Slavery Essay, Research Paper

Saturday September 5, 1839

The days and nights just seem to drift in and out and I take note that it makes no difference to me. If it weren t for the fact that I have holidays and some Sundays off, I wouldn t bother to keep track at all. Keeping track of time has turned out to be yet another chore to follow but this chore burdens my mind and not my body. I ve been at this Virginia plantation all my 18 years. It is ran in an orderly fashion and my daily schedule rarely deviates. I m up before the crack of dawn getting mentally and physically ready for another grueling day. My mother and I both work in the big white house, I am a floor sweeper and scrubber and she is a cook. In the mornings I am the one to cook breakfast for my father, mother, brother and sometimes for my little sister , because Ma is so sick and tired of cooking. She s been doing the job for close to 20 years, except for the couple of times that she was a nanny. So I have to do the cooking at home, but that s okay cause my mom does the floors.

We ve got 92 slaves on this here plantation or at least I think we do. I don t know how to count that high but I ve overheard the mistress say that she had that many, but that was a while ago. Grandpa Jeb and baby Rose had since died from that last account, not to mention Addie Mae that was lost in a poker game. But I ll let whoever finds this journal figure all that out. The slaves live in small cabin like shacks made out of wood but nothing compares to the beauty of the masters place. The big old house runs smoothly, we have five cooks that cook the noon time meal for everyone. It s nothing fancy, sometimes we have beans, corn and the fat back off of bacon (that s the white part of the bacon). I ll write some more in my journal later. I m tired and it will be Sunday, but I don t forget to thank the Lord for the rest that comes due me tomorrow.

Sunday September 6, 1839

I m so happy that it is Sunday and I don t have to drag myself to the big house. I usually get Sunday s off except when a crop must be in at a certain time or when the season is extra busy. Our Sunday s can be canceled anytime without notice. This does happen sometimes and it s like a stake in the heart. The owner that I have are better than some but worse than others. I heard that in the Caribbean, on the sugar plantations they beat and torture slaves for any minor infractions, let alone when huge things go wrong. They work you to death over there without any regard. The mistress on this plantation, is very cold especially to the younger girls. She has her favorites all right, but the younger girls, she rarely speaks to unless she is chastising them.

I don t worry about what others think of me, cause I know I am a good woman. The older women like my Ma, the mistress treats okay. When they do something minor wrong, she lectures them and usually says something like “see that this doesn t happen again.” But the younger girls get whipped for major offenses, but she yells like the devil when something small happens. She makes you feel unimportant most of the time and like a fool when she goes off.

The men work like beasts of burden so hard in the fields. They leave for the fields at darkness and come back in darkness. When the crops are due, everyone it seems is working out in the fields. When the weather is about to turn bad and the crops haven t been picked, you sometimes see hands as white as the cotton out there picking it. In those times, the master is usually in a very bad mood and the whip cracks more often. All the slaves get a half an hour for lunch in two shifts to ensure that working is always going on. The sun beats down on them something fierce, so in the summer a relief slave goes around to give extra ten minute breaks.

There ain t no overseer like there is down in those sugar plantations, but when the master has business elsewhere he usually calls in his other family members to step in and watch. But when they are not available then the slave Caleb (an old timer that s been working the fields longer than anyone else) steps in and watches but that rarely happens but when it does the day is just a little more easier for those in the fields. However Caleb is stern because he knows that if they slack off , then it will be him that will be at the other end of the whip.

We are a strong family, my brother works in the fields like my father. My little sister is the playmate slave to the daughter of the master. The mistress treats her a littler better than most slaves her age. Sometimes she sleeps in the big house at the side of Carolyn the master s daughter. We as slaves, rely on each other for comfort and strength. I am scared that my family might be taken away from me either by selling them or some careless card game. I also fear that someone close to me will get sick and die cause of the way it is for us.

On our resting day, we talk about our family and catch up on the gossip of others. All of us slaves usually gather Sunday evening to dance, sing and sit around a fire to tell stories of the old days and our relatives before us. Some even play instruments made from hallowed out gourd with sheep skin tied at the top for a drum. Drumsticks are made out of dried animal bones and people sing and chant. One common chant that we never tire of, goes like this “The big bee flies high, The little bee makes the honey, The black folks make the cotton, The white folks make the money,” and then we smile and giggle after each catchy tune.

I just finished talking to my family about freedom. My father just told me a story about his mother and the stories of life in Africa during the days before. I try to imagine these stories in my mind, but I ve never had freedom and I can t picture what life would be like because I have nothing to compare it to. My father just asked me, “what would you do if you were freed?” I thought about it for a brief time and said, “If I was granted my freedom at this very moment, I d still be a slave, because I wouldn t know what to do with it or where I would go or live or work?” I continued “Freedom is something to be cherished and enjoyed, but how can I enjoy something that I m so scared and unsure of?” My father just looked at me with bewilderment and said, “Maybe you%9