The New Man: Twenthy Nine Years a Slave, Twenty Nine Years A Free Man, Recollections of H.C.Bruce
PREFACE. The author offers to the public this little
book, containing his personal recollections of slavery, with the modest hope that it will
be found to present an impartial and unprejudiced view of that system. His experience taught
him that all masters were not cruel, and that all slaves were not maltreated. There were
brutal masters and there were mean, trifling lazy slaves. While some masters cruelly whipped,
half fed and overworked their slaves, there were many others who provided for their slaves
with fatherly care, saw that they were well fed and clothed, and would neither whip them
themselves, nor permit others to do so. Having reached the age of twenty-nine before
he could call himself a free man, and having been peculiarly fortunate in all his surroundings
during the period of his slavery, the author considers himself competent to deal with all
concerned, fairly and without prejudice, and he will feel more than repaid for his labor,
if he can throw even some little new light upon this much mooted question. He believes
that we are too far removed now from the heart burnings and cruelties of that system of slavery,
horrible as it was, and too far removed from that bloody strife that destroyed the system,
root and branch, to let our accounts of it now be colored by its memories. Freedom has
been sweet indeed to the ex-bondman. It has been one glorious harvest of good things,
and he fervently prays for grace to forget the past and for strength to go forward to
resolutely meet the future. The author early became impressed with the
belief, which has since settled into deep conviction, that just as the whites were divided
into two great classes, so the slaves were divided. There are certain characteristics
of good blood, that manifest themselves in the honor and ability and other virtues of
their possessors, and these virtues could be seen as often exemplified beneath black
skins as beneath white ones. There were those slaves who would have suffered death rather
than submit to dishonor; who, though they knew they suffered a great wrong in their
enslavement, gave their best services to their masters, realizing, philosophically, that
the wisest course was to make the best of their unfortunate situation. They would not
submit to punishment, but would fight or run away rather than be whipped.
On the other hand there was a class of Negroes among the slaves who were lazy and mean. They
were as untrue to their fellows as to themselves. Like the poor whites to whom they were analogous
in point of blood, they had little or no honor, no high sense of duty, little or no appreciation
of the domestic virtues, and since their emancipation, both of these inferior blooded classes have
been content to grovel in the mire of degradation. The "poor white" class was held in slavery,
just as real as the blacks, and their degradation was all the more condemnable, because being
white, all the world was open to them, yet they from choice, remained in the South, in
this position of quasi slavery. During the slave days these poor whites seemed
to live for no higher purpose than to spy on the slaves, and to lie on them. Their ambitions
were gratified if they could be overseers, or slave drivers, or "padrollers" as the slaves
called them. This class was conceived and born of a poor blood, whose inferiority I
linked its members for all time to things mean and low. They were the natural enemies
of the slaves, and to this day they have sought to belittle and humiliate the ambitious freeman,
by the long catalogue of laws framed with the avowed intention of robbing him of his
manhood rights. It is they who cry out about "social equality," knowing full well, that
the high-toned Negro would not associate with him if he could.
If there had been no superior blooded class of blacks in the South, during the dark and
uncertain days of the war, there would not have been the history of that band of noble
self sacrificing heroes, who guarded with untiring and unquestioned faith, the homes
and honor of the families of the very men who were fighting to tighten their chains.
No brighter pages of history will ever be written, than those which record the services
of the slaves, who were left in charge of their masters' homes. These men will be found
in every case to have been those, who as slaves would not be whipped, nor suffer punishment;
who would protect the honor of their own women at any cost; but who would work with honesty
and fidelity at any task imposed upon them. The author's recollections begin with the
year 1842, and he will endeavor to show how slaves were reared and treated as he saw it.
His recollections will include something of the industrial conditions amidst which he
was reared. He will discuss from the standpoint of the slave, the conditions which led to
the war, his status during the war, and will record his experiences and observations regarding
the progress of the Negro since emancipation. It is his belief, that one of the most stupendous
of the wrongs which the Negro has suffered, was in turning the whole army of slaves loose
in a hostile country, without money, without friends, without experience in home getting
or even self-support. Their two hundred and fifty years of unrequited labor counted for
naught. They were free but penniless in the land which they had made rich.
But though they were robbed of the reward of their labor, though they have been denied
their common rights, though they have been discriminated against in every walk of life
and in favor of every breed of foreign anarchist and socialist, though they have been made
to feel the measured hate of the poor white man's venom, yet through it all they have
been true; true to the country they owe (?) so little, true to the flag that denies them
protection, true to the government that practically disowns them, true to their honor, fidelity
and loyalty, the birthrights of superior blood. H. C. BRUCE,
WASHINGTON, D. C. CHAPTER 1.
My mother often told me that I was born, March 3rd, of the year that Martin Van Buren was
elected President of the United States, and I have therefore always regarded March 3rd,
1836, as the date of my birth. Those who are familiar with the customs that obtained at
the South in the days of slavery, will readily understand why so few of the ex-slaves can
give the correct date of their birth, for, being uneducated, they were unable to keep
records themselves, and their masters, having no special interest in the matter, saw no
necessity for such records. So that the slave parents, in order to approximate the birth
of a child, usually associated it with the occurrence of some important event, such,
for instance, as "the year the stars fell," (Eighteen Thirty Three), the death of some
prominent man, the marriage of one of the master's children, or some notable historical
event. Thus by recalling any one of these occurrences, the age of their own children
was determined. Not being able to read and write, they were compelled to resort to the
next best thing within reach, memory, the only diary in which the records of their marriages,
births and deaths were registered, and which was also the means by which their mathematical
problems were solved, their accounts kept, when they had any to keep.
Of course there were thousands of such cases as E. M. Dillard's, the one which I shall
mention, but as his case will represent theirs, I will speak of his only. He was an intimate
acquaintance of mine, a man born a slave, freed by the emancipation proclamation when
over thirty years old, without even a knowledge of the alphabet, but he had a practical knowledge
of men and business matters, which enabled him to acquire a comfortable living, a nice
home, to educate his children and conduct a small business of his own. But the greatest
wonder about this man was the exactness and correct business way in which he conducted
it in buying and selling, and especially in casting up accounts, seemingly with care,
accuracy, and rapidity as any educated man could have done. But it was the result of
a good memory and a full share of brain. The memories of slaves were simply wonderful.
They were not unmindful, nor indifferent as to occurrences of interest transpiring around
them, but as the principal medium through which we obtain information was entirely closed
to them, of course their knowledge of matters and things must necessarily have been confined
within a very narrow limit; but when anything of importance transpired within their knowledge,
they knowing the date thereof, could, by reference to it as a basis, approximate the date of
some other event in question. Then there were a great many old men among them that might
be called sages, men who knew the number of days in each month, in each year, could tell
the exact date when Easter and Whit Sunday would come, because most masters gave Monday
following each of these Sundays as a holiday to slaves.
These old sages determined dates by means of straight marks and notches, made on a long
stick with a knife, and were quite accurate in arriving at correct dates. I have often
seen the sticks upon which they kept their records, but failed to understand the system
upon which they based their calculations, yet I found them eminently correct. It was
too intricate for me. My parents belonged to Lemuel Bruce, who died
about the year Eighteen Thirty Six, leaving two children, William Bruce and Rebecca Bruce,
who went to live with their aunt, Mrs. Prudence Perkinson; he also left two families of slaves,
and they were divided between his two children; my mother's family fell to Miss Rebecca, and
the other family, the head of which was known as Bristo, was left to William B. Bruce. Then
it was that family ties were broken, the slaves were all hired out, my mother to one man and
my father to another. I was too young then to know anything about it, and have to rely
entirely on what I have heard my mother and others older than myself say.
My personal recollections go back to the year Eighteen Forty One, when my mother was hired
to a lady, Mrs. Ludy Waddel by name. Miss Rebecca Bruce married Mr. Pettis Perkinson,
and soon after her slaves were taken to their new home, then known as the Rowlett Place,
at which point we began a new life. It is but simple justice to Mr. Perkinson to say,
that though springing from a family known in that part of the country as hard task-masters,
he was himself a kind and considerate man. His father had given him some ten or twelve
slaves, among whom were two boys about my own age. As we were quite young, we were tenderly
treated. To state that slave children under thirteen
years of age were tenderly treated probably requires further explanation. During the crop
season in Virginia, slave men and women worked in the fields daily, and such females as had
sucklings were allowed to come to them three times a day between sun rise and sun set,
for the purpose of nursing their babes, who were left in the care of an old woman, who
was assigned to the care of these children because she was too old or too feeble for
field work. Such old women usually had to care for, and prepare the meals of all children
under working age. They were furnished with plenty of good, wholesome food by the master,
who took special care to see that it was properly cooked and served to them as often as they
desired it. On very large plantations there were many
such old women, who spent the remainder of their lives caring for children of younger
women. Masters took great pride in their gangs of young slaves, especially when they looked
"fat and sassy," and would often have them come to the great house yard to play, particularly
when they had visitors. Freed from books and mental worry of all kinds, and having all
the outdoor exercise they wanted, the slave children had nothing to do but eat, play and
grow, and physically speaking, attain to good size and height, which was the special wish
and aim of their masters, because a tall, well-proportioned slave man or woman, in case
of a sale, would always command the highest price paid. So then it is quite plain, that
it was not only the master's pride, but his financial interest as well, to have these
children enjoy every comfort possible, which would aid in their physical make up, and to
see to it that they were tenderly treated. But Mr. Perkinson's wife lived but a short
time, dying in Eighteen Forty Two. She left one child, William E. Perkinson, known in
his later life as Judge W. E. Perkinson, of Brunswick, Missouri. Mr. Perkinson built a
new house for himself, "The great house," and quarters for his slaves on his own land,
near what is now known as Green Bay, Prince Edward County, Virginia. But I don't think
that Mrs. Perkinson lived to occupy the new house. My mother was assigned to a cabin at
the new place during the spring of Eighteen Forty Two. But after the death of his young
wife, Mr. Perkinson became greatly dissatisfied with his home and its surroundings, showing
that all that was dear to him was gone, and that he longed for a change, and being persuaded
by his brother-in-law, W. B. Bruce, who was preparing to go to the western country, as
Missouri and Kentucky were then called, he dicided to break up his Virginia home, and
take his slaves to Missouri, in company with Mr. W. B. Bruce.
The time to start was agreed upon, and those old enough to work were given a long holiday
from January to April, Eighteen Forty Four, when we left our old Virginia home, bound
for Chariton County, Missouri. In this event there were no separations of husbands and
wives, because of the fact that my father and Bristo were both dead, and they were the
only married men in the Bruce family. Among the slaves that were given to Mr. Perkinson
by his father was only one married man, uncle Watt, as we called him, and he and his wife
and children were carried along with the rest of us.
I shall never forget the great preparations made for our start to the West. There were
three large wagons in the outfit, one for the whites and two for the slaves. The whites
in the party were Messrs. Perkinson, Bruce, Samuel Wooten, and James Dorsell. The line
of march was struck early in April, Eighteen Forty Four. I remember that I was delighted
with the beautiful sceneries, towns, rivers, people in their different styles of costumes,
and so many strange things that I saw on that trip from our old home to Louisville. But
the most wonderful experience to me was, when we took a steamer at Louisville for St. Louis.
The idea of a house floating on the water was a new one to me, at least, and I doubt
very much whether any of the white men of the party had ever seen a steamboat before.
I am unable to recall the route, and the many sights, and incidents of that long trip of
nearly fifteen hundred miles, and shall not attempt to describe it. But finally we reached
our destination, which was the home of Jack Perkinson, brother of Mr. Pettis Perkinson,
about June or July, Eighteen Forty Four. His place was located about seven or eight miles
from Keytesville, Missouri. At that time this country was sparsely settled; a farm house
could be only seen in every eight or ten miles. I was greatly pleased with the country, for
there was plenty of everything to live on, game, fish, wild fruits, and berries. The
only drawback to our pleasure was Jack Perkinson, who was the meanest man I had ever seen. He
had about thirty-five slaves on his large farm and could and did raise more noise, do
more thrashing of men, women and children, than any other man in that county.
Our folks were soon hired out to work in the tobacco factories at Keytesville, except the
old women, and such children as were too small to be put to work. I was left at this place
with my mother and her younger children and was happy. I was too young to be put to work,
and there being on the farm four or five boys about my age, spent my time with them hunting
and fishing. There was a creek near by in which we caught plenty of fish. We made lines
of hemp grown on the farm and hooks of bent pins. When we got a bite, up went the pole
and quite often the fish, eight or ten feet in the air. We never waited for what is called
a good bite, for if we did the fish would get the bait and escape capture, or get off
when hooked if not thrown quickly upon the land. But fish then were very plentiful and
not as scary as now. The hardest job with us was digging bait. We often brought home
as much as five pounds of fish in a day. There was game in abundance, but our hunting
was always for young rabbits and squirrels, and we hunted them with hounds brought with
us from Virginia. I had never before seen so many squirrels. The trees there were usually
small and too far apart for them to jump from tree to tree, and when we saw one "treed"
by the dogs, one of us climbed up and forced it to jump, and when it did, in nine cases
out of ten the dogs would catch it. We often got six or eight in a day's hunting.
Another sport which we enjoyed was gathering the eggs of prairie chickens. On account of
the danger of snake bites, we were somewhat restricted in the pursuit of this pleasure,
being forbidden to go far away from the cabins. Their eggs were not quite as large as the
domestic hen's, but are of a very fine flavor. North of Jack Perkinson's farm was a great
expanse of prairie four or five miles wide and probably twenty or thirty long - indeed
it might have been fifty miles long. There were a great many snakes of various sizes
and kinds, but the most dangerous and the one most dreaded was the rattlesnake, whose
bite was almost certain death in those days, but for which now the doctors have found so
many cures that we seldom hear of a death from that cause. When allowed to go or when
we could steal away, which we very often did, we usually took a good sized basket and found
eggs enough to fill it before returning. We saw a great many snakes, killing some and
passing others by, especially the large ones. There were thousands of prairie chickens scattered
over this plain, and eggs were easily found. One thing was in our favor; these wild chickens
never selected very tall grass for nests. But it almost makes me shudder now, when I
think of it, and remember that we were barefooted at the time, with reptiles on every side,
some of which would crawl away or into their holes while others would show fight. But none
of us were bitten by them. On these prairies large herds of deer could be seen in almost
any direction. I have seen as many as one hundred together. Jack Perkinson was not a
hunter, kept no gun, and of course we had none, so we could not get any deer. There
were a great many wolves around that place and I stood in mortal fear of them, but never
had any encounter with one. They usually prowled about at night, and kept the young slave men
from going to balls or parties. The most vicious wild animal I met or encountered
was the hog. There were a great many of them around the farm, especially in the timber
south of it. In that timber were some very large hickory nuts - the finest I ever saw.
I remember one occasion when we were out gathering nuts, having our dogs with us. They went a
short distance from us, but very soon we heard them barking and saw them running toward us
followed by a drove of wild hogs in close proximity. We hardly had time to climb trees
for safety. I was so closely pressed that an old boar caught my foot, pulling off the
shoe, but I held on to the limb of the tree and climbed out of danger, although minus
my shoe. One minute later and I would not have been here to pen these lines, for those
hogs would have torn and eaten me in short order. From my safe position in the tree I
looked down on those vicious wild animals tearing up my shoe. We had escaped immediate
death, but were greatly frightened because the hogs lay down under the trees and night
was coming on. We had shouted for help but could not make ourselves heard. Every time
our dogs came near, some big boar would chase them away and come back to the drove. We reasoned
together, and came to conclusion that if we would drive the dogs farther away the hogs
would leave. Being up trees we could see our dogs for some distance away and we drove them
back. After a while the hogs seemed to have forgotten us. A few large ones got up, commenced
rooting and grunting, and soon the drove moved on. When they had gotten a hundred yards away
we slid down, and then such a race for the fence and home. It was a close call. But we
kept that little fun mum, for if Jack Perkinson had learned of his narrow escape from the
loss of two or three Negro boys worth five or six hundred dollars each, he would have
given us a severe whipping. About January 1, 1845, my mother and her children,
including myself and those younger, were hired to one James Means, a brickmaker, living near
Huntsville, Randolph County, Missouri. I remember the day, when he came after us with a two-horse
team. He had several children, the eldest being a boy. Although Cyrus was a year older
than I, he could not lick me. He and I had to feed the stock and haul trees to be cut
into wood for fire, which his father had felled in the timber. Mr. Means also owned a girl
about fourteen years old called Cat, and as soon as spring came he commenced work on the
brick yard with Cat and me as offbearers. This, being my first real work, was fun for
a while, but soon became very hard and I got whipped nearly every day, not because I did
not work, but because I could not stand it. Having to carry a double mold all day long
in the hot sun I broke down. Finally Mr. Means made for my special benefit two single molds,
and after that I received no more punishment from him.
Mr. Perkinson soon became disgusted with Missouri, and leaving his slaves in the care of W. B.
Bruce to be hired out yearly, went back to Virginia. Some said it was a widow, Mrs. Wooten,
who took him back, while others believed that it was because he could not stand the cursing
and whipping of slaves carried on by his brother Jack whom he could not control. This man,
Jack Perkinson, died about the year Eighteen Forty Six, and left a wife and three children.
Although he had borne the reputation of being the hardest master in that county, his wife
was quite different. When she took charge of the estate, she hired out the slaves, most
of them to the tobacco factory owners, and really received more money yearly for them
than when they worked upon the farm. After her death the estate passed to her children
and was managed by the eldest son, Pettis, who was very kind to his slaves until they
became free by the Emancipation Proclamation. I am informed that the very best of friendship
still exists between the whites and blacks of that family.
In January Eighteen Forty Six, with my older brothers I was hired to Judge Applegate, who
conducted a tobacco factory at Keytesville, Missouri. I was then about ten years old,
and although I had worked at Mr. Mean's place, I had done no steady work, because I was allowed
many liberties, but at Judge Applegate's I was kept busy every minute from sunrise to
sunset, without being allowed to speak a word to anyone. I was too young then to be kept
in such close confinement. It was so prison-like to be compelled to sit during the entire year
under a large bench or table filled with tobacco, and tie lugs all day long except during the
thirty minutes allowed for breakfast and the same time allowed for dinner. I often fell
asleep. I could not keep awake even by putting tobacco in my eyes. I was punished by the
overseer, a Mr. Blankenship, every time he caught me napping, which was quite often during
the first few months. But I soon became used to that kind of work and got along very well
the balance of that year. Orders had been sent to W. B. Bruce by Mr.
Perkinson to bring his slaves back to Virginia, and about March, Eighteen Forty Seven, he
started with us contrary to our will. But what could we do? Nothing at all. We finally
got started by steamboat from Brunswick to St. Louis, Missouri, and thence to Cincinnati,
Ohio. Right here I must tell a little incident that happened, which explains why we were
not landed at Cincinnati, but taken to the Kentucky side of the river, where we remained
until the steamboat finished her business there and crossed over and took us on board
again. Deck passage on the steamer had been secured for us by W. B. Bruce, and there were
on the same deck some poor white people. Just before reaching Cincinnati, Ohio, some of
these whites told my mother and other older ones, that when the boat landed at Cincinnati
the abolitionists would come aboard and even against their will take them away. Of course
our people did not know what the word abolitionist meant; they evidently thought it meant some
wild beast or Negro-trader, for they feared both and were greatly frightened - so much
so that they went to W. B. Bruce and informed him of what they had been told. He was greatly
excited and went to the captain of the boat. I am unable to state what passed between them,
but my mother says he paid the captain a sum of money to have us landed on the Kentucky
side of the river. At any rate I know we were put ashore opposite Cincinnati, and remained
there until the streamer transacted its business at Cincinnati and then crossed over and picked
us up. The story told us by the white deck passengers had a great deal of truth in it.
I have since learned that a slave could not remain a slave one minute after touching the
free soil of that state, and that its jurisdiction extended to low water mark of the Ohio River.
Slaves in transit had been taken from steamers and given their freedom in just such cases
as the one named above. A case of this kind had been taken upon appeal to the Supreme
Court of the state of Ohio, and a decision handed down in favor of the freedom of the
slave. The ignorance of these women caused me to work as a slave for seventeen years
afterwards. End of Chapter 1.
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