Slave Life in Georgia - African American History

Slave Life in Georgia 28
24.03.2006
consented to run off with Buck. We started one night, walking on as fast as we
could, until daylight, when we took to the woods and lay down to rest. I cannot
say how far we went, for I was ignorant of that part of the country. I know it
was a long way, for we were out some days, walking at night, and hiding in the
woods and swamps by day. At last, however, we reached the station Buck Hurd
had been making for, and there we heard that Murrell had been found out and
was then in the States' prison. This frightened Buck, who said I must go back. I
agreed to do so if he would get my master to promise not to flog me. To this he
consented, and we made our way for
Page 51
home. On the road, however, Buck called at his own house, and took a gun and
a dog, to make it appear as though he had been out nigger hunting and caught
me. At any rate he told Stevens so when we got to the house, and Stevens
believed him and paid him thirty dollars for catching and bringing me home.
Before he gave me up, he made me promise I would not run away any more.
This I did, telling a downright lie, for I meant running off if ever I got the
chance. However, I did not get flogged that time, and thought I had been very
lucky.
I may here state that negro stealing is quite a trade in the States, and that it is
carried on to a great extent.
Not very long after this, Stevens was struck with paralysis. He lost the use of
one side, and of his speech. I was called in to watch and tend him, but I did not
think it my duty to understand all he tried to say. This made him very savage.
He would sometimes get my hand between his foot and the bed, and try to grind
the bones. When the "people" learnt he was not likely to recover, they were
much pleased, and used to be very merry at quarters, for they knew they could
not have a worse master At last he
Page 52
died, and very glad we all were. I know I was; and even now, at this distance of
time, when my troubles are all over, I cannot help feeling that the world was
well rid of him. I only hope he did not go where there is any chance of my
meeting with him again. He was buried, any how, nobody regretting him; not
even his old dog, who wagged his tail when the coffin went by his kennel.
He left his property to his son De Cator Stevens.