The Story of Mattie J. Jackson | Page 2

his reason he found himself, near his
journey's end, divested of his free papers and all others. On his arrival
at St. Charles he was seized by a huge, surly looking slaveholder who
claimed him as his property. The contract had previously been
concluded by his Judas-like friend, who had received the bounty. Oh,
what a sad disappointment. After serving for thirty years to be thrust
again into bondage where a deeper degradation and sorrow and
hopeless toil were to be his portion for the remaining years of his
existence. In deep despair and overwhelmed with grief, he made his
escape to the woods, determined to put an end to his sorrows by
perishing with cold and hunger. His master immediately pursued him,
and in twenty-four hours found him with hands and feet frost-bitten, in
consequence of which he lost the use of his fingers and toes, and was
thenceforth of little use to his new master. He remained with him,
however, and married a woman in the same station in life. They lived
as happily as their circumstances would permit. As Providence allotted,
they only had one son, which was my father, Westly Jackson. He had a
deep affection for his family, which the slave ever cherishes for his
dear ones. He had no other link to fasten him to the human family but
his fervent love for those who were bound to him by love and
sympathy in their wrongs and sufferings. My grandfather remained in
the same family until his death. My father, Westly Jackson, married, at
the age of twenty-two, a girl owned by James Harris, named Ellen
Turner. Nothing of importance occurred until three years after their

marriage, when her master, Harris failed through the extravagance and
mismanagement of his wife, who was a great spendthrift and a dreaded
terror to the poor slaves and all others with whom she associated in
common circumstances, consequently the entire stock was sold by the
sheriff to a trader residing in Virginia. On account of the good
reputation my mother sustained as a worthy servant and excellent cook,
a tyrannical and much dreaded slaveholder watched for an opportunity
to purchase her, but fortunately arrived a few moments too late, and she
was bid off in too poor a condition of health to remain long a subject of
banter and speculation. Her husband was allowed to carefully lift her
down from the block and accompany her to her new master's, Charles
Canory, who treated her very kindly while she remained in his family.
Mr. Canory resided in St. Charles County for five years after he
purchased my mother. During that time my father and mother were in
the same neighborhood, but a short distance from each other. But
another trial awaited them. Her master removed twenty miles away to a
village called Bremen, near St. Louis, Mo. My father, thereafter, visited
my mother once a week, walking the distance every Saturday evening
and returning on Sunday evening. But through all her trials and
deprivations her trust and confidence was in Him who rescued his
faithful followers from the fiery furnace and the lion's den, and led
Moses through the Red Sea. Her trust and confidence was in Jesus. She
relied on His precious promises, and ever found Him a present help in
every time of need. Two years after this separation my father was sold
and separated from us, but previous to his delivery to his new master he
made his escape to a free State. My mother was then left with two
children. She had three during the time they were permitted to remain
together, and buried one. Their names were Sarah Ann, Mattie Jane and
Esther J. When my father left I was about three years of age, yet I can
well remember the little kindnesses my father used to bestow upon us,
and the deep affection and fondness he manifested for us. I shall never
forget the bitter anguish of my parents' hearts, the sighs they uttered or
the profusion of tears which coursed down their sable cheeks. O, what a
horrid scene, but he was not her's, for cruel hands had separated them.
The strongest tie of earthly joy that bound the aching heart-- His love
was e'er a joyous light that o'er the pathway shone-- A fountain gushing

ever new amid life's desert wild-- His slightest word was a sweet tone
of music round her heart-- Their lives a streamlet blent in one. O,
Father, must they part? They tore him from her circling arms, her last
and fond embrace-- O never again can her sad eyes gaze upon his
mournful face. It is not strange these bitter sighs are constant bursting
forth. Amid mirth and glee and revelry she never took a part, She was