They Know How They Treated Me

It was back in the gloomy times, where war was far from cry. A man is only worth what he can carry and a woman is only worth her lineage. It seemed like a time of great distress and struggle. One man sought to be above another man and to keep that position. It was a very much strange time. It was a time of needed reflection because hope was faded. Love was cold and life was fate. Every soul knows that one situation can cause a major disfunction. Everybody was anxious and most people wanted to keep a truce. War was despised. Oppression everywhere and oppression heartfelt. Most people had indifferent because they thought society needed the things that they had. I for one did not understand the high life. I did not understand what freedom was. I just knew that if it was being like master and doing what I please I yearned that.

I remember in the field hearing Momma's last cry as she was dragged away from the plantation. She did not stay silent one minute and clinging to the ground but nothing help her as she was drag away. I dream about that day. I visioned her fighting. And it struck a chord in my heart. Why should I have to work day and night? Why should I have sweat for the little treasures in my life? Why can't I rest when I wanted to? Momma brought out the want to be freed. Freedom was in my heart and I knew it. Its desire grew and grew until I could no longer hold it inside. However, I knew I had to because master would not tolerate me acting in some fit of rage. The slave driver's gun was in his holster and ready to use for an uncanny slave. Every so often, I wonder about her and I get to thinking about what life would have been like if she would have stayed. I enjoyed my mother's company. I always loved getting on Momma's knee and having her sing one of those hymns. Sometimes I would daydream that Momma was right there talking to me. I would be so happy and talk right back. I did this unnoticed several times until the slave driver took a whip across my back. I screamed in great pain. Master saw him and demanded an answer. The slave driver said he was talking to me and I refused to respond. I had to be under care for several days and my aunt did all the wound caring. She cried with me and told me things will get better. I asked her to sing to me like Momma. My aunt did and I healed with scars. My aunt promised to work beside me and told the slave driver that she would watch over me and make sure I hear his calling.

As I worked in the field, day and night and night and day, I can't help but wonder what freedom would be like. We hum it so often and we sing it in church though our masters watched us with a careful eye. I wanted freedom after being treated so unfairly and scarred by a mean mister's mishap. I was angry with that slave driver. The other slaves gave me an extra potion for my meals because they wanted me to stay calm and be strong. I decided to quietly fight my battles.

There are some messages from up North that some slaves freedmen give to us, they passed it along through word of mouth and code. Our masters don't give us much time to read and they don't give us much time to think. The lash is all we feel and all we know. Sometimes we worked in the wean hours of the night when a shipment is ready to take place.

Sometimes I wished my skin was brighter and that master was my kin because the big house seems mighty fine. I'll be eating something new every night and even though they are leftovers. It probably is warm and tastes much better than the everyday potion. I thought that way until one of the house slaves got thrown in the field. She accused the master of rape and threaten to fight. That's when I was fully committed to leaving. I did not want to be a slave or property. I was not mad about my birth but my death will not be in vain.

It's not usual that we are allowed to come together but the master says it's to strengthen our moral character. I wonder what morals and character have to do with anything. We have to work as beasts of burden and we are treated as if we have no souls. I have seen plenty of people dying in this field and bury the same day. We have sung the same songs every day and from a distance, we hear the parties at the big house. I refused to die this way. Miserable and lonely, I know that there is something for me. I don't quite know what but I am destined to be free. I think a lot. I think about my family and if there is a heaven. I wonder why people can be so cruel. I wonder why, my people are starving, beaten, and imprisoned. I wondered why life feels like being in a wilderness and desert without any help. The soul I know lies within me and it keeps me strong. I refuse to steal from my master and I refuse to threaten him with violence. As the days have gone by, I'm losing the strength to resist. My hands are tired. My feet are worn.

And my sight is thinning. Masters has been good to me in some ways. He gave me a husband and let me keep my child. I don't suppose he did this for me to fear him. Working on this cotton field makes me often tired and the slave drivers are given new orders every day. I fear for my family. I fear for my life. My husband has been accused of stealing. What a day has it been? I say this in fear of what might happen to him. The master is the judge and the slave drivers are the jury. He's got 30 days in the hole. The hole is where slaves are in chains and locked in a shed. If he tries to escape then he will be branded. Hearing him from the chains was destroying me and the other slaves did not like the punishment so one night, they all turned on the master. The master went to bed and the slave driver worked us all night. There was a new slave driver and he was young and naive. He could not tame his horse and he fell off with his gun thrown in the air. He cried for help as the horse drag him through the field. All the slaves ran and the former house slave took the gun and went into the master's house. I did not see what happened next as I was crying for someone to free my husband. The other slaves told me to leave and they grab me with my daughter. We went horse and carriage through the forest and across the river to meet with the freedmen. In shock, I did not know what freedom was like. I just was a mother trying to take back her life. And now I live in a new fear of being drawn back to slavery. I refused to go back. I would die for my daughter not to be taken back. And the Heavens know why. They know how they treated me. They know what I've been through.