This work is the property of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. It may be used freely by individuals for research, teaching and personal use as long as this statement of availability is included in the text.
The electronic edition is a part of the UNC-CH
digitization project, Documenting the American South, or the Southern Experience in
19th-century America.
Running titles on each page of the text have not been preserved.
Any hyphens occurring in line breaks have been removed.
All quotation marks, ampersand and dollar signs have been transcribed as entity references.
All double right and left quotation marks are encoded as ” and “ respectively.
All single right and left quotation marks are encoded as ’ and ‘ respectively.
Indentation in lines has not been preserved.
[Cover Image]
[Frontispiece Image]
[Title Page Image]
The memory of my happy, care-free childhood days on the plantation, with my little white and black companions, is often with me. Neither master nor mistress nor neighbors had time to bestow a thought upon us, for the great Civil War was raging. That great event in American history was a matter wholly outside the realm of our childish interests. Of course we heard our elders discuss the various events of the great struggle, but it meant nothing to us.
On the plantation there were ten white children
and fourteen colored children. Our days were spent
roaming about from plantation to plantation, not
knowing or caring what things were going on in the
great world outside our little realm. Planting time
and harvest time were happy days for us. How
often at the harvest time the planters discovered
cornstalks missing from the ends of the rows, and
blamed the crows! We were called the “little fairy
Those slaves that were not married served the food from the great house, and about half-past eleven they would send the older children with food to the workers in the fields. Of course, I followed, and before we got to the fields, we had eaten the food nearly all up. When the workers returned home they complained, and we were whipped.
The slaves got their allowance every Monday night of molasses, meat, corn meal, and a kind of flour called “dredgings” or “shorts.” Perhaps this allowance would be gone before the next Monday night, in which case the slaves would steal hogs and chickens. Then would come the whipping-post. Master himself never whipped his slaves; this was left to the overseer.
We children had no supper, and only a little piece of bread or something of the kind in the morning. Our dishes consisted of one wooden bowl, and oyster shells were our spoons. This bowl served for about fifteen children, and often the dogs and the ducks and the peafowl had a dip in it. Sometimes we had buttermilk and bread in our bowl, sometimes greens or bones.
Our clothes were little homespun cotton slips,
If a slave man and woman wished to marry, a party would be arranged some Saturday night among the slaves. The marriage ceremony consisted of the pair jumping over a stick. If no children were born within a year or so, the wife was sold.
At New Year's, if there was any debt or mortgage on the plantation, the extra slaves were taken to Clayton and sold at the court house. In this way families were separated.
When they were getting recruits for the war, we were allowed to go to Clayton to see the soldiers.
I remember, at the beginning of the war, two colored
men were hung in Clayton; one, Caesar King,
for killing a blood hound and biting off an overseer's
ear; the other, Dabney Madison, for the murder of
his master. Dabney Madison's master was really
shot by a man named Houston, who was infatuated
with Madison's mistress, and who had hired Madison
to make the bullets for him. Houston escaped
after the deed, and the blame fell on Dabney Madison,
as he was the only slave of his master and
mistress. The clothes of the two victims were hung
on two pine trees, and no colored person would touch
them. Since I have grown up, I have seen the
After the men were hung, the bones were put in an old deserted house. Somebody that cared for the bones used to put them in the sun in bright weather, and back in the house when it rained. Finally the bones disappeared, although the boxes that had contained them still remained.
At one time, when they were building barns on the plantation, one of the big boys got a little brandy and gave us children all a drink, enough to make us drunk. Four doctors were sent for, but nobody could tell what was the matter with us, except they thought we had eaten something poisonous. They wanted to give us some castor oil, but we refused to take it, because we thought that the oil was made from the bones of the dead men we had seen. Finally, we told about the big white boy giving us the brandy, and the mystery was cleared up.
Young as I was then, I remember this conversation
between master and mistress, on master's return
from the gate one day, when he had received the latest
news: “William, what is the news from the seat
of war?” “A great battle was fought at Bull Run,
and the Confederates won,” he replied. “Oh, good,
good,” said mistress, “and what did Jeff Davis
My mistress often told me that my father was a planter who owned a plantation about two miles from ours. He was a white man, born in Liverpool, England. He died in Lewisville, Alabama, in the year 1875.
I will venture to say that I only saw my father a
dozen times, when I was about four years old; and
those times I saw him only from a distance, as he
was driving by the great house of our plantation.
Whenever my mistress saw him going by, she would
take me by the hand and run out upon the piazza,
and exclaim, “ Stop there, I say! Don't you want
My mother and my mistress were children together, and grew up to be mothers together. My mother was the cook in my mistress's household. One morning when master had gone to Eufaula, my mother and my mistress got into an argument, the consequence of which was that my mother was whipped, for the first time in her life. Whereupon, my mother refused to do any more work, and ran away from the plantation. For three years we did not see her again.
Our plantation was one of several thousand acres,
comprising large level fields, upland, and considerable
forests of Southern pine. Cotton, corn, sweet
potatoes, sugar cane, wheat, and rye were the principal
One day my master heard that the Yankees were coming our way, and he immediately made preparations to get his goods and valuables out of their reach. The big six-mule team was brought to the smoke-house door, and loaded with hams and provisions. After being loaded, the team was put in the care of two of the most trustworthy and valuable slaves that my master owned, and driven away. It was master's intention to have these things taken to a swamp, and there concealed in a pit that had recently been made for the purpose. But just before the team left the main road for the by-road that led to the swamp, the two slaves were surprised by the Yankees, who at once took possession of the provisions, and started the team toward Clayton, where the Yankees had headquarters. The road to Clayton ran past our plantation. One of the slave children happened to look up the road, and saw the Yankees coming, and gave warning. Whereupon, my master left unceremoniously for the woods, and remained concealed there for five days. The niggers had run away whenever they got a chance, but now it was master's and the other white folks' turn to run.
The Yankees rode up to the piazza of the great house and inquired who owned the plantation. They gave orders that nothing must be touched or taken away, as they intended to return shortly and take possession. My mistress and the slaves watched for their return day and night for more than a week, but the Yankees did not come back.
One morning in April, 1865, my master got the news that the Yankees had left Mobile Bay and crossed the Confederate lines, and that the Emancipation Proclamation had been signed by President Lincoln. Mistress suggested that the slaves should not be told of their freedom; but master said he would tell them, because they would soon find it out, even if he did not tell them. Mistress, however, said she could keep my mother's three children, for my mother had now been gone so long.
All the slaves left the plantation upon the news of their freedom, except those who were feeble or sickly. With the help of these, the crops were gathered. My mistress and her daughters had to go to the kitchen and to the washtub. My little half- brother, Henry, and myself had to gather chips, and help all we could. My sister, Caroline, who was twelve years old, could help in the kitchen.
After the war, the Yankees took all the good mules
One day mistress sent me out to do some churning under a tree. I went to sleep and jerked the churn over on top of me. and consequently got a whipping.
My mother came for us at the end of the year
1865, and demanded that her children be given up
to her. This, mistress refused to do, and threatened
to set the dogs on my mother if she did not at once
The cabin that was now our home was made of logs. It had one door, and an opening in one wall, with an inside shutter, was the only window. The door was fastened with a latch. Our beds were some straw.
There were six in our little family; my mother, Caroline, Henry, two other children that my mother had brought with her upon her return, and myself.
The man on whose plantation this cabin stood,
Caroline was hired out to take care of a baby.
In 1866, another man hired the plantation on which our hut stood, and we moved into Clayton, to a little house my mother secured there. A rich lady came to our house one day, looking for some one to take care of her little daughter. I was taken, and adopted into this family. This rich lady was Mrs. E. M. Williams, a music teacher, the wife of a lawyer. We called her “Mis' Mary.”
Some rich people in Clayton who had owned slaves,
opened the Methodist church on Sundays, and began
the work of teaching the negroes. My new mistress
sent me to Sunday school every Sunday morning,
and I soon got so that I could read. Mis' Mary
taught me every day at her knee. I soon could read
After this Mis' Mary kept on with my studies, and taught me to write. As I grew older, she taught me to cook and how to do housework. During this time Mis' Mary had given my mother one dollar a month in return for my services; now as I grew up to young womanhood, I thought I would like a little money of my own. Accordingly, Mis' Mary began to pay me four dollars a month, besides giving me my board and clothes. For two summers she “let me out” while she was away, and I got five dollars a month.
While I was with Mis' Mary, I had my first sweetheart,
one of the young fellows who attended Sunday
I owe a great deal to Mis' Mary for her good training of me, in honesty, uprightness and truthfulness. She told me that when I went out into the world all white folks would not treat me as she had, but that I must not feel bad about it, but just do what I was employed to do, and if I wasn't satisfied, to go elsewhere; but always to carry an honest name.
One Sunday when my sweetheart walked to the gate with me, Mis' Mary met him and told him she thought I was too young for him, and that she was sending me to Sunday school to learn, not to catch a beau. It was a long while before he could see me again, - not until later in the season, in watermelon time, when Mis' Mary and my mother gave me permission to go to a watermelon party one Sunday afternoon. Mis' Mary did not know, however, that my sweetheart had planned to escort me. We met around the corner of the house, and after the party he left me at the same place. After that I saw him occasionally at barbecues and parties. I was permitted to go with him some evenings to church, but my mother always walked ahead or behind me and the young man.
We went together for four years. During that time, although I still called Mis' Mary's my home, I had been out to service in one or two families.
Finally, my mother and Mis' Mary consented to our marriage, and the wedding day was to be in May. The winter before that May, I went to service in the family of Dr. Drury in Eufaula. Just a week before I left Clayton I dreamed that my sweetheart died suddenly. The night before I was to leave, we were invited out to tea. He told me he had bought a nice piece of poplar wood, with which to make a table for our new home. When I told him my dream, he said, “Don't let that trouble you, there is nothing in dreams.” But one month from that day he died, and his coffin was made from the piece of poplar wood he had bought for the table.
After his death, I remained in Clayton for two or three weeks with my people, and then went back to Eufaula, where I stayed two years.
My sweetheart's death made a profound impression on me, and I began to pray as best I could. Often I remained all night on my knees.
Going on an excursion to Macon, Georgia, one
time, I liked the place so well that I did not go back
to Eufaula. I got a place as cook in the family of
an Episcopal clergyman, and remained with them
During these eight years, my mother died in Clayton, and I had to take the three smallest children into my care. My oldest sister was now married, and had a son.
I now went to live with a Mrs. Maria Campbell, a colored woman, who adopted me and gave me her name. Mrs. Campbell did washing and ironing for her living While living with her, I went six months to Lewis' High School in Macon. Then I went to Atlanta, and obtained a place as first-class cook with Mr. E. N. Inman. But I always considered Mrs. Campbell's my home. I remained about a year with Mr. Inman, and received as wages ten dollars a month.
One day, when the family were visiting in Memphis,
I chanced to pick up a newspaper, and read the
advertisement of a Northern family for a cook to go
to Boston. I went at once to the address given, and
made agreement to take the place, but told the people
that I could not leave my present position until Mr.
Inman returned home. Mr. and Mrs. Inman did
not want to let me go, but I made up my mind to go
North. The Northern family whose service I was
to enter had returned to Boston before I left, and
After deciding to go North, I went to Macon, to make arrangements with Mrs. Campbell for the care of my two sisters who lived with her. One sister was now about thirteen and the other fifteen, both old enough to do a little for themselves. My brother was dead. He went to Brunswick in 1875, and died there of the yellow fever in 1876. One sister I brought in later years to Boston. I stayed in Macon two weeks, and was in Atlanta three or four days before leaving for the North.
About the 15th of June, 1879, I arrived at the Old Colony Station in Boston, and had my first glimpse of the country I had heard so much about. From Boston I went to Newtonville, where I was to work. The gentleman whose service I was to enter, Mr. E. N. Kimball, was waiting at the station for me, and drove me to his home on Warner Street. For a few days, until I got somewhat adjusted to my new circumstances, I had no work to do. On June 17th the family took me with them to Auburndale. But in spite of the kindness of Mrs. Kimball and the colored nurse, I grew very homesick for the South, and would often look in the direction of my old home and cry.
The washing, a kind of work I knew nothing about,
About five or six weeks after my arrival, Mrs. Kimball and the children went to the White Mountains for the summer, and I had more leisure. Mr. Kimball went up to the mountains every Saturday night, to stay with his family over Sunday; but he and his father-in-law were at home other nights, and I had to have dinner for them.
To keep away the homesickness and loneliness as much as possible, I made acquaintance with the hired girl across the street.
One morning I climbed up into the cherry tree that grew between Mr. Kimball's yard and the yard of his next-door neighbor, Mr. Roberts. I was thinking of the South, and as I picked the cherries, I sang a Southern song. Mr. Roberts heard me, and gave me a dollar for the song.
By agreement, Mrs. Kimball was to give me three
dollars and a half a week, instead of four, until the
difference amounted to my fare from the South;
after that, I was to have four dollars. I had, however,
received but little money. In the fall, after the
family came home, we had a little difficulty about my
From this place I proceeded to 24 Springfield Street, as directed, hoping that I would be refused, so that I might go back to the intelligence office and get my fifty cents. The lady at No. 24 who wanted a servant, said she didn't think I was large and strong enough, and guessed I wouldn't do. Then I went and got my fifty cents.
Having now obtained a situation, I sent to Mr. Kimball's for my trunk. I remained in my new place a year and a half. At the end of that time the family moved to Dorchester, and because I did not care to go out there, I left their service.
From this place, I went to Narragansett Pier to work as a chambermaid for the summer. In the fall, I came back to Boston and obtained a situation with a family, in Berwick Park. This family afterward moved to Jamaica Plain, and I went with them. With this family I remained seven years. They were very kind to me, gave me two or three weeks' vacation, without loss of pay.
In June, 1884, I went with them to their summer
home in the Isles of Shoals, as housekeeper for some
guests who were coming from Paris. On the 6th of
July I received word that my sister Caroline had
I wrote home to Georgia, to the white people who owned the house in which Caroline had lived, asking them to take care of her boy Lawrence until I should come in October. When we came back to Jamaica Plain in the fall, I was asked to decide what I should do in regard to this boy. Mrs. Reed wanted me to stay with her, and promised to help pay for the care of the boy in Georgia. Of course, she said, I could not expect to find positions if I had a child with me. As an inducement to remain in my present place and leave the boy in Georgia, I was promised provision for my future days, as long as I should live. It did not take me long to decide what I should do. The last time I had seen my sister, a little over a year before she died, she had said, when I was leaving, “I don't expect ever to see you again, but if I die I shall rest peacefully in my grave, because I know you will take care of my child.”
I left Jamaica Plain and took a room on Village
Street for the two or three weeks until my departure
for the South. During this time, a lady came to the
house to hire a girl for her home in Wellesley Hills.
I took a carriage and drove at once to the house
where Lawrence was being taken care of. He was
playing in the yard, and when he saw me leave the
carriage he ran and threw his arms around my neck
and cried for joy. I stayed a week in this house,
looking after such things of my sister's as had not
been already stored. One day I had a headache, and
was lying down in the cook's room. Lawrence was
in the dining-room with the cook's little girl, and the
two got into a quarrel, in the course of which my
nephew struck the cook's child. The cook, in her
anger, chased the boy with a broom, and threatened
to give him a good whipping at all costs. Hearing
the noise, I came out into the yard, and when Lawrence
saw me he ran to me for protection. I interceded
for him, and promised he should get into no
In about a week and a half more we got together such things as we wanted to keep and take away with us.
The last time I saw my sister, I had persuaded her
to open a bank account, and she had done so, and
had made small deposits from time to time. When
I came to look for the bankbook, I discovered that
her lodger, one Mayfield, had taken it at her death,
and nobody knew where it might be now. I found
out that Mayfield had drawn thirty dollars from the
account for my sister's burial, and also an unknown
amount for himself. He had done nothing for the
boy. I went down to the bank, and was told that
Mayfield claimed to look after my sister's burial
and her affairs. He had made one Reuben Bennett,
who was no relation and had no interest in the matter,
My youngest sister, who had come to Macon from
Our trunks and baggage were taken to the station in a team. We had a goodly supply of food, given us by our friends and by the people whose hospitality we had shared during the latter part of our stay.
The next morning we got into Jacksonville. My
idea was to get a place as chambermaid at Green
Cove Springs, Florida, through the influence of the
head waiter at a hotel there, whom I knew. After I
got into Jacksonville I changed my plans. I did not
see how I could move my things any farther, and we
went to a hotel for colored people, hired a room for
two dollars, and boarded ourselves on the food which
had been given us in Macon. This food lasted
about two weeks. Then I had to buy, and my money
was going every day, and none coming in. I did not
know what to do. One night the idea of keeping a
restaurant came to me, and I decided to get a little
home for the three of us, and then see what I could
do in this line of business. After a long and hard
search, I found a little house of two rooms where we
could live, and the next day I found a place to start
my restaurant. For house furnishings, we used at
Trade at the restaurant was very good, and we got along nicely. My sister got a position as nurse for fifteen dollars a month. One day the cook from a shipwrecked vessel came to my restaurant, and in return for his board and a bed in the place, agreed to do my cooking. After trade became good, I changed my residence to a house of four rooms, and put three cheap cots in each of two of the rooms, and let the cots at a dollar a week apiece to colored men who worked nearby in hotels. Lawrence and I did the chamber work at night, after the day's work in the restaurant.
I introduced “Boston baked beans” into my restaurant, much to the amusement of the people at first; but after they had once eaten them it was hard to meet the demand for beans.
Lawrence, who was now about eleven years old,
At the end of the season, about four months, it had grown so hot that we could stay in Jacksonville no longer. From my restaurant and my lodgers I cleared one hundred and seventy-five dollars, which I put into the Jacksonville bank. Then I took the furniture back to the dealer, who fulfilled his agreement.
My sister decided to go back to Atlanta when she got through with her place as nurse, which would not be for some weeks.
I took seventy-five dollars out of my bank account,
and with Lawrence went to Fernandina. There we
took train to Port Royal, S. C., then steamer to New
York. From New York we went to Brooklyn for a
few days. Then we went to Newport and stayed with
a woman who kept a lodging-house. I decided to see
what I could do in Newport by keeping a boarding
and lodging-house. I hired a little house and agreed
to pay nine dollars a month for it. I left Lawrence
with some neighbors while I came to Boston and took
some things out of storage. These things I moved
into the little house. But I found, after paying one
month's rent, that the house was not properly located
for the business I wanted. I left, and with Lawrence
went to Narragansett Pier. I got a place there as
We went back to Newport to see the landlady
from whom I had hired the house, and I paid such
part of the rent as I could. Then I packed my things
and started for Boston. On reaching there, I kept
such of my things as I needed, and stored the rest,
and took a furnished room. In about a week's time
I went to see the husband of the lady for whom I had
worked at Wellesley Hills just previous to my departure
for the South. He had told me to let him know
Lawrence was very lonely at the farm, with no companions, and used to sit and cry.
The place was sold about ten weeks after I went there, and I came into Boston to look about for a restaurant, leaving Lawrence at the farm. When the home was broken up, the owners came to the Revere House, Boston. Barrels of apples, potatoes and other provisions were given to me.
I found a little restaurant near the Providence
depot for sale. I made arrangements at once to
buy the place for thirty-five dollars, and the next
day I brought Lawrence and my things from Wellesley
Hills. I paid two dollars a week rent for my little
Lawrence got a position in a drug store, and kept it four years. Then he went to Hampton College, Hampton, Va. After finishing there, he came back and then went to the World's Fair in Chicago. After that he took a position on one of the Fall River line boats. At the outbreak of the Spanish War, he enlisted in Brooklyn as powderman on the battleship Texas. He was on the Texas when the first shot was fired. He was present at the decoration of the graves of the American soldiers in Havana and also at the decoration of the battleship Maine after she was raised. After the war, he came to Brooklyn and got an honorable discharge. Then he served as valet to a rich New York man, who travelled a good deal. About the middle of last November (1906) Lawrence came to Boston to see me. He is now in Atlantic City, a waiter in the Royal Hotel.
In 1888, I was married, at 27 Pemberton Street,
to Samuel H. Burton, by Dr. O. P. Gifford. After
my marriage, Mr. Burton got a place in Braintree
as valet to an old gentleman who was slightly demented,
and he could not be satisfied until I joined
The times changed from slavery days to freedom's days. As young as I was, my thoughts were mystified to see such wonderful changes; yet I did not know the meaning of these changing days. But days glided by, and in my mystified way I could see and hear many strange things. I would see my master and mistress in close conversation and they seemed anxious about something that I, a child, could not know the meaning of.
But as weeks went by, I began to understand. I saw all the slaves one by one disappearing from the plantation (for night and day they kept going) until there was not one to be seen.
All around the plantation was left barren. Day
after day I could run down to the gate and see down
the road troops and troops of Garrison's Brigade,
and in the midst of them gangs and gangs of negro
slaves who joined with the soldiers, shouting, dancing
and clapping their hands. The war was ended,
and from Mobile Bay to Clayton, Ala., all along the
As I looked on these I did not know what it meant, for I had never seen such a circus. The Yankee soldiers found that they had such an army of men and women and children, that they had to build tents and feed them to keep them from starving. But from what I, a little child, saw and heard the older ones say, that must have been a terrible time of trouble. I heard my master and mistress talking. They said, “Well, I guess those Yankees had such a large family on their hands, we rather guessed those fanatics on freedom would be only too glad to send some back for their old masters to provide for them.”
But they never came back to our plantation, and
I could only speak of my own home, but I thought
to myself, what would become of my good times all
over the old plantation. Oh, the harvesting times,
the great hog-killing times when several hundred
hogs were killed, and we children watched and got
our share of the slaughter in pig's liver roasted on
a bed of coals, eaten ashes and all. Then came the
great sugar-cane grinding time, when they were
making the molasses, and we children would be hanging
round, drinking the sugar-cane juice, and awaiting
My sister, being the children's nurse, would take them and wash their hands and put them to bed in their luxurious bedrooms, while we little slaves would find what homes we could. My brother and I would go to sleep on some lumber under the house, where our sister Caroline would find us and put us to bed. She would wipe our hands and faces and make up our beds on the floor in Massa's house, for we had lived with him ever since our own mother had run away, after being whipped by her mistress. Later on, after the war, my mother returned and claimed us. I never knew my father, who was a white man.
During these changing times, just after the war, I
was trying to find out what the change would bring
about for us, as we were under the care of our mistress,
living in the great house. I thought this: that
Henry, Caroline and myself, Louise, would have to
go as others had done, and where should we go and
But it was a sad, sad change on the old plantation, and the beautiful, proud Sunny South, with its masters and mistresses, was bowed beneath the sin brought about by slavery. It was a terrible blow to the owners of plantations and slaves, and their children would feel it more than they, for they had been reared to be waited upon by willing or unwilling slaves.
In this place I will insert a poem my young mistress taught us, for she was always reading poems and good stories. But first I will record a talk I heard between my master and mistress. They were sitting in the dining-room, and we children were standing around the table. My mistress said, “I suppose, as Nancy has never returned, we had better keep Henry, Caroline and Louise until they are of age.” “Yes, we will,” said Massa, Miss Mary and Miss Martha, “but it is ‘man proposes and God disposes.’”
So in the following pages you will read the sequel to my childhood life in the Sunny South.
Right after the war when my mother had got settled
in her hut, with her little brood hovered around
her, from which she had been so long absent, we had
nothing to eat, and nothing to sleep on save some
old pieces of horse-blankets and hay that the soldiers
We hoped the talk was most ended, for we were
anxiously watching that pot. Pretty soon my mother
seemed to realize our existence. She exclaimed,
“My Lord! I suppose the little children are nearly
starved. Are those
Then came the dividing. We all watched with all our eyes to see what the shares would be. My mother broke a mouthful of bread and put it on each of the tin plates. Then she took the old spoon and equally divided the pea soup. We children were seated around the fire, with some little wooden spoons. But the wooden spoons didn't quite go round, and some of us had to eat with our fingers. Our share of the meal, however, was so small that we were as hungry when we finished as when we began.
My mother said, “Take that rag and wipe your
Bright and early in the morning we were called
up, and the rest of the hoe cake was eaten for breakfast,
with a little meat, some coffee sweetened with
molasses. The little wanderers and their mother
shared our meal, and then they started again on their
journey towards their home among their kinsfolk,
and we never saw them again. My mother said,
“God bless you! I wish you all good luck. I hope
you will reach your home safely.”Then mother said
to us, “You young ones put away that straw and
sweep up the place, because I have to go to my
work.” But she came at noon and brought us a nice
dinner, more satisfactory than the supper and breakfast
we had had. We children were delighted that
In time, my older sister, Caroline, and myself got work among good people, where we soon forgot all the hard times in the little log cabin by the roadside in Clayton, Alabama.
Up to my womanhood, even to this day, these memories fill my mind. Some kind friends' eyes may see these pages, and may they recall some fond memories of their happy childhood, as what I have written brings back my young life in the great Sunny South.
I am something of the type of Moses on this 49th birthday; not that I am wrapped in luxuries, but that my thoughts are wrapped in the luxuries of the heavenly life in store for me, when my life work is done, and my friends shall be blessed by the work I shall have done. For God has commanded me to write this book, that some one may read and receive comfort and courage to do what God commands them to do. God bless every soul who shall read this true life story of one born in slavery.
It is now six years since the inspiration to write this book came to me in the Franklin evening school. I have struggled on, helped by friends. God said, “Write the book and I will help you.” And He has.
It was through a letter of my life that the principal
There remains to be told the story of my conversion and how I came to write the foregoing history of my life.
In 1875 I was taken sick. I thought I was going
to die, and I promised the Lord I would serve Him
if he would only spare my life. When I got well
again, however, I forgot all about my promise.
Then I was taken sick again. It seemed I had to
go through a dark desert place, where great demons
stood on either side. In the distance I could just
see a dim light, and I tried to get to this light, but
could not reach it. Then I found myself in a
great marsh, and was sinking. I threw up my hands and
said, “Lord, if Thou wilt raise me from this pit,
I will never fail to serve Thee.” Then it seemed
as if I mounted on wings into the air, and all the
demons that stood about made a great roaring. My
flight ended on the top of a hill. But I was troubled
because I could not find the light. All at once, at
the sound of a loud peal of thunder, the earth
When I recovered from my sickness, I was baptized
by the Rev. Dr. Pope, and joined the church
Five years ago, I began to go to the Franklin evening school. Mr. Guild was the master. At one time he requested all the pupils to write the story of their lives, and he considered my composition so interesting he said he thought if I could work it up and enlarge upon it, I could write a book. He promised to help me. My teacher was Miss Emerson, and she was interested in me. But the next year Miss Emerson gave up teaching, and Mr. Guild died.
In each of the terms that I have attended, I have
received the certificates showing that I have been
regular and punctual in attendance, have maintained
In a little clearing in the backwoods of Harding
County, Kentucky, there stood years ago a rude
cabin within whose walls Abraham Lincoln passed
his childhood. An “unaccountable” man he has
been called, and the adjective was well chosen, for
who account for a mind and nature like Lincoln's
with the ancestry he owned? His father was
a thriftless, idle carpenter, scarcely supporting his
family, and with but the poorest living. His mother
was an uneducated woman, but must have been of
an entirely different nature, for she was able to
impress upon her boy a love of learning. During
her life, his chief, in fact his only book, was the
Bible, and in this he learned to read. Just before
he was nine years old, the father brought his family
across the Ohio River into Illinois, and there in the
unfloored log cabin, minus windows and doors,
Abraham lived and grew. It was during this time
that the mother died, and in a short time the shiftless
father with his family drifted back to the old
As he grew older, his love for knowledge increased and he obtained whatever books he could, studying by the firelight, and once walking six miles for an English Grammar. After he read it, he walked the six miles to return it. He needed the book no longer, for with this as with his small collection of books, what he once read was his. He absorbed the books he read.
During these early years he did “odd jobs” for
the neighbors. Even at this age, his gift of story
telling was a notable one, as well as his sterling
honesty. His first knowledge of slavery in all its
horrors came to him when he was about twenty-one
years old. He had made a trip to New Orleans, and
there in the old slave market he saw an auction.
His face paled, and his spirits rose in revolt at the
coarse jest of the auctioneer, and there he registered
a vow within himself, “If ever I have a chance
to strike against slavery, I will strike and strike
His political life began with a defeat for the Illinois Legislature in 1830, but he was returned in 1834, 1836, 1838, and declined re-election in 1840, preferring to study law and prepare for his future. “Honest Abe” he has been called, and throughout Illinois that characteristic was the prominent one known of him. From this time his rise was rapid. Sent to the Congress of the nation, he seldom spoke, but when he did his terse though simple expression always won him a hearing. His simplicity and frankness was deceptive to the political leaders, and from its very fearlessness often defeated them.
His famous debates with Senator Douglas, the “Little Giant,” spread his reputation from one end of the country to the other, and at their close there was no question as to Lincoln's position in the North, or on the vital question of the day.
The spirit of forbearance he carried with him to
the White House, “with malice toward none, with
charity for all.” This was the spirit that carried
him through the four awful years of the war. The
martyr's crown hovered over him from the outset.
The martyr's spirit was always his. The burden of
the war always rested on his shoulders. The
He never forgot his home friends, and when occasionally one dropped in on him, the door was always open. They frequently had tea in the good old fashioned way, and then Lincoln listened to the news of the village, old stories were retold, new ones told, and the old friendships cemented by new bonds.
Then came the end, swift and sudden, and gloom settled upon the country; for in spite of ancestry, self-education, ungainly figure, ill-fitting clothes, the soul of the man had conquered even the stubborn South, while the cold-blooded North was stricken to the heart. The noblest one of all had been taken.
As a member of the negro race, I myself have suffered as a child whose parents were born in slavery, deprived of all influences of the ennobling life, made obedient to the will of the white man by the lash and chain, and sold to the highest bidder when there was no more use for them.
The first negro fact for white thought is that my clients, the colored people here in America, are not responsible for being here any more than they are responsible for their conditions of ignorance and poverty. They suddenly emerge from their prison house poor, without a home, without food or clothing, and ignorant. Now the enemies of God and of the progress of civilization in our country are to-day introducing a system of slavery with which they hope to again enslave the colored people. To carry out their evil designs they retain able politicians, lawyers and newspapers to represent them, such as Senator Tillman, the Hon. John Temple Graves of Georgia and the Baltimore Sun, and they are trying the negro on four counts which allege that the race is ignorant, cannot be taught, is lazy and immoral.
Now, are the negroes, as a whole, guilty of these charges? In the first place, the negro race of America is not ignorant. In the year 1833 John C. Calhoun, senator from South Carolina, is reported to have said that if he could find a single negro who understood the Greek syntax, he would believe the negro was human and would treat him as such. At that time it was a very safe test. God accepted the challenge in behalf of the negro race, and inspired his white sons and daughters both in the North and South to teach their brothers in black; and a few years afterward black men were examined and the world pronounced them scholars, while later still the schools were using a Greek grammar written by a black man, W. S. Scarborough of Wilberforce, O. In his class were Frederick Douglas, Henry Highland Garnett, Robert Elliot, the Rev. J. C. Price and John M. Langstone, as defenders of the race. Bishop Allen Payne, Bishop Hood and John B. Reaver will ever be remembered for their godly piety and Christian example, as we shall also remember Bishop, Sumner and Bubois for their great literary productions, William Washington Brown as the greatest organizer and financier of the century, Prof. Booker Washington as the greatest industrial educator of the world, and last, but not least, Thomas Condon, the greatest crank for the spiritual training and higher education of the negro race.
Under the leadership of such men, assisted by our white
friends and backed up by our colored race journals - the
Christian Banner of Philadelphia, the Christian Recorder, the
Star of Zion and the Afro-American Ledger of Baltimore,
“In the South we have over $12,000,000 worth of school property, 3,000 teachers, 50 high schools, 17 academies, 125 colleges, 10 law and medical schools, 25 theological seminaries, all doing a mighty work for God and humanity.
Now as to laziness. We have now in practice 14,000 lawyers and doctors, and have accumulated over $150,000,000 worth of church property. In the South we have over 150,000 farms and houses, valued at $900,000,000, and personal property at $170,000,000. We have raised over $11,000,000 for educational purposes. The property per capita for every colored man, woman and child in the United States is estimated at $75, and we are operating successfully several banks and factories; we have 7,500,000 acres of land, and the business activity of the colored people was never as thoroughly aroused as it is to-day.
When I come to deal with the charge of immorality I bow my head and blush for shame, first because if the charge be true, I see they are getting like the white man every day. I know that at the close of the American civil war the 4,000,000 negroes had more than 25 percent. of white blood coursing through their veins.
What about this new educated negro? Just ask the
Pullman Car Company, which employs hundreds of negroes
Now, you cannot do without the negro, because if you send him away, you will run after him. He is here to stay. The only way to deal successfully with the colored race is God's way. First, recognize that he is your guest; second, recognize that you have robbed him of his birthplace, home, family and savings. It is these facts that are causing so much unrest on the part of the whites in this country. The negro loves his country, which he has proved beyond a doubt in every American battle, in every act of loyalty to his country, and in his long and patient suffering. Pay him what you owe him by educating him. Give him an opportunity to live. Allow him to live in decent parts of your city. Pay wages sufficient to support his children. Do this and God will remove the objectionable negro from the land.
The Negro stands to-day upon an eminence that overlooks more than two decades spent in efforts to ameliorate the condition of seven million immortal souls by opening before their hitherto dark and cheerless lives possibilities of development into a perfect and symmetrical manhood and womanhood.
The retrospect presents to us a picture of a people's moral
degradation and mental gloom caused by slavery. A people
absolutely sunk in the lowest depth of a poverty which reduced
them to objects of charity and surrounded them with
difficulties which have ever stood as impregnable barriers in
Hated and oppressed by the combined wisdom, wealth and
statesmanship of a mighty confederacy who watched and
The idea of giving to the newly enfranchised a sound, practical education was considered at the dawn of freedom, an easy solution of what as an unsolved problem threatened the perpetuity of republican institutions. Within a year from the firing on Sumter, benevolent and farsighted Northern friends had established schools from Washington to the Gulf of Mexico, which became centers of light penetrating the darkness and scattering the blessings of an enlightened manhood far and wide.
The history of the world cannot produce a more affecting spectacle than the growth of this mighty Christian philanthropy which, in beginning amid the din of battle, has steadily marched on through every opposing influence, and lifted a race from weakness to strength, from poverty to wealth, from moral and intellectual nonentity to place and power among the nations of the earth.
We have ten millions of colored people in the United States
Now it is reckoned that the negroes in the United States are paying about $700,000,000 property taxes and this is only one-fifth of all they have accumulated, for the negro is getting more like the white people every day and has learned from him that it is not a sign of loyalty and patriotism to publish his property at its full taxable value.
In education and morals the progress is still greater. As you all know, at the close of the war the whole race was practically illiterate. It was a rare thing, indeed, to find a man of the race who even knew his letters. In 1880 the illiteracy had fallen to 70 per cent. and rapid strides along that line have been made ever since.
To-day there are 37,000 negro teachers in America, of
which number 23,000 are regular graduates of high and
normal schools and colleges, 23 are college presidents, 169
are principals of seminaries and many are principals of higher
institutions. At present there are 369 negro men and women
taking courses in the universities of Europe. The negro
ministry, together with these teachers have been prepared for
To-day there are those who wish to impede the negro's progress and lessen his educational advantages by industrializing such colleges as Howard University of Washington by placing on their Boards of Trustees and Managers the pronounced leaders of industrialism, giving as a reason that the better he is educated the worse he is; in other words, they say crime has increased among educated negroes. While stern facts show the opposite, the exact figures from the last census show that the greater proportion of the negro criminals are from the illiterate class. To-day the marriage vow, which by the teaching of the whites the negro held to be of so little importance before the war, is guarded more sacredly. The one room cabin, with its attendant evils, is passing away, and the negro woman, the mightiest moral factor in the life of her people, is beginning to be more careful in her deportment and is no longer the easy victim of the unlicensed passion of certain white men. This is a great gain and is a sign of real progress, for no race can rise higher than its women.
Let me plead with the friends of the negro. Please
continue to give him higher ideals of a better life and stand
by him in the struggle. He has done well with the
opportunities given him and is doing something along all the
walks of life to help himself, which is gratitude of the best
sort. What he needs to-day is moral sympathy, which in his
condition years ago he could hardly appreciate. The sympathy
Let this great Christian nation of eighty millions of people do justice to the Black Battalion, and seeing President Roosevelt acknowledges that he overstepped the bounds of his power in discharging and renouncing them before they had a fair trial, and now that they are vindicated before the world, to take back what he called them, Cutthroats, Brutal Murderers, Black Midnight Assassins, and Cowards This and this alone will to some extent atone for the wrong he has done and help him to regain the respect and confidence of the world.
Now in order to change the condition of things, I would suggest: First, that an international, industrial association be formed to help Afro-Americans to engage in manufacturing and commercial pursuits, assist them to buy farms, erect factories, open shops in which their young men and women can enter and produce what the world requires every day for its inhabitants.
If they were able to-day to produce the articles in common
use as boots, shoes, hats, cotton and woolen goods, made-up
clothing and enterprises such as farming, mining, forging,
carpentering, etc., negroes would find a ready sale in preference
I would suggest “A School History of the Negro Race”
to be placed in our public schools as a text book. The general
tone of all the histories taught in our public schools
points to the inferiority of the negro and the superiority of
the white. It must be indeed a stimulus to any people to
be able to refer to their ancestry as distinguished in deeds
of valor, and particularly so to the colored people. With
what eyes can the white child look upon the colored
child and the colored child look upon himself, when they have
completed the assigned course of United-States history, and in
it found not one word of credit, not one word of favorable
comment for even one among the millions of his fore-parents
who have lived through nearly three centuries of his country's
history. In them he is credited with no heritage of valor,
the is mentioned only as a slave, while true historical records
prove him to have been among the bravest of soldiers and
a faithful producer of the nation's wealth. Though then a
slave to the government, the negro's was the. first blood shed
in its defence in those days when a foreign foe threatened
its destruction. In each and all of the American wars the
negro was faithful, yes, faithful in battle while members
of his race were being lynched to death; faithful to a land
Last but not least the negro needs a daily newspaper in every large city, managed and edited by members of the race.
Such papers are needed to deal with questions of state and reflect the thoughts of the social world, to enter the province of ethics and tread the domain of morals and to give their opinion on the varying phases of religious truths and pass judgment on matters of a political nature.
There are hidden wrongs perpetrated by the whites against the negro race that will never be brought to light until the race owns and controls its own daily newspapers which alone have the power to discover and enthrone truth, thus becoming a safe guide to all honest seekers of facts respecting the race whether from a moral, educational, political or religious field. To carry out the plans suggested, whether viewed from an intellectual, industrial, commercial, or editorial standpoint, the world must acknowledge that to-day the negro race has the men and women, who are true to their race and all that stands for negro progress.
It is only 132 years ago to-day that the British troops, who had occupied Boston, made a riding school of the Old South church, and otherwise sacrilegiously disported themselves, were persuaded to get out under the compulsion of the batteries set up on Dorchester Heights. But when the last company embarked for Halifax, it carried the last British flag ever unfurled by a military organization on Massachusetts soil. That was the end of foreign domination in Massachusetts. And by a happy coincidence this is the legendary anniversary of the birth of St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, whose memory has been an inspiration in the struggle of another race for Liberty.
NEW YORK, Dec. 17. - Andrew Carnegie declared yesterday in a speech on the negro question that the negroes are a blessing to America, and that their presence in the South makes this country impregnable and without need of a navy to defend itself.
“Suppose,” said Mr. Carnegie,“Great Britain were to send her war fleets to America. It would amount to nothing. All that the President of the United States would have to do would be to say, ‘Stop exporting cotton.’ The war would be ended in four days, for England cannot do without our cotton.
“We don't need a navy; we are impregnable. Because we have 9,000,000 colored men anxious and willing to work we hold this strong position, and I am interested in the negro from this material standpoint, as well as from the more humane point of view.”