The Narrative of William W. Brown, a Fugitive Slave | Page 3

that effort--that we are working. It is for
humanity, the wide world over, not only now, but for all coming time,
and all future generations:--
"For he who settles Freedom's principles, Writes the death-warrant of
all tyranny."
It is a vast work--a glorious enterprize--worthy the unswerving
devotion of the entire life-time of the great and the good.
Slaveholding and slaveholders must be rendered disreputable and
odious. They must be stripped of their respectability and Christian
reputation. They must be treated as "men-stealers--guilty of the highest
kind of theft, and sinners of the first rank." Their more guilty
accomplices in the persons of northern apologists, both in Church and
State, must be placed in the same category. Honest men must be made
to look upon their crimes with the same abhorrence and loathing, with
which they regard the less guilty robber and assassin, until
"The common damned shun their society, And look upon themselves as
fiends less foul."
When a just estimate is placed upon the crime of slave-holding, the
work will have been accomplished, and the glorious day ushered in--
"When man nor woman in all our wide domain, Shall buy, or sell, or
hold, or be a slave."
J.C. Hathaway.
--Farmington, N.Y., 1847.

NARRATIVE.

CHAPTER I.
I was born in Lexington, Ky. The man who stole me as soon as I was
born, recorded the births of all the infants which he claimed to be born
his property, in a book which he kept for that purpose. My mother's
name was Elizabeth. She had seven children, viz: Solomon, Leander,
Benjamin, Joseph, Millford, Elizabeth, and myself. No two of us were
children of the same father. My father's name, as I learned from my
mother, was George Higgins. He was a white man, a relative of my

master, and connected with some of the first families in Kentucky.
My master owned about forty slaves, twenty-five of whom were field
hands. He removed from Kentucky to Missouri, when I was quite
young, and settled thirty or forty miles above St. Charles, on the
Missouri, where, in addition to his practice as a physician, he carried on
milling, merchandizing and farming. He had a large farm, the principal
productions of which were tobacco and hemp. The slave cabins were
situated on the back part of the farm, with the house of the overseer,
whose name was Grove Cook, in their midst. He had the entire charge
of the farm, and having no family, was allowed a woman to keep house
for him, whose business it was to deal out the provisions for the hands.
A woman was also kept at the quarters to do the cooking for the field
hands, who were summoned to their unrequited toil every morning at
four o'clock, by the ringing of a bell, hung on a post near the house of
the overseer. They were allowed half an hour to eat their breakfast, and
get to the field. At half past four, a horn was blown by the overseer,
which was the signal to commence work; and every one that was not on
the spot at the time, had to receive ten lashes from the negro-whip, with
which the overseer always went armed. The handle was about three feet
long, with the butt-end filled with lead, and the lash six or seven feet in
length, made of cowhide, with platted wire on the end of it. This whip
was put in requisition very frequently and freely, and a small offence
on the part of a slave furnished an occasion for its use. During the time
that Mr. Cook was overseer, I was a house servant--a situation
preferable to that of a field hand, as I was better fed, better clothed, and
not obliged to rise at the ringing of the bell, but about half an hour after.
I have often laid and heard the crack of the whip, and the screams of
the slave. My mother was a field hand, and one morning was ten or
fifteen minutes behind the others in getting into the field. As soon as
she reached the spot where they were at work, the overseer commenced
whipping her. She cried, "Oh! pray--Oh! pray--Oh! pray"--these are
generally the words of slaves, when imploring mercy at the hands of
their oppressors. I heard her voice, and knew it, and jumped out of my
bunk, and went to the door. Though the field was some distance from
the house, I could hear every crack of the whip, and every groan and

cry of my poor mother. I remained at the door, not daring to venture
any farther. The cold chills ran over me, and I wept aloud. After giving
her ten lashes, the sound of the whip ceased, and I returned to my bed,
and