ew of moving his slaves to the
State of Missouri, regardless of the separation of husbands and wives
forever; but for fear of my resuming my old practice of running away,
if he should have forced me to leave my wife, by my repeated requests,
he was constrained to sell me to his brother, who lived within seven
miles of Wm. Gatewood, who then held Malinda as his property. I was
permitted to visit her only on Saturday nights, after my work was
done, and I had to be at home before sunrise on Monday mornings or
take a flogging. He proved to be so oppressive, and so unreasonable in
punishing his victims, that I soon found that I should have to run
away in self-defence. But he soon began to take the hint, and sold me
to Wm. Gatewood the owner of Malinda. With my new residence I confess
that I was much dissatisfied. Not that Gatewood was a more cruel
master than my former owner--not that I was opposed to living with
Malinda, who was then the centre and object of my affections--but to
live where I must be eye witness to her insults, scourgings and
abuses, such as are common to be inflicted upon slaves, was more than
I could bear. If my wife must be exposed to the insults and licentious
passions of wicked slavedrivers and overseers; if she must bear the
stripes of the lash laid on by an unmerciful tyrant; if this is to be
done with impunity, which is frequently done by slaveholders and their
abettors, Heaven forbid that I should be compelled to witness the
sight.

Not many months after I took up my residence on Wm. Gatewood's
plantation, Malinda made me a father. The dear little daughter was
called Mary Frances. She was nurtured and caressed by her mother and
father, until she was large enough to creep over the floor after her
parents, and climb up by a chair before I felt it to be my duty to
leave my family and go into a foreign country for a season. Malinda's
business was to labor out in the field the greater part of her time,
and there was no one to take care of poor little Frances, while her
mother was toiling in the field. She was left at the house to creep
under the feet of an unmerciful old mistress, whom I have known to
slap with her hand the face of little Frances, for crying after her
mother, until her little face was left black and blue. I recollect
that Malinda and myself came from the field one summer's day at noon,
and poor little Frances came creeping to her mother smiling, but with
large tear drops standing in he