I was born a slave; but I never knew it till six years of happy
childhood had passed away. My father was a carpenter, and considered so
intelligent and skilful in his trade, that, when buildings out of the
common line were to be erected, he was sent for from long distances,
to be head workman. On condition of paying his mistress two hundred
dollars a year, and supporting himself, he was allowed to work at his
trade, and manage his own affairs. His strongest wish was to purchase
his children; but, though he several times offered his hard earnings
for that purpose, he never succeeded. In complexion my parents were a
light shade of brownish yellow, and were termed mulattoes. They lived
together in a comfortable home; and, though we were all slaves, I was
so fondly shielded that I never dreamed I was a piece of merchandise,
trusted to them for safe keeping, and liable to be demanded of them at
any moment. I had one brother, William, who was two years younger than
myself—a bright, affectionate child. I had also a great treasure in my
maternal grandmother, who was a remarkable woman in many respects. She
was the daughter of a planter in South Carolina, who, at his death,
left her mother and his three children free, with money to go to St.
Augustine, where they had relatives. It was during the Revolutionary
War; and they were captured on their passage, carried back, and sold
to different purchasers. Such was the story my grandmother used to
tell me; but I do not remember all the particulars. She was a little
girl when she was captured and sold to the keeper of a large hotel.
I have often heard her tell how hard she fared during childhood.
But as she grew older she evinced so much intelligence, and was so
faithful, that her master and mistress could not help seeing it was
for their interest to take care of such a valuable piece of property.
She became an indispensable personage in the household, officiating in
all capacities, from cook and wet nurse to seamstress. She was much
praised for her cooking; and her nice crackers became so famous in
the neighborhood that many people were desirous of obtaining them. In
consequence of numerous requests of this kind, she asked permission
of her mistress to bake crackers at night, after all the household
work was done; and she obtained leave to do it, provided she would
clothe herself and her children from the profits. Upon these terms,
after working hard all day for her mistress, she began her midnight
bakings, assisted by her two oldest children. The business proved
profitable; and each year she laid by a little, which was saved for a
fund to purchase her children. Her master died, and the property was
divided among his heirs. The widow had her dower in the hotel, which
she continued to keep open. My grandmother remained in her service as
a slave; but her children were divided among her master’s children. As
she had five, Benjamin, the youngest one, was sold, in order that each
heir might have an equal portion of dollars and cents. There was so
little difference in our ages that he seemed more like my brother than
my uncle. He was a bright, handsome lad, nearly white; for he inherited
the complexion my grandmother had derived from Anglo-Saxon ancestors.
Though only ten years old, seven hundred and twenty dollars were paid
for him. His sale was a terrible blow to my grandmother; but she was
naturally hopeful, and she went to work with renewed energy, trusting
in time to be able to purchase some of her children. She had laid up
three hundred dollars, which her mistress one day begged as a loan,
promising to pay her soon. The reader probably knows that no promise or
writing given to a slave is legally binding; for, according to Southern
laws, a slave, _being_ property, can _hold_ no property. When my
grandmother lent her hard earnings to her mistress, she trusted solely
to her honor. The honor of a slaveholder to a slave!
To this good grandmother I was indebted for many comforts. My brother
Willie and I often received portions of the crackers, cakes, and
preserves, she made to sell; and after we ceased to be children we were
indebted to her for many more important services.
Such were the unusually fortunate circumstances of my early childhood.
When I was six years old, my mother died; and then, for the first
time, I learned, by the talk around me, that I was a slave. My
mother’s mistress was the daughter of my grandmother’s mistress. She
was the foster sister of my mother; they were both nourished at my
grandmother’s breast. In fact, my mother had been weaned at three
months old, that the babe of the mistress might obtain sufficient
food. They played together as children; and, when they became women,
my mother was a most faithful servant to her whiter foster sister. On
her death-bed her mistress promised that her children should never
suffer for any thing; and during her lifetime she kept her word. They
all spoke kindly of my dead mother, who had been a slave merely in
name, but in nature was noble and womanly. I grieved for her, and my
young mind was troubled with the thought who would now take care of
me and my little brother. I was told that my home was now to be with
her mistress; and I found it a happy one. No toilsome or disagreeable
duties were imposed upon me. My mistress was so kind to me that I was
always glad to do her bidding, and proud to labor for her as much as
my young years would permit. I would sit by her side for hours, sewing
diligently, with a heart as free from care as that of any free-born
white child. When she thought I was tired, she would send me out to run
and jump; and away I bounded, to gather berries or flowers to decorate
her room. Those were happy days—too happy to last. The slave child had
no thought for the morrow; but there came that blight, which too surely
waits on every human being born to be a chattel.
When I was nearly twelve years old, my kind mistress sickened and died.
As I saw the cheek grow paler, and the eye more glassy, how earnestly I
prayed in my heart that she might live! I loved her; for she had been
almost like a mother to me. My prayers were not answered. She died,
and they buried her in the little churchyard, where, day after day, my
tears fell upon her grave.
I was sent to spend a week with my grandmother. I was now old enough to
begin to think of the future; and again and again I asked myself what
they would do with me. I felt sure I should never find another mistress
so kind as the one who was gone. She had promised my dying mother that
her children should never suffer for any thing; and when I remembered
that, and recalled her many proofs of attachment to me, I could not
help having some hopes that she had left me free. My friends were
almost certain it would be so. They thought she would be sure to do it,
on account of my mother’s love and faithful service. But, alas! we all
know that the memory of a faithful slave does not avail much to save
her children from the auction block.
After a brief period of suspense, the will of my mistress was read, and
we learned that she had bequeathed me to her sister’s daughter, a child
of five years old. So vanished our hopes. My mistress had taught me
the precepts of God’s Word: “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.”
“Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto
them.” But I was her slave, and I suppose she did not recognize me as
her neighbor. I would give much to blot out from my memory that one
great wrong. As a child, I loved my mistress; and, looking back on the
happy days I spent with her, I try to think with less bitterness of
this act of injustice. While I was with her, she taught me to read and
spell; and for this privilege, which so rarely falls to the lot of a
slave, I bless her memory.
She possessed but few slaves; and at her death those were all
distributed among her relatives. Five of them were my grandmother’s
children, and had shared the same milk that nourished her mother’s
children. Notwithstanding my grandmother’s long and faithful service to
her owners, not one of her children escaped the auction block. These
God-breathing machines are no more, in the sight of their masters, than
the cotton they plant, or the horses they tend.