Excerpt from Uncle Tom Jones slave narrative
Thomas H. Jones was born into slavery near Wilmington, North Carolina. He lived on a plantation until about 1815, when he was sold to a Wilmington storekeeper. Later, as a free man, he moved to the North and played a vocal role in the antislavery movement in the 1850s and 1860s. In this excerpt from his memoir, Jones describes some of his experiences as a slave.
From Thomas H. Jones, Experience and Personal Narrative of Uncle Tom Jones; Who Was for Forty Years a Slave. Also the Surprising Adventures of Wild Tom, of the Island Retreat, a Fugitive Negro from South Carolina. Boston: Published by H. B. Skinner, [185-?].
Original source available from UNC Libraries / Documenting the American South.
The next morning I was called into the presence of Mr. Jones, my new master, and my work was assigned to me. I was to take care of the horse, sweep the rooms, and to bring wood from the wharf on my head for the fires at the house and store, with many other duties. From the first dawn of day till ten and eleven, and sometimes twelve at night, I could hardly find one moment’s time for rest. And, Oh, how the memory of that year of constant toil and weariness is imprinted on my heart, an impression of appalling sorrow. My dreams are still haunted with the agony of that year. I had just been torn from my home; my yearning heart was deprived of the sweet sympathy of those to whose memory I then clung, and to whom my heart still turns with irrepressible and unutterable longings. I was torn from them and put into a circle of cold, selfish and cruel hearts, and made to perform labors too great for my young strength. And yet I lived through that year, just as the slave lives on through weary years of suffering, on which no ray or light shines, save that which hope of a better, happier future gives even to the desolate bondman; but I lived through it, with all its darkness and sorrow. That year I received my first whipping. I had failed one day to finish my allotted task. It seemed to me that I had done my best; but, somehow, that day, thoughts of home came so fresh and tender into my mind, and, along with these thoughts, a sense of my utter hopeless desolation came in and took such a strong hold of my heart, that I sank down a helpless, heart-broken child. My tasks for that day were neglected. The next morning my master made me strip off my shirt, and then whipped me with the cowhide till the blood ran trickling down upon the floor. My master was very profane, and, with dreadful oaths, he assured me that there was only one way for me to avoid a repetition of this terrible discipline, and that was, to do my tasks every day, sick or well.
But this year went by, and my duties were changed, and my lot was made a little easier. The cook, Fanny, died, and I was put into her place. I still had to get wood and keep the fires in the house, and, after the work of cooking, setting the table, clearing away and washing the dishes, there was always something to be done for my mistress. I got but little time to rest; but I got enough to eat, which I had not done the year before.
