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    Chapter 1

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    I was born in Tuckahoe, near Hillsborough, and
    about twelve miles from Easton, in Talbot county,
    Maryland. I have no accurate knowledge of my age,
    never having seen any authentic record containing it.
    By far the larger part of the slaves know as little of
    their ages as horses know of theirs, and it is the wish
    of most masters within my knowledge to keep their
    slaves thus ignorant. I do not remember to have ever
    met a slave who could tell of his birthday. They
    seldom come nearer to it than planting-time, harvest-
    time, cherry-time, spring-time, or fall-time. A want
    of information concerning my own was a source of
    unhappiness to me even during childhood. The white
    children could tell their ages. I could not tell why I
    ought to be deprived of the same privilege. I was
    not allowed to make any inquiries of my master con-
    cerning it. He deemed all such inquiries on the part
    of a slave improper and impertinent, and evidence
    of a restless spirit. The nearest estimate I can give
    makes me now between twenty-seven and twenty-
    eight years of age. I come to this, from hearing my
    master say, some time during 1835, I was about
    seventeen years old.

    My mother was named Harriet Bailey. She was
    the daughter of Isaac and Betsey Bailey, both col-
    ored, and quite dark. My mother was of a darker
    complexion than either my grandmother or grand-

    My father was a white man. He was admitted to
    be such by all I ever heard speak of my parentage.
    The opinion was also whispered that my master was
    my father; but of the correctness of this opinion, I
    know nothing; the means of knowing was withheld
    from me. My mother and I were separated when I
    was but an infant--before I knew her as my mother.
    It is a common custom, in the part of Maryland
    from which I ran away, to part children from their
    mothers at a very early age. Frequently, before the
    child has reached its twelfth month, its mother is
    taken from it, and hired out on some farm a con-
    siderable distance off, and the child is placed under
    the care of an old woman, too old for field labor.
    For what this separation is done, I do not know,
    unless it be to hinder the development of the child's
    affection toward its mother, and to blunt and destroy
    the natural affection of the mother for the child.
    This is the inevitable result.

    I never saw my mother, to know her as such, more
    than four or five times in my life; and each of these
    times was very short in duration, and at night. She
    was hired by a Mr. Stewart, who lived about twelve
    miles from my home. She made her journeys to see
    me in the night, travelling the whole distance on
    foot, after the performance of her day's work. She
    was a field hand, and a whipping is the penalty of
    not being in the field at sunrise, unless a slave has
    special permission from his or her master to the con-
    trary--a permission which they seldom get, and one
    that gives to him that gives it the proud name of
    being a kind master. I do not recollect of ever seeing
    my mother by the light of day. She was with me in
    the night. She would lie down with me, and get me
    to sleep, but long before I waked she was gone. Very
    little communication ever took place between us.
    Death soon ended what little we could have while
    she lived, and with it her hardships and suffering.
    She died when I was about seven years old, on one
    of my master's farms, near Lee's Mill. I was not al-
    lowed to be present during her illness, at her death,
    or burial. She was gone long before I knew any thing
    about it. Never having enjoyed, to any considerable
    extent, her soothing presence, her tender and watch-
    ful care, I received the tidings of her death with
    much the same emotions I should have probably
    felt at the death of a stranger.

    Called thus suddenly away, she left me without
    the slightest intimation of who my father was. The
    whisper that my master was my father, may or may
    not be true; and, true or false, it is of but little con-
    sequence to my purpose whilst the fact remains,
    in all its glaring odiousness, that slaveholders have
    ordained, and by law established, that the children
    of slave women shall in all cases follow the condi-
    tion of their mothers; and this is done too obviously
    to administer to their own lusts, and make a grati-
    fication of their wicked desires profitable as well as
    pleasurable; for by this cunning arrangement, the
    slaveholder, in cases not a few, sustains to his slaves
    the double relation of master and father.

    I know of such cases; and it is worthy of remark
    that such slaves invariably suffer greater hardships,
    and have more to contend with, than others. They
    are, in the first place, a constant offence to their
    mistress. She is ever disposed to find fault with them;
    they can seldom do any thing to please her; she is
    never better pleased than when she sees them under
    the lash, especially when she suspects her husband
    of showing to his mulatto children favors which he
    withholds from his black slaves. The master is fre-
    quently compelled to sell this class of his slaves, out
    of deference to the feelings of his white wife; and,
    cruel as the deed may strike any one to be, for a
    man to sell his own children to human flesh-mongers,
    it is often the dictate of humanity for him to do so;
    for, unless he does this, he must not only whip them
    himself, but must stand by and see one white son
    tie up his brother, of but few shades darker com-
    plexion than himself, and ply the gory lash to his
    naked back; and if he lisp one word of disapproval,
    it is set down to his parental partiality, and only
    makes a bad matter worse, both for himself and the
    slave whom he would protect and defend.

    Every year brings with it multitudes of this class
    of slaves. It was doubtless in consequence of a knowl-
    edge of this fact, that one great statesman of the
    south predicted the downfall of slavery by the in-
    evitable laws of population. Whether this prophecy
    is ever fulfilled or not, it is nevertheless plain that a
    very different-looking class of people are springing up
    at the south, and are now held in slavery, from those
    originally brought to this country from Africa; and
    if their increase do no other good, it will do
    away the force of the argument, that God cursed
    Ham, and therefore American slavery is right. If the
    lineal descendants of Ham are alone to be scriptur-
    ally enslaved, it is certain that slavery at the south
    must soon become unscriptural; for thousands are
    ushered into the world, annually, who, like myself,
    owe their existence to white fathers, and those fa-
    thers most frequently their own masters.

    I have had two masters. My first master's name
    was Anthony. I do not remember his first name.
    He was generally called Captain Anthony--a title
    which, I presume, he acquired by sailing a craft on
    the Chesapeake Bay. He was not considered a rich
    slaveholder. He owned two or three farms, and about
    thirty slaves. His farms and slaves were under the
    care of an overseer. The overseer's name was
    Plummer. Mr. Plummer was a miserable drunkard,
    a profane swearer, and a savage monster. He always
    went armed with a cowskin and a heavy cudgel. I
    have known him to cut and slash the women's heads
    so horribly, that even master would be enraged at
    his cruelty, and would threaten to whip him if he
    did not mind himself. Master, however, was not a
    humane slaveholder. It required extraordinary bar-
    barity on the part of an overseer to affect him. He
    was a cruel man, hardened by a long life of slave-
    holding. He would at times seem to take great pleas-
    ure in whipping a slave. I have often been awakened
    at the dawn of day by the most heart-rending shrieks
    of an own aunt of mine, whom he used to tie up
    to a joist, and whip upon her naked back till she
    was literally covered with blood. No words, no tears,
    no prayers, from his gory victim, seemed to move
    his iron heart from its bloody purpose. The louder
    she screamed, the harder he whipped; and where
    the blood ran fastest, there he whipped longest. He
    would whip her to make her scream, and whip her
    to make her hush; and not until overcome by fatigue,
    would he cease to swing the blood-clotted cowskin.
    I remember the first time I ever witnessed this hor-
    rible exhibition. I was quite a child, but I well re-
    member it. I never shall forget it whilst I remember
    any thing. It was the first of a long series of such out-
    rages, of which I was doomed to be a witness and a
    participant. It struck me with awful force. It was
    the blood-stained gate, the entrance to the hell of
    slavery, through which I was about to pass. It was
    a most terrible spectacle. I wish I could commit to
    paper the feelings with which I beheld it.

    This occurrence took place very soon after I went
    to live with my old master, and under the following
    circumstances. Aunt Hester went out one night,--
    where or for what I do not know,--and happened to
    be absent when my master desired her presence. He
    had ordered her not to go out evenings, and warned
    her that she must never let him catch her in com-
    pany with a young man, who was paying attention
    to her belonging to Colonel Lloyd. The young man's
    name was Ned Roberts, generally called Lloyd's
    Ned. Why master was so careful of her, may be
    safely left to conjecture. She was a woman of noble
    form, and of graceful proportions, having very few
    equals, and fewer superiors, in personal appearance,
    among the colored or white women of our neighbor-

    Aunt Hester had not only disobeyed his orders in
    going out, but had been found in company with
    Lloyd's Ned; which circumstance, I found, from
    what he said while whipping her, was the chief of-
    fence. Had he been a man of pure morals himself,
    he might have been thought interested in protecting
    the innocence of my aunt; but those who knew him
    will not suspect him of any such virtue. Before
    he commenced whipping Aunt Hester, he took her
    into the kitchen, and stripped her from neck to waist,
    leaving her neck, shoulders, and back, entirely
    naked. He then told her to cross her hands, calling
    her at the same time a d----d b---h. After crossing
    her hands, he tied them with a strong rope, and led
    her to a stool under a large hook in the joist, put
    in for the purpose. He made her get upon the stool,
    and tied her hands to the hook. She now stood fair
    for his infernal purpose. Her arms were stretched
    up at their full length, so that she stood upon the
    ends of her toes. He then said to her, "Now, you
    d----d b---h, I'll learn you how to disobey my
    orders!" and after rolling up his sleeves, he com-
    menced to lay on the heavy cowskin, and soon the
    warm, red blood (amid heart-rending shrieks from
    her, and horrid oaths from him) came dripping to
    the floor. I was so terrified and horror-stricken at the
    sight, that I hid myself in a closet, and dared not
    venture out till long after the bloody transaction was
    over. I expected it would be my turn next. It was
    all new to me. I had never seen any thing like it
    before. I had always lived with my grandmother on
    the outskirts of the plantation, where she was put to
    raise the children of the younger women. I had there-
    fore been, until now, out of the way of the bloody
    scenes that often occurred on the plantation.
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