St. Catharines
Henry Atkinson
I belonged in Norfolk, Va., from birth until thirty-four years of age. I never saw my owner, but when I was a little boy. I was hired out by the year by an agent of my owner. Sometimes I was well cared for, sometimes not, according to the man’s disposition that employed me. He treated me well, giving me enough to eat, drink, and wear, and a quarter of a dollar every Saturday night to support my wife. She lived in the city, being a slave: I could not see her when I wished always,—sometimes I was not permitted to see her. The way we were married was, a few words were read out of a book; no license was granted, as to free people. During all these nine years, my mind was continually running upon this,—how am I to get out of this bondage?—for, as well as I was used, I felt that I was under a hard bondage. I studied upon it long. I have lain awake more than half the night, many a time, studying on that one thing—should I ever be able to get clear? But I could not see my way out.
At one time I was hired out to a man whose treatment of me was very bad. Many times I would be sick and could scarcely hold up my head: this man would do nothing for me on the plea that it belonged to the agent to do it,—the agent would say it was not his duty, but my employer’s,—and so I suffered from neglect. If neither of them would help me, I had nowhere to go for relief. He would allow me no money: if I wanted a few cents for myself or my wife I had to work nights to earn them.
I had no chance to learn to read or write. The agent never came near me to see if I were well used or abused by the people who hired me. All I ever saw of him was when the year was up and he came to get his money. Excepting the nine years’ time I have spoken of before, I was put up in the ring and let to the highest bidder,—I was hired out, did the work, and others got the money,—that was mean and hard too.
In regard to religious instruction, I was allowed to go to church on Sunday, to a white clergyman—no colored preacher being allowed in Norfolk. We call some colored men, ministers, but they read nothing from the Bible—they exhort a little sometimes,—but ‘t is n’t preaching. The white clergymen do n’t preach the whole gospel there. Since I have been here, I have heard the passage about the fast that the Lord hath chosen, to loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, to let the oppressed go free, and that ye break every yoke. I never heard that down South. If a colored man were to say it, he’d have the handcuffs put on quick,—if a white man were to say it, he’d have to leave, because they’d say he was “putting too much into the niggers’ heads.” I’ve seen white children driven away from among the colored, when they said something the old folks did not like, because it was “putting something into the nigger’s head.”
I was a member of the First Baptist church. I heard the white minister preach, and I thought within myself, I will seek a better world above,