No, my friends, we did it because we were forced to do it
by the dominant race. We had as task masters, in many instances, perfect
devils in human form, men who delighted in torturing the black human
beings, over whom chance and the accident of birth had placed them. I
have seen men beaten to the ground with the butts of the long whips
carried by these brutal overseers, and for no other reason than that
they could not raise to their shoulders a load sufficient for four men
to carry. I have seen the long, cruel lash curl around the shoulders of
women who refused to comply with the licentious wishes of the men who
owned them, body and soul--did I say soul? No, they did not own their
soul; that belonged to God alone, and many are the souls that have
returned to him who gave them, rather than submit to the desires of
their masters, desires to which submission was worse than death. I have
seen the snake-like lash draw blood from the tender limbs of mere
babies, hardly more than able to toddle, their only offense being that
their skin was black. And young as I was my blood often boiled as I
witnessed these cruel sights, knowing that they were allowed by the laws
of the land in which I was born. I used to think it was not the
country's fault, but the fault of the men who made the laws. Of all the
curses of this fair land, the greatest curse of all was the slave
auction block of the south, where human flesh was bought and sold.
Husbands were torn from their wives, the baby from its mother's breast,
and the most sacred commands of God were violated under the guise of
modern law, or the law of the land, which for more than two hundred
years has boasted of its freedom, and the freedom of its people.

[Illustration: My First Drunk]

Some of the slaves, like us, had kind and indulgent masters. These were
lucky indeed, as their lot was somewhat improved over their less
fortunate brothers, but even their lot was the same as that of the horse
or cow of the present day. They were never allowed to get anything in
the nature of education, as smart negroes were not in much demand at
that time, and the reason was too apparent, education meant the death of
the institution of slavery in this country, and so the slave owners took
good care that their slaves got none of it.

Go and see the play of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and you will see the black
man's life as I saw it when a child. And Harriett Beecher Stowe, the
black man's Saviour, well dese