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$Unique_ID{bob00098}
$Pretitle{}
$Title{Up From Slavery An Autobiography
Chapter I. A Slave Among Slaves}
$Subtitle{}
$Author{Washington, Booker T.}
$Affiliation{}
$Subject{slaves
slave
plantation
freedom
house
slavery
time
place
war
white
see
pictures
see
figures
}
$Date{1902}
$Log{See A Cargo Of Slaves*0009801.scf
See Slaves At Auction*0009802.scf
}
Title:       Up From Slavery An Autobiography
Author:      Washington, Booker T.
Date:        1902

Chapter I. A Slave Among Slaves

     I was born a slave on a plantation in Franklin County, Virginia.  I am
not quite sure of the exact place or exact date of my birth, but at any rate I
suspect I must have been born somewhere and at some time.  As nearly as I have
been able to learn, I was born near a cross-roads post-office called Hale's
Ford, and the year was 1858 or 1859.  I do not know the month or the day.  The
earliest impressions I can now recall are of the plantation and the slave
quarters - the latter being the part of the plantation where the slaves had
their cabins.

     My life had its beginning in the midst of the most miserable, desolate,
and discouraging surroundings.  This was so, however, not because my owners
were especially cruel, for they were not, as compared with many others.  I was
born in a typical log cabin, about fourteen by sixteen feet square.  In this
cabin I lived with my mother and a brother and sister till after the Civil
War, when we were all declared free.

     Of my ancestry I know almost nothing.  In the slave quarters, and even
later, I heard whispered conversations among the coloured people of the
tortures which the slaves, including, no doubt, my ancestors on my mother's
side, suffered in the middle passage of the slave ship while being conveyed
from Africa to America.  I have been unsuccessful in securing any information
that would throw any accurate light upon the history of my family beyond my
mother.  She, I remember, had a half-brother and a half-sister.  In the days
of slavery not very much attention was given to family history and family
records - that is, black family records.  My mother, I suppose, attracted the
attention of a purchaser who was afterward my owner and hers.  Her addition to
the slave family attracted about as much attention as the purchase of a new
horse or cow.  Of my father I know even less than of my mother.  I do not even
know his name.  I have heard reports to the effect that he was a white man who
lived on one of the near-by plantations.  Whoever he was, I never heard of his
taking the least interest in me or providing in any way for my rearing.  But I
do not find especial fault with him.  He was simply another unfortunate victim
of the institution which the Nation unhappily had engrafted upon it at that
time.

[See A Cargo Of Slaves: My ancestors on my mother's side, suffered in the
middle passage of the slave ship while being conveyed from Africa to America.]

     The cabin was not only our living-place, but was also used as the kitchen
for the plantation.  My mother was the plantation cook.  The cabin was without
glass windows; it had only openings in the side which let in the light, and
also the cold, chilly air of winter.  There was a door to the cabin - that is,
something that was called a door - but the uncertain hinges by which it was
hung, and the large cracks in it, to say nothing of the fact that it was too
small, made the room a very uncomfortable one.  In addition to these openings
there was, in the lower right-hand corner of the room, the "cat-hole," - a
contrivance which almost every mansion or cabin in Virginia possessed during
the ante-bellum period.  The "cat-hole" was a square opening, about seven by
eight inches, provided for the purpose of letting the cat pass in and out of
the house at will during the night.  In the case of our particular cabin I
could never understand the necessity for this convenience, since there were at
least a half-dozen other places in the cabin that would have accommodated the
cats.  There was no wooden floor in our cabin, the naked earth being used as a
floor.  In the centre of the earthen floor there was a large, deep opening
covered with boards, which was used as a place in which to store sweet
potatoes during the winter.  An impression of this potato-hole is very
distinctly engraved upon my memory, because I recall that during the process
of putting the potatoes in or taking them out I would often come into
possession of one or two, which I roasted and thoroughly enjoyed.  There was
no cooking-stove on our plantation, and all the cooking for the whites and
slaves my mother had to do over an open fireplace, mostly in pots and
"skillets." While the poorly built cabin caused us to suffer with cold in the
winter, the heat from the open fireplace in summer was equally trying.

     The early years of my life, which were spent in the little cabin, were
not very different from those of thousands of other slaves.  My mother, of
course, had little time in which to give attention to the training of her
children during the day.  She snatched a few moments for our care in the early
morning before her work began, and at night after the day's work was done. One
of my earliest recollections is that of my mother cooking a chicken late at
night, and awakening her children for the purpose of feeding them.  How or
where she got it I do not know.  I presume, however, it was procured from our
owner's farm.  Some people may call this theft.  If such a thing were to
happen now, I should condemn it as theft myself.  But taking place at the time
it did, and for the reason that it did, no one could ever make me believe that
my mother was guilty of thieving.  She was simply a victim of the system of
slavery.  I cannot remember having slept in a bed until after our family was
declared free by the Emancipation Proclamation.  Three children - John, my
older brother, Amanda, my sister, and myself - had a pallet on the dirt floor,
or, to be more correct, we slept in and on a bundle of filthy rags laid upon
the dirt floor.

     I was asked not long ago to tell something about the sports and pastimes
that I engaged in during my youth.  Until that question was asked it had never
occurred to me that there was no period of my life that was devoted to play.
From the time that I can remember anything, almost every day of my life has
been occupied in some kind of labour; though I think I would now be a more
useful man if I had had time for sports.  During the period that I spent in
slavery I was not large enough to be of much service, still I was occupied
most of the time in cleaning the yards, carrying water to the men in the
fields, or going to the mill, to which I used to take the corn, once a week,
to be ground.  The mill was about three miles from the plantation.  This work
I always dreaded.  The heavy bag of corn would be thrown across the back of
the horse, and the corn divided about evenly on each side; but in some way,
almost without exception, on these trips, the corn would so shift as to become
unbalanced and would fall off the horse, and often I would fall with it.  As I
was not strong enough to reload the corn upon the horse, I would have to wait,
sometimes for many hours, till a chance passer-by came along who would help me
out of my trouble.  The hours while waiting for some one were usually spent in
crying.  The time consumed in this way made me late in reaching the mill, and
by the time I got my corn ground and reached home it would be far into the
night.  The road was a lonely one, and often led through dense forests.  I was
always frightened.  The woods were said to be full of soldiers who had
deserted from the army, and I had been told that the first thing a deserter
did to a Negro boy when he found him alone was to cut off his ears.  Besides,
when I was late in getting home I knew I would always get a severe scolding or
a flogging.

     I had no schooling whatever while I was a slave, though I remember on
several occasions I went as far as the schoolhouse door with one of my young
mistresses to carry her books.  The picture of several dozen boys and girls in
a schoolroom engaged in study made a deep impression upon me, and I had the
feeling that to get into a schoolhouse and study in this way would be about
the same as getting into paradise.

     So far as I can now recall, the first knowledge that I got of the fact
that we were slaves, and that freedom of the slaves was being discussed, was
early one morning before day, when I was awakened by my mother kneeling over
her children and fervently praying that Lincoln and his armies might be
successful, and that one day she and her children might be free.  In this
connection I have never been able to understand how the slaves throughout the
South, completely ignorant as were the masses so far as books or newspapers
were concerned, were able to keep themselves so accurately and completely
informed about the great National questions that were agitating the country.
From the time that Garrison, Lovejoy, and others began to agitate for freedom,
the slaves throughout the South kept in close touch with the progress of the
movement.  Though I was a mere child during the preparation for the Civil War
and during the war itself, I now recall the many late-at-night whispered
discussions that I heard my mother and the other slaves on the plantation
indulge in.  These discussions showed that they understood the situation, and
that they kept themselves informed of events by what was termed the
"grape-vine" telegraph.

     During the campaign when Lincoln was first a candidate for the
Presidency, the slaves on our far-off plantation, miles from any railroad or
large city or daily newspaper, knew what the issues involved were.  When war
was begun between the North and the South, every slave on our plantation felt
and knew that, though other issues were discussed, the primal one was that of
slavery.  Even the most ignorant members of my race on the remote plantations
felt in their hearts, with a certainty that admitted of no doubt, that the
freedom of the slaves would be the one great result of the war, if the
Northern armies conquered.  Every success of the Federal armies and every
defeat of the Confederate forces was watched with the keenest and most intense
interest.  Often the slaves got knowledge of the results of great battles
before the white people received it.  This news was usually gotten from the
coloured man who was sent to the post-office for the mail.  In our case the
post-office was about three miles from the plantation, and the mail came once
or twice a week.  The man who was sent to the office would linger about the
place long enough to get the drift of the conversation from the group of white
people who naturally congregated there, after receiving their mail, to discuss
the latest news.  The mail-carrier on his way back to our master's house would
as naturally retail the news that he had secured among the slaves, and in this
way they often heard of important events before the white people at the "big
house," as the master's house was called.

     I cannot remember a single instance during my childhood or early boyhood
when our entire family sat down to the table together, and God's blessing was
asked, and the family ate a meal in a civilized manner.  On the plantation in
Virginia, and even later, meals were gotten by the children very much as dumb
animals get theirs.  It was a piece of bread here and a scrap of meat there.
It was a cup of milk at one time and some potatoes at another.  Sometimes a
portion of our family would eat out of the skillet or pot, while some one else
would eat from a tin plate held on the knees, and often using nothing but the
hands with which to hold the food.  When I had grown to sufficient size, I was
required to go to the "big house" at meal-times to fan the flies from the
table by means of a large set of paper fans operated by a pulley.  Naturally
much of the conversation of the white people turned upon the subject of
freedom and the war, and I absorbed a good deal of it.  I remember that at one
time I saw two of my young mistresses and some lady visitors eating
ginger-cakes, in the yard.  At that time those cakes seemed to me to be
absolutely the most tempting and desirable things that I had ever seen; and I
then and there resolved that, if I ever got free, the height of my ambition
would be reached if I could get to the point where I could secure and eat
ginger-cakes in the way that I saw those ladies doing.

     Of course as the war was prolonged the white people, in many cases, often
found it difficult to secure food for themselves.  I think the slaves felt the
deprivation less than the whites, because the usual diet for the slaves was
corn bread and pork, and these could be raised on the plantation; but coffee,
tea, sugar, and other articles which the whites had been accustomed to use
could not be raised on the plantation, and the conditions brought about by the
war frequently made it impossible to secure these things.  The whites were
often in great straits.  Parched corn was used for coffee, and a kind of black
molasses was used instead of sugar.  Many times nothing was used to sweeten
the so-called tea and coffee.

     The first pair of shoes that I recall wearing were wooden ones.  They had
rough leather on the top, but the bottoms, which were about an inch thick,
were of wood.  When I walked they made a fearful noise, and besides this they
were very inconvenient, since there was no yielding to the natural pressure of
the foot.  In wearing them one presented an exceedingly awkward appearance.
The most trying ordeal that I was forced to endure as a slave boy, however,
was the wearing of a flax shirt.  In the portion of Virginia where I lived it
was common to use flax as part of the clothing for the slaves.  That part of
the flax from which our clothing was made was largely the refuse, which of
course was the cheapest and roughest part.  I can scarcely imagine any
torture, except, perhaps, the pulling of a tooth, that is equal to that caused
by putting on a new flax shirt for the first time.  It is almost equal to the
feeling that one would experience if he had a dozen or more chestnut burrs, or
a hundred small pin-points, in contact with his flesh.  Even to this day I can
recall accurately the tortures that I underwent when putting on one of these
garments.  The fact that my flesh was soft and tender added to the pain.  But
I had no choice.  I had to wear the flax shirt or none; and had it been left
to me to choose, I should have chosen to wear no covering.  In connection with
the flax shirt, my brother John, who is several years older than I am,
performed one of the most generous acts that I ever heard of one slave
relative doing for another.  On several occasions when I was being forced to
wear a new flax shirt, he generously agreed to put it on in my stead and wear
it for several days, till it was "broken in." Until I had grown to be quite a
youth this single garment was all that I wore.

     One may get the idea, from what I have said, that there was bitter
feeling toward the white people on the part of my race, because of the fact
that most of the white population was away fighting in a war which would
result in keeping the Negro in slavery if the South was successful.  In the
case of the slaves on our place this was not true, and it was not true of any
large portion of the slave population in the South where the Negro was treated
with anything like decency.  During the Civil War one of my young masters was
killed, and two were severely wounded.  I recall the feeling of sorrow which
existed among the slaves when they heard of the death of "Mars' Billy." It was
no sham sorrow, but real.  Some of the slaves had nursed "Mars' Billy"; others
had played with him when he was a child.  "Mars' Billy" had begged for mercy
in the case of others when the overseer or master was thrashing them. The
sorrow in the slave quarter was only second to that in the "big house." When
the two young masters were brought home wounded, the sympathy of the slaves
was shown in many ways.  They were just as anxious to assist in the nursing as
the family relatives of the wounded.  Some of the slaves would even beg for
the privilege of sitting up at night to nurse their wounded masters. This
tenderness and sympathy on the part of those held in bondage was a result of
their kindly and generous nature.  In order to defend and protect the women
and children who were left on the plantations when the white males went to
war, the slaves would have laid down their lives.  The slave who was selected
to sleep in the "big house" during the absence of the males was considered to
have the place of honour.  Any one attempting to harm "young Mistress" or "old
Mistress" during the night would have had to cross the dead body of the slave
to do so.  I do not know many have noticed it, but I think that it will be
found to be true that there are few instances, either in slavery or freedom,
in which a member of my race has been known to betray a specific trust.

     As a rule, not only did the members of my race entertain no feelings of
bitterness against the whites before and during the war, but there are many
instances of Negroes tenderly caring for their former masters and mistresses
who for some reason have become poor and dependent since the war.  I know of
instances where the former masters of slaves have for years been supplied with
money by their former slaves to keep them from suffering.  I have known of
still other cases in which the former slaves have assisted in the education of
the descendants of their former owners.  I know of a case on a large
plantation in the South in which a young white man, the son of the former
owner of the estate, has become so reduced in purse and self-control by reason
of drink that he is a pitiable creature; and yet, notwithstanding the poverty
of the coloured people themselves on this plantation, they have for years
supplied this young white man with the necessities of life.  One sends him a
little coffee or sugar, another a little meat, and so on.  Nothing that the
coloured people possess is too good for the son of "old Mars' Tom," who will
perhaps never be permitted to suffer while any remain on the place who knew
directly or indirectly of "old Mars' Tom."

     I have said that there are few instances of a member of my race betraying
a specific trust.  One of the best illustrations of this which I know of is in
the case of an ex-slave from Virginia whom I met not long ago in a little town
in the state of Ohio.  I found that this man had made a contract with his
master, two or three years previous to the Emancipation Proclamation, to the
effect that the slave was to be permitted to buy himself, by paying so much
per year for his body; and while he was paying for himself, he was to be
permitted to labour where and for whom he pleased.  Finding that he could
secure better wages in Ohio, he went there.  When freedom came, he was still
in debt to his master some three hundred dollars.  Notwithstanding that the
Emancipation Proclamation freed him from any obligation to his master, this
black man walked the greater portion of the distance back to where his old
master lived in Virginia, and placed the last dollar, with interest, in his
hands.  In talking to me about this, the man told me that he knew that he did
not have to pay the debt, but that he had given his word to his master, and
his word he had never broken.  He felt that he could not enjoy his freedom
till he had fulfilled his promise.

     From some things that I have said one may get the idea that some of the
slaves did not want freedom.  This is not true.  I have never seen one who did
not want to be free, or one who would return to slavery.

[See Slaves At Auction: I have never seen a slave who did not want to be free,
or one who would return to slavery.]

     I pity from the bottom of my heart any nation or body of people that is
so unfortunate as to get entangled in the net of slavery.  I have long since
ceased to cherish any spirit of bitterness against the Southern white people
on account of the enslavement of my race.  No one section of our country was
wholly responsible for its introduction, and, besides, it was recognized and
protected for years by the General Government.  Having once got its tentacles
fastened on to the economic and social life of the Republic, it was no easy
matter for the country to relieve itself of the institution.  Then, when we
rid ourselves of prejudice, or racial feeling, and look facts in the face, we
must acknowledge that, notwithstanding the cruelty and moral wrong of slavery,
the ten million Negroes inhabiting this country, who themselves or whose
ancestors went through the school of American slavery, are in a stronger and
more hopeful condition, materially, intellectually, morally, and religiously,
than is true of an equal number of black people in any other portion of the
globe.  This is so to such an extent that Negroes in this country, who
themselves or whose forefathers went through the school of slavery, are
constantly returning to Africa as missionaries to enlighten those who remained
in the fatherland.  This I say, not to justify slavery - on the other hand, I
condemn it as an institution, as we all know that in America it was
established for selfish and financial reasons, and not from a missionary
motive - but to call attention to a fact, and to show how Providence so often
uses men and institutions to accomplish a purpose.  When persons ask me in
these days how, in the midst of what sometimes seem hopelessly discouraging
conditions, I can have such faith in the future of my race in this country, I
remind them of the wilderness through which and out of which, a good
Providence has already led us.

     Ever since I have been old enough to think for myself, I have entertained
the idea that, notwithstanding the cruel wrongs inflicted upon us, the black
man got nearly as much out of slavery as the white man did.  The hurtful
influences of the institution were not by any means confined to the Negro.
This was fully illustrated by the life upon our own plantation.  The whole
machinery of slavery was so constructed as to cause labour, as a rule, to be
looked upon as a badge of degradation, of inferiority.  Hence labour was
something that both races on the slave plantation sought to escape.  The slave
system on our place, in a large measure, took the spirit of self-reliance and
self-help out of the white people.  My old master had many boys and girls, but
not one, so far as I know, ever mastered a single trade or special line of
productive industry.  The girls were not taught to cook, sew, or to take care
of the house.  All of this was left to the slaves.  The slaves, of course, had
little personal interest in the life of the plantation, and their ignorance
prevented them from learning how to do things in the most improved and
thorough manner.  As a result of the system, fences were out of repair, gates
were hanging half off the hinges, doors creaked, window-panes were out,
plastering had fallen but was not replaced, weeds grew in the yard.  As a
rule, there was food for whites and blacks, but inside the house, and on the
diningroom table, there was wanting that delicacy and refinement of touch and
finish which can make a home the most convenient, comfortable, and attractive
place in the world.  Withal there was a waste of food and other materials
which was sad.  When freedom came, the slaves were almost as well fitted to
begin life anew as the master, except in the matter of book-learning and
ownership of property.  The slave owner and his sons had mastered no special
industry.  They unconsciously had imbibed the feeling that manual labour was
not the proper thing for them.  On the other hand, the slaves, in many cases,
had mastered some handicraft, and none were ashamed, and few unwilling, to
labour.

     Finally the war closed, and the day of freedom came.  It was a momentous
and eventful day to all upon our plantation.  We had been expecting it.
Freedom was in the air, and had been for months.  Deserting soldiers returning
to their homes were to be seen every day.  Others who had been discharged, or
whose regiments had been paroled, were constantly passing near our place.  The
"grape-vine telegraph" was kept busy night and day.  The news and mutterings
of great events were swiftly carried from one plantation to another.  In the
fear of "Yankee" invasions, the silverware and other valuables were taken from
the "big house", buried in the woods, and guarded by trusted slaves.  Woe be
to any one who would have attempted to disturb the buried treasure.  The
slaves would give the Yankee soldiers food, drink clothing - anything but that
which had been specifically intrusted to their care and honour.  As the great
day drew nearer, there was more singing in the slave quarters than usual.  It
was bolder, had more ring, and lasted later into the night.  Most of the
verses of the plantation songs had some reference to freedom.  True, they had
sung those same verses before, but they had been careful to explain that the
"freedom" in these songs referred to the next world, and had no connection
with life in this world.  Now they gradually threw off the mask, and were not
afraid to let it be known that the "freedom" in their songs meant freedom of
the body in this world.  The night before the eventful day, word was sent to
the slave quarters to the effect that something unusual was going to take
place at the "big house" the next morning.  There was little, if any, sleep
that night.  All was excitement and expectancy.  Early the next morning word
was sent to all the slaves, old and young, to gather at the house.  In company
with my mother, brother, and sister, and a large number of other slaves, I
went to the master's house.  All of our master's family were either standing
or seated on the veranda of the house, where they could see what was to take
place and hear what was said.  There was a feeling of deep interest, or
perhaps sadness, on their faces, but not bitterness.  As I now recall the
impression they made upon me, they did not at the moment seem to be sad
because of the loss of property, but rather because of parting with those whom
they had reared and who were in many ways very close to them.  The most
distinct thing that I now recall in connection with the scene was that some
man who seemed to be a stranger (a United States officer, I presume) made a
little speech and then read a rather long paper - the Emancipation
Proclamation, I think.  After the reading we were told that we were all free,
and could go when and where we pleased.  My mother, who was standing by my
side, leaned over and kissed her children, while tears of joy ran down her
cheeks.  She explained to us what it all meant, that this was the day for
which she had been so long praying, but fearing that she would never live to
see.

     For some minutes there was great rejoicing, and thanksgiving, and wild
scenes of ecstasy.  But there was no feeling of bitterness.  In fact, there
was pity among the slaves for our former owners.  The wild rejoicing on the
part of the emancipated coloured people lasted but for a brief period, for I
noticed that by the time they returned to their cabins there was a change in
their feelings.  The great responsibility of being free, of having charge of
themselves, of having to think and plan for themselves and their children,
seemed to take possession of them.  It was very much like suddenly turning a
youth of ten or twelve years out into the world to provide for himself.  In a
few hours the great questions with which the Anglo-Saxon race had been
grappling for centuries had been thrown upon these people to be solved.  These
were the questions of a home, a living, the rearing of children, education,
citizenship, and the establishment and support of churches.  Was it any wonder
that within a few hours the wild rejoicing ceased and a feeling of deep gloom
seemed to pervade the slave quarters?  To some it seemed that, now that they
were in actual possession of it, freedom was a more serious thing than they
had expected to find it.  Some of the slaves were seventy or eighty years old;
their best days were gone.  They had no strength with which to earn a living
in a strange place and among strange people, even if they had been sure where
to find a new place of abode.  To this class the problem seemed especially
hard.  Besides, deep down in their hearts there was a strange and peculiar
attachment to "old Marster" and "old Missus," and to their children, which
they found it hard to think of breaking off.  With these they had spent in
some cases nearly a half-century, and it was no light thing to think of
parting.  Gradually, one by one, stealthily at first, the older slaves began
to wander from the slave quarters back to the "big house" to have a whispered
conversation with their former owners as to the future.