Thirty Years a Slave - Louis Hughes
They tried again to make me say that I was with the Yankees. They
whipped me a while, then questioned me again. The dog-wood switches that
they used stung me terribly. They were commonly used in Mississippi for
flogging slaves--one of the refinements of the cruelty of the
institution of slavery. I refused to say anything different from what I
had said; but when they had finished whipping me I was so sore I could
hardly move. They made up their minds to put me in jail at Panola,
twenty-two miles away, to be fed on bread and water. The next day was
Sunday, and all arrangements having been made for taking me to the place
appointed for those whose crime was a too great love for personal
freedom, they started with me, passing on the way Old Master Jack's,
where they halted to let him know that his advice respecting me was to
be carried out. The old man called to my wife: "Come out and see Louis."
Some one had told her that they were going to hang me; and I shall never
forget her looks as she came out in the road to bid me good-by. One of
the soldiers was softened by her agony, and whispered to her: "Don't
cry, aunty, we are not going to hang him--we will only put him in jail."
I saw this changed my wife's looks in a minute. I said a few words to
her, and, with a prayer for God's blessing on us both, we parted, and
they moved on. After we had gone about seven miles, we met two soldiers,
who belonged to the regiment at Nelson. They said: "Hello! where you
going with that nigger?" The two men in charge of me replied: "We are
going to take him to Panola jail." "Why," said one of the soldiers,
"there is no jail there; the Yanks passed through and pulled down the
doors and windows of the jail, and let all the prisoners out." This
caused a stop; and a council of war was held in the fence corner, the
result of which was a decision to take me back to old Jack McGee's.
After we had gotten back there, they took me and gave me another
flogging to satisfy the madam. I was never so lacerated before. I could
hardly walk, so sore and weak was I. The law was given me that if ever I
was caught out in the public road again, by any soldier, I was to be
shot. Monday morning I was sent to the field to plow; and, though I was
very stiff and my flesh seemed sore to the bone, my skin drawn and
shriveled as if dead, I had, at least, to make the attempt to work. To
have said: "Master, I am too sore to work," would only have gotten me
another whipping. So I obeyed without a word.
* * * * *
REBELS BURN THEIR COTTON.
The capture of Memphis by the Union troops closed the principal cotton
market of the country, and there was, as a consequence, an immense
accumulation of the product in the hands of the farmers of that region.
They were, therefore, compelled to resort to temporary expedients for
its protection from the elements. Old Master Jack had his piled up in a
long rick, and shelters built over it. Other farmers did the same. As
cotton was almost the only source of revenue for the farmers, and as
there was now no opportunity of getting it to market, there was such a
dearth of money as had seldom, if ever, been known, and a corresponding
dearth of those necessaries of life which money was the only means of
procuring. The accumulations of our family in this product were very
great. While the rebel farmers were waiting for a time when they could
turn their stores of this valuable article into money, a proclamation
was issued by the rebel government that all the owners of cotton that
had it stored on their farms must prepare to have it burned. Hundreds of
rebel soldiers marched to every section of Mississippi that they could
reach, and applied the torch to these cotton ricks. The destruction was
enormous. This was to prevent the cotton from falling into the hands of
the Unionists. Jeff Davis said to his deluded followers that it was
better for them to destroy this property than to risk its coming into
the possession of their enemies, since that would equally impoverish
themselves, while it might result to the pecuniary advantage of those
with whom they were at war. I know that it was a terrible sight when our
cotton was burned. Hundreds of bales were consumed, and it seemed like a
wholly unnecessary destruction of property, and, therefore, unwise as a
war measure. Many were sorry that they had acquiesced in the policy, as
it cost them thousands of dollars, and made many poor. They thought that
possibly their farms might have escaped the visits of the Union
soldiers, and the property, so much needed, been saved in whole or in
part. They reasoned, and reasoned correctly, that their condition would
in no sense have been worse if their cotton had not been burned by their
own soldiers, but might have been much better in many cases, without any
real detriment to the rebel cause. The sacrifice of the property of
their own people, by the rebel authorities, was evidence of the
desperation of the condition of the rebellion, and was so regarded by
not a few at that time. Those were terrible days. One could see anxiety
written on every face among the whites. The slaves even looked worried
at times, though the war meant so much to them, as they were always
looking forward to freedom, at its close, if the Union troops were
successful.
* * * * *
MY FOURTH RUNAWAY TRIP.
After I had been working on the farm about two months, and had
thoroughly talked the matter over with Alfred Dandridge, we planned to
make a careful and persistent effort to escape from the land of bondage.
We thought that as others, here and there, all through the neighborhood,
were going, we would make trial of it. My wife and I were at old Master
Jacks; and, after we had consulted with Alfred and Lydia, his wife, we
all concluded to go at once. Alfred had been a teamster for Dandridge
for many years, and was familiar with the road, as he had hauled cotton
into Memphis for his master for so long a time he could hardly tell when
he began. Matt Dandridge was a fellow servant, belonging to the same
man, and both had, as was not unusual, taken their master's name, or,
rather, were known by it. Matt had learned of our purpose to run away,
and concluded to join our party. So one night, when all was still, we
started. Uncle Alfred, as I always called him, was to be our leader. He
was older than any of the rest of us, and had had a good deal of
experience; we, therefore, all looked to him--in fact, we relied
entirely upon him. After we had traveled about twelve miles, we came to
a swamp, called Hicke-Halley. Here we stopped, as day was dawning, and
settled down for the day, as we could travel only in the night, lest we
should be seen and caught. We were wet--our clothes soaked through from
the heavy dew. We had to travel through corn fields, cotton patches, oat
fields and underbrush, not daring to take the main road. This is why we
were so wet. Uncle Alfred traveled wholly by the stars--they were his
guide. He knew by looking at them the four cardinal points of the
compass. Many old slaves were guided in this way when traveling in the
night, and some could tell the time of night by the position of the
stars. We stayed in Hicke-Halley all day, and in the evening, when it
was dark enough, we started on again, Uncle Alfred offering up a prayer
to God to guide us safely through. Cold Water was our next stopping
place, and here a difficulty rose before us that made us fearful. We had
nothing to wear but what we had on, and not much of that, so had small
space for carrying anything, and, therefore, had brought with us only a
little bite to eat. As we had lived on this small provision for a day,
there was now but little left for our increasing wants; and the
difficulty of securing anything from the houses without danger of
detection was almost insurmountable. But we felt encouraged as we
thought of what we were striving for, and sped on our way. But the way
was hard, for sometimes we got completely stuck in brier patches, and
had to turn and go back, in order to find a way out. Old logs and
driftwood, that had been piled up year after year, were other obstacles
in our way; and one can imagine how hard it was to make our way through
such a mass of brush and forest by the dim light of the stars as they
struggled through the dense branches of the trees. We stumbled on,
however, as best we could, each fearful, yet silently praying for
guidance and help. When within four or five miles of Cold Water, Uncle
Alfred stopped, and cautioned us not to speak above a whisper, as the
rebel troops were camped on both sides of us. We were in a swamp between
the two roads, gradually working our way through to the river, as we
could not go on either of the roads for fear of detection. At the
bridges, where these roads crossed the river, there were rebel camps,
and it was useless for us to think of crossing either. We, therefore,
worked our way carefully through the thicket that we were in until we
came within sight of the river. Then Uncle Alfred went ahead, creeping a
few steps, then stopping to see if the river was clear of soldiers. From
this point it was some two and a half miles to the bridges, each way;
and it was our idea that if we could cross here without being seen by
the soldiers, we would be all right. Uncle Alfred came back to us and
told us that he thought the way was clear. "I can not hear a sound,"
said he, "so let us go on." We followed the river down until we came to
a place where we could cross. Here we found some drift-wood--an old tree
had been blown down, nearly across the river, leaving a space of about
twenty feet. Over this natural bridge we crept to the open space which
we waded, the water being up to our knees; but we did not mind this.
There was no talking above a whisper, for fear of being heard by the
soldiers. Daylight had begun to dawn, and we felt good that we had
succeeded thus far. We went on quietly until we got entirely out of the
swamp and reached some hills. The woods were on each side of us and
still thick; so we stopped here, on the side of a hill, where the sun
shone brightly on us, expecting to rest for the day. Our clothes had
already become quite dry from the sunshine; and, so far, we felt all
right. Alfred and I had made a turn around the place, listening to see
if we could hear any noise, or see any trace of soldiers; but we
discovered no trace of them, and went back to our stopping place. I had
been asleep and some of the others were still asleep, when suddenly I
heard the yelp of blood hounds in the distance. It seemed quite far away
at first, but the sound came nearer and nearer, and then we heard men
yelling. We knew now that they were on our trail, and became so
frightened that we all leaped to our feet, and were about to run, when
Uncle Alfred said: "Stop children, let me oil you feet." He had with him
a bottle of ointment made of turpentine and onions, a preparation used
to throw hounds off a trail. All stopped; and the women, having their
feet anointed first, started off, Uncle Alfred telling them to run in
different directions. He and I were the last to start. Alfred said:
"Don't let the bushes touch you;" at the same time he ran through the
bushes with such a rattling noise one could have heard him a great
distance. He wore one of those old fashioned oil cloth coats made in
Virginia; and, as he ran, the bushes, striking against the coat, made a
noise like the beating of a tin board with sticks. The funny part of it
was that, having cautioned us to be careful about noise, he made more
than all of us. By this time the woods were resounding with the yelping
of the hounds and the cries of their masters. The hounds numbered some
fourteen. The men howled and cheered in concert with the brutes, for
they knew that they were on the right trail, and it would be but a short
time before they caught us all. I had gotten further away than any of
them. Having run about a mile, I came to a farm, and started across an
open field, hoping to reach a wood beyond, where I might conceal myself.
Before I was half way across the field, on looking back, I saw the dogs
coming over the fence, and knowing there was no chance of my getting to
the woods, I turned around, and ran back to a persimmon tree, and just
had time to run up one of the branches when the dogs came upon the
ground. I looked and saw the men, Williams the nigger-catcher, and Dr.
Henry and Charles Dandridge. As soon as Williams rode up, he told me to
come down, but I was so frightened I began to cry, yet came down
trembling. The dogs laid hold of me at once, tearing my clothes and
biting my flesh. Dr. Dandridge was just riding up, and seeing what was
happening, yelled out to Williams: "I thought your dogs didn't bite."
"Oh! well," said Williams, "he aint hurt--we've got to let 'em bite a
little."
They took us all back to the fence where I crossed over, all the others
having been caught. Our hearts were filled with dismay. All looked as if
they were condemned to be hung. We knew not what was to be done with us.
The women were pitiful to see, crying and moaning--all courage utterly
gone. They started back with us to Old Master Jack's, at Panola, and we
stopped for the night at a small farm house. The old woman who kept it
said, tauntingly: "You niggers going to the Yankees? You all ought to be
killed." We started on the following morning, and got back home at one
o'clock in the afternoon. All of us were whipped. All the members of the
family were very angry. Old Lady Jack McGee was so enraged that she said
to my wife: "I thought you were a Christian. You'll never see your God."
She seemed to think that because Matilda had sought freedom she had
committed a great sin.
* * * * *
INCIDENTS.
Ever since the beginning of the war, and the slaves had heard that
possibly they might some time be free, they seemed unspeakably happy.
They were afraid to let the masters know that they ever thought of such
a thing, and they never dreamed of speaking about it except among
themselves. They were a happy race, poor souls! notwithstanding their
down-trodden condition. They would laugh and chat about freedom in their
cabins; and many a little rhyme about it originated among them, and was
softly sung over their work. I remember a song that Aunt Kitty, the cook
at Master Jack's, used to sing. It ran something like this:
There'll be no more talk about Monday, by and by,
But every day will be Sunday, by and by.
The old woman was singing, or rather humming, it one day, and old lady
McGee heard her. She was busy getting her dinner, and I suppose never
realized she was singing such an incendiary piece, when old Mrs. McGee
broke in upon her: "Don't think you are going to be free; you darkies
were made by God and ordained to wait upon us." Those passages of
Scripture which refer to master and servants were always cited to us
when we heard the Word preached; and they were interpreted as meaning
that the relation of master and slave was right and proper--that they
were rightly the masters and we the slaves.
I remember, not long after Jeff Davis had been elected president of the
Confederacy, that I happened to hear old Master Jack talking to some of
the members of the family about the war, etc. All at once the old man
broke out: "And what do you think! that rascal, Abraham Lincoln, has
called for 300,000 more men. What is Jeff Davis doin'-doin'?" He talked
on, and seemed so angry that he gave no one a chance to answer: "Jeff
Davis is a grand rascal-rascal," said he, "he ought to go into the field
himself." At first all the Southerners were jubilant over Davis; but as
they were losing so, and the Unionists gaining, they grew angry and
denounced him oftentimes in unsparing terms.
* * * * *
UNION RAID AT MASTER'S FARM.
During the time the Union headquarters were at Helena, a Union gun-boat
came down the river as far as Boliva, and stopped at Miles McGee's. The
soldiers made a raid through the farm, taking chickens, turkeys, meat
and everything that they could lay hands on. During this raid Miles
McGee came out of the house with a gun, and shot the commanding officer
of the party. He became alarmed over what he had done, and hid in the
cabin of one of the servants. He never came near the house. The Union
soldiers came three different times to catch him, but never succeeded.
The last time they came, he made for the canebrake, and hid himself
there until they were gone. But though he had escaped their righteous
vengeance, he became so nervous that he left his hiding place in the
canebraker, and went to Atlanta, Ga., and staid there among friends
until things became more quiet. At last wearying of this, he determined
to return to old Master Jack's, but not to his own home. Word had been
received of his coming, and great preparations were made for his
reception. After he had started on his return, he was taken ill on the
train, and was left at a small town called Jackson, where he soon died.
I drove the family to the depot upon the day of his expected arrival,
and as the train came in, the women waved their handkerchiefs; and, when
the conductor stepped off, they asked him if Mr. McGee was aboard. He
said no--"I have his remains." The scene that followed, I can not
describe--such wailing and screaming! I could not but feel sad, even
though they had treated me so meanly, causing the death of my children,
and separating me from my wife. Their grief was indeed great. The sad
news was conveyed to his mother, old Mrs. Jack McGee, at the house by an
advance messenger, and we soon followed with the body. He was the
favorite son of his mother, and her grief was very great. But for his
wanton shooting of the Union officer, he would probably not have met his
death as he did.
* * * * *
UNION SOLDIERS PASS THE PANOLA HOME.
One winter night, while I was at old Master Jack's, I was awakened by a
rumbling noise like that of heavy wagons, which continued steadily and
so long a time that I finally concluded it must be an army passing, and
such I found to be the case, upon getting up and venturing out, the
rumbling which had awakened me being caused by the passing artillery. I
was afraid to go out straight to the soldiers, but would take a few
steps at a time, then stop and listen behind a tree or the shrubbery.
All seemed quiet--there was no talking. I had listened about twenty
minutes when there seemed to be a halt at the creek, some distance from
the house. Soon afterwords I heard the command given: "Forward!" I at
once made up my mind that they were Yankee soldiers. I got on my knees
and crawled to the fence, not daring to go openly, fearing that they
might hear or see me and shoot, supposing me to be a spy. I went back
into the house and told my wife that they were Yankees who had just
passed. "Uncle George," said I, "this would be a good time for us to
go." "Oh, no," said he, "we are not quite ready." Uncle George's cabin
was where my wife and I stayed while at old Master Jack's. In the
morning I was to carry a parcel to Como, a place not far from home, to
Mr. James McGee, who was in the rebel army. It was not quite daylight
when I made ready to go on my trip, for I was anxious to find out more
about the soldiers. Going to the stable and saddling my horse, I mounted
and rode out to the big gate leading to the main road, just as day was
dawning. As I dismounted to open the gate, some soldiers were passing
and an officer sung out to me, "Hello! which way are you going." I said
"to Como, to carry this parcel of clothing to my young master in the
war." "You have a fine horse," said the officer, "I guess I will
exchange horses with you." He took my package of clothing and some
letters which I had to mail and my horse, leaving me his, which was a
very poor animal. I was badly scared at this performance, fearing that I
would be severely whipped for the loss of the horse and package. Yet how
could I help it? We knew nothing but to serve a white man, no matter
what he asked or commanded. As a matter of course, I did not go to Como,
as I had nothing to take--the officer had everything, but went back to
the cabin. I supposed that the soldiers had all passed; but in about
half an hour Aunt Kitty, on looking out of her cabin window, exclaimed:
"My God! just look at the soldiers!" The yard was covered with the blue
coats. Another venerable slave said: "My Lord! de year of jubilee am
come." During the excitement I ran to the big house, and told the madam
that the Yankees were there, and had taken my horse and every thing I
had. Old Master Jack had heard the news, but was not able to come out.
He had arisen, but, when he knew of the presence of the Yankees, he went
back to bed, calling for Kitty to get him a mush poultice. "Tell
Kitty-ity-ity to get me a mush poultice-oltice." It was customary, after
the beginning of the war, for him to take sick, and call for a poultice
to be put upon his stomach whenever he heard of the Yankees being near.
He and many like him were especially valorous only when the blue coats
were far away. The soldiers went into the dairy and drank all the milk,
helped themselves to butter, cheese, meat, bread and everything in sight
which they wanted. Nothing was said to them by the white folks, but the
slaves were glad, and whispered to each other: "Ah! we's goin' to be
free." Old Master Jack, lying on his couch would ask every little while:
"Where are they? Are they gone?" After they had all left the premises,
he said; "My God! I can't stand it. Them devils-evils are just goin'
through the country destroyin' everything." I was sent down to get Uncle
Peter for old master, and when Peter came up the old man asked: "Well,
did any of the servants go away? And, sir, them devils took Louis' horse
and the clothes he had for his young master."
* * * * *
HIDING VALUABLES FROM THE YANKEES.
Right after this the McGees commenced planning to put away their
valuables, to keep them from the Union soldiers. All the servants had to
fill up their bed-ticks with fine gin cotton--the lint part--for safe
keeping. Great boxes and barrels were packed full of their best things,
and put into the cellar, under the house. It was not exactly a cellar,
but a large shallow excavation, which held a great deal. We put all the
solid silver ware, such as cake baskets, trays, spoons, forks, dishes,
etc., in boxes, and buried them under the hen house. Great packages of
the finest clothing I had to make up, and these were given in charge of
certain servants whose duty it was to run into the big house and get
them, whenever they heard that the Yankees were coming, and take them to
their cabins. This was a shrewd arrangement, for the soldiers never went
into the cabins to get anything. When the soldiers had passed, these
packages were taken back to the house. It speaks well for the honesty
and faithfulness of the slaves that such trusts could be devolved upon
them, notwithstanding all the cruelties inflicted upon them by their
masters.
* * * * *
DEATH TO RUNAWAY SLAVES.
It was about this time, that the law or regulation of the rebel
government was promulgated, authorizing or directing the shooting or
hanging of any slave caught trying to get away to the Union army. This
barbarous law was carried out in many cases, for every little while we
would hear of some slave who was caught running away, and hung or shot.
A slave belonging to Boss, ran away, and got safely within the Union
lines; but he returned to get his sister. They both got away from the
house, but had gone only a few miles, when William McGee overtook them,
and shot the man dead. William boasted of this, but told Uncle Peter,
the foreman, that he never wanted it mentioned.
* * * * *
SLAVES HUNG AND LEFT TO ROT AS A WARNING.
Two slaves belonging to one Wallace, one of our nearest neighbors, had
tried to escape to the Union soldiers, but were caught, brought back and
hung. All of our servants were called up, told every detail of the
runaway and capture of the poor creatures and their shocking murder, and
then compelled to go and see them where they hung. I never shall forget
the horror of the scene--it was sickening. The bodies hung at the
roadside, where the execution took place, until the blue flies literally
swarmed around them, and the stench was fearful. This barbarous
spectacle was for the purpose of showing the passing slaves what would
be the fate of those caught in the attempt to escape, and to secure the
circulation of the details of the awful affair among them, throughout
all the neighborhood. It is difficult at this day for those not familiar
with the atrocities of the institution of slavery to believe that such
scenes could ever have been witnessed in this or any other civilized
land, as a result simply of a human being's effort to reach a portion of
the country, where the freedom of which it was said to be the home,
could be enjoyed without molestation. Yet such was the horrible truth in
not one case alone, but in many, as I know only too well.