Autobiography of a Female SlaveBrowne, Martha Griffith
History
Autobiography of a Female Slave
Browne, Martha Griffith
African American women -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Enslaved women -- Fiction; Kentucky -- Fiction; Slavery -- Fiction
Gradual Return of Happy Spirits--Brighter Prospects--An Old
Acquaintance, 374
CHAPTER XL.
The Crisis of Existence--A Dreadful Page in Life, 381
CHAPTER XLI.
A Revelation--Death the Peaceful Angel--Calmness, 391
CHAPTER XLII.
Conclusion, 398
AUTOBIOGRAPHY
OF A
FEMALE SLAVE.
CHAPTER I.
THE OLD KENTUCKY FARM--MY PARENTAGE AND EARLY TRAINING--DEATH OF THE
MASTER--THE SALE-DAY--NEW MASTER AND NEW HOME.
I was born in one of the southern counties of Kentucky. My earliest
recollections are of a large, old-fashioned farm-house, built of hewn
rock, in which my old master, Mr. Nelson, and his family, consisting of
a widowed sister, two daughters and two sons, resided. I have but an
indistinct remembrance of my old master. At times, a shadow of an idea,
like the reflection of a kind dream, comes over my mind, and, then, I
conjure him up as a large, venerable-looking man, with scanty, gray
locks floating carelessly over an amplitude of forehead; a wide,
hard-featured face, with yet a kindly glow of honest sentiment; broad,
strong teeth, much discolored by the continued use of tobacco.
I well remember that, as a token of his good-will, he always presented
us (the slave-children) with a slice of buttered bread, when we had
finished our daily task. I have also a faint _reminiscence_ of his old
hickory cane being shaken over my head two or three times, and the
promise (which remained, until his death, unfulfilled) of a good
"_thrashing_" at some future period.
My mother was a very bright mulatto woman, and my father, I suppose,
was a white man, though I know nothing of him; for, with the most
unpaternal feeling, he deserted me. A consequence of this amalgamation
was my very fair and beautiful complexion. My skin was no perceptible
shade darker than that of my young mistresses. My eyes were large and
dark, while a profusion of nut-brown hair, straight and soft as the
whitest lady's in the land, fell in showery redundance over my neck and
shoulders. I was often mistaken for a white child; and in my rambles
through the woods, many caresses have I received from wayside
travellers; and the exclamation, "What a beautiful child!" was quite
common. Owing to this personal beauty I was a great pet with my master's
sister, Mrs. Woodbridge, who, I believe I have stated, was a widow, and
childless; so upon me she lavished all the fondness of a warm and loving
heart.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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