history and family records--that is, black family records. My
mother, I suppose, attracted the attention of a purchaser who was
afterward my owner and hers. Her addition to the slave family
attracted about as much attention as the purchase of a new horse
or cow. Of my father I know even less than of my mother. I do not
even know his name. I have heard reports to the effect that he
was a white man who lived on one of the near-by plantations.
Whoever he was, I never heard of his taking the least interest in
me or providing in any way for my rearing. But I do not find
especial fault with him. He was simply another unfortunate victim
of the institution which the Nation unhappily had engrafted upon
it at that time.

The cabin was not only our living-place, but was also used as the
kitchen for the plantation. My mother was the plantation cook.
The cabin was without glass windows; it had only openings in the
side which let in the light, and also the cold, chilly air of
winter. There was a door to the cabin--that is, something that
was called a door--but the uncertain hinges by which it was hung,
and the large cracks in it, to say nothing of the fact that it
was too small, made the room a very uncomfortable one. In
addition to these openings there was, in the lower right-hand
corner of the room, the "cat-hole," --a contrivance which almost
every mansion or cabin in Virginia possessed during the
ante-bellum period. The "cat-hole" was a square opening, about
seven by eight inches, provided for the purpose of letting the
cat pass in and out of the house at will during the night. In the
case of our particular cabin I could never understand the
necessity for this convenience, since there were at least a
half-dozen other places in the cabin that would have accommodated