Hamilton
Henry Williamson
I came from the State of Maryland, where I was a slave from birth until thirty-three years of age, in a small town.
Around that part of the country, the slaves are better treated than in some other parts because they are so near the line. They are better used than they were a few years ago. I was taught to read but not to write I used to tell my boss that I would n’t stand such treatment as the people got on some farms. He used to laugh and say “you would n’t, eh?” There was one Gen.—had a slave, and it was town talk, that his overseer, by his order, dug a hole in the ground, and set a man in it as if he had been a post, and then cut him so badly with a whip that he died in about half an hour.
My father was sold about twelve years ago, and taken west. About two years ago, I came away because I wanted to be free. The circumstances were these. I had then been married about ten years. My wife’s sister was sold at private sale to a trader to go south, and was carried away. Her father and mother were dissatisfied with this, and concluded to go to Canada. I concluded to start with them with my family. In all eighteen of us came away at one time. We were more troubled on the way from want of money than from any other cause.
Those who came out with me, are scattered in various parts of Canada. I have heard from them and they are doing well. We came like terrapins,—all we had on our backs. We took a house together when we came,—the house was bare of furniture: there was nothing in it at all. We had neither money nor food. It was in the fall: we gathered chips and made a fire. That is the way the principal part of our people come: poor, and destitute, and ignorant, their minds uncultivated, and so they are not fitted for business. In the face of these drawbacks, they have to do the best they can. I went to work on a railroad,—to which I was wholly unused, having been a waiter. I worked at it till I found something I could do better. I enjoy better health here than I ever did before in my life.
I heard when I was coming that Canada was a cold and dreary country; but it is as healthy a place as a man can find. The colored people tell me the climate agrees with them, and I do know it is so.
Some of our people are very jealous of the white people. If they approach them with the best intentions in the world, they are suspicious, and will not communicate any thing, even if it were to their own benefit. This is because they have been so much deceived and kept down by the white people. I have seen people who had run away, brought back tied, like sheep, in a wagon. Men have told me, that when making their escape, they have been accosted, invited into a house in a friendly way, and, next thing, some officer or their owner would be there. The lowest class of people do this to get money,—men who might get an honest living,—some having good education, and some good trades.
Others who owned servants used to find fault with my master and mistress for using us so well. They did use us well, and I would not have left them only for the love of liberty. I felt that I was better off than many that were slaves, but I felt that I had a right to be free.
In all places and among all kinds of men there are some loafing characters: so with my color. Some few of them get in with poor, low, white young men, and get into bad ways. But the better part are disposed to elevate themselves.
I am a member of the Methodist church, having had good religious instruction from Bible and catechism from my youth up.
I have heard that my master has set his older slaves free.
Contrasting what I feel now and what I was in the south, I feel as if a weight were off me. Nothing would induce me to go back,—nothing would carry me back. I would rather be wholly poor and be free, than to have all I could wish and be a slave. I am now in a good situation and doing well,—I am learning to write.