Henry Banks

I was born in Stafford Co., in 1835. I was brought up on a farm. I did not go to school. I learned to read of my brother-in-law, but I cannot write. There was a Sunday school, but not for colored children.

One of the earliest things I remember is my being sold to Mr. N—, a farmer in the neighborhood. My mother and brothers and sisters were sold at the same time to N—. I lived with N—until about fifteen years old. When I was eight years old, I was put to work regularly on the farm, ploughing, hoeing corn, and doing farm work generally. I have belonged to several owners, but I have no recollection of any one of them ever coming to my cabin to inquire into my wants, nor to ask whether any thing was necessary for my comfort or convenience,—nor whether I was well used by the overseer or foreman. If I were sick, the overseer attended to me,—if he thought it needful, he would give me medicine,—if he thought it a hard case, he would send for a doctor. I had the doctor once, but the owner did not come to see me. This was nothing strange,—it was so with all, so far as I have heard. N—’s overseer whipped me often—stripped me, and tied me up when he did it, and generally drew blood,—sometimes he would not be so severe as at others, but I have frequently had to pull my shirt from my back with a good deal of misery, on account of its sticking in the blood where I had been lashed. Let daybreak catch me in the house, instead of currying the horses, that was as good for a flogging as any thing else,—if caught standing at the plough, instead of moving, that was good for fifty lashes more or less,—the least of any thing would provoke it. I was whipped once because the overseer said I looked mad: “Come here, you d—d selfish son of a b—h, I’ll please you by the time I’ve done with you.” Then he whipped me, so that I could n’t hollow. I always tried to do the work faithfully that was assigned me,—not because I felt it a duty, but because I was afraid not to do it: I did not feel it right, however, to be compelled to work for other folks.

N—broke up,—sold the farm and all his people. We were scattered, but not very far apart—some six or seven miles. I was sold to R—S—, in Spotsylvania county, across the Rappahannock. I was the only one of the family that S—bought. I lived with him about a year and a half. He had a colored slave foreman, who had to do as he was commanded, and I hardly had so much consideration as from a white overseer. S—did not clothe nor feed his hands well. We were worked very late at night and were at it again before day. Sundays differed little from other days. Sometimes he would give us Sunday or part of a Sunday; but if he were in the least angry, we had to work all day. I did not hear a sermon preached during the time I lived with S—, there was no meeting for us to go to. I would sometimes hear of there being meetings about there, but I had no chance to go. At this place there was no colored minister—there were no Christian people on that place. I never heard any religious songs while I was there. It was work, work, and nothing else; that’s all they asked of me,—and if we did not do it, we were whipped. Nobody was excused—we were all used one way—all kept at it. I left him on account of work. It was in harvest—harvesting wheat. I was cradling—I could n’t make the cradle cut well. S—said, “You can make that cradle cut better if you choose to,—but you do n’t choose to.” I told him “I had tried to make it do the best I knew how.” Then he said to the men, “Come here and take hold of this d—d nigger, I’ll make it all right with him.” Then they took me to the barn, stripped me stark naked, and then he tied my hands together and my feet together, and swung me up so I could move neither way. While he was tying me up, I told him, “I will do all I know how to do.” He said “‘t was a d—d lie,—I did n’t do it,—but he knew I could do it,—and when he was done with me, he’d show that I would do it.” Then he commenced whipping me with a cowhide, made keen at the end; he put on the blows forward and backward—every blow bringing the blood. He must have whipped me a solid half hour. Before he took me down, he said, “Now will you go and do the business?” I told him then, that “I had told him before that I would willingly do all that I knew how.” He said, “I’ll try you with this—if I tie you up again, I’ll give you five hundred.” Then he took me down. I was then unable to do any work. He told me to go to work, but I could not even stand. He then had me carried by the hands into the shade of a tree, where I laid just as I could,—I could not lie any way long. The men brought buckets of water and threw on me,—I knew what it was for—they thought I was dying. I did no more work for S—. I ran away that same night into the woods.

I ran away in order that master might sell me running,—I did n’t care much whose hands I fell into, if I got out of his. He put out advertisements for me, as I was told, of twenty-five dollars reward, for bringing me home not injured. I had heard tell of a free country—but I did not know where it was, nor how to get there. I stayed in the woods three months; I then thought I would start for a free country somewhere. I got as far as the city of Washington; there I went aboard a vessel which the captain told me was going to Boston. But it was not. He asked me for free papers—I told him I had none. Then he suspected me, and said I could not ship without them. He said, if I were a slave, he would make a free man of me,—that he had a habit of doing so,—but he lied. I believed him, however—I trusted him, and told him my case, how my owner treated me, and all,—he said he thought it was very wrong. Then, after he had got it all out of me, he went into the city, and told me to stay aboard till he came back; to get what I wanted to eat, and cook it, but not let myself be seen, because I might be taken up. He was gone a short time, and then he came back, and asked me to go with him to his house, to bring some provisions down for his vessel. I went with him up the street—there were several persons standing on a corner. The captain said, “Come this way; there’s a constable—do n’t let him see you!” Then the constable came along behind us. The captain led me into an office and said, “Here’s a runaway I’ve took up.” There was some questioning, and I was put in jail.

In one week’s time, R—S—came and shook hands with me through the grates. He asked, “What made me run away?” I told him, “I would n’t have run away if he had n’t whipped me.” “Do you want to go home?” “I’ll go back if you won’t whip me any more.” He made no promise, but took me home. Directly he sold me to George Ayler. I escaped from Ayler’s slave-pen in company with Isaac Williams. . . .

In the den we were; three white men came upon us. We took across the creek. I was in the den when they fired at Isaac. I then jumped for the creek. I was shot by one of the white men. I caught the shot from my legs to my shoulders—all over my back. About a hundred shot holes were counted in my back,—they were ducking shot, and are mostly in me now. I suffer from them now in my right arm, if I do any work.

I do not think it was intended for any man to be a slave. I never thought so, from a little boy. The slaves are not contented and happy. They can’t be: I never knew one to be so where I was.