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  FIFTY YEARS IN CHAINS;

  OR,

  THE LIFE OF AN
  AMERICAN SLAVE.


      "My God! can such things be?
  Hast Thou not said that whatsoe'er is done
  Unto thy weakest and thy humblest one,
      Is even done to Thee?"--WHITTIER.


  New-York
  H. DAYTON, PUBLISHER
  36 HOWARD STREET.
  Indianapolis, Ind.:--Asher & Company.
  1860.


  Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1858, by
                         H. DAYTON,
  in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
             for the Southern District of New York.


  J. J. REED,
  PRINTER & STEREOTYPER,
  43 Centre-St., N. Y.




PREFACE.


The story which follows is _true_ in every particular. Responsible
citizens of a neighboring State can vouch for the reality of the
narrative. The language of the slave has not at all times been strictly
adhered to, as a half century of bondage unfitted him for literary work.
The subject of the story _is still a slave_ by the laws of this country,
and it would not be wise to reveal his name.




FIFTY YEARS IN CHAINS

OR,

THE LIFE OF AN AMERICAN SLAVE.




CHAPTER I.

SEPARATED FROM MY MOTHER.


My story is a true one, and I shall tell it in a simple style. It will
be merely a recital of my life as a slave in the Southern States of the
Union--a description of <DW64> slavery in the "model Republic."

My grandfather was brought from Africa and sold as a slave in Calvert
county, in Maryland. I never understood the name of the ship in which he
was imported, nor the name of the planter who bought him on his arrival,
but at the time I knew him he was a slave in a family called Maud, who
resided near Leonardtown. My father was a slave in a family named Hauty,
living near the same place. My mother was the slave of a tobacco
planter, who died when I was about four years old. My mother had
several children, and they were sold upon master's death to separate
purchasers. She was sold, my father told me, to a Georgia trader. I, of
all her children, was the only one left in Maryland. When sold I was
naked, never having had on clothes in my life, but my new master gave me
a child's frock, belonging to one of his own children. After he had
purchased me, he dressed me in this garment, took me before him on his
horse, and started home; but my poor mother, when she saw me leaving her
for the last time, ran after me, took me down from the horse, clasped me
in her arms, and wept loudly and bitterly over me. My master seemed to
pity her, and endeavored to soothe her distress by telling her that he
would be a good master to me, and that I should not want anything. She
then, still holding me in her arms, walked along the road beside the
horse as he moved slowly, and earnestly and imploringly besought my
master to buy her and the rest of her children, and not permit them to
be carried away by the <DW64> buyers; but whilst thus entreating him to
save her and her family, the slave-driver, who had first bought her,
came running in pursuit of her with a raw-hide in his hand. When he
overtook us, he told her he was her master now, and ordered her to give
that little <DW64> to its owner, and come back with him.

My mother then turned to him and cried, "Oh, master, do not take me from
my child!" Without making any reply, he gave her two or three heavy
blows on the shoulders with his raw-hide, snatched me from her arms,
handed me to my master, and seizing her by one arm, dragged her back
towards the place of sale. My master then quickened the pace of his
horse; and as we advanced, the cries of my poor parent became more and
more indistinct--at length they died away in the distance, and I never
again heard the voice of my poor mother. Young as I was, the horrors of
that day sank deeply into my heart, and even at this time, though half a
century