I was raised in Virginia, about twenty miles above the mouth of the Big Kanawha. At the age of seventeen, I set out to seek freedom in company with Benjamin Harris, (who was a cousin of mine,) and a woman and four children. I was young, and they had not treated me very badly; but I had seen older men treated worse than a horse or a hog ought to be treated; so, seeing what I was coming to, I wished to get away. My father being overseer, I was not used so badly as some even younger than myself, who were kicked, cuffed, and whipped very badly for little or nothing. We started away at night, on the 12th of August, 1824. After we had crossed the river, alarm was given, and my father came down where we had crossed, and called to me to come back. I had not told my intention to either my father or mother. I made no answer at all, but we walked three miles back from the river, where we lay concealed in the woods four days. The nights we passed at the house of a white friend; a friend indeed. We set out on a Monday night, and on the night following, seven more of my fellow-servants started on the same race. They were overtaken on Wednesday night, while they were in a house on the Ohio side. One jumped from a window and broke his arm; he stayed in the woods some days, and then he returned. The other six, two women and four children, were carried back, and the man we stopped with told us that the two women were whipped to make them tell where we were, so they could come upon us. They told their master as near as they could. On Thursday five white men came to the house where we had been concealed, but we were then in the woods and mountains, three miles from the friend's house. Every evening, between three and four o'clock, he would come and bring us food. We had nothing to give him—it was the hand of Divine Providence made him do it. He and others on the river see so much abuse of colored people that they pity them, and so are ready to give them aid; at least it was so then. He told the white men he knew nothing about us, and nothing of the kind. They searched his premises, and then left, believing his story. He came to us and said, “Boys, we are betrayed, they are coming now round the hill after us.” We picked up our bundles and started on a run; then he called us back, and said he did it to try our spunk. He then told us of those who were carried back, and of the searching of his premises. We lodged in his barn that night. On the morning of Friday, he took us twelve miles to a place where the woman would have to leave her children, because he could conceal her better without them. He pointed out a house occupied by a family of Methodists, where she could go and tell them she was going back, and so leave her children there. But when she reached the house the father and mother were absent, so she went at a venture to another house. As it was raining and dark, she was guided by a white boy, a stout lad, and a girl with a lantern. At this house, she slept on a pallet on the floor; and when all else were asleep, she put her baby, which she had all along kept in her arms, into her oldest boy's care, crept to the door and went out. We had bidden her good-by, not expecting to see her. When the boy and girl had come back from guiding her, I heard the boy say, “Now we shall get fifty dollars for giving her up, and she'll get a good fleecing into the bargain.” The man where we had stopped intended to take her to his house after she had got rid of her children, and when opportunity offered, send her to Canada. We went to a fire which we saw burning in a clearing, and Ben slept while I kept watch. Presently the woman came towards us. I heard the cracking of sticks as she came, and awoke Ben. He raised a sort of tomahawk he had made, intending to strike the person approaching, supposing it was an enemy. Said she, “Oh Ben, don't strike me, it is I.” This made me cry to think Ben was so near killing the woman. Then she begged us not to leave her until the man should come to find her. He not coming so soon as we expected, we all steered back the twelve miles through the woods. Towards night, we heard his cow-bells; we drove the cattle before us, knowing that they would go home. Just as they had guided us there, the man, who had also followed the bells, came up. He told us that the children had been carried back to their master. We supposed the boy—guide—had betrayed them, but do not know. We stayed in his barn all night, and left on Sunday morning, the woman remaining behind.

At about noon, we were near a village. He pointed out a haystack, where we were to rendezvous at night, to meet another man whom our friend was to send to take us further along on our way. At night we went to the haystack; a road ran by it. Instead of keeping watch by the stack, we were so jaded that we crossed the road and lay down to rest on the bare ground, where we fell asleep. The man, as we afterwards learned from him, came as agreed upon, whistled and made signals, but failed to wake us up. Thinking we had been pursued away, he went back without us. The next morning, when we awoke, the sun was rising red, right on the public road. We saw a man at his door some two hundred yards from us. I went to ask him how the roads ran; Harris told me to inquire the way to Carr's Run, near home, so we would go the contrary. By the time I got back, Ben, who had watched, saw the man leave his house with his gun, and take a circle round to come down on us; but before he could head us, we were past him in the road running. We ran and walked about four miles barefoot; then we took courage to put on our shoes, which we had not dared stop long enough to do before, for fear the man with the gun would get ahead of us.

We were now on the top of a high hill. On our right was a path leading into the woods. In this path we descended, and after walking a few minutes, we arrived at a house by the main road. We went in to ask for a drink of buttermilk. Only the woman of the house was at home. Said she, “Boys, you are the very ones my husband was looking for last night.” We denied it, being right on the road, and afraid. She insisted, “for,” said she, “the man who came to tell my husband, said there was a big one and a little one.” I was the little one. She gave us crackers, cheese, and onions. Against her advice, we left the house and moved on. Presently we came to a toll-gate, about which there were standing several white men. We walked up boldly to the gate; one of the men then asked us, “Where are you going?” Ben answered, “We are going to Chillicothe to see our friends there.” Then he made answer and said, “You can't go any further, you must go back with me, you are the very boys I was looking for last night.” We told him we wanted to go on, but he said, “There are so many buckskin Yankees in these parts that you will be taken before you get half through the town.” We then went back to his house, but we did not stop more than ten minutes, because it would be dangerous for him as well as for us if we were caught on his premises. He stuck up a pole close to his house and tied a white cloth on it; then he led us up to the top of the hill (this was Monday, quite early in the morning), and showed us a rough place of bushes and rocks where we could lie concealed quite pleasantly, and so high up that we could see the main road, and the toll-gate, and the house, and the white flag. Said he, “If there's any danger, I'll send a child out to throw down the white flag; and if you get scared away from here, come back at night and I'll protect you.” Soon after he left us, we saw five white men come to his house on horseback; they were the five who had carried back the others that tried to escape. Two of them went into the house; then we saw a little girl come out and climb up on the fence, as if she were playing about, and she knocked down the flag-pole,—which meant that we were to look out for ourselves. But we did not feel that there was any immediate danger, and so we kept close under cover. Pretty soon the two came out of the house, and they all rode forward very fast, passed the toll-gate, and were soon out of sight. I suppose they thought to overtake us every minute, but luckily I have never seen them since. In the evening the man came and conducted us to his house, where we found the men we had seen at the toll-gate in the morning. They were mostly armed with pistols and guns. They guided us to a solitary house three miles back among the mountains, in the neighborhood of which we remained three days. We were told to go up on the mountain very high, where was an Indian cave in the rocks. From this cave we could look a great distance around and see people, and we felt afraid they would see us. So instead of staying there, we went down the mountain to a creek where trees had been cut down and branches thrown over the bank; we went under the branches and bushes where the sand was dry, and there we would sit all day. We all the time talked to each other about how we would get away, and what we should do if the white folks tackled us; that was all our discourse.

We stayed there until Friday, when our friends gave us knapsacks full of cakes and dried venison, and a little bundle of provision besides, and flints and steel, and spunk, and a pocket-compass to travel through the woods by. We knew the north-star, but did not travel nights for nearly a week. So on Friday morning we set out, the men all bidding us good-by, and the man of the flag-staff went with us half a day to teach us the use of the compass; we had never seen one before. Once in a while he would put it on a log to show us how to travel by it. When he was leaving us, he took his knife and marked on the compass, so that we should steer a little west of north.

During the six days succeeding, we traversed an unbroken wilderness of hills and mountains, seeing neither man nor habitation. At night we made a fire to sit by. We saw deer on our way; we were not annoyed by wild animals, and saw but one snake, a garter-snake. The first sign of man we met with was a newly-made road; this was on the seventh day from the time we left the house in the mountains. Our provisions held out well, and we had found water enough. After crossing the road, we came out from the mountains to a level cleared place of farms and houses. Then we were afraid, and put ourselves on our guard, resolving to travel by night. We laid by until starlight, then we made for a road leading to the north. We would follow a road until it bent away from the north; then we would leave it and go by the compass. This caused us to meet many rivers and streams where there were no bridges; some we could wade over, and some we crossed by swimming. After reaching the clearings, we scarcely dared build a fire. Once or twice we took some green corn from the fields, and made a brush fire to roast it. After lighting the fire, we would retire from it, as far almost as we could see it, and then watch whether anybody might come to it. When the fire had gone out, the corn would be about done.

Our feet were now sore with long travelling. One night we came to a river; it was rather foggy, but I could see a ferry-scow on the other side. I was afraid of alligators, but I swam over, and poled the scow back and ferried Ben across,—his ancle was so sore, that he did not like to put his foot in the water if he could help it. We soon reached an old stable in the edge of a little town; we entered it and slept alternately one keeping watch, as we always managed while in the neighborhood of settlements. We did not do this in the wilderness,—there we slept safely, and were quite reconciled. At cock-crowing in the morning we set out and went into the woods, which were very near; there we stayed through the day.

At night we started on and presently came into a road running north-west. Coming to a vine patch we filled our knapsacks with cucumbers; we then met a white man, who asked us, “Which way are you travelling?” My cousin told him “To Cleveland, to help a man drive a drove of cattle.” He then said, “I know you must be runaways,—but you needn't be afraid of me,—I don't want to hurt you.” He then told us something that we knew before—that the last spring five fugitives were overtaken at his house by my master and two other men; that the fugitives took through his wheat-field,—one of them, a little fellow, could not run so fast as the rest, and master called to him to stop, or he 'd shoot him. His answer was, “shoot and be d—d!” The man further told us, that he took through the wheat-field as if he would assist in catching the slaves, but that when he got near enough, he told them to “push on!” Ben and I knew about the pursuit, and what the little fellow had said; for it got round among the servants, after master got back. That little fellow's widow is now my wife. We went to the man's house, and partook of a good luncheon. He told us to hurry, and try to get through Newark before daylight. We hurried accordingly, but it was daybreak when we crossed the bridge. We found the little toll-gate open and we went through—there were lights in a tavern window at the left of the gate, and the windows had no curtains. Just as we were stepping off the bridge, a plank rattled,—then up started after us a little black dog, making a great noise. We walked smartly along, but did not run until we came to a street leading to the right,—then we ran fast until we came to a left hand turn, which led to the main road at the other side of the town. Before sunrise, we hid in a thicket of briars, close by the road, where we lay all day, seeing the teams, and every thing that passed by.

At dark we went on again, passed through Mount Vernon in the night, and kept on until daylight. Again we halted in concealment until night, then we went on again through Wooster. After leaving Wooster, we saw no more settlements, except one little village, which we passed through in broad day. We entered a store here, but were asked no questions. Here we learned the way to Cleveland. In the middle of the afternoon we stopped for a little rest. Just before night we moved forward again and travelled all night. We then stopped to rest until four in the afternoon, meanwhile roasting some corn as before. At about four, we met a preacher, who was just come from Cleveland. He asked us if we were making our escape,—we told him “No.” He said, “You need not be afraid of me,—I am the friend of all who travel from the South to the North.” He told us not to go into Cleveland, as we would be taken up. He then described a house which was on our way, where, he said, we might mention our meeting him, and we would find friends who would put us on board a boat. We hid until dark,—then we went to the house, which we recognized readily from the preacher's description. We knocked at the door, and were invited in. My cousin told them what the minister had said. The man of the house hid us in his barn two nights and three days. He was a shoemaker. The next night after we got there, he went to Cleveland himself to get a berth for us aboard some boat for Canada. When he returned, he said he had found a passage for us with Capt. B., who was to sail the next Thursday at 10, P. M. At that hour we embarked, having a free passage in a schooner for Buffalo. On board this boat, we met with an Englishman whom we had often seen on a steamboat at the plantation. He knew us, and told us a reward of one hundred dollars was offered for each of us, and he showed us several handbills to that effect. He said they had been given him to put up along the road, but he had preferred to keep them in his pocket. Capt. B. took away our knives and Ben's tomahawk, for fear of mischief.

We reached Buffalo at 4, P. M. The captain said, that if there was any danger in the town, he would take us in his yawl and put us across. He walked through the town to see if there were any bills up. Finding no danger, he took us out of the hatchway,—he walked with us as far as Black Rock Ferry, giving us good advice all the way, how we should conduct ourselves through life in Canada, and we have never departed from his directions,—his counsel was good, and I have kept it.

I am now buying this place. My family are with me,—we live well, and enjoy ourselves. I worship in the Methodist church. What religious instruction I received on plantation, was from my mother.

I look upon slavery as the most disgusting system a man can live under. I would not be a slave again, except that I could not put an end to my own existence, through fear of the punishment of the future.

Men who have never seen or felt slavery cannot realize it for the thing it is. If those who say that fugitives had better go back, were to go to the South and see slavery, they would never wish any slave to go back.

I have seen separations by sales, of husbands from wives, of parents from children,—if a man threatens to run away, he is sure to be sold. Ben's mother was sold down South—to New Orleans—when he was about twenty years old.

I arrived in Canada on the 13th September, 1824.

I grew up like a neglected weed,—ignorant of liberty, having no experience of it. Then I was not happy or contented: every time I saw a white man I was afraid of being carried away. I had two sisters carried away in a chain-gang,—one of them left two children. We were always uneasy. Now I've been free, I know what a dreadful condition slavery is. I have seen hundreds of escaped slaves, but I never saw one who was willing to go back and be a slave. I have no opportunity to see my friends in my native land. We would rather stay in our native land, if we could be as free there as we are here. I think slavery is the next thing to hell. If a person would send another into bondage, he would, it appears to me, be bad enough to send him into hell, if he could.

I was in bondage in Queen Anne County, Maryland, from birth until twenty-three years of age. My name in slavery was Nathan Mead. My master was a professor of religion, and used to instruct me in a hypocritical way in the duties of religion. I used to go to church on Sunday to hear him talk, and experience the contrary on Monday. On the Sabbath he used to catechize us, and tell us if we were good honest boys, and obedient to our master, we should enjoy the life that now is, and that which is to come.

My idea of freedom during my youth was, that it was a state of liberty for the mind,—that there was a freedom of thought, which I could not enjoy unless I were free,—that is, if I thought of any thing beneficial for me, I should have liberty to execute it. My escape was not owing to any sudden impulse or fear of present punishment, but from a natural wish to be free: and had it not been for near and dear friends, I should not have remained in slavery so long. I had an uncle who was a preacher. He had a good many boys. I confided to him that I wanted to leave, and would like to have his boys accompany me. He said he would not dare to tell his boys, for if we were to undertake it, and get caught, it would ruin us all. The fear of being caught was then, I think, a greater restraint than it is now. Now there is a different spirit in the slaves, and if they undertake to escape, it is with a feeling of victory or death,—they determine not to be taken alive, if possible to prevent it even by bloodshed.

I was accustomed to leave home every Saturday night to visit friends seven miles inland, and to return on Sunday night. One Sunday night when I had got back from my visit, I took leave of my friends, they not knowing what I intended, as I had often told them on the Saturday nights, in the same way, that I never expected to see them again. After I bade them farewell, I started for New Jersey, where, I had been told, people were free, and nobody would disturb me. I went six miles, and then ambushed. On Monday night, I went thirty-three miles, and found a good old Quaker—one [we omit the name, but it will be published one day]—with whom I stayed three weeks. At the expiration of which time, I went to Philadelphia. I made no tarry there, but went straight over into New Jersey. After a stay of two months at Cooper's Creek, I went to Evesham, where I resided eight or nine years, being hired and getting my money. No one disturbed me all this time. I heard that I had been pursued by the son of my master, but that not hearing from me he went back. I then received favorable offers to go to Northampton, and I removed there, taking with me my wife whom I had married at Evesham, and my three children. At Northampton I remained unmolested until October, 1836. Then some four or five southerners, neither of whom had any legal claim upon me, having found out that I had escaped from bondage, went to the executor of my old master's estate (my master having been dead six or seven years) and bought me running,—that is, they paid some small sum for a title to me, so as to make a spec. out of poor me. To make sure of the matter, they came about my house, pretending to be gunning,—meanwhile looking after my children, and appraising their value in case they could get them. This I know, for they promised a lawyer my oldest son, if he would gain the case.*

* Mrs. H. was from Caroline Co., Md. Her parents were made free “by word of mouth,”—but as her mother had no free papers,—it was feared that the daughter might be enslaved. She was enabled to avoid the danger by emigration.

The man that owned me, was not fit to own a dog. I had been wanting to get away for the last twenty years. I grieved over my condition, and groaned over it. A few months ago I succeeded in escaping. After I got among abolitionists, I was almost scared; they used me so well, I was afraid of a trick. I had been used so ill before, that I did not know what to make of it to be used decently.

The slaves want to get away bad enough. They are not contented with their situation.

I am from the eastern shore of Maryland. I never belonged but to one master; he was very bad indeed. I was never sent to school, nor allowed to go to church. They were afraid we would have more sense than they. I have a father there, three sisters, and a brother. My father is quite an old man, and he is used very badly. Many a time he has been kept at work a whole long summer day without sufficient food. A sister of mine has been punished by his taking away her clothes and locking them up, because she used to run when master whipped her. He kept her at work with only what she could pick up to tie on her for decency. He took away her child which had just begun to walk, and gave it to another woman,—but she went and got it afterward. He had a large farm eight miles from home. Four servants were kept at the house. My master could not manage to whip my sister when she was strong. He waited until she was confined, and the second week after her confinement he said, “Now I can handle you, now you are weak.” She ran from him, however, and had to go through water, and was sick in consequence.

I was beaten at one time over the head by my master, until the blood ran from my mouth and nose; then he tied me up in the garret, with my hands over my head,—then he brought me down and put me in a little cupboard, where I had to sit cramped up, part of the evening, all night, and until between four and five o'clock, next day, without any food. The cupboard was near a fire, and I thought I should suffocate.

My brother was whipped on one occasion until his back was as raw as a piece of beef, and before it got well, master whipped him again. His back was an awful sight.

We were all afraid of master: when I saw him coming, my heart would jump up into my mouth, as if I had seen a serpent.

I have been wanting to come away for eight years back. I waited for Jim Seward to get ready. Jim had promised to take me away and marry me. Our master would allow no marriages on the farm. When Jim had got ready, he let me know,—he brought to me two suits of clothes—men's clothes—which he had bought on purpose for me. I put on both suits to keep me warm. We eluded pursuit and reached Canada in safety.

I escaped from slavery in Norfolk, Va.

I think that the institution of slavery is of no utility whatever to the colored race. Slavery is the worst kind of robbery.

I came from bondage in Norfolk, Va. Slavery is horrible! horrible! horrible!

I escaped from Norfolk, Va. A man who has been in slavery knows, and no one else can know, the yearnings to be free, and the fear of making the attempt. It is like trying to get religion, and not seeing the way to escape condemnation.

I was born in Anne Arundel county, Maryland,—was brought up in Baltimore. After my escape, I lived in Lynn, Mass., seven years, but I left there through fear of being carried back, owing to the fugitive slave law. I have lived in St. Catharines less than a year.

The way I got away was,—my mistress was sick, and went into the country for her health. I went to stay with her cousin. After a month, my mistress was sent back to the city to her cousin's, and I waited on her. My daughter had been off three years. A friend said to me,—“Now is your chance to get off.” At last I concluded to go,—the friend supplying me with money. I was asked no questions on the way north.

My idea of slavery is, that it is one of the blackest, the wickedest things that ever were in the world. When you tell them the truth, they whip you to make you lie. I have taken more lashes for this, than for any other thing, because I would not lie.

One day I set the table, and forgot to put on the carving-fork—the knife was there. I went to the table to put on a plate. My master said,—“Where is the fork?” I told him “I forgot it.” He says,—“You d—d black b—, I 'll forget you!”—at the same time hitting me on the head with the carving-knife. The blood spurted out,—you can see. [Here the woman removed her turban and showed a circular cicatrice denuded of hair, about an inch in diameter, on the top of her head.] My mistress took me into the kitchen and put on camphor, but she could not stop the bleeding. A doctor was sent for. He came, but asked no questions. I was frequently punished with raw hides,—was hit with tongs and poker and any thing. I used when I went out, to look up at the sky, and say, “Blessed Lord, oh, do take me out of this!” It seemed to me I could not bear another lick. I can't forget it. I sometimes dream that I am pursued, and when I wake, I am scared almost to death.

Slaveholders ought to be prayed for. I find it harder to get work here, than I did in Massachusetts. It is a sin on the slaveholders that I had to leave and come here. It has brought me lower to the ground. I think the slaveholders do n't read the Scriptures the right way,—they do n't know their danger.

My master bragged one day to his friend, that I would not lie. He said, “I came nigh laying that d—d b—'s side open, and she stuck to it she was telling the truth, and it turned out she was.” We ain't no more than the brutes, at the South. I used to think they would speak better to a dog or cow. Then they would say, “Get out of the way,”—they would n't put the other to it.

One Sunday, my master promised me and my boy, that he hoped God would damn him, if he did not tie us up and whip us the next morning. I went into a corner and prayed to God, to allow me to take all the whipping, but to spare my boy. By and by, my mistress ran for me; she said “your master is dying!” I blew the horn to call people to us. My master lay on the floor—he never spoke afterwards, but he lived a week. He seemed to have his senses—he would make signs with his head. He would allow no one to pray with him. I prayed for him all the time he was sick. To the last, when they asked him to have prayers, he would shake his head.

I arrived in St. Catharines about two hours ago. [1855, 4, 17.]

I was raised near Harper's Ferry. I was used as well as the people about there are used. My master used to pray in his family with the house servants, morning and evening. I attended these services until I was eighteen, when I was put out on the farm, and lived in a cabin. We were well supplied with food. We went to work at sunrise, and quit work between sundown and dark. Some were sold from my master's farm, and many from the neighborhood. If a man did any thing out of the way, he was in more danger of being sold than of being whipped. The slaves were always afraid of being sold South. The Southern masters were believed to be much worse than those about us. I had a great wish for liberty when I was a boy. I always had it in my head to clear. But I had a wife and children. However, my wife died last year of cholera, and then I determined not to remain in that country.

When my old master died, I fell to his son. I had no difficulty with him, but was influenced merely by a love of liberty. I felt disagreeably about leaving my friends,—but I knew I might have to leave them by going South. There was a fellow-servant of mine named Thomas. My master gave him a letter one day, to carry to a soul-driver. Thomas got a man to read it, who told him he was sold. Thomas then got a free man to carry the letter. They handcuffed—, the free man, and put him in jail. Thomas, when he saw them take the free man, dodged into the bush. He came to us. We made up a purse, and sent him on his way. Next day, the man who had carried the letter, sent for his friends and got out. The master denied to us that he intended to sell Thomas. He did not get the money for him. Thomas afterward wrote a letter from Toronto to his friend.

I prepared myself by getting cakes, etc., and on a Saturday night in March, I and two comrades started off together. They were younger than I. . . . . We travelled by night and slept by day until we reached Pittsburg. When we had got through the town, I left the two boys, and told them not to leave while I went back to a grocery for food. When I returned, they were gone,—I do not know their fate. I stopped in that neighborhood two nights, trying to find them—I did not dare to inquire for them. The second night, I made up my mind to ask after them, but my heart failed me. I am of opinion that they got to Canada, as they knew the route. At length I was obliged to come off without them.

I think that slavery is not the best condition for the blacks. Whipping and slashing are bad enough, but selling children from their mothers and husbands from their wives is worse. At one time I wanted to marry a young woman, not on the same farm. I was then sent to Alabama, to one of my masters's sons for two years. When the girl died, I was sent for to come back. I liked the work, the tending of cotton, better than the work on the farm in Virginia,—but there was so much whipping in Alabama, that I was glad to get back. One man there, on another farm, was tied up and received five hundred and fifty lashes for striking the overseer. His back was awfully cut up. His wife took care of him. Two months after, I saw him lying on his face, unable to turn over or help himself. The master seemed ashamed of this, and told the man that if he got well, he might go where he liked. My master told me he said so, and the man told me so himself. Whether he ever got well, I do not know: the time when I saw him, was just before I went back to Virginia.*

* Mr. Johnson had already engaged work when I saw him.

My master's farm is in Virginia. When my first master died, his widow married a man who got into debt and was put into prison. The woman gave up her rights to get him out. Then we were sold. Every man came to be sold for her lifetime,—then to revert to the heirs. The heirs bought in all they could—among them my two sisters. They were sent straight to a slave-pen at Richmond. Where they went I know not: that was the last I heard of them; we could not help it,—they went off crying. My purchaser bought also the interest of the heirs in me, and I remained with him ten years—until my escape, near the close of 1854.

Before I was sold I was hired out to work: at one time to a man on the Rappahannock. Three of his men got away—went as far as Bluff Point. Then they were overtaken, tied to his buggy by the overseer, who whipped up, and they had to run home. One, our employer and his overseer whipped, taking turns about it, until they cut him through to his caul, and he died under the lash. The employer, it was said, caused the man's heart to be taken out and carried over the river, so as not to be haunted by his spirit. He was arrested, and heavily fined. The other two runaways were sold south. Then I worked for another person, being hired out to him. Directly after I went to him, I went to a haystack to feed cattle: accidentally I set fire to the haystack which was consumed,—for which I received three hundred lashes with hickory sticks. The overseer gave me the blows and Jo—counted them. His feeding was herrings and a peck of meal a week—never enough—if one wanted more he had to steal it.

My last master's allowance was a peck and a half of corn meal a week, and a small slice of meat for each dinner. If any thing more was got it had to be obtained at night. He had but one overseer, and that for but one year. He was a sharp man—whipped me with a cowhide. I've seen him whip women and children like oxen. My master owned a yellow girl, who, he feared, would run away. I was his head man and had to help do it. He tied her across the fence, naked, and whipped her severely with a paddle bored with holes, and with a switch. Then he shaved the hair off of one side of her head, and daubed cow-filth on the shaved part, to disgrace her—keep her down. I tried hard to avoid the lash, but every year he would get up with me for a whipping in some way. I could not avoid it,—he would catch me on something, do how I would. The last time he whipped me, was for stealing corn for bread for Christmas. George—was with me. He tied our wrists together about a tree, and then whipped us with a carriage whip—that was six years ago. He whipped till he wore the lash off; then he tied a knot in the end, and gave me a blow which laid me up limping three weeks,—the blood ran down into my shoes. After that he used to whip the others. George and others would have their shirts sticking to their backs in the blood. I have seen him strip my wife and whip her with a cobbing board or cowhide. . . .

One Sunday he sent me into the woods to look for hogs. I could not find them, and I told him so on my return. Said he, “They are killed and eaten, and you know the going of them.” I told him the truth that I did not know of it. He then seized me by the collar, and told me to cross my wrists. I did so,—but when he laid a rope across to bind them, I jerked them apart. He then undertook to trip me forward with his foot, and as I straightened back, to avoid it, it threw him. He kept his hold on my collar and called for help. The servants came pouring out,—they seized me, and he tied my wrists together with leading lines, eleven yards long, wrapping them about my wrists as long as there was a piece to wrap. Then he led me to the meathouse and said, “Go in there—I'll lay examples on you for all the rest to go by—fighting your master!” Whilst one was making a cobbing board, and another was gone to cut hickory switches, and he was looking up more leading lines, I got a knife from my pocket, opened it with my teeth, and holding it in my mouth, cut through the lines which bound me. Then I took a gambrel, and broke open the door. I had made up my mind, knowing that he would come wellnigh killing me, to hit with the gambrel any one who came to seize me. When I burst the door open, no one was there,—but master was coming. I sprung for the flats: he hailed me to come back. I stopped and told him that I had worked night and day to try to please him, and I would never come back any more. I stayed away nine days—then he sent me word, that he would not whip me, if I would come back. I went back, and he did not whip me afterward. But he used to whip my wife to spite me, and tell her, “you must make Isaac a good boy.” This is true, God knows.

At one time, one of the hands named Matthew was cutting wheat. His blade being dull, our master gave him so many minutes to grind it. But Matthew did not get the blade done in the time allowed. Trouble grew out of this. Matthew was whipped, and kept chained by the leg in one of the buildings. One day when master was at church, I showed Matthew how to get away. He went away with the chain and lock on his leg. The neighbor's people got it off. He then took to the bush. After two or three weeks, my master sent me to look for him, promising not to whip him if I could get him in. I did not see him, but I saw Matthew's sisters, and told them master's promise not to whip. On a Saturday night, soon after, he came in. He was chained and locked in the house until Sunday. Then he was given in charge to Wallace (a colored man employed in the kitchen) to take care of him. On Monday, he was whipped. Then master got me to persuade Matthew not to run away. He would n't tell Matthew he was afraid of his running, but would tell him he could n't get away,—that times were so straight with the telegraph and railway, that he could n't get away. And that's what keeps the poor fellows there: that, and knowing that some do set out, and get brought back, and knowing what is done with them. So Matthew stayed on the farm. This occurred last summer, [1854].

In the fall, I was making money to come away, by selling fish which I caught in the creek, and by other means, when a woman on Mr.—'s farm came to see me about some one that she feared would leave. As we talked, she said, “You would n't go away from your wife and children?” I said, “What's the reason I would n't? to stay here with half enough to eat, and to see my wife persecuted for nothing when I can do her no good. I'll go either north or south, where I can get enough to eat; and if ever I get away from that wife, I'll never have another in slavery, to be served in that way.” Then she told her master, and he let on to my master, that I was making money to go away.

By and by I saw Mr. E—, who had a little farm in the neighborhood,—then I said to one of the men, “There's going to be something done with me to-day, either whip me or sell me, one or the other.” Awhile after, as I was fanning out some corn in the granary, three white men came to the door—my master, Mr. E—, and a neighboring overseer. My master came walking to me, taking handcuffs out of his pocket, —“Come, Isaac,” says he, “it's time for you to be corrected now; you 've been doing wrong this year or two.” Said I, “What's the matter now, master—?” He answered, “I'm not going to whip you; I've made up my mind to sell you. I would not take two thousand dollars for you on my farm if I could keep you. I understand that you are getting ready to go off.” He had then put his handcuffs on me: “Well, Sir, it is agreed to go as freely as water runs from the spring,”—meaning that I would go with him without resistance or trouble. “I have done all I could for you, night and day, even carting wood on Sunday morning,—and this is what I get for it.” “Ah, Sir,” said he, “you are willing to go, but 't will be none the better for you.” “Well, master—, there's good and bad men all over the world, and I'm as likely to meet with a good man as to meet with a bad one.” “Well, Sir, if there's not less of that racket, I'll give you a good brushing over.” I was going over to the house then, from the granary. I answered, “Well, master—, you may do as you please, I am your nigger now, but not long.” Then I met my wife, coming crying, asking,—“What's the matter?” I told her, “Eliza, no more than what I told you,—just what I expected was going to be done.” His word was, “Take her away, and if she don 't hush, take her to the granary, and give her a good whipping.” She was crying, you see. He took me to his bedroom, and chained me by one leg to his bedpost, and kept me there, handcuffs on, all night. He slept in the bed. Next morning, he took me in a wagon and carried me to Fredericksburg, and sold me into a slave-pen to George Ayler, for ten hundred and fifty dollars. Here I met with Henry Banks. He entered the slave-pen after I had been there three days. He had run away since May, but was taken in Washington, D. C.

On a Thursday evening, came a trader from the south, named Dr.—. He looked at Henry, and at a man named George Strawden, and at me, but did not purchase, the price being too high. I dreamed that night that he took us three. Next morning I told Henry, “That man is coming to take you, and George, and me, just as sure as the world; so Henry, let's you and me make a bargain to try and get away; for I'm never deceived in a dream,—if I dreamed master was going to whip me, he would surely whip somebody next day.” That's as good a sign in the south as ever was.

About breakfast time, Dr.—came and stripped us stark naked to examine us. They frequently do, whether buying women or men. He says, “Well, boys, I'm satisfied with you all, if you are willing to go with me, without putting me to any trouble.” He had his handcuffs and spancels (ancle-beads, they call them for a nickname) with him. I said to him, “Yes, we are willing to go with you, and will go without any trouble,—I came without any trouble, and will go without any trouble,”—but he did not know my meaning. “I have no farm to keep you on myself,” said he, “I live in Tennessee,—I am going on to Georgia, and will take fifteen hundred dollars apiece for you—I'll get as good places for you as I can—'t is not so bad there as you have heard it is.” I said, “Oh, yes, Master—, I know you'll do the best you can; I'm willing to go.” “Well, get up all your clothes against the cars come from the Creek, and then we'll go to Richmond.” “I suppose, Master—, we'll have time to get 'em,—how long will it be before the cars come along?” “About three quarters of an hour, boy.” Then he went to George Ayler to give him a check on the Richmond Bank for $3,400 for the three men. Henry and I then got up our clothes,—I put on two shirts, three pairs of pantaloons, two vests, a thick coat, and a summer coat in the pocket,—Henry did the same with his; so we had no bundles to carry. We were afraid to let George know, for fear he would betray us.

Dr.—left the gate open, being deceived by our apparent readiness to go with him. We told George, “Stop a minute, we are going to get some water. Then we walked through Fredericksburg—having left the city we crossed the bridge to Falmouth, turned to the left, and made for the bush. Then we heard the cars from the creek, as they were running to Fredericksburg. On looking round, we saw a number of men coming after us on horseback. The way we cleared them was, we went into the bush, turned short to the right, leaving them the straightforward road,—we then moved on toward the very county from which I was sold. We were out three weeks, during the last of which we made a cave by digging into a cliff, at the head of the creek. The southern men who saw the cave (as we heard afterward when we were in jail) said they never saw so complete a place to hide in.

All this time I had visited my wife every day, either when the white folks were occupied, or before day. One Saturday night we hunted about for something to eat, without finding any thing until midnight. It then came into my head about the man who had persuaded my master to sell me,—so we went to him, and got a dozen chickens, which we took to our cave. This made us late,—it was sunrise when we reached our cave, and then H—, who was standing in the woods, looking for my brother Horace, saw me, and saw us going into our den. Then he went off and got N—, with a double-barrelled gun, and T—with a hickory club; and himself returned with a six-barrelled revolver.

Then I heard N—asking, “Who is in here?” I looked up, and there was the gun within two feet of my head, up to his face and cocked. “Surrender, or I'll blow your brains out!” I looked out, but saw no way of escape, but by going across the creek,—N—was on one side with his gun, H—on the other with his revolver, and T—over the entrance with his hickory stick. I said to Henry, “What are we to do? I started for death, and death we must try to go through. I want to see the man that bought us, no more.” N—hailed me by name, for he had now seen my face, “Surrender, for if you come out, I'll blow your brains out.” “Then,” said I, “You will have to do it.” Then I came out, bringing my broadaxe weighing seven and a half pounds in my hand,—he just stood aside and gave me a chance to come out by the muzzle of his gun. We sprung for the creek, I and my partner. In the middle it was over my depth, but I reached the other side, still holding on to the axe. While I was struggling to get up the bank, N—fired, and shot the broad axe out of my hand, putting twenty-nine shot into my right arm and hand, and seven into my right thigh. I ran until I got through a piece of marsh, and upon a beach near some woods.

I was standing looking at my arm; and on looking around for Henry saw him in the sedge. By this time H—had crossed the creek too. I called to Henry to come on, and as he rose from the hedge, N—shot him. He fell; then he got up, ran a little distance, and fell again. Then he rose up, presently fell a third time, but again recovered himself and came to me.

Finding ourselves wounded and bleeding, so that we could do nothing further towards escape, we gave up. They tied our hands behind us with a leather strap, which was very painful, as my wounded wrist swelled very much. I begged them to loosen it but they would not. They took us to jail in—county. Dr. H. there counted ninety shot in Henry's back, legs, and arms. We stayed in the jail, a month lacking three days,—two weeks in a sort of dungeon in the cellar: then, Henry being sick with fever, from the effects of the shooting, they put us up stairs, one story higher. We were kept on water and collots