for years, I finally
succeeded in learning how to write.

CHAPTER VIII

In a very short time after I went to live at Baltimore, my old master's
youngest son Richard died; and in about three years and six months
after his death, my old master, Captain Anthony, died, leaving only his
son, Andrew, and daughter, Lucretia, to share his estate. He died while
on a visit to see his daughter at Hillsborough. Cut off thus
unexpectedly, he left no will as to the disposal of his property. It was
therefore necessary to have a valuation of the property, that it might
be equally divided between Mrs. Lucretia and Master Andrew. I was
immediately sent for, to be valued with the other property. Here again
my feelings rose up in detestation of slavery. I had now a new
conception of my degraded condition. Prior to this, I had become, if not
insensible to my lot, at least partly so. I left Baltimore with a young
heart overborne with sadness, and a soul full of apprehension. I took
passage with Captain Rowe, in the schooner Wild Cat, and, after a sail
of about twenty-four hours, I found myself near the place of my birth. I
had now been absent from it almost, if not quite, five years. I,
however, remembered the place very well. I was only about five years old
when I left it, to go and live with my old master on Colonel Lloyd's
plantation; so that I was now between ten and eleven years old.

We were all ranked together at the valuation. Men and women, old and
young, married and single, were ranked with horses, sheep, and swine.
There were horses and men, cattle and women, pigs and children, all
holding the same rank in the scale of being, and were all subjected to
the same narrow examination. Silvery-headed age and sprightly youth,
maids and matrons, had to undergo the same indelicate inspection. At
this moment, I saw more clearly than ever the brutalizing effects of
slavery upon both slave and slaveholder.

After the valuation, then came the division. I have no language to
express the high excitement and deep anxiety which were felt among us
poor slaves during this time. Our fate for life was now to be decided.
we had no more voice in that decision than the brutes among whom we were
ranked. A single word from the white men was enough--against all our
wishes, prayers, and entreaties--to sunder forever the dearest friends,
dearest kindred, and strongest ties known to human beings. In addition
to the pain of separation, there was the h