No fragmento a seguir, retirado do livro Thirty years a slave, Louis Hughes relembra sua experiência como escravo desde a infância, na primeira metade do século XIX.

I was born in Virginia, in 1832. My father was a white man and my mother a negress, the slave of one John Martin. I was a mere child, probably not more than six years of age, as I remember, when my mother, two brothers and myself were sold to Dr. Louis, a practicing physician in the village of Scottsville. We remained with him about five years. When he died, I was sold to one Washington Fitzpatrick, a merchant of the village. He kept me a short time when he took me to Richmond, expecting to sell me.

A Mr. McGee came up and felt of me and asked me what I could do (1). “You look like a right smart nigger”, said he, “Virginia always produces good darkies.” (3) Virginia was the mother of slavery, and it was held by many that she had the best slaves. The bidding commenced, and I remember well when the auctioneer said, “Three hundred eighty dollars – once, twice and sold to Mr. Edward McGee. (4)” He was a rich cotton planter of Pontotoc, Miss. As near as I can recollect, I was not more than twelve years of age, so I was not sold for very much.

At length, after a long and wearisome journey, we reached Pontotoc, McGee’s home, on Christmas eve. Boss took me into the house and into the sitting room, where all the family were assembled (5), and presented me as a Christmas gift to the madam, his wife. My first work in the morning was to dust the parlor and hall and arrange the dining room. It came awkward to me at first, but, after the madam told me how, I soon learned to do it satisfactorily. Then I had to wait on the table, sweep the large yard every morning with a brush broom and go for the mail once a week. I used to get very tired, for I was young and consequently not strong. I would get very tired at this work and, like any child, wanted to be at play, but I could not remember that the madam ever gave me that privilege.

Some weeks it seemed I was whipped for nothing, just to please my mistress’ fancy. Once, when I was sent to town for the mail (2) and had started back, it was so dark and rainy my horse got away from me and I had to stay all night in town. The next morning when I got back home I had a severe whipping, because the master was expecting a letter containing money and was disappointed in not receiving it that night, as he was going to Panola to spend Christmas.

During the time they were gone, the overseer whipped a man so terribly with the “bull whip” that I had to go for the doctor. It seems the slave had been sick, and had killed a little pig when he became well enough to go to work, as his appetite craved hearty food, and he needed it to give him strength for his tasks. For this one act, comparatively trivial, he was almost killed. The idea never seemed to occur to the slave holders that these slaves were getting no wages for their work and, therefore, had nothing with which to procure what, at times, was necessary for their health and strength. When the slaves took anything the masters called it stealing, yet they were stealing the slaves’ time year after year.

(LOUIS HUGHES. Adaptado de Thirty years a slave: from bondage to freedom. Milwaukee: South Side Printing Co, 1897.)

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