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My father was the head chef, my mother was a house servant, and I am a special case as a result. Most slaves were field slaves, and spent their days performing manual labor from dawn until dusk; they were barely fed and lived in one room shacks with mud floors and no lighting but maybe a candle spared per week. I didn’t really understand these conditions, because I didn’t interact much with anyone outside of the house. My mother told me that I shouldn’t speak to field slaves, because we were in a higher class than them. I didn’t care for these distinctions. But my mother was very proud of our status amongst the slaves and the whites. When Master Jackson had guests over, mother and father would collaborate with the other house slaves to prepare snacks and dinner, and to clean of course. When I was younger, I was simply around for entertainment. Mother said that I was very handsome, and that I had a friendly face that the whites thought was harmless. I often brought out tea and crackers, and did quick skits at Master’s will. They always laughed, and said things like “What a dear!” and “Ever have you seen a black boy so adorable?” Our family had light skin for slaves, and my mother was very proud of that too. Mother said that the lighter our skin, the more respect we got. When we worked with the other slaves, my mother would always speak of our family as if we were better than everyone else. She spoke of the education we had, and told everyone about my father’s ability to read. She talked about the trips we made outside of the Jackson estate to help Mrs. Jackson with her groceries and whatnot.

I guess you could say that my mother was ignorant of reality, and slightly vain. But she was still a good person. She often hurt others’ feelings when she spoke of how well off we were, but my mother really did have good intentions. She cared about me the most. When I was grown, I was very healthy and well-mannered. My father taught me how to read a little bit, so I was more educated than nearly all of the others. I was twelve when Master sold me, and the Stewarts from Georgia took me away. You could imagine how miserable my mother was especially, because she loved me more than anything. My father was stern and he said very little to me as I was preparing to leave. My mother and I cried; I was inconsolable, but she said some things that I would never forget, and that comforted me later on I would learn. She said that we were sent here by the good lord to be obedient, kind, and that we should perform our duties with care and compliance. She said that those who break the rules deserve to be punished and those who comply are always rewarded with decency and appreciation. She reminded me of the fate of the field slaves who got in trouble—they were often brought near the house to be hosed off because they were covered in blood and dirt. My mother always described the scene as being gory. And she told me that even if we weren’t rewarded by our masters, doing well was a reward in itself. Mother always played close attention when the Jacksons spoke to their guests, and she learned to speak with conviction from their conversations. The last thing my mother said to me as I left was this—”If you ever find yourself or another in danger, do what your mother would, and be courageous.”

My new master had a wonderful estate! Master Stewart had visited the Jackson estate several times on business, and he and his wife had already grown quite fond of me from their stays. So the car ride down over the border was not unpleasant. Master Stewart told me about the Battle of Fort Sumter that took place a few months prior. I had heard the Jacksons speak of this Battle several times! Master Stewart described the onslaught that took place and forced the U.S. Army to abandon its fort in South Carolina following the state’s secession from the Union.

“Ain’t that news glorious?” Master asked me.

I was very obedient, because that’s how my mother raised me and that’s how they wanted me to be, so I said, “Sir that is very gory, yes.”

Master Stewart laughed wildly, “Boy you are quite the joker!” I didn’t understand, but I was happy that he was pleased. I simply smiled and said thank you to my new master.

The house servants adopted me as if I was one of their own. And the Stewart’s had two sons who were eight and nine, as well as a newly born baby daughter. I played with the sons often, and they grew rather close to me. The Stewarts trusted me, and they kept me busy doing chores around the house, like lighting the candles and managing the wood for the fireplace. I did this for years, and I even helped cook sometimes.

Eventually, I was seventeen, or at least that’s what Master told me. I’m not really sure why that matters, but I know that I was getting more mature. There was a girl that Master told me I would marry one day. She was the chef’s daughter, and she was beautiful and light-skinned like me. Her name was Margaret, and I loved her. We always whispered quietly before we fell asleep. She slept with most of the kitchen servants in the basement, so I snuck downstairs to see her and teach her how to read and joke with her. I couldn’t wait to marry her, and Master promised I could one day.

During the colder season, I found myself setting up the fireplace often, always at Master’s command. I slept in the main room, right next to the baby’s room. Whenever she cried, I was to run down the hall and wake Mrs. Steward up with four hard knocks on the bedroom door. Were I to ever enter the room without knocking, I feared I would meet the same gory fate of so many others I had seen at Master Jackson’s. One late winter night, a spark from the wood-fire flew further than we would anticipate, and landed on Mrs. Stewart’s Kashmiri shawl she had imported because they were a popular trend in Western Europe at the time. She was obsessed with their fashion, which I never understood. Anyway, the spark grew into a flame which I didn’t notice. I was used to the room being warm, so it didn’t bother my sleep. I woke up when I hear the baby shriek, and I jumped up from my rest because the flames had engulfed nearly one third of the room I was in. So I instinctively ran toward the stairwell to escape the burning house. But as I ran by the baby’s room, my mother’s last words rang in my head. They reminded me to be brave and do right, so I ran into the baby’s room and took her out of the crib. I was yelling, and I sprinted 30 yards down the hall to where the Stewarts were fast asleep. The hallway was so long, and it seemed like the fire was far behind me. But still I didn’t feel safe, so I thought that I should not stop at the Stewarts’ bedroom, and run straight towards the stairwell and out of the house to safety. But just as I passed the bedroom the door was opening.

“What is all of this commotion,” I had never heard Master Stewart so agitated.

As I turned and noticed the bat in his hand, I looked up and met his violent eyes at the sight of his daughter in my hands. Before I could say a word or move my mind to think of what to do, Master Stewart snatched his baby daughter, and swung his bad full force at my left knee. I fell straight to the ground and made the most dreadful howl that barely articulated the tremendous pain I felt. Master Stewart must have noticed the flames down the hall at this point, and so he suddenly left me for his wife and other children. Before he could return to punish my already broken heart, I dragged myself to the attic that stood near the stairway at the end of the hall. In the panic, no one noticed me slip into the attic. I was so afraid of what the Stewarts would do to me now, more so than I was afraid of the fire smothering me in this attic. But the fire brigade came. I remember Master Stewart telling me of these government-run fire departments; they were brand new, and I was lucky to live. I heard shuffling and yelling for hours, but I did not dare to move. I was in complete darkness in this attic. I thought about escaping and leaving forever, but the thought of being without Margaret kept me still in the attic, just thinking about what I should do. The next morning, I could hear the boys calling for me, and even Master Stewart shouted for me. But I was too afraid. I didn’t know what I did wrong. Then I heard one of the boys whimpering right next the attic. They never used this space, so they never thought to remove the wooden board that covered the hole that I was in to check for me. But one of the boys was sad that they couldn’t find me! I had thought that they were mad this whole time, and I really missed the boys and wanted to see them. So I shouted out and gave away my location. As the boy pulled off the wooden board, he screamed, “I have found him father, here he is!”

The next week was brilliant. I was treated almost as well as Master Stewart’s own children. They fed me well, and thanked me for my bravery. It felt good to be appreciated, so I had almost forgotten completely of the blow that Master Stewart gave me. But I could never really forget, because I limped rather obviously from that point on. Still, it felt good to be liked again, so I didn’t care.

One day that week, Master Stewart invited a Mr. Francis W. Eppes to his estate. Mr. Eppes was the grandson of a notable former President Thomas Jefferson, and like his grandfather, Mr Eppes has a liking for lighter-skinned slaves. So when I brought out tea for the guests and entertained, Mr. Eppes naturally took a liking to me. He asked Master Stewart how much, but Master Stewart said there was no price that could remove me from his household. That made me very happy, as I ran back in to get some more sugar. As a walked into the kitchen, Margaret was walking out with some cheese and crackers, and she smiled as she walked past me. When I returned, I heard Master Stewart say, “Well she is one of my lightest and finest, so $400.”

“Ahh she is quite fair; you leave me no choice, deal!”

Margaret looked back at me with an expression that I could never forget. And I never saw her again. In my sadness, I remember trying to think back to the days when I knew my mother, because I could have used her guidance. I tried to remember what she told me, but I couldn’t. I could barely remember her face, and that made me cry.