There was a planter in the country, not far from us, whom I will call
Mr. Litch. He was an ill-bred, uneducated man, but very wealthy. He
had six hundred slaves, many of whom he did not know by sight. His
extensive plantation was managed by well-paid overseers. There was a
jail and a whipping post on his grounds; and whatever cruelties were
perpetrated there, they passed without comment. He was so effectually
screened by his great wealth that he was called to no account for his
crimes, not even for murder.
Various were the punishments resorted to. A favorite one was to tie a
rope round a man’s body, and suspend him from the ground. A fire was
kindled over him, from which was suspended a piece of fat pork. As
this cooked, the scalding drops of fat continually fell on the bare
flesh. On his own plantation, he required very strict obedience to the
eighth commandment. But depredations on the neighbors were allowable,
provided the culprit managed to evade detection or suspicion. If a
neighbor brought a charge of theft against any of his slaves, he was
browbeaten by the master, who assured him that his slaves had enough of
every thing at home, and had no inducement to steal. No sooner was the
neighbor’s back turned, than the accused was sought out, and whipped
for his lack of discretion. If a slave stole from him even a pound of
meat or a peck of corn, if detection followed, he was put in chains
and imprisoned, and so kept till his form was attenuated by hunger and
suffering.
A freshet once bore his wine cellar and meat house miles away from the
plantation. Some slaves followed, and secured bits of meat and bottles
of wine. Two were detected; a ham and some liquor being found in their
huts. They were summoned by their master. No words were used, but a
club felled them to the ground. A rough box was their coffin, and their
interment was a dog’s burial. Nothing was said.
Murder was so common on his plantation that he feared to be alone after
nightfall. He might have believed in ghosts.
His brother, if not equal in wealth, was at least equal in cruelty. His
bloodhounds were well trained. Their pen was spacious, and a terror to
the slaves. They were let loose on a runaway, and, if they tracked him,
they literally tore the flesh from his bones. When this slaveholder
died, his shrieks and groans were so frightful that they appalled his
own friends. His last words were, “I am going to hell; bury my money
with me.”
After death his eyes remained open. To press the lids down, silver
dollars were laid on them. These were buried with him. From this
circumstance, a rumor went abroad that his coffin was filled with
money. Three times his grave was opened, and his coffin taken out. The
last time, his body was found on the ground, and a flock of buzzards
were pecking at it. He was again interred, and a sentinel set over his
grave. The perpetrators were never discovered.
Cruelty is contagious in uncivilized communities. Mr. Conant, a
neighbor of Mr. Litch, returned from town one evening in a partial
state of intoxication. His body servant gave him some offence. He
was divested of his clothes, except his shirt, whipped, and tied to
a large tree in front of the house. It was a stormy night in winter.
The wind blew bitterly cold, and the boughs of the old tree crackled
under falling sleet. A member of the family, fearing he would freeze
to death, begged that he might be taken down; but the master would
not relent. He remained there three hours; and, when he was cut down,
he was more dead than alive. Another slave, who stole a pig from this
master, to appease his hunger, was terribly flogged. In desperation, he
tried to run away. But at the end of two miles, he was so faint with
loss of blood, he thought he was dying. He had a wife, and he longed to
see her once more. Too sick to walk, he crept back that long distance
on his hands and knees. When he reached his master’s, it was night.
He had not strength to rise and open the gate. He moaned, and tried
to call for help. I had a friend living in the same family. At last
his cry reached her. She went out and found the prostrate man at the
gate. She ran back to the house for assistance, and two men returned
with her. They carried him in, and laid him on the floor. The back of
his shirt was one clot of blood. By means of lard, my friend loosened
it from the raw flesh. She bandaged him, gave him cool drink, and left
him to rest. The master said he deserved a hundred more lashes. When
his own labor was stolen from him, he had stolen food to appease his
hunger. This was his crime.
Another neighbor was a Mrs. Wade. At no hour of the day was there
cessation of the lash on her premises. Her labors began with the
dawn, and did not cease till long after nightfall. The barn was her
particular place of torture. There she lashed the slaves with the might
of a man. An old slave of hers once said to me, “It is hell in missis’s
house. ’Pears I can never get out. Day and night I prays to die.”
The mistress died before the old woman, and, when dying, entreated her
husband not to permit any one of her slaves to look on her after death.
A slave who had nursed her children, and had still a child in her care,
watched her chance, and stole with it in her arms to the room where
lay her dead mistress. She gazed a while on her, then raised her hand
and dealt two blows on her face, saying, as she did so, “The devil is
got you _now_!” She forgot that the child was looking on. She had just
begun to talk; and she said to her father, “I did see ma, and mammy
did strike ma, so,” striking her own face with her little hand. The
master was startled. He could not imagine how the nurse could obtain
access to the room where the corpse lay; for he kept the door locked.
He questioned her. She confessed that what the child had said was true,
and told how she had procured the key. She was sold to Georgia.
In my childhood I knew a valuable slave, named Charity, and loved
her, as all children did. Her young mistress married, and took her to
Louisiana. Her little boy, James, was sold to a good sort of master.
He became involved in debt, and James was sold again to a wealthy
slaveholder, noted for his cruelty. With this man he grew up to
manhood, receiving the treatment of a dog. After a severe whipping,
to save himself from further infliction of the lash, with which he
was threatened, he took to the woods. He was in a most miserable
condition—cut by the cowskin, half naked, half starved, and without the
means of procuring a crust of bread.
Some weeks after his escape, he was captured, tied, and carried back to
his master’s plantation. This man considered punishment in his jail, on
bread and water, after receiving hundreds of lashes, too mild for the
poor slave’s offence. Therefore he decided, after the overseer should
have whipped him to his satisfaction, to have him placed between the
screws of the cotton gin, to stay as long as he had been in the woods.
This wretched creature was cut with the whip from his head to his feet,
then washed with strong brine, to prevent the flesh from mortifying,
and make it heal sooner than it otherwise would. He was then put into
the cotton gin, which was screwed down, only allowing him room to turn
on his side when he could not lie on his back. Every morning a slave
was sent with a piece of bread and bowl of water, which were placed
within reach of the poor fellow. The slave was charged, under penalty
of severe punishment, not to speak to him.
Four days passed, and the slave continued to carry the bread and
water. On the second morning, he found the bread gone, but the water
untouched. When he had been in the press four days and five nights,
the slave informed his master that the water had not been used for
four mornings, and that a horrible stench came from the gin house. The
overseer was sent to examine into it. When the press was unscrewed, the
dead body was found partly eaten by rats and vermin. Perhaps the rats
that devoured his bread had gnawed him before life was extinct. Poor
Charity! Grandmother and I often asked each other how her affectionate
heart would bear the news, if she should ever hear of the murder of
her son. We had known her husband, and knew that James was like him in
manliness and intelligence. These were the qualities that made it so
hard for him to be a plantation slave. They put him into a rough box,
and buried him with less feeling than would have been manifested for
an old house dog. Nobody asked any questions. He was a slave; and the
feeling was that the master had a right to do what he pleased with his
own property. And what did _he_ care for the value of a slave? He had
hundreds of them. When they had finished their daily toil, they must
hurry to eat their little morsels, and be ready to extinguish their
pine knots before nine o’clock, when the overseer went his patrol
rounds. He entered every cabin, to see that men and their wives had
gone to bed together, lest the men, from over-fatigue, should fall
asleep in the chimney corner, and remain there till the morning horn
called them to their daily task. Women are considered of no value,
unless they continually increase their owner’s stock. They are put on
a par with animals. This same master shot a woman through the head,
who had run away and been brought back to him. No one called him to
account for it. If a slave resisted being whipped, the bloodhounds
were unpacked, and set upon him, to tear his flesh from his bones. The
master who did these things was highly educated, and styled a perfect
gentleman. He also boasted the name and standing of a Christian, though
Satan never had a truer follower.
I could tell of more slaveholders as cruel as those I have described.
They are not exceptions to the general rule. I do not say there are
no humane slaveholders. Such characters do exist, notwithstanding the
hardening influences around them. But they are “like angels’ visits—few
and far between.”
I knew a young lady who was one of these rare specimens. She was an
orphan, and inherited as slaves a woman and her six children. Their
father was a free man. They had a comfortable home of their own,
parents and children living together. The mother and eldest daughter
served their mistress during the day, and at night returned to their
dwelling, which was on the premises. The young lady was very pious, and
there was some reality in her religion. She taught her slaves to lead
pure lives, and wished them to enjoy the fruit of their own industry.
_Her_ religion was not a garb put on for Sunday, and laid aside till
Sunday returned again. The eldest daughter of the slave mother was
promised in marriage to a free man; and the day before the wedding this
good mistress emancipated her, in order that her marriage might have
the sanction of _law_.
Report said that this young lady cherished an unrequited affection for
a man who had resolved to marry for wealth. In the course of time a
rich uncle of hers died. He left six thousand dollars to his two sons
by a colored woman, and the remainder of his property to this orphan
niece. The metal soon attracted the magnet. The lady and her weighty
purse became his. She offered to manumit her slaves—telling them that
her marriage might make unexpected changes in their destiny, and she
wished to insure their happiness. They refused to take their freedom,
saying that she had always been their best friend, and they could not
be so happy any where as with her. I was not surprised. I had often
seen them in their comfortable home, and thought that the whole town
did not contain a happier family. They had never felt slavery; and,
when it was too late, they were convinced of its reality.
When the new master claimed this family as his property, the father
became furious, and went to his mistress for protection. “I can do
nothing for you now, Harry,” said she. “I no longer have the power I
had a week ago. I have succeeded in obtaining the freedom of your wife;
but I cannot obtain it for your children.” The unhappy father swore
that nobody should take his children from him. He concealed them in the
woods for some days; but they were discovered and taken. The father was
put in jail, and the two oldest boys sold to Georgia. One little girl,
too young to be of service to her master, was left with the wretched
mother. The other three were carried to their master’s plantation. The
eldest soon became a mother, and, when the slaveholder’s wife looked at
the babe, she wept bitterly. She knew that her own husband had violated
the purity she had so carefully inculcated. She had a second child by
her master, and then he sold her and his offspring to his brother. She
bore two children to the brother, and was sold again. The next sister
went crazy. The life she was compelled to lead drove her mad. The third
one became the mother of five daughters. Before the birth of the fourth
the pious mistress died. To the last, she rendered every kindness to
the slaves that her unfortunate circumstances permitted. She passed
away peacefully, glad to close her eyes on a life which had been made
so wretched by the man she loved.
This man squandered the fortune he had received, and sought to retrieve
his affairs by a second marriage; but, having retired after a night of
drunken debauch, he was found dead in the morning. He was called a good
master; for he fed and clothed his slaves better than most masters,
and the lash was not heard on his plantation so frequently as on many
others. Had it not been for slavery, he would have been a better man,
and his wife a happier woman.
No pen can give an adequate description of the all-pervading corruption
produced by slavery. The slave girl is reared in an atmosphere of
licentiousness and fear. The lash and the foul talk of her master and
his sons are her teachers. When she is fourteen or fifteen, her owner,
or his sons, or the overseer, or perhaps all of them, begin to bribe
her with presents. If these fail to accomplish their purpose, she is
whipped or starved into submission to their will. She may have had
religious principles inculcated by some pious mother or grandmother, or
some good mistress; she may have a lover, whose good opinion and peace
of mind are dear to her heart; or the profligate men who have power
over her may be exceedingly odious to her. But resistance is hopeless.
“The poor worm
Shall prove her contest vain. Life’s little day
Shall pass, and she is gone!”
The slaveholder’s sons are, of course, vitiated, even while boys, by
the unclean influences every where around them. Nor do the master’s
daughters always escape. Severe retributions sometimes come upon him
for the wrongs he does to the daughters of the slaves. The white
daughters early hear their parents quarrelling about some female slave.
Their curiosity is excited, and they soon learn the cause. They are
attended by the young slave girls whom their father has corrupted; and
they hear such talk as should never meet youthful ears, or any other
ears. They know that the women slaves are subject to their father’s
authority in all things; and in some cases they exercise the same
authority over the men slaves. I have myself seen the master of such a
household whose head was bowed down in shame; for it was known in the
neighborhood that his daughter had selected one of the meanest slaves
on his plantation to be the father of his first grandchild. She did
not make her advances to her equals, nor even to her father’s more
intelligent servants. She selected the most brutalized, over whom her
authority could be exercised with less fear of exposure. Her father,
half frantic with rage, sought to revenge himself on the offending
black man; but his daughter, foreseeing the storm that would arise, had
given him free papers, and sent him out of the state.
In such cases the infant is smothered, or sent where it is never seen
by any who know its history. But if the white parent is the _father_,
instead of the mother, the offspring are unblushingly reared for the
market. If they are girls, I have indicated plainly enough what will be
their inevitable destiny.
You may believe what I say; for I write only that whereof I know. I was
twenty-one years in that cage of obscene birds. I can testify, from my
own experience and observation, that slavery is a curse to the whites
as well as to the blacks. It makes the white fathers cruel and sensual;
the sons violent and licentious; it contaminates the daughters, and
makes the wives wretched. And as for the colored race, it needs an
abler pen than mine to describe the extremity of their sufferings, the
depth of their degradation.
Yet few slaveholders seem to be aware of the widespread moral ruin
occasioned by this wicked system. Their talk is of blighted cotton
crops—not of the blight on their children’s souls.
If you want to be fully convinced of the abominations of slavery, go
on a southern plantation, and call yourself a negro trader. Then there
will be no concealment; and you will see and hear things that will seem
to you impossible among human beings with immortal souls.