Black History: Slave Narrative

William J Anderson <br> I was born June 2nd , 1811, of a free mother, in Hanover county, Va., her name was Susan. My father's name was Lewis Anderson, who was himself a soldier slave, belonging to a Mr. Shelton. After the war of '76, his master told him to go home--he would do something for him. But he died a slave. My mother, now a widow, and being indigent and needy, bound me out to a Mr. Vance, a slaveholder, some ten miles from where she lived. Being young and inexperienced, poor and penniless, I was thrown among the slaves and had to fare just as hard as they did; under slave influence I had to live and suffer, and was brought up. But the truth is, I had no bringing up; I was whipped up, starved up; kicked up and clubbed up. I had no schooling except what I stole by fire and moon light, with a little Sabbath light. Slaveholders laws are positively opposed to the slave learning anything more than to handle the axe, plough and hoe. Often have I been whipped for trying to learn my book or read my bible; still I was permitted to visit my mother's cabin, and attend preaching meetings sometimes, with a written passport. So matters and things moved on with me tolerable peaceably. I lived at a place where I could see some of the horrors of slavery exhibited to a great extent; it was a large tavern, situated at the crossing of roads, where hundreds of slaves pass by for the Southern market, chained and handcuffed together by fifties--wives taken from husbands and husbands from wives, never to see each other again--small and large children separated from their parents. They were driven away to Georgia, and Louisiana, and other Southern States, to be disposed of. O, I have seen them and heard them howl like dogs or wolves, when being under the painful obligation of parting to meet no more. Many of them have to leave their children in the cradle, or ashes, to suffer or die for the want of attentive care or food, or both. Had I the ability of language and learning, I would try to portray the condition of the slave. To be a slave--a human one of God's creatures--reduced to chattelism--bought and sold like goods or merchandise, oxen or horses! He has nothing he can call his own--not even his wife, or children, or his own body. If the master could take the soul, he would take it; but I believe the lord takes care of that. The slaves are kept entirely ignorant, cowed down by the lash and hard work, in Virginia, by the legislature and police, or patrol--nothing is neglected that is calculated to keep the slaves cowed down. In this condition I grew up through much trouble.