[Illustration]
NARRATIVE
OF
HENRY BOX BROWN,
WHO ESCAPED FROM SLAVERY
ENCLOSED IN A BOX 3 FEET LONG AND 2 WIDE.
WRITTEN FROM A
STATEMENT OF FACTS MADE BY HIMSELF.
WITH REMARKS UPON THE REMEDY FOR SLAVERY.
BY CHARLES STEARNS.
BOSTON:
PUBLISHED BY BROWN & STEARNS.
FOR SALE BY BELA MARSH, 25 CORNHILL.
ABNER FORBES, PRINTER,
37 Cornhill.
PREFACE.
Not for the purpose of administering to a prurient desire to “hear and
see some new thing,” nor to gratify any inclination on the part of the
hero of the following story to be honored by man, is this simple and
touching narrative of the perils of a seeker after the “boon of
liberty,” introduced to the public eye; but that the people of this
country may be made acquainted with the horrid sufferings endured by one
as, in a _portable prison_, shut out from the light of heaven, and
nearly deprived of its balmy air, he pursued his fearful journey
directly through the heart of a country making its boasts of liberty and
freedom to all, and that thereby a chord of human sympathy may be
touched in the hearts of those who listen to his plaintive tale, which
may be the means of furthering the spread of those principles, which
under God, shall yet prove “mighty to the pulling down of the
strong-holds” of slavery.
O reader, as you peruse this heart-rending tale, let the tear of
sympathy roll freely from your eyes, and let the deep fountains of human
feeling, which God has implanted in the breast of every son and daughter
of Adam, burst forth from their enclosure, until a stream shall flow
therefrom on to the surrounding world, of so invigorating and purifying
a nature, as to arouse from the “death of the sin” of slavery, and
cleanse from the pollutions thereof, all with whom you may be connected.
As Henry Box Brown’s thrilling escape is portrayed before you, let it
not be perused by you as an idle tale, while you go away “forgetting
what manner of persons you are;” but let truth find an avenue through
your sensibilities, by which it can reach the citadel of your soul, and
there dwell in all its life-giving power, expelling the whole
brotherhood of pro-slavery errors, which politicians, priests, and
selfish avarice, have introduced to the acquaintance of your
intellectual faculties. These faculties are oftener blinded by
selfishness, than are imbecile of themselves, as the powerful intellect
of a Webster is led captive to the inclinations of a not unselfish
heart; so that that which should be the ruling power of every man’s
nature, is held in degrading submission to the inferior feelings of his
heart. If man is blinded to the appreciation of the good, by a mass of
selfish sensibilities, may he not be induced to surrender his will to
the influence of truth, by _benevolent_ feelings being caused to spring
forth in his heart? That this may be the case with all whose eyes gaze
upon the picture here drawn of misery, and of endurance, worthy of a
Spartan, and such as a hero of olden times might be proud of, and
transmit to posterity, along with the armorial emblazonry of his
ancestors, is the ardent desire of all connected with the publication of
this work. A word in regard to the literary character of the tale before
you. The narrator is freshly from a land where books and schools are
forbidden under severe penalties, to all in his former condition, and of
course knoweth not letters, having never learned them; but of his
capabilities otherwise, no one can doubt, when they recollect that if
the records of all nations, from the time when Adam and Eve first placed
their free feet upon the soil of Eden, until the conclusion of the
scenes depicted by Hildreth and Macaulay, should be diligently searched,
a parallel instance of heroism, in behalf of personal liberty, could not
be found. Instances of fortitude for the defence of religious freedom,
and in cases of a violation of conscience being required; and for the
sake of offspring, of friends and of one’s country are not uncommon; but
whose heroism and ability to contrive, united, have equalled our
friend’s whose story is now before you?[1]
A William and an Ellen Craft, indeed performed an almost equally
hazardous undertaking, and one which, as a devoted admirer of human
daring has said, far exceeded any thing recorded by Macaulay, and will
yet be made the ground-work for a future Scott to build a more intensely
interesting tale upon than “the author of Waverly” ever put forth, but
they had the benefit of their eyes and ears--they were not entirely
helpless; enclosed in a moving tomb, and as utterly destitute of power
to control your movements as if death had fastened its icy arm upon you,
and yet possessing all the full tide of gushing sensibilities, and a
complete knowledge of your existence, as was the case with our friend.
We read with horror of the burial of persons before life has entirely
fled from them, but here is a man who voluntarily assumed a condition in
which he well knew all the chances were against him, and when his head
seemed well-nigh severed from his body, on account of the concussion
occasioned by the rough handling to which he was subject, see the
Spartan firmness of his soul. Not a groan escaped from his agonized
heart, as the realities of his condition were so vividly presented
before him. Death stared him in the face, but like Patrick Henry, only
when the alternative was more a matter of fact than it was to that
patriot, he exclaims, “Give me liberty or give me death;” and death
seemed to say, as quickly as the lion seizes the kid cast into its den,
“You are already mine,” and was about to wrap its sable mantle around
the form of our self-martyred hero--bound fast upon the altars of
freedom, as the Hindoo widow is bound upon the altar of a husband’s
love; when the bright angel of liberty, whose dazzling form he had so
long and so anxiously watched, as he pored over the scheme hid in the
recesses of his own fearless brain, while yet a slave, and whose shining
eyes had bewitched his soul, until he had said in the language of one of
old to Jesus, “I will follow thee whithersoever thou goest;” when this
blessed goddess stood at his side, and, as Jesus said to one lying cold
in death’s embrace, “I say unto thee, arise,” said to him, as she took
him by the hand and lifted him from his travelling tomb, “thy warfare is
over, thy work is accomplished, a free man art thou, my guidance has
availed thee, arise and breathe the air of freedom.”
Did Lazarus astonish his weeping sisters, and the surrounding multitude,
as he emerged from his house of clay, clad in the habiliments of the
grave, and did joy unfeigned spread throughout that gazing throng? How
much more astonishing seemed the birth of Mr. Brown, as he “came forth”
from a box, clothed not in the habiliments of the grave, but in those of
slavery, worse than the “silent house of death,” as his acts had
testified; and what greater joy thrilled through the wondering
witnesses, as the lid was removed from the travelling carriage of our
friend’s electing, and straightway arose therefrom a living man, a being
made in God’s own image, a son of Jehovah, whom the piety and
republicanism of this nation had doomed to pass through this terrible
ordeal, before the wand of the goddess of liberty could complete his
transformation from a slave to a free man! But we will desist from
further comments. Here is the plain narrative of our friend, and is it
asking too much of you, whose sympathies may be aroused by the recital
which follows, to continue to peruse these pages until the cause of all
his sufferings is depicted before you, and your duty under the
circumstances is clearly pointed out?
Here are the identical words uttered by him as soon as he inhaled the
fresh air of freedom, after the faintness occasioned by his sojourn in
his temporary tomb had passed away.
HYMN OF THANKSGIVING,
SUNG BY HENRY BOX BROWN,
_After being released from his confinement in the Box, at Philadelphia_.
I waited patiently, I waited patiently for the Lord, for the Lord,
And he inclined unto me, and heard my calling;
I waited patiently, I waited patiently for the Lord,
And he inclined unto me, and heard my calling;
And he hath put a new song in my mouth,
Ev’n a thanksgiving, Ev’n a thanksgiving, Ev’n a thanksgiving
unto our God.
Blessed, Blessed, Blessed, Blessed is the man, Blessed is the man,
Blessed is the man that hath set his hope, his hope in the Lord;
O Lord my God, Great, Great, Great,
Great are the wondrous works which thou hast done,
Great are the wondrous works which thou hast done, which thou hast done,
Great are the wondrous works,
Great are the wondrous works,
Great are the wondrous works, which thou hast done.
If I should declare them and speak of them, they should
be more, more, more than I am able to express.
I have not kept back thy loving kindness and truth from the
great congregation,
I have not kept back thy loving kindness and truth from the
great congregation.
Withdraw not thou thy mercy from me,
Withdraw not thou thy mercy from me, O Lord;
Let thy loving kindness and thy truth always preserve me,
Let all those that seek thee be joyful and glad,
Let all those that seek thee, be joyful and glad, be joyful,
be glad, be joyful and glad, be joyful, be joyful, be joyful,
be joyful, be joyful and glad, be glad in thee.
And let such as love thy salvation,
And let such as love thy salvation, say always,
The Lord be praised,
The Lord be praised:
Let all those that seek thee be joyful and glad,
And let such as love thy salvation, say always,
The Lord be praised,
The Lord be praised,
The Lord be praised.
_Boston, Sept. 1, 1849._
NARRATIVE.
I am not about to harrow the feelings of my readers by a terrific
representation of the untold horrors of that fearful system of
oppression, which for thirty-three long years entwined its snaky folds
about my soul, as the serpent of South America coils itself around the
form of its unfortunate victim. It is not my purpose to descend deeply
into the dark and noisome caverns of the hell of slavery, and drag from
their frightful abode those lost spirits who haunt the souls of the poor
slaves, daily and nightly with their frightful presence, and with the
fearful sound of their terrific instruments of torture; for other pens
far abler than mine have effectually performed that portion of the labor
of an exposer of the enormities of slavery. Slavery, like the shield
discovered by the knights of olden time, has two diverse sides to it;
the one, on which is fearfully written in letters of blood, the
character of the mass who carry on that dreadful system of unhallowed
bondage; the other, touched with the pencil of a gentler delineator, and
telling the looker on, a tale of comparative freedom, from the terrible
deprivations so vividly portrayed on its opposite side.
My book will present, if possible, the beautiful side of the picture of
slavery; will entertain you with stories of partial kindness on the part
of my master, and of comparative enjoyment on my own part, as I grew up
under the benign influence of the blessed system so closely connected
with our “republican institutions,” as Southern politicians tell us.
From the time I first breathed the air of human existence, until the
hour of my escape from bondage, I did not receive but one whipping. I
never suffered from lack of food, or on account of too extreme labor;
nor for want of sufficient clothing to cover my person. My tale is not,
therefore, one of horrid inflictions of the lash upon my naked body; of
cruel starvings and of insolent treatment; but is the very best
representation of slavery which can be given; therefore, reader, allow
me to inform you, as you, for aught I know, may be one of those degraded
mortals who fancy that if no blows are inflicted upon the slave’s body,
and a plenty of “bread and bacon” is dealed out to him, he is therefore
no sufferer, and slavery is not a cruel institution; allow me to inform
you, that I did not escape from such deprivations. It was not for fear
of the lash’s dreaded infliction, that I endured that fearful
imprisonment, which you are waiting to read concerning; nor because of
destitution of the necessaries of life, did I enclose myself in my
travelling prison, and traverse your boasted land of freedom, a portion
of the time with my head in an inverted position, as if it were a
terrible crime for me to endeavor to escape from slavery.
Far beyond, in terrible suffering, all outward cruelties of the foul
system, are those inner pangs which rend the heart of fond affection,
when the “bone of your bone, and the flesh of your flesh” is separated
from your embrace, by the ruthless hand of the merciless tyrant, as he
plucks from your heart of love, the one whom God hath given you for a
“help-meet” through the journey of life; and more fearful by far than
all the blows of the bloody lash, or the pangs of cruel hunger are those
lashings of the _heart_, which the best of slaveholders inflict upon
their happy and “well off” slaves, as they tear from their grasp the
pledges of love, smiling at the side of devoted attachment. Tell me not
of kind masters under slavery’s hateful rule! There is no such thing as
a person of that description; for, as you will see, my master, one of
the most distinguished of this uncommon class of slaveholders, hesitated
not to allow the wife of my love to be torn from my fond embrace, and
the darling idols of my heart, my little children, to be snatched from
my arms, and thus to doom them to a separation from me, more dreadful to
all of us than a large number of lashes, inflicted on us daily. And yet
to this fate I was continually subject, during a large portion of the
time, when heaven _seemed_ to smile propitiously above me; and no black
clouds of fearful character lowered over my head. Heaven save me from
kind masters, as well as from those called more cruel; for even their
“tender mercies are cruel,” and what no freeman could endure for a
moment. My tale necessarily lacks that thrilling interest which is
attached to the more than romantic, although perfectly true descriptions
of a life in slavery, given by my numerous forerunners in the work of
sketching a slave’s personal experience; but I shall endeavor to
intermingle with it other scenes which came under my own observation,
which will serve to convince you, that if I was spared a worse fate
than actually fell to my lot, yet my comrades around me were not so
fortunate; but were the victims of the ungovernable rage of those men,
of whose characters one cannot be informed, without experiencing within
his soul, a rushing of overflowing emotions of pity, indignation and
horror.
I first drew the breath of life in Louisa County, Va., forty-five miles
from the city of Richmond, in the year 1816. I was born a slave. Not
because at the moment of my birth an angel stood by, and declared that
such was the will of God concerning me; although in a country whose most
honored writings declare that all men have a right to liberty, given
them by their Creator, it seems strange that I, or any of my brethren,
could have been born without this inalienable right, unless God had thus
signified his departure from his usual rule, as described by our
fathers. Not, I say, on account of God’s willing it to be so, was I born
a slave, but for the reason that nearly all the people of this country
are united in legislating against heaven, and have contrived to vote
down our heavenly father’s rules, and to substitute for them, that cruel
law which binds the chains of slavery upon one sixth part of the
inhabitants of this land. I was born a slave! and wherefore? Tyrants,
remorseless, destitute of religion and principle, stood by the couch of
my mother, as heaven placed a pure soul, in the infantile form, there
lying in her arms--a new being, never having breathed earth’s atmosphere
before; and fearlessly, with no compunctions of remorse, stretched forth
their bloody arms and pressed the life of God from me, baptizing my soul
and body as their own property; goods and chattels in their hands! Yes,
they robbed me of myself, before I could know the nature of their wicked
acts; and for ever afterwards, until I took possession of my own soul
and body, did they retain their stolen property. This was why I was born
a slave. Reader, can you understand the horrors of that fearful name?
Listen, and I will assist you in this difficult work. My father, and my
_mother_ of course, were slaves before me; but both of them are now
enjoying the invaluable boon of liberty, having purchased themselves, in
this land of freedom! At an early age, my mother would take me on her
knee, and pointing to the forest trees adjacent, now being stripped of
their thick foliage by autumnal winds, would say to me, “my son, as
yonder leaves are stripped from off the trees of the forest, so are the
children of slaves swept away from them by the hands of cruel tyrants;”
and her voice would tremble, and she would seem almost choked with her
deep emotions, while the big tears would find their way down her
saddened cheeks, as she fondly pressed me to her heaving bosom, as if to
save me from so dreaded a calamity. I was young then, but I well
recollect the sadness of her countenance, and the mournfulness of her
words, and they made a deep impression upon my youthful mind. Mothers of
the North, as you gaze upon the free forms of your idolized little ones,
as they playfully and confidently move around you, O if you knew that
the lapse of a few years would infallibly remove them from your
affectionate care, not to be laid in the silent grave, “where the wicked
cease from troubling,” but to be the sport of cruel men, and the victims
of barbarous tyrants, who would snatch them from your side, as the
robber seizes upon the bag of gold in the traveller’s hand; O, would
not your life then be rendered a miserable one indeed? Who can trace the
workings of a slave mother’s soul, as she counts over the hours, the
departure of which, she almost knows, will rob her of her darling
children, and consign them to a fate more horrible than death’s cold
embrace! O, who can hear of these cruel deprivations, and not be aroused
to action in the slave’s behalf?
My mother used to instruct me in the principles of morality, as much as
she was able; but I was deplorably ignorant on religious subjects, for
what ideas can a slave have of religion, when those who profess it
around him, are demons in human shape oftentimes, as you will presently
see was the case with my master’s overseer? My mother used to tell me
not to steal, and not to lie, and to behave myself properly in other
respects. She took a great deal of pains with me and my brother; which
resulted in our endeavors to conduct ourselves with propriety. As a
specimen of the religious knowledge of the slaves, I will state here my
ideas in regard to my master; assuring the reader that I am not joking,
but stating what was the opinion of all the slave children on my
master’s plantation; and I have often talked it over with my early
associates, and my mother, and enjoyed hearty laughs at the absurdity of
our youthful ideas.
I really believed my old master was Almighty God, and that his son, my
young master, was Jesus Christ.[2] One reason I had for this belief
was, that when it was about to thunder, my old master would approach us,
if we were in the yard, and say, “All you children run into the house
now, for it is going to thunder,” and after the shower was over, we
would go out again, and he would approach us smilingly, and say, “What a
fine shower we have had,” and bidding us look at the flowers in the
garden, would say, “how pretty the flowers look now.” We thought that
_he_ thundered, and caused the rain to fall; and not until I was eight
years of age, did I get rid of this childish superstition. Our master
was uncommonly kind, and as he moved about in his dignity, he seemed
like a god to us, and probably he did not dislike our reverential
feelings towards him. All the slaves called his son, our Saviour, and
the way I was enlightened on this point was as follows. One day after
returning from church, my mother told father of a woman who wished to
join the church. She told the preacher she had been baptized by one of
the slaves, who was called from his office, “John the Baptist;” and on
being asked by the minister if she believed “that our Saviour came into
the world, and had died for the sins of man,” she replied, that she
“knew he had come into the world,” but she “had not heard he was dead,
as she lived so far from the road, she did not learn much that was going
on in the world.” I then asked mother, if young master was dead. She
said it was not him they were talking about; it was “our Saviour in
heaven.” I then asked her if there were two Saviours, when she told me
that young master was not “our Saviour,” which filled me with
astonishment, and I could not understand it at first. Not long after
this, my sister became anxious to have her soul converted, and shaved
the hair from her head, as many of the slaves thought they could not be
converted without doing this. My mother reproved her, and began to tell
her of God who dwelt in heaven, and that she must pray to him to convert
her. This surprised me still more, and I asked her if old master was not
God; to which she replied that he was not, and began to instruct me a
little in reference to the God of heaven. After this, I believed there
was a God who ruled the world, but I did not previously, have the least
idea of any such being. And why should not my childish fancy be correct,
according to the blasphemous teachings of the heathen system of slavery?
Does not every slaveholder assume exclusive control over all the actions
of his unfortunate victims? Most assuredly he does, as this extract from
the laws of a slaveholding State will show you. “A slave is one who is
in the power of his master, to whom he belongs. A slave owes to his
master and all his family, _respect without bounds and absolute
obedience_.” How tallies this with the unalterable law of Jehovah, “Thou
shalt have no other gods before me?” Does not the system of slavery
effectually shut out from the slave’s heart, all true knowledge of the
eternal God, and doom him to grope his perilous way, amid the thick
darkness of unenlightened heathenism, although he dwells in a land
professing much religion, and an entire freedom from the superstitions
of paganism?
Let me tell you my opinion of the slaveholding religion of this land. I
believe in a hell, where the wicked will forever dwell, and knowing the
character of slaveholders and slavery, it is my settled belief, as it
was while I was a slave, even though I was treated kindly, that _every_
slaveholder will infallibly go to that hell, unless he repents. I do not
believe in the religion of the Southern churches, nor do I perceive any
great difference between them, and those at the North, which uphold
them.
While a young lad, my principal employment was waiting upon my master
and mistress, and at intervals taking lessons in what is the destiny of
most of the slaves, the cultivation of the plantation. O how often as
the hot sun sent forth its scorching rays upon my tender head, did I
look forward with dismay, to the time, when I, like my fellow slaves,
should be driven by the task-master’s cruel lash, to the performance of
unrequited toil upon the plantation of my master. To this expectation is
the slave trained. Like the criminal under sentence of death, he notches
upon his wooden stick, as Sterne’s captive did, the days, after the
lapse of which he must be introduced to his dreaded fate; in the case of
the criminal, merely death--a cessation from the pains and toils of
life; but in our cases, the commencement of a living death; a death
never ending, second in horror only to the eternal torment of the wicked
in a future state. Yea, even worse than that, for there, a God of love
and mercy holds the rod of punishment in his own hand; but in our case,
it is held by men from whom almost the last vestige of goodness has
departed, and in whose hearts there dwells hardly a spark of humanity,
certainly not enough to keep them from the practice of the most inhuman
crimes. Imagine, reader, a fearful cloud, gathering blackness as it
advances towards you, and increasing in size constantly; hovering in the
deep blue vault of the firmament above you, which cloud seems loaded
with the elements of destruction, and from the contents of which you are
certain you cannot escape. You are sailing upon the now calm waters of
the broad and placid deep, spreading its “unadorned bosom” before you,
as far as your eye can reach,
“Calm as a slumbering babe,
Tremendous Ocean lays;”
and on its “burnished waves,” gracefully rides your little vessel,
without fear or dismay troubling your heart. But this fearful cloud is
pointed out to you, and as it gathers darkness, and rushes to the point
of the firmament overhanging your fated vessel, O what terror then
seizes upon your soul, as hourly you expect your little bark to be
deluged by the contents of the cloud, and riven by the fierce lightnings
enclosed in that mass of angry elements. So with the slave, only that he
knows his chances of escape are exceedingly small, while you may very
likely outlive the storm.
To this terrible apprehension we are all constantly subject. To-day,
master may smile lovingly upon us, and the sound of the cracking whip
may be hushed, but the dread uncertainty of our future fate still hangs
over us, and to-morrow may witness a return of all the elements of
fearful strife, as we emphatically “know not what a day may bring
forth.” The sweet songsters of the air, as it were, may warble their
musical notes ever so melodiously, harmonizing with the soft-blowing of
the western winds which invigorates our frames, and the genial warmth of
the early sun may fill us with pleasurable emotions; but we know that
ere long, this sweet singing must be silenced by the fierce cracking of
the bloody lash, falling on our own shoulders, and that the cool
breezes and the gentle heat of early morn, must be succeeded by the hot
winds and fiery rays of Slavery’s meridian day. The slave has _no
certainty_ of the enjoyment of _any privilege whatever_! All his fancied
blessings, without a moment’s warning being granted to him, may be swept
forever from his trembling grasp. Who will then say that “disguise
itself” as Slavery will, it is not “a bitter cup,” the mixture whereof
is gall and wormwood?
My brother and myself, were in the practice of carrying grain to mill, a
few times a year, which was the means of furnishing us with some
information respecting other slaves. We often went twenty miles, to a
mill owned by a Col. Ambler, in Yansinville county, and used to improve
our opportunities for gaining information. Especially desirous were we,
of learning the condition of slaves around us, for we knew not how long
we should remain in as favorable hands as we were then. On one occasion,
while waiting for our grain, we entered a house in the neighborhood, and
while resting ourselves there, we saw a number of forlorn-looking beings
pass the door, and as they passed, we noticed that they turned and gazed
earnestly upon us. Afterwards, about fifty performed the same act, which
excited our minds somewhat, as we overheard some of them say, “Look
there, and see those two colored men with shoes, vests and hats on,” and
we determined to obtain an interview with them. Accordingly, after
receiving some bread and meat from our hosts, we followed these abject
beings to their quarters;--and such a sight we had never witnessed
before, as we had always lived on our master’s plantation, and this was
about the first of our journeys to the mill. They were dressed with
shirts made of coarse bagging, such as coffee-sacks are made from, and
some kind of light substance for pantaloons, and _no other clothing
whatever_. They had on no shoes, hats, vests, or coats, and when my
brother asked them why they spoke of our being dressed with those
articles of clothing, they said they had “never seen negroes dressed in
that way before.” They looked very hungry, and we divided our bread and
meat among them, which furnished them only a mouthful each. They never
had any meat, they said, given them by their masters. My brother put
various questions to them, such as, “if they had wives?” “did they go to
church?” “had they any sisters?” &c. The one who gave us the
information, said they had wives, but were obliged to marry on their own
plantation. Master would not allow them to go away from home to marry,
consequently he said they were all related to each other, and master
made them marry, _whether related or not_. My brother asked this man to
show him his sisters; he said he could not tell them from the rest,
_they were all his sisters_; and here let me state, what is well known
by many people, that no such thing as real marriage is allowed to exist
among the slaves. Talk of marriage under such a system! Why, the owner
of a Turkish harem, or the keeper of a house of ill-fame, might as well
allow the inmates of their establishments to marry as for a Southern
slaveholder to do the same. Marriage, as is well known, is the voluntary
and perfect union of one man with one woman, without depending upon the
will of a third party. This never can take place under slavery, for the
moment a slave is allowed to form such a connection as he chooses, the
spell of slavery is dissolved. The slave’s wife is his, only at the
will of her master, who may violate her chastity with impunity. It is my
candid opinion that one of the strongest motives which operate upon the
slaveholders, and induce them to retain their iron grasp upon the
unfortunate slave, is because it gives them such unlimited control in
this respect over the female slaves. The greater part of slaveholders
are licentious men, and the most respectable and the kindest of masters,
keep some of their slaves as mistresses. It is for their pecuniary
interest to do so in several respects. Their progeny is so many dollars
and cents in their pockets, instead of being a bill of expense to them,
as would be the case if their slaves were free; and mulatto slaves
command a higher price than dark colored ones; but it is too horrid a
subject to describe. Suffice it to say, that no slave has the least
certainty of being able to retain his wife or her husband a single hour;
so that the slave is placed under strong inducements not to form a union
of _love_, for he knows not how soon the chords wound around his heart
would be snapped asunder, by the hand of the brutal slave-dealer.
Northern people sustain slavery, knowing that it is a system of perfect
licentiousness, and yet go to church and boast of their purity and
holiness!
On this plantation, the slaves were never allowed to attend church, but
managed their religious affairs in their own way. An old slave, whom
they called Uncle John, decided upon their piety, and would baptize them
during the silent watches of the night, while their master was “taking
his rest in sleep.” Thus is the slave under the necessity of even
“saving his soul” in the hours when the eye of his master, who usurps
the place of God over him, is turned from him. Think of it, ye who
contend for the necessity of these rites, to constitute a man a
Christian! By night must the poor slave steal away from his bed of
straw, and leaving his miserable hovel, must drag his weary limbs to
some adjacent stream of water, where a fellow slave, as ignorant as
himself, proceeds to administer the ordinance of baptism; and as he
plunges his comrades into the water, in imitation of the Baptist of old,
how he trembles, lest the footsteps of his master should be heard,
advancing to their Bethesda,--knowing that if such should be the case,
the severe punishment that awaits them all. Baptists, are ye striking
hands with Southern churches, which thus exclude so many slaves from the
“waters of salvation?”
But we were obliged to cut short our conversation with these slaves, by
beholding the approach of the overseer, who was directing his steps
towards us, like a bear seeking its prey. We had only time to ask this
man, “if they were often whipped?” to which he replied, “that not a day
passed over their heads, without some of their number being brutally
punished; and,” said he, “we shall have to suffer for this talk with
you.” He then told us, that many of them had been severely whipped that
very morning, for having been baptized the night before. After we left
them, we looked back, and heard the screams of these poor creatures,
suffering under the blows of the hard-hearted overseer, for the crime of
talking with us;--which screams sounded in our ears for some time. We
felt thankful that we were exempted from such terrible treatment; but
still, we knew not how soon we should be subject to the same cruel fate.
By this time we had returned to the mill, where we met a young man, (a
relation of the owner of this plantation,) who for some time appeared to
be eyeing us quite attentively. At length he asked me if I had “ever
been whipped,” and when I told him I had not, he replied, “Well, you
will neither of you ever be of any value, then;” so true is it that
whipping is considered a necessary part of slavery. Without this
practice, it could not stand a single day. He expressed a good deal of
surprise that we were allowed to wear hats and shoes,--supposing that a
slave had no business to wear such clothing as his master wore. We had
brought our fishing-lines with us, and requested the privilege to fish
in his stream, which he roughly denied us, saying, “we do not allow
niggers to fish.” Nothing daunted, however, by this rebuff, my brother
went to another place, and was quite successful in his undertaking,
obtaining a plentiful supply of the finny tribe; but as soon as this
youngster perceived his good luck, he ordered him to throw them back
into the stream, which he was obliged to do, and we returned home
without them.
We finally abandoned visiting this mill, and carried our grain to
another, a Mr. Bullock’s, only ten miles distant from our plantation.
This man was very kind to us, took us into his house and put us to bed,
took charge of our horses, and carried the grain himself into the mill,
and in the morning furnished us with a good breakfast. I asked my
brother why this man treated us so differently from our old miller.
“Oh,” said he, “this man is not a slaveholder!” Ah, that explained the
difference; for there is nothing in the southern character averse to
gentleness. On the contrary, if it were not for slavery’s withering
touch, the Southerners would be the kindest people in the land. Slavery
possesses the power attributed to one of old, of changing the nature of
all who drink of its vicious cup.
“---- ---- ---- Which, as they taste,
Soon as the potion works, their _human_ countenance,
The express resemblance of the gods, is changed
Into some brutish form of wolf, or bear,
Or ounce, or tiger, hog, or bearded goat;
And they, so perfect is their misery,
Not once perceive their foul disfigurement,
But boast themselves more comely than before.”
Under the influence of slavery’s polluting power, the most gentle women
become the fiercest viragos, and the most benevolent men are changed
into inhuman monsters. It is true of the northern man who goes South
also.
“_Whoever_ tastes, loses his upright shape,
And downward falls, into a _grovelling swine_.”
This non-slaveholder also allowed us to catch as many fish as we
pleased, and even furnished us with fishing implements. While at this
mill, we became acquainted with a colored man from another part of the
country; and as our desire was strong to learn how our brethren fared in
other places, we questioned him respecting his treatment. He complained
much of his hard fate,--said he had a wife and one child, and begged for
some of our fish to carry to his wife; which my brother gladly gave him.
He said he was expecting to have some money in a few days, which would
be “_the first he ever had in his life_!” He had sent a thousand
hickory-nuts to market, for which he afterwards informed us he had
received thirty-six cents, which he gave to his wife, to furnish her
with some little article of comfort. This was the sum total of all the
money he had ever been the possessor of! Ye northern pro-slavery men, do
you regard this as robbery, or not? The whole of this man’s earnings had
been robbed from him during his entire life, except simply his coarse
food and miserable clothing, the whole expense of which, for a
plantation slave, does not exceed twenty dollars a year. This is one
reason why I think every slaveholder will go to hell; for my Bible
teaches me that no _thief_ shall enter heaven; and I know every
slaveholder is a thief; and I rather think you would all be of my
opinion if you had ever been a slave. But now, assisting these thieves,
and being made rich by them, you say they are not robbers; just as
wicked men generally shield their abettors.
On our return from this place, we met a colored man and woman, who were
very cross to each other. We inquired as to the cause of their trouble,
and the man told us, that “women had such tongues!” that some of them
had stolen a sheep, and this woman, after eating of it, went and told
their master, and they all had to receive a severe whipping. And here
follows a specimen of slaveholding morality, which will show you how
much many of the masters care for their slaves’ stealing. This man
enjoined upon his slaves never to steal from him again, but to _steal
from his neighbors_, and he would keep them from punishment, if they
would furnish him with a portion of the meat! And why not? For is it any
worse for the slaveholders to steal from one another, than it is to
steal from their helpless slaves? Not long after, these slaves availed
themselves of their master’s assistance, and stole an animal from a
neighboring plantation, and according to agreement, furnished their
master with his share. Soon the owner of the missing animal came rushing
into the man’s house, who had just eaten of the stolen food, and, in a
very excited manner, demanded reparation from him, for the beast stolen,
as he said, by this man’s slaves. The villain, hardly able to stand
after eating so bountifully of his neighbor’s pork, exclaimed loudly,
“my servants know no more about your hogs than I do!” which was strictly
true; and the loser of the swine went away satisfied. This man told his
slaves that it was a sin to steal from him, but none to steal from his
neighbors! My brother told the slave we were conversing with, that it
was as much of a sin in God’s sight, for him to steal from one, as from
the other. “Oh,” said the slave, “master says _negroes have nothing to
do with God_!” He further informed us that his master and mistress lived
very unhappily together, on account of the maid who waited upon them.
She had no husband, but had several yellow children. After we left them,
they went to a fodder-stack, and took out a jug, and drank of its
contents. My brother’s curiosity was excited to learn the nature of
their drink; and watching his opportunity, unobserved by them, he
slipped up to the stack, and ascertained that the jug was nearly full of
Irish whiskey. He carried it home with him, and the next time we visited
the mill, he returned the jug to its former place, filled with molasses,
purchased with his own money, instead of the fiery drink which it
formerly contained. Some time after this, the master of this man
discovered a great falling off in the supply of stolen meat furnished
him by the slaves, and questioned this man in reference to the cause of
such a lamentable diminution in the supply of hog-meat in particular.
The slave told him the story of the jug, and that he had ceased
drinking, which was sad news for the pork-loving gentleman.
I will now return to my master’s affairs. My young master’s brother was
a very benevolent man, and soon became convinced that it was wrong to
hold men in bondage; which belief he carried into practice by
emancipating forty slaves at one time, and paying the expenses of their
transportation to a free state. But old master, although naturally more
kind-hearted than his neighbors, could not always remain as impervious
to the assaults of the pro-slavery demon; and as stated previously, that
all who drank of this hateful cup were transformed into some vile
animal, so he became a perfect brute in his treatment of his slaves. I
cannot account for this change, only on the supposition, that experience
had convinced him that kind treatment was not as well adapted to the
production of crops, as a severer kind of discipline. Under the elating
influence of freedom’s inspiring sound, men will labor much harder, than
when forced to perform unpleasant tasks, the accomplishment of which
will be of no value to themselves; but while the slave is held as such,
it is difficult for him to feel as he would feel, if he was a free man,
however light may be his tasks, and however kind may be his master. The
lash is still held above his head, and _may_ fall upon him, even if its
blows are for a long time withheld. This the slave realizes; and hence
no kind treatment can destroy the depressing influence of a
consciousness of his being a slave,--no matter how lightly the yoke of
slavery may rest upon his shoulders. He knows the yoke is there; and
that at any time its weight may be made heavier, and his form almost
sink under its weary burden; but give him his liberty, and new life
enters into him immediately. The iron yoke falls from his chafed
shoulders; the collar, even if it was a silken one, is removed from his
enslaved person; and the chains, although made of gold, fall from his
bound limbs, and he walks forth with an elastic step, to enjoy the
realities of his new existence. Now he is ready to perform irksome
tasks; for the avails of his labor will be of value to himself, and with
them he can administer comfort to those near and dear to him, and to the
world at large, as well as provide for his own intellectual welfare;
whereas before, however kind his treatment, all his earnings more than
his expenses went to enrich his master. It is on this account, probably,
that those who have undertaken to carry out some principles of humanity
in their treatment of their slaves, have been generally frowned upon by
their neighbors; and they have been forced either to emancipate their
slaves, or to return to the cruel practices of those around them. My
young master preferred the former alternative; my old master adopted the
latter. We now began to taste a little of the horrors of slavery; so
that many of the slaves ran away, which had not been the case before. My
master employed an overseer also, about this time, which he always
refused to do previously, preferring to take charge of us himself; but
the clamor of the neighbors was so great at his mild treatment of his
slaves, that he at length yielded to the popular will around him, and
went “with the multitude to do evil,” and hired an overseer. This was an
end of our favorable treatment; and there is no telling what would have
been the result of this new method among slaves so unused to the whip as
we were, if in the midst of this experiment, old master had not been
called upon to pay “the debt of nature,” and to “go the way of all the
earth.” As he was about to expire, he sent for me and my brother, to
come to his bedside. We ran with beating hearts, and highly elated
feelings, not doubting that he was about to confer upon us the boon of
freedom, as we expected to be set free when he died; but imagine my deep
disappointment, when the old man called me to his side and said to me,
“Henry, you will make a good plough-boy, or a good gardener; now you
must be an honest boy, and never tell an untruth. I have given you to my
son William, and you must obey him.” Thus did this old gentleman deceive
us by his former kind treatment, and raise expectations in our youthful
minds, which were thus doomed to be fatally overthrown. Poor man! he has
gone to a higher tribunal than man’s, and doubtless ere this, earnestly
laments that he did not give us all our liberty at this favorable
moment; but sad as was our disappointment, we were constrained to submit
to it, as we best were able. One old negro openly expressed his wish
that master would die, because he had not released him from his bondage.
If there is any one thing which operates as an impetus to the slave in
his toilsome labors and buoys him up, under all the hardships of his
severe lot, it is this hope of future freedom, which lights up his soul
and cheers his desolate heart in the midst of all the fearful agonies of
the varied scenes of his slave life, as the soul of the tempest-tossed
mariner is stayed from complete despair, by the faint glimmering of the
far-distant light which the kindness of man has placed in a lighthouse,
so as to be perceived by him at a long distance. Old ocean’s tempestuous
waves beat and roar against his frail bark, and the briny deep seems
ready to enclose him in its wide open mouth, but “ever and anon” he
perceives the glimmering of this feeble light in the distance, which
keeps alive the spark of hope in his bosom, which kind heaven has placed
within every man’s breast. So with the slave. Freedom’s fires are dimly
burning in the far distant future, and ever and anon a fresh flame
appears to arise in the direction of this sacred altar, until at times
it seems to approach so near, that he can feel its melting power
dissolving his chains, and causing him to emerge from his darkened
prison, into the full light of freedom’s glorious liberty. O the fond
anticipations of the slave in this respect! I cannot correctly describe
them to you, but I can recollect the thrills of exulting joy which the
name of freedom caused to flow through my soul.
Freedom, the dear and joyful sound,
’Tis music in the sad slave’s ear.
How often this hope is destined to fade away, as the early dew before
the rising sun! Not unseldom, does the slave labor intensely to obtain
the means to purchase his freedom, and after having paid the required
sum, is still held a slave, while the master retains the money! This
_very often_ transpires under the slave system. A good many slaves have
in this way paid for themselves several times, and not received their
freedom then! And masters often hold out this inducement to their
slaves, to labor more than they otherwise would, when they have no
intention of fulfilling their promise. O the ineffable meanness of the
slave system! Instead of our being set free, a far different fate
awaited us; and here you behold, reader, the closing scene of the
kindest treatment which a man can bestow upon his slaves.