This affair my mother saw from her cottage, which was near; I being one of the oldest sons of my parents, our family was now mortified to the lowest degree.  I had always aimed to be trustworthy; and feeling a high degree of mechanical pride, I had aimed to do my work with dispatch and skill, my blacksmith’s pride and taste was one thing that had reconciled me so long to remain a slave.  I sought to distinguish myself in the finer branches of the business by invention and finish; I frequently tried my hand at making guns and pistols, putting blades in penknives, making fancy hammers, hatchets, sword-canes, &c., &c.  Besides I used to assist my father at night in making straw-hats and willow-baskets, by which means we supplied our family with little articles of food, clothing and luxury, which slaves in the mildest form of the system never get from the master; but after this, I found that my mechanic’s pleasure and pride were gone.  I thought of nothing but the family disgrace under which we were smarting, and how to get out of it.

Perhaps I may as well extend this note a little.  The reader will observe that I have not said much about my master’s cruel treatment; I have aimed rather to shew the cruelties incident to the system.  I have no disposition to attempt to convict him of having been one of the most cruel masters—­that would not be true—­his prevailing temper was kind, but he was a perpetualist.  He was opposed to emancipation; thought free negroes a great nuisance, and was, as respects discipline, a thorough slaveholder.  He would not tolerate a look or a word from a slave like insubordination.  He would suppress it at once, and at any risk.  When he thought it necessary to secure unqualified obedience, he would strike a slave with any weapon, flog him on the bare back, and sell.  And this was the kind of discipline he also empowered his overseers and sons to use.

I have seen children go from our plantations to join the chained-gang on its way from Washington to Louisiana; and I have seen men and women flogged—­I have seen the overseers strike a man with a hay-fork—­nay more, men have been maimed by shooting!  Some dispute arose one morning between the overseer and one of the farm hands, when the former made at the slave with a hickory club; the slave taking to his heels, started for the woods; as he was crossing the yard, the overseer turned, snatched his gun which was near, and fired at the flying slave, lodging several shots in the calf of one leg.  The poor fellow continued his flight, and got into the woods; but he was in so much pain that he was compelled to come out in the evening, and give himself up to his master, thinking he would not allow him to be punished as he had been shot.  He was locked up that night; the next morning the overseer was allowed to tie him up and flog him; his master then took his instruments and picked the shot out of his leg, and told him, it served him just right.