Chatham

Gilbert Dickey

I have been in Canada but six weeks: am 55 years old. I was raised a slave until 35. I was born in North Carolina, Guilford Co., where I was the main hand on the farm, where we raised wheat, corn, rye, etc., some cotton. There were about fifteen slaves on the farm, sometimes more, sometimes less. My master has frequently said, that Gil. could carry on the farm better than he could: he had told his neighbors that I and his wife could carry on the farm as well, if he were a hundred miles off. I never had a day’s schooling in my life—went to a Sunday School a few times, but that was cut off. I have no learning but what God has put into my head. My master was hasty and high-tempered, but was always kind to me owing to some peculiar circumstances. He was more kind than most who own servants in that country, and more so than his companion. Some thought him a hard man, but I never thought him so hard as some I have seen. When he did whip, he whipped severely, I tell you; he was high-strung when he got up. I suppose there ‘s no doubt that he and his father-in-law—a severe old man—whipped one slave man to death. They whipped him over the head with a loaded whip, shamefully. He was one of those that could not be whipped. He was sold after the beating, and died two months after. The ferrule came off the whip they used, and the whalebone bursted out.

At nine years old, I was bought into this family, being transferred to pay a debt of three hundred dollars. At the death of my master, I was hired out sixteen years, until my young master came of age. I had then made up my mind to buy my time and was preparing to do it, by laying up my money as I could earn overplus. I have made fifty dollars in a winter by working after 9 o’clock nights while buying my time. It is hard work ever since I was seven years old, which has broken me down: I have now rheumatism, coughs, etc. I worked at all kinds of work,—every thing a man would call on me to do, except stealing, my hands were ready to do it. I worked at fencing, laying stone wall, digging wells, carpentering, etc. During the sixteen years, I paid up five hundred and seventy-five dollars; that left four hundred dollars to be paid, which I borrowed by giving names. I was then free, but had to work to raise the four hundred dollars, which took me nearly two years.

I was whipped at one time by my old master, because I could not work. It was brought about by a mean white man who was working in the field, and told master that I was not sick. My master cursed and swore very wicked. He did not tie me up, but he gave me a severe whipping. It did not cure me: I had to go and try to work, but could not do much.

I have seen sixteen men chained abreast for market, and driven from that place. I have seen a woman chained and handcuffed in the gangs, leaving a child only nine days old: the child raised by hand, and when a woman nearly grown, she was sold.

After the old man died, and before I was hired out, two of the colored children were sick—one died, and I watched with the other by the corpse. On the next day evening, when we came back from the burial of the child, the other was dying, and the doctor was there. The child died that evening. My mistress then requested me to mend a pair of shoes for her daughter that night. I told her I would rather not, as I had been up the night before, and a corpse was in the house. She flew into a passion, said she would have it done, or her father should whip me. I mended the shoes that night, but it made no difference. Her father came next morning with some work-hands, and told me with an oath, that if he had a knife he would cut my d—d throat. I drew a knife from my pocket, opened it, handed it to him, opened my shirt-collar, and told him to cut it. He pretended to do so, and drew blood on my throat—the mark remains. I went away a piece, then changed my mind and came back. They tied my hands, I was so mad, I hardly knew what they did. He gave me thirty blows. I told him afterwards, that I had no place appointed to die or to be buried, and I cared not when it happened; that I would not be whipped any more, and that the first man who struck me I would kill. I was never punished afterward, although I was sometimes threatened. If they find a man determined and resolute not to be whipped, they will sometimes let him alone: but in other places, they will do it at any rate.

No man, who has not been in slavery, knows the real curse of it. A northern man can’t tell half how bad it is.

When I began to be hired out, I felt more liberty than on the place—where I had to do whatever a man said—where it was never too wet, nor too cold, too hot, nor too dry—where I could not go to the next house, no matter how near it was, without a permit.

I lived in Indiana for nine years before I came here, and did well. I have been doing business for myself some twenty years: I never considered that I was doing business for myself till I got out of debt. I was making money in Indiana, and had plenty of friends. I liked there, all but one thing—slavery was there, as it is all over the United States. One or two days in the year they acknowledge a colored person to be a man; that is, when he works on the road, and pays his tax: all the rest of his time he is a brute. I came on purpose to come to a country where I could be a free man, and to encourage men of my color to take hold of work; to set them a good example, and to make their condition here better, if my assistance could do any good.

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This work (The Refugee: or the Narratives of Fugitive Slaves in Canada by Benjamin Drew) is free of known copyright restrictions.