Early in the Spring of 1856, our master had bought the Mann Plantation,
located about seven miles east of Brunswick, and had made all
arrangements to move to it, taking mother and four of her children,
including myself. I did not want to go, but my desires in that respect
were not considered, and I went without entering even a mild protest.
Having lived in the city so long, I had lost all love for farm life. I
had no knowledge of farming, especially that kind carried on in that
part of the state, and personal experience taught me that my master
possessed but little more than I did, because he ordered so many things
done that were a loss of time and money. In his experimenting, for such
it was, he would give an order one day, and change it the next, causing
the loss of many days of labor. But it was my duty to obey him, right or
wrong, and I did it right along.
After I had gained some practical knowledge, by experience, of the
system of farming in that county, I ventured to suggest to him when I
saw a better plan, or the uselessness of the order given. Of course he
would not take the course I had suggested at the time, and in its
entirety, but after thinking it over, he would change his orders as
nearly to my plans as possible, without adopting them. But, oh, how I
would catch it if he found flaws in them afterwards.
He worked the first year on that plantation almost as steadily as any of
us, but that was his last year of work while he was my owner. He was a
man who never talked much to his slaves at any time, as I have worked
with him without a word being said, aside from my duty, between us many
days, and I rather preferred it, because if he said anything, it would
usually be scolding. I have a very clear recollection of the amount of
scolding I got the first Spring on that farm, when laying off corn and
tobacco rows. It was my first effort, and in nearly every row there
would be one or more crooks, for which he would scold, then take my
horse and plow, straighten the row, and give them back; pretty soon I
would have it as crooked as before. The result of all this was that I
soon learned to lay off a row nearly as straight as he could, and I will
state that he could and did lay off the straightest row I had ever seen.
He insisted that corn grew better in straight rows than in crooked ones,
and I became convinced of the truth of his statements and took pride in
having every row as straight as if laid off by line, and have been
complimented on account of it.
At this plantation we had some neighbors whom I did not like, men who
came from Kentucky and other southern states, and who tried to keep up
the customs in vogue in those states of curtailing the liberties of
their slaves, liberties which slaves in other parts of Missouri enjoyed;
but even then the life of a slave in that part of Missouri was far
better than in some of the older slave states.
Being a green hand at farming, I made many mistakes, which caused the
boss to scold, but as that was all the punishment he inflicted, I soon
became used to that, and went ahead doing the best I could. My boss
really delighted in scolding; he could quarrel, make more noise, and do
less whipping than any man in that county. He was not mean, in the sense
that some of his neighbors were, and I have always believed that he
tried to appear to his neighbors what he was not, a hard master. The
reason why I entertained this belief is that in the presence of a
neighbor he always scolded more, acted more crabbed, and was harder to
please than when alone with us, for as soon as the neighbor left, we
could get along with him very well. We were well fed, had such
vegetables as were raised on the farm, and save biscuit and coffee, we
had such food as was prepared for him.
Farming in Missouri consisted in raising tobacco, corn, wheat and stock,
but tobacco was the principal product for sale. With five hands we
usually raised about twenty thousand pounds, which at that time sold in
Brunswick for about eight cents per pound. Each man was allowed one acre
of ground to raise his own little crop, which, if well cultivated, would
produce about nine hundred pounds of tobacco. We used his horse and
plow, and worked our crop as well as we did his in the daytime, and when
ready for market, he sold our crop with his, giving each one his share.
This was our money, to be spent for whatever we wanted aside from that
given by him. He gave two suits of summer and one of winter clothes,
hats and boots, blankets and underwear. Our cash was spent for Sunday
clothes, sugar, coffee and flour, for we would have biscuits at least
once a week, and coffee every day.
The practice of allowing slaves ground to raise a little crop obtained
generally among slave owners, but most of them had to work their crop of
tobacco after sundown, and without plowing. The master got the benefit
of this money after all, because the slave spent it for his own pleasure
and comfort, which was a direct advantage to his master.
There were several slave owners around us at this farm, some were called
mean and some considered fair, but the meanest man near us was a Yankee
teacher, preacher and farmer, S. J. M. Bebee, who owned or hired four or
five slaves, and treated them very meanly. This man came to that county
from the East, and by teaching and preaching saved up money enough to
buy a farm, and was considered by the Colored people meaner than the
original slave-holders. I lived on a farm within two miles of Mr.
Bebee’s farm, and had good opportunities to know the truth of what I
state.
There lived near our home an old gentleman named Ashby, usually called
“Father Ashby,” who was a good man, much beloved by white and black, and
who dropped dead in the pulpit at the close of one of his sermons.
Previous to his death I used to visit his place, and sometimes we
exchanged work. He owned three or four slaves and treated them kindly.
Pending the campaign of 1856, when Fremont was the Republican nominee
for President, I had a talk with “Father Ashby.” He then said that he
believed slavery to be wrong, but it was handed down to him from his
father, and although he held and owned slaves, he had never bought or
sold one, and had always treated them well.
I had learned to read, and could understand enough of the political
situation at that date to be a “Fremont man,” but a very silent one. I
am safe in saying that Fremont did not receive one vote in Chariton
County at that election. Certainly there was not an outspoken
Republican in the county. Slave holders never talked politics in the
presence of slaves, but by some means they learned the news, kept posted
as to what was going on, and expected to be set free if Fremont was
elected. A Colored man who could read was a very important fellow, for
they would come miles and bring stolen papers for him to read to them at
night or on Sunday, and I have known them to go to town and buy them
from Dr. Blue, an old slave-holder, and bring them to some slave who
could read.
Our owner did not like the farm he owned, and early in 1857 sold it, and
bought uncultivated land adjoining his brother-in-law, W. B. Bruce. Here
I had to open a place in the brush for a home, and for our own quarters,
assist in putting up buildings, make the rails necessary to fence eighty
acres of land, break it up and put in a crop, all of which was
accomplished in one year. I had got used then to farm life, and rather
enjoyed it.
This farm was only one-half a mile from W. B. Bruce’s, and the families
were now practically together. Our master and his son, Willie, spent a
great deal of their time at Bruce’s, and so did the Colored families.
I was then a full fledged foreman with four younger brothers, who
constituted my force, but as a matter of fact, I got more scolding than
any one of them, for the reason that I was held responsible for
everything, as our owner seldom went over any part of the farm, and left
me to manage it entirely, reporting to him every morning. I really had
full control of the place, but he did not want me to think so, and acted
rather queer quite often. He had a habit of calling me to his door
every morning after breakfast, to report what was done the previous day,
and what I thought should be done that day. I would state my opinion,
and he would be certain to make light of it, get angry, tell me I had no
sense, etc., make some suggestions, then cool down and tell me to go
ahead and do just the work I had suggested. He, I believe, enjoyed that
kind of acting, and I had got used to it and took it quietly, for that
was the extent of my punishment.
We had but one neighbor who was called a hard master, Charles Cabel, for
whom I had previously worked. Cabel had rather a lazy set of slaves,
with one exception, a young man named Samuel Savage, and this, I
suppose, made him appear meaner than he really was. His farm joined
ours, and therefore I could hear and see much that was done. I am not an
apologist for Mr. Cabel simply because he treated me nicely, not only
when I was hired to him, but often afterwards on our farm. He saw what
fine crops we raised every year, more and better tobacco, which sold for
more money than his, while we worked but five hands, and he had ten or
twelve.
There was no whipping on our place at any time, while on his some one
was whipped nearly every week. Mr. Cabel used to come over on our land
and talk with me quite often, and insisted that his Negroes made him
appear mean, that if he had such Negroes as we were, he would never hit
one. He said this to me many times; yet his slaves called him the
meanest man in the county. I am safe in stating, that I had more talk
with Mr. Cabel during the five or six years we lived as neighbors, than
with any slave owner during my service as a slave. Often he would come
where I was at work and entertain me for an hour; he evidently enjoyed
my company, and I confess a liking for him.
I recall an instance where he whipped four of his men within calling or
hearing distance of me. I went to the timber to make some rails. Our
timber land, which was four miles away, joined Mr. Cabel’s, and he sent
four of his men to make rails, and we all went on Monday. With the aid
of a brother about sixteen years old, I had cut and split four hundred
rails by two o’clock, or thereabouts, on Wednesday, not quite three
days. Mr. Cabel came to me and asked when I commenced, and on being
told, proceeded to count my rails, and when through, went over to where
his men were. I don’t think he found them at work; at any rate, in a
short time, I heard the lash and the men begging for mercy. Pretty soon
he came back to me, and said his men had made only two hundred and sixty
rails, and then asked if I blamed him for punishing them. What could I
say under the circumstances, knowing that there were four of them as
against two of us, and one a mere boy?
My opinion is that Mr. Cabel as well as his slaves were to be blamed for
the condition that existed on that farm, based upon the following
reasons: The master who treated his slaves humanely had less trouble
with them, got better service from them, and could depend upon their
doing his work faithfully, even in his absence, having his interest in
view always. Maltreated slaves and ill-treated beasts of burden are much
alike; if trained to be punished, whether deservedly or not, they take
no interest in their service, and go no further than the lash forces
them, because they receive no encouragement even when they perform their
duty well.
I recall a case in point, and as the parties mentioned are living I call
upon them to set me right if I misrepresent the facts in the case. My
master bought three yoke of oxen to break up this new land heretofore
mentioned, much of which was covered with hazel brush about four feet
high, and to haul rails and firewood from the timber land four miles
away. I had the sole management of this team, in fact had to break them
in. I took pride in that team, trained my oxen to obey without the use
of the whip, fed and watered them well under all circumstances, and they
looked sleek, fat and cheerful, if I may use the term for an ox. I was
the master in this case and almost loved my oxen, and believe they loved
me. When I said “Go,” they went, regardless of the load, and the
question was whether the wagon would bear it up.
W. B. Bruce, before mentioned, owned three yoke of oxen and a driver
named Bob or Robert Bruce, who had no love or mercy for his team, took
no pride or interest in his oxen, not even enough to feed and water them
regularly. He used a rawhide whip, and I have seen him break their hides
and bring out the blood when using the lash. I have said he did not feed
them well, and the reasons why I say it are these: His master, W. B.
Bruce, always raised plenty of corn and other kinds of stock feed and
allowed his dumb creatures enough, and there existed no sufficient
reasons why Bob’s team should not look as fat and as sleek, and draw as
heavy a load as mine; but they did not, and the reasons are very plain.
I cared for mine, and by so doing won their confidence and love and
obedience, without the use of the lash, while Bob used the lash in the
place of kind treatment and kind words.
In 1857, the county had become pretty thickly settled with pro-slavery
men from the South, mostly from Virginia and Kentucky, with a few
Eastern men and Germans. Of course the men from the East, as soon as
they landed, proclaimed themselves in favor of slavery and often hired
slaves, and in such cases treated them meaner than the slave owner.
They, it seemed, regarded the slave as a machine which required no rest,
and they gave him none; they would drive the slave in all kinds of
weather without mercy, so much so that slaves who belonged to estates or
others who were for hire, would beg to be hired to some southern man,
who had a knowledge of slave labor and the slave.
The Germans were quite different; they never hired slaves, and I can
recall the name of only one who owned a slave. His name was Goss and he
lived about six miles North of our place. He treated his slaves as he
did his children; he owned four or five.
There was a lot of poor white trash scattered over that county, as there
was in other southern states, and they answered the same purpose, as
servants to their masters. But few of them could get a job as overseer,
for the reason that there were but few large slave owners in that
county; I mean that there were not a dozen men in the county owning over
forty, and most of them owned less; they did their own over-seeing. But
I must say that the poor whites, as a general thing, in that county at
least, worked hard for a living, and I can mention several who, by dint
of hard labor and economy, attained to a fair standing in their
community.
After the landing at Brunswick, of the first installment of Germans, and
as they obtained homes and money they sent for relatives and friends in
Germany, so that there was a steady stream of German immigrants to that
county each year up to 1864. But from 1853 to 1864, they had to submit
to many indignities from ultra pro-slavery men. I have seen them kicked
off the principal street without resistance by Col. Pugh Price, a
brother, I think, of Gen. Sterling Price. But still they came, and soon
some of them had opened business places such as cooper and shoe shops,
cake and candy stands, and finally a brewery. It was wonderful to see
how rapidly the people learned to drink lager beer made by a German,
John Stroebe.
There was a large tract of land five or six miles below Brunswick,
called Bowling Green, which lay quite low and was sometimes overflowed
by the Missouri River. It was considered unhealthy in that locality and
on that account the land sold cheap. The Germans bought the greater part
of it and formed quite a settlement. This land was known as the richest
in the county and retains that reputation to-day, and is thickly settled
and about as healthful as any other part of the county, is more valuable
and is still owned by Germans whom we considered quite prosperous
farmers.
There was a feeling created against these people about 1859 and 1860,
caused by some suspicious pro-slavery men charging them with talking to
slaves, and I cannot say they were not guilty. They were opposed to
slavery and when they had an opportunity to tell a slave so, without his
master’s knowledge, they often did it, especially if they had confidence
in the slave. Slaves never betrayed a friend; they would stand severe
punishment rather than give away a white friend who favored freedom for
all.
There was a white man, Dan Kellogg by name, in Brunswick, who was a
peculiar fellow and one I could never understand, and who I think was a
northerner. For two or three years before the war he was known as a
friend of freedom, among the slaves at least. He had told some of them
so, and my impression is that as early as 1856, he told me that he was
opposed to the institution of slavery, but of course this was _sub
rosa_; but when the war broke out he had changed his mind and was
classed with bushwhackers in that county, too much of a coward to join
the Confederate Army and stand up in the open field to shoot and be shot
at; but he hid in dense forests and shot at Union citizens and soldiers
as they passed. I have been told that he was captured by one Captain
Truman, commanding a squad of the Fourth Missouri Volunteer Infantry,
and ordered to be hanged by the neck until dead, but was begged off by
friends. I have not heard from Mr. Kellogg for many years and do not
know whether he is dead or alive, but if he is alive and should read
this statement he will, I think admit its truthfulness, May 20, 1893.
Since the above was written I have been reliably informed that Mr.
Kellogg’s death occurred about two years ago, and that he removed to
Keytesville, the county seat of Chariton County, Mo., where he lived
since the war, and had accumulated quite a little fortune and was up to
the date of his death a staunch friend to the colored people, who
greatly lamented his taking off.
He held the position of county treasurer for one or more terms, and
regardless of politics, received almost the unanimous colored vote, he
being a democrat.