nveyed from Africa to America. I have been unsuccessful in
securing any information that would throw any accurate light upon the
history of my family, beyond my mother. She, I remember, had a
half-brother and a half-sister. In the days of slavery not very much
attention was given to family history and family records--that is,
black family records. My mother, I suppose, attracted the attention of
a purchaser who was afterward my owner and hers. Her addition to the
slave family attracted about as much attention as the purchase of a new
horse or cow. Of my father I know even less than of my mother. I do
not even know his name. I have heard reports to the effect that he was
a white man who lived on one of the nearby plantations. Whoever he
was, I never heard of his taking the least interest in me or providing
in any way for my rearing. But I do not find especial fault with him.
He was simply another unfortunate victim of the institution which the
Nation unhappily had engrafted upon it at that time. . . .

I cannot remember having slept in a bed until after our family was
declared free by the Emancipation Proclamation. Three children--John,
my older brother, Amanda, my sister, and myself--had a pallet on the
dirt floor, or, to be more correct, we slept in and on a bundle of
filthy rags laid upon the dirt floor.

From the time that I can remember anything, almost every day of my life
has been occupied in some kind of labour; though I think I would now be
a more useful man had I had time for sports. During the period that I
spent in slavery I was not large enough to be of much service, still I
was occupied most of the time in cleaning the yards, carrying water to
the men in the fields, or going to the mill, to which I used to take
the corn, once a week, to be ground. The mill was about three miles
from the plantation. This work I always dreaded. The heavy bag of
corn would be thrown across the back of the horse, and the corn divided
about evenly on each side; but in some way, almost without exception,
on these trips the corn would so shift as to become unbalanced and
would fall off the horse, and often I would fall with it. As I was not
strong enough to reload the corn upon the horse, I would have to wait,
sometimes for many hours, till a chance passerby came along who would
help me out of my trouble. The hours while waiting for some one were
usually spent in crying. The time consumed in this way made me late