John Holmes

My name in slavery was John Clopton. I belonged originally in Hanover Co., Va. My treatment was so bad, I hate to say any thing about it. Slaves were not allowed to open a book where I came from: they were allowed to go to meeting, if the master gave them a pass—some have that privilege, and some do not. My owners never gave me a hat in the world, nor hardly any clothes. When I got big enough, I worked nights to get me a hat and some clothes. There was one physician there, who I know as well as I know myself, who flogged one woman till the skin was off her back, and then whipped the skin off her feet. One neighbor of ours was worse than the evil one wanted him to be. He used to make a married man get out of his bed in the morning and he would go and get into it. What I have seen, I seldom say any thing about, because people would not believe it,—they would not believe people could be so hard-hearted. They whipped so much, I could n’t tell any particular reason for it.

The horn would sound at the time the cocks crowed. Then they all got up. When it blowed the second time all had to start for the field: if any remained after this, the overseer would go in and whip them. Daylight never caught us in the house. Then the overseer would get on his horse and ride to the field; and if any one came in after him, he would apply the lash—perhaps fifty, perhaps a hundred. I have seen the women jump for the field with their shoes and stockings in their hands, and a petticoat wrapped over their shoulders, to dress in the field the best way they could. The head magistrate of that county (L—J—) was about the hardest of any of ’em. When I came away, one of his men had maggots in his back. His brother E—was not so hard,—he was killed in a duel. Another brother was very hard toward his wife, his slaves, and everybody else. His name was B—J—. He was so bad he could n’t live any longer—he killed himself by drinking a quart of brandy from a case-bottle—a case-bottle full. Next morning he was dead. This was before I came away, and I left in 1825. I do n’t know my age. They don’t tell the slaves any thing about their age. There were but two that I known of, who used their people any way decent.

There was a young T—P—who had overseers who would kill his people with no more conscience than one would kill a snake. T—P—was so bad he would n’t give his people Sunday. He had two or three farms. On a Saturday night his people would pack up, and travel Sunday to another farm, so as to be ready for work Monday morning. He had one overseer named L—, who called himself a bull-dog, and said he could manage any “nigger.” They allow eight ears of corn for a horse at noon. A young man was about feeding a horse; L—says, “How many ears have you got?” “I did n’t count them.” L—counted,—there were ten ears. Just for that L—seized a flail, and struck the young man breaking two of his ribs—he hit him with the flail until he found the young man was dying—then he sent for the doctor. The doctor said, “What did you kill this man, and then send for me for?” I knew the young man and knew the overseer.

The first time I was shot, my young master, Dr.—(who had married one of the girls) and I got into a skirmish. I was in the kitchen before anybody was up. He came in and wanted to know what I was doing in the house? Why I did n’t go to work? He says, “If you do n’t go out and go to work, I’ll give you a hundred lashes. Go, get your hoe, and come up to the house—I’ll show you where you can hill up a potato patch.” I went, got my hoe and came back. Then he had been to the stable, and got leading lines, a whip, and his gun. He knew I would not let him whip me, because I had always fought like a tiger when they undertook it. The gun was to scare me, so as to make me take off my jacket. He left the whip and gun inside the door and said, “come in here.” I had not seen then the lines, whip, or gun. He took up the lines, and came by me as if he was going out—when he got near the whip and gun he turned—”take off your shirt, I’ll hit you a hundred lashes this morning.” It was because I had not gone to work—that was all the quarrel we had had that morning. I turned round and faced him. “Pull off your shirt, you d—d rascal.” I said, “not to-day.” The minute I said so, he snatched up his gun, pointed it at my breast and said, “I’ll shoot you.” I went towards him, opened my breast, and said, “shoot away.” My temper was raised—I meant if he did not kill me, that I would kill him. It seemed to daunt him. He said, “Stand your ground.” I was approaching him. Said I, “I’ve got no ground to stand on.” I was very near him,—he seized the whip, and struck at me, but I was near enough to prevent him from hitting. As he made a lick at me, I sprung for the door. He thought I was going to seize him, and dodged out of the way. I went out, took my hoe, and was walking away. I had got mad, and could n’t run. He called, “Stop, you d—d rascal.” I told him I would go away, and not come back while wind blew or water run. I had not got far, and looked around, when I saw him have the gun; I saw the flash, and was peppered all over with shot. I went off into the woods. The shot did not bother me much, except one in the ball of my thumb, which I got out some four or five years after. I stayed in the woods all summer. They used to hunt for me. I’ve seen them after me with dogs—dogs could n’t catch me. I used to watch when they started and follow behind them. I used something on my feet to keep dogs from taking a scent. At last they told all the neighbors if I would come home, they would n’t whip me. I was a great hand to work and made a great deal of money for our folks. I used to tell them, if they whipped me, I would n’t work. The only fault they could find with me was, I would not be whipped. The young master—this one I ran from—used to say, “a man must be whipped, else he would n’t know he was a nigger.” I finally went back

I had a great many such scrapes with the overseers—two or three with the masters. At last they said, “better let him alone, he is a good hand to work.” I would not be whipped. One day an overseer, who thought he was a better man than any of the others, came to me—I was a leader, and was pulling corn. He took me by the collar, and said I did not go fast enough—he would “tie me up to the persimmon tree, and hit me a hundred lashes;” he meant to do it, because the others had not made out to. I told him, “not to-day”—that’s what I always used to tell them. He called two dogs, and they bit me in a great many places,—the marks of their teeth are all about my knees,—then he called several of the hands, but only one came up before I got away from overseer, dogs and all. I had to fling off the overseer, E—E—; he went to the ground. I took to the woods: I don ‘t know how long I stayed out that time, but I have stayed in the woods all winter.

My young master had a bloodhound, very large and savage. He would let no one come near him. At night this dog was turned loose, and no negro could come round the house, nor along the road. He would not touch white people,—he was brought up so. At one time they were repairing a chimney,—several loose bricks were about the yard. One of the women and myself were sent through the yard. The dog was chained, and was enraged, because he could not get at us: the master was standing in the yard. The dog broke his collar: I saw him coming, and took up a half brick. I knew the dog would spring for my throat, and I took a position as for wrestling. When the dog sprung, I threw up my left arm: the dog just got hold, and I struck him on the side of his head with the brick—he fell stunned, but I did not kill him. Young master was laughing when he saw the dog springing about, and when he saw him coming; but when he saw the dog fall, he ran out and struck at me with his fist. I fended off, as I had pretty good use of my limbs then. He then tried to kick me, but I caught his foot every time. I told him, “You sha’n’t strike me, and your dog sha’n’t bite me, ne’er a one.” He then ran for his gun, so ambitious, that his mother went to look, to see what he was going to shoot at. She got to the door as quick as he did: the gun was then pointed at me, but she seized it and pulled it out of his hands, and told me to be off quick. He was not of age when I came away. I never saw such a set of fellows as our folks were: one of them shot a dog, because he wouldn’t come when he called him. This one was accidentally killed one Sunday morning, by a gun in the hands of the overseer. They were playing, and the gun went off at half cock, and blew his brains out.

A—A—was a great overseer, who never went on any plantation but what he whipped every man on it. He bragged of it, and was called a great negro-manager. There were two men and one woman, named Betty, on the place, who, like me, would not be whipped. They employed him to come on for overseer, because he could make a great crop any how, by managing the hands. When the new overseer comes, all hands are called up and given over to him. I would not go up at such times—once only I went into the yard.

A—ordered all to meet him at the barn next morning, to get orders where to go. Every thing went on well till the middle of February, when we make plant-patches to put tobacco in. We would go to a wood and get brush, and burn it on the soil till bloodwarm, then plant it. All the women were raking dry leaves to put on the brush, to make it burn. The overseer first fell in with Betty—his word was, if any one did not work fast enough—”go to work! go to work!” He said this to Betty. Said she, “Where must I go?” “Go to work!” “I am working.” He struck her with a stick he had in his hand—she struck him with the rake. They struck several blows. She got the stick and lost the rake: they fought then like two dogs. She was better with her fists, and beat him; but he was better at wrestling, and threw her down. He then called the men to help him, but all hid from him in the brush where we were working. We could see him, but he could not see us,—he was too busily engaged. They fought till they got out of breath, and then he started with her to go to the mistress; they never broke their hold. He got her over two or three fences; then came the doctor who had shot me, and J—T—, my mistress’s son, and they took her to the barn, and whipped her almost to death: but she behaved worse afterwards.

Then the calculation was to whip us every one, because we did not help the overseer. He told us, the same afternoon to go to the barn to thresh oats: but the oldest son, who had the management of the whole estate, was not at home, which saved us that time; but it was to be done next day. While they were plotting it in the evening, one of the house girls overheard it. That night every one of us went away into the woods. (Among those woods I have seen, where there are large trees, the old corn hills and tobacco hills, where it used to be planted. At one time, I was hoeing in a field which we had just cleared of big pine-trees, and I found there two iron wedges and a hoe in the ground.) We stayed until they could not pitch a crop of corn. The head plougher and all,—all of ’em went away: they had only women and old men, and one young man who stayed behind, who was foolish. The overseer came to make a greater crop than they ever had, and he did not make any. They sent off the overseer to get us home. We went back, but after a while he came back too, and stayed the year out. He whipped the women, but he did not whip the men, for fear they would run away. He has cut many hickories and got chains made to put on me: but I was always looking out for him.

When I was young, before I got so watchful, I had blows and knocks. One morning I was sick: the rule was, to tell the overseer. I said I was n’t going all over the farm to look him up. First thing I knew, he was in, with some switches, cowhide, and a rope with a running noose. He put the noose over my head as I sat,—I cleared it, and he struck me with a knife which hit a button: I knocked the knife out of his hand,—we had a fight and I whipped him. I knew if I stayed, he would whip me. I ran for a swamp, and he after me; but I got there first, and went through the mud and water,—he stopped at that. I always started in time,—before the lash came, I was off.

One overseer we had was named E—T—; a stout, big, young man, who worked the people hard, night and day; all the time at our heels, “rush! make haste!” The weaker ones were called the “drop-short gang;” these were taking the lash all the time: he was always after them. He wanted I should blow the horn, but I would n’t undertake it. The old head man used to blow it. He used to hide the horn sometimes, so that we need not get it to throw it away. One time I found it, and threw it in the river. The overseer wanted to know why the horn did not blow. The old man told him “somebody done hide it.” The overseer threatened us with a hundred lashes, unless we would find it, but we told him we had nothing to do with it. T—got another horn: I do n’t believe he blew it three times before it was in the river. One of the women saw where the old man hid it, and when he went for it, it was gone,—it was in the river. We got up afterward without a horn. Several times, horns were got for the farm, but they could not keep them.

This overseer was very mistrustful and watchful, but he would get come up with sometimes. At threshing time, he accused me of stealing the wheat. At one time, he came down there, when he was sick to watch us. He had been taking medicine: he laid down on some straw,—it was damp, and he got worse. He called to me to take him up. I told him, “All I’ll do for you will be, if you die, I’ll close your eyes, and lay you out.” Two others, a man and a woman went to him. Said I, “if you take him up, he ‘ll get well, and you’ll be the first ones he ‘ll whip.” They took him to the house: he was very sick there, crying, “let me pray! let me pray!” I could hear him at the barn. When he got out to the field again, I did not know he was there, till I heard the switch. I looked to see whom he was whipping. It was the very two who had carried him to the house. I said to them, “do n’t you remember what I told you? If you had let him stay there and die, you would n’t have got that.” It struck him so, he flung his switches down, and sat on the fence: he looked pale: he went back to the house, and we did not see him again for three days.

One morning I had a great scrape with him. He swore he would whip me at the risk of his life. That morning I did not get into the field until sunrise. All were at work but me: I had had something to attend to, and would not go. He said I should not strike a lick there, till he had whipped me. I told him, “you shall not, if everybody has to die between here and Kentucky. I’ll die before I’ll take a whipping.” “You sha’n’t do a stroke of work, before I whip you.” The next word was, “master sha’n’t whip me, mistress sha’n’t whip me, you sha’n’t whip me, nobody sha’n’t whip me.” He said, “I’ll make all the hands catch you, and I’ll whip you.” “There ain’t a man the sun shines upon, that shall whip me.” The next thing he said was, “You ought to consider your mistress’ interests.” I told him, “let mistress consider her own interests, and let me consider mine,—let everybody consider their own interest.” I was fixing then to come away, but he did not know it. “I will whip you any how. If you ‘ll take off your shirt, I’ll only give you a few licks,—I have sworn that I would whip you, and want to make my words good.” I answered, “I have said, you should not whip me, and that’s as good as if I had sworn to it.” We were some five or ten yards apart. He said I should not work till I was whipped. I told him I was not doing myself any good,—that I was n’t working for myself anyhow, and did n’t care whether I worked or not. I then turned for the woods,—when almost there he called me back,—not one of the hands would have dared to touch me. I always carried an open knife,—they never could catch me unprepared. I went back: said he, “I’ll excuse you this time, but you must n’t do so any more.” I answered, “I do n’t know what I am going to do.”

The last year, we had to work backwards and forwards, from one farm to another—from my mistress’ farm to her son’s: two overseers,—we worked so till harvest time, when I came away. My master was mad with me all the time about the overseers. I was the leader on our farm—on the other farm, I followed their leader. There were fifteen cutting wheat in cradles, some were raking, some binding—master followed the cradles. The other leader and I cradled so fast, we kept ahead of the rest—so we would have time to stop a little. He was mad because he could not see us cut wheat—he said we did nothing, and were playing all the harvest. One forenoon a shower came up—all were busy to get the wheat out of the shower; master, to get occasion to whip me, came to me and said, “You shall run too.” I did run; but that did not suit him: he came up and struck me three or four times. He then went and cut three or four long poles: he shook them at me, and said he would whip me a hundred lashes for the new and the old. All hands were now sent to the barn to shell corn,—that was where they were going to catch me. I took up my cradle and jacket; I spoke to Tom, and asked him if he knew he was to have one hundred lashes? He said, “Yes.” “Are you going to the barn?” “Yes,—are you going?” “No: I’m going to the woods.” “But you cannot stay in the woods always.” Said I, “If you will go with me, I’ll carry you into a free country.” “Oh, you can’t.” I said, “I’ll go, or die in the attempt a trying.” Tom said, “I reckon you have n’t sense enough to get away.” I told him, “I’ll walk as long as there’s land, and if I come to the sea, I’ll swim till I get drowned.” I bade all the hands good-by—”I never expect you’ll see me again: if they try to take me I’ll fight till I die: but if it so happens that they master me, I’ll never tell them where I came from.” Then I went into the woods. I had some good clothes, and went round through the woods and got them. I waited till night, to see what they would do. I saw them going to the house where I had been for my clothes. I could hear them talking, telling the owner of the place, a poor white man, to catch me if I came there. I laid about the woods ten days, waiting for another man who had promised to come with me. I saw him, but he was afraid to come. I started without him. At sixty miles from home, I got work, and stayed until I got some clothes and a little money. Then I left for the North. I have two children in slavery. They were carried away from me when they were a few months old.

I have lived in Canada twenty-four years, and have made out pretty fair since I have been here. I came here expecting to work, but have not had to work so hard here as I did at the South. I know all the old settlers, but a great many have come lately, whom I am not acquainted with. Those that will work, do well—those that will not—not: it is the same here as everywhere. It is the best poor man’s country that I know of—if a man comes without a shilling, he can get along well. There is no more idleness among colored than other people—there are idlers among all nations. I came here with money enough to buy a hundred acres of land. My money was stolen, but I did not get discouraged. I now own this house and land—ten acres here, and twelve in another place. I had a house and land which the railroad took, and I got a good price.

If I had had any knowledge how to calculate and scheme, as I should if I had learning, I should be worth ten thousand dollars. London has grown up since I came here. I had an opportunity to buy land in the heart of the city, but did not bother about it. Many of our people remain poor for want of education. It cannot be expected that men who have just got away from slavery should look far ahead: they are only looking for to-day and to-morrow. The colored people are mostly given to hard work: for the time we have been here, we have made great progress in this country. They have many good farms about Wilberforce. There is some prejudice, but not so much as there used to be. There is no separate school here. There are a Baptist and a Methodist church exclusively for colored people. Whether this is best, I cannot say. I used to persuade the colored people to go into the white folks’ churches. They came near making me say I would never go to church any more: on coming out, the colored people were insulted: things were said then that would not be said now. Colored people attend at every church in London.