I could. I was willing to work,
and thought much of the family, and they thought something of me. Mr.
Munger was receiving his share of offices of the town, and was from
home a portion of his time. I felt ambitious to have our work even with
others. He said his work went on as well as if he was there.
When I was in my twentieth year, a nephew of Mr. Munger came to board
with him; he was studying law. Mr. Munger and I were accustomed to
talk about my term of service with him. I told him I did not mean to
stay with him until I was twenty-five. He said he thought I would if I
meant to do what was fair and just. I told him that my brother had his
time when he was twenty-one, and I wanted my time. He finally had some
talk with his nephew, who said that he could hold me. But finally Mr.
Munger made me an offer of what he would give me if I would stay. I
thought the offer was tolerably fair. I had now become attached to the
family. I told him that I would stay, as he had often said he thought I
ought to stay after I was twenty-one. I thought I would divide the time
with him in part, as the offer he made would not cover the whole time.
All was fixed, and I worked on. Nothing more was said for a long time
about it; then the thing was spoken about, and the same mind was in us
both, and I felt satisfied. The fall previous to my being twenty-one
came; all was right, as I thought. The winter came and nothing was
said. The last of February came. I heard it hinted that Mr. Munger
had said that he should not make any bargain with me, but if I left
him he would follow me. The thing was understood by us, and I paid no
attention to it. March came, and nothing was said. The third of March
was my birthday. All was quiet, and I kept on as before until the first
of April. It was told me that Mr. Munger said that his nephew had
examined the law and found that he could hold me, and what he gave me
would be his unless he was bound by a written agreement. As there were
no writings given, I began to think it was time to know how it was.
There was another thing now came to mind.
When I was thirteen years old, Mr. Munger bought a calf of my father,
and gave it to me, and said he would keep it until it was two years
old, and then I might sell it and have what it brought. He kept it.
He had a mate for it, and when the steers were two years old he sold
them for twenty-four dollars. He then told me that he would give me a
heifer of the age the steer was, and when she had a calf he would take
her to double in four years. When I was seventeen he gave me a heifer,
and she had a calf that spring, and the first of April he said he would
take her, and at the end of four years from that time he would give me
two cows and two calves. That was agreed on. The next year, in March or
April, one of his oxen hooked my cow; it hurt her so that the cow died.
Well, now, what was to be done? He said at the time agreed on I should
have my cows. I was content with that and worked on, feeling that
all would be made right. I thought I should have two cows with those
calves when I was twenty-one, and that would be a beginning. Afterward
I agreed to stay with him until I was twenty-five; I could let them
until that time. I will now go on with my story. I asked him for my
cows and calves. He said he should not let me have any. He said if I
stayed and did well perhaps he would give me a cow. I asked him if that
was all that I was to have if I stayed until I was twenty-five. He said
he would see. I asked when he would see. He said when the time came.
I then told him I had been told that Warren (that was the name of his
nephew) had told him not to give me what he had agreed to, and I wanted
to know if he would do as he had agreed to or not. He said I belonged
to him, and I could not help myself. I told him I would stay with him
as I had said if he would give me a writing obligating himself to give
me the sum we had agreed upon. After hesitating a short time, he said
he would not give a writing; he would not be bound. I told him I had
got that impression, “and if you say you will not give me what you said
you would, I will not work another day.” He then said if I left him he
would put me in jail and keep me there a year at any rate. This was on
Saturday. The next day I picked up what few duds I had, and at evening,
as it was the Sabbath, I told him I had done all the work for him that
I should do. I then bade him good night and left his house, and went
to my father’s. The next day in the afternoon, Mr. Munger and nephew
came to my father’s with a sheriff. I was not in the house. He told my
father that he would pay my board in jail for one year, and I could not
help myself. They took what few clothes I had, and went away before I
got home. It was well it was so. I told my father that I would stay in
jail as long as Mr. Munger would find money. I sent the word to Mr.
Munger. He sent me word that I should have an opportunity to. My people
wanted to have me go away for a time. I thought at first I would. Then
I saw that I had nothing to go with, and had no clothes for a change.
I would not leave. I told them I would go to jail. I thought perhaps I
could get the liberty of the yard, and then I could earn something to
get some clothes, and then I would leave for Canada or some other parts.
A few days after, I heard that Mr. Munger said he would leave it to
men how it should be settled, and he sent me such word. I sent word to
him, no, I was going to jail, if he would keep his word. He finally
said as I had always been faithful, he would not or had rather not put
me in jail. My parents said so much, they did not want to have me go to
jail, that I finally said I would leave it to three men if they were
men that I liked: if they were not, I would not. He said I might name
the men; their judgment was to be final. The men were selected, the
time and place specified. The day came, the parties met, and the men
were on hand. Mr. Munger had his nephew for counsel; I plead my case
myself. A number of the neighbors were present. Mr. Munger’s counsel
began by saying that his uncle had bought me, and had paid for me
until I was twenty-five, and that he had a right to me. I then told
his nephew that I would have a right to him some day, for he was the
cause of all the difficulty. He said no more. The arbitrators asked Mr.
Munger if he had anything against me. He said he had not. They asked
him, in case they gave him anything, if he wished me to work it out
with him; he said he did. They went out a few moments, and returned and
said that I must pay Mr. Munger $90. He then asked me to go home with
him, and he would hire me. I told him I would go and get my clothes,
for that was in the decision. He said I could have them. His nephew did
not want me to live with his uncle, if he boarded with him. I told Mr.
Munger that I would not work for him. I hired to another man, and went
to work in the same neighborhood. This nephew kept an eye on me for a
long time, and always gave me the road whenever he saw me coming. Mr.
Munger and family always treated me with attention whenever I met them;
they made me welcome to their house and to their table. If that nephew
had not interfered, there would have been no trouble.
Things all went on pleasantly. In about four years I went there again
to work, and in a short time Mr. Munger and his two daughters joined
the church of which his wife was a member. I joined the same church,
and was often at his house. Mr. Munger was unfortunate and lost his
property, not as people lose their property now. He was poor and not
very healthy, and his wife and the daughter that was not married, not
being healthy, and he being a man advanced in life, it wore upon him
and his family, and his daughter went into a decline. I went west,
and was gone about three months, and on my return went to see the
family, and found the daughter very much out of health and wasting
away. I called again the next day but one. As I had been accustomed
to take care of the sick, she asked me to stop with her that night. I
did so, and went to my work in the morning. The second day after, I
called again to see her, and she made the same request. I staid and
watched with her that night. She asked what I thought of her; I told
her I feared she would never be any better. She then asked me to stay
with her if she did not get any better, while she lived. I told her
I would. A cousin of hers, a young lady, was there, and we took the
care of her for four weeks. I mention this because it was a time to be
remembered and cherished by me while I live. We were in the daily habit
of speaking of her prospects and how she felt. She would speak of death
with as much apparent composure as of any other subject. She said very
little to her friends about her feelings. The day that she died was the
evening of the Sabbath. About six o’clock in the afternoon, or rather
all that day, she did not appear to be as well; but at the time just
mentioned she sunk away and seemed to be gone for a short time, when
she revived as one out of sleep, suddenly, and seemed surprised, and
said, “There is nothing that I want to stay here for; let me go.” She
then bade her friends farewell, and told them not to weep for her, for
she was going. Her countenance seemed as if lit up with heavenly love,
and for a short time she seemed to be away from the world, and then was
still and said but little. About eleven o’clock she wanted to be moved.
She was moved. She then wanted to drink. I gave her, or put the glass
to her lips. She did not swallow any. I saw there was a change, and
before her friends could get into the room her spirit had fled.
That was a scene that I love to think of. It makes me almost forget
that I ever was a slave to her father; but so it was. I staid until she
was buried, and then I went West again. Her parents were broken-hearted
indeed. I returned from the West, and spent a part of the summer with
Mr. Munger.
I afterwards worked where I chose for a few years. I was frequently at
Mr. Munger’s house. He seemed depressed, his health rather declined,
and he finally sank down and was sick. He sent for me; I went to
him, and he said he wished to have me stay with him. I told him I
would, and I staid with him until he died, and closed the eyes of his
daughter when she died, and his also. And now to look back on the whole
transaction, it all seems like a dream. It is all past, never to be
re-acted. That family have all gone, with one exception.