sometimes got down the bag in which corn{104} meal was usually carried
to the mill, and crawled into that. Sleeping there, with my head in and
feet out, I was partly protected, though not comfortable. My feet have
been so cracked with the frost, that the pen with which I am writing
might be laid in the gashes. The manner of taking our meals at old
master's, indicated but little refinement. Our corn-meal mush, when
sufficiently cooled, was placed in a large wooden tray, or trough, like
those used in making maple sugar here in the north. This tray was set
down, either on the floor of the kitchen, or out of doors on the ground;
and the children were called, like so many pigs; and like so many pigs
they would come, and literally devour the mush--some with oyster shells,
some with pieces of shingles, and none with spoons. He that eat fastest
got most, and he that was strongest got the best place; and few left the
trough really satisfied. I was the most unlucky of any, for Aunt Katy
had no good feeling for me; and if I pushed any of the other children,
or if they told her anything unfavorable of me, she always believed the
worst, and was sure to whip me.

As I grew older and more thoughtful, I was more and more filled with a
sense of my wretchedness. The cruelty of Aunt Katy, the hunger and cold
I suffered, and the terrible reports of wrong and outrage which came to
my ear, together with what I almost daily witnessed, led me, when yet
but eight or nine years old, to wish I had never been born. I used to
contrast my condition with the black-birds, in whose wild and sweet
songs I fancied them so happy! Their apparent joy only deepened
the shades of my sorrow. There are thoughtful days in the lives of
children--at least there were in mine when they grapple with all
the great, primary subjects of knowledge, and reach, in a moment,
conclusions which no subsequent experience can shake. I was just as well
aware of the unjust, unnatural and murderous character of slavery, when
nine years old, as I am now. Without any appeal to books, to laws, or
to authorities of any kind, it was enough to accept God as a father, to
regard slavery as a crime.{105}

I was not ten years old when I left Col. Lloyd's plantation for
Balitmore(sic). I left that plantation with inexpressible joy. I never
shall forget the ecstacy with which I received the intelligence from my
friend, Miss Lucretia, that my old master had determined to let me go to
Baltimore