that God cursed Ham, and therefore American slavery is right. If the
lineal descendants of Ham are alone to be scripturally enslaved, it is
certain that slavery at the south must soon become unscriptural; for
thousands are ushered into the world, annually, who, like myself, owe
their existence to white fathers, and those fathers most frequently
their own masters.

I have had two masters. My first master's name was Anthony. I do not
remember his first name. He was generally called Captain Anthony--a
title which, I presume, he acquired by sailing a craft on the Chesapeake
Bay. He was not considered a rich slaveholder. He owned two or three
farms, and about thirty slaves. His farms and slaves were under the
care of an overseer. The overseer's name was Plummer. Mr. Plummer was a
miserable drunkard, a profane swearer, and a savage monster. He always
went armed with a cowskin and a heavy cudgel. I have known him to cut
and slash the women's heads so horribly, that even master would be
enraged at his cruelty, and would threaten to whip him if he did not
mind himself. Master, however, was not a humane slaveholder. It required
extraordinary barbarity on the part of an overseer to affect him. He was
a cruel man, hardened by a long life of slaveholding. He would at times
seem to take great pleasure in whipping a slave. I have often been
awakened at the dawn of day by the most heart-rending shrieks of an own
aunt of mine, whom he used to tie up to a joist, and whip upon her naked
back till she was literally covered with blood. No words, no tears, no
prayers, from his gory victim, seemed to move his iron heart from its
bloody purpose. The louder she screamed, the harder he whipped; and
where the blood ran fastest, there he whipped longest. He would whip
her to make her scream, and whip her to make her hush; and not until
overcome by fatigue, would he cease to swing the blood-clotted cowskin.
I remember the first time I ever witnessed this horrible exhibition.