THIRTY YEARS A SLAVE, THE INSTITUTION OF SLAVERY AS SEEN ON THE PLANTATION AND IN THE HOME OF THE PLANTER. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

THIRTY YEARS A SLAVE

From Bondage to Freedom.

THE INSTITUTION OF SLAVERY AS SEEN ON THE PLANTATION AND IN THE HOME OF
THE PLANTER.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF LOUIS HUGHES.







PREFACE.

The institution of human slavery, as it existed in this country, has
long been dead; and, happily for all the sacred interests which it
assailed, there is for it no resurrection. It may, therefore, be asked
to what purpose is the story which follows, of the experiences of one
person under that dead and accursed institution? To such question, if it
be asked, it may be answered that the narrator presents his story in
compliance with the suggestion of friends, and in the hope that it may
add something of accurate information regarding the character and
influence of an institution which for two hundred years dominated the
country--exercising a potent but baneful influence in the formation of
its social, civil and industrial structures, and which finally plunged
it into the most stupendous civil war which the world has ever known. As
the enlightenment of each generation depends upon the thoughtful study
of the history of those that have gone before, everything which tends to
fullness and accuracy in that history is of value, even though it be not
presented with the adjuncts of literary adornment, or thrilling scenic
effects.




CHAPTER I.

LIFE ON A COTTON PLANTATION.


* * * * *

BIRTH--SOLD IN A RICHMOND SLAVE PEN.

I was born in Virginia, in 1832, near Charlottesville, in the beautiful
valley of the Rivanna river. My father was a white man and my mother a
negress, the slave of one John Martin. I was a mere child, probably not
more than six years of age, as I remember, when my mother, two brothers
and myself were sold to Dr. Louis, a practicing physician in the village
of Scottsville. We remained with him about five years, when he died,
and, in the settlement of his estate, I was sold to one Washington
Fitzpatrick, a merchant of the village. He kept me a short time when he
took me to Richmond, by way of canal-boat, expecting to sell me; but as
the market was dull, he brought me back and kept me some three months
longer, when he told me he had hired me out to work on a canal-boat
running to Richmond, and to go to my mother and get my clothes ready to
start on the trip. I went to her as directed, and, when she had made
ready my bundle, she bade me good-by with tears in her eyes, saying: "My
son, be a good boy; be polite to every one, and always behave yourself
properly." It was sad to her to part with me, though she did not know
that she was never to see me again, for my master had said nothing to
her regarding his purpose and she only thought, as I did, that I was
hired to work on the canal-boat, and that she should see me
occasionally. But alas! We never met again. I can see her form still as
when she bade me good-bye. That parting I can never forget. I ran off
from her as quickly as I could after her parting words, for I did not
want her to see me crying. I went to my master at the store, and he
again told me that he had hired me to work on the canal-boat, and to go
aboard immediately. Of the boat and the trip and the scenes along the
route I remember little--I only thought of my mother and my leaving her.

When we arrived at Richmond, George Pullan, a "nigger-trader," as he was
called, came to the boat and began to question me, asking me first if I
could remember having had the chickenpox, measles or whooping-cough. I
answered, yes. Then he asked me if I did not want to take a little walk
with him. I said, no. "Well," said he, "you have got to go. Your master
sent you down here to be sold, and told me to come and get you and take
you to the trader's yard, ready to be sold." I saw that to hesitate was
useless; so I at once obeyed him and went....

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