"Who wrote these names and weights on this slate, Charles?" asked Mr.
Wilson.

"I did it, sir," I answered.

"How and when did you learn to write?"

"During the time I attended my young mistresses to school, sir."

Wilson looked at me long and angrily, and remarked that I had kept that
fact secret for a long time, and that as I had learned to read and write
he could not help it. "But you must remember, Charles," he continued,
"that the law is that if any negro shall be found writing, his
forefinger shall be cut off at the first joint."

My time had now come for my first punishment, I thought. A day or two
after I heard Wilson, while in conversation with the overseer, say, "It
will not do to let Charles stay with the rest of the negroes, or he will
learn them all to read and write, and then we might as well set them
free."

What was to be done with me for my unpardonable crime? All kinds of
surmises and speculations entered my mind. What was to be my fate?
Belonging to Mrs. Wilson--her property--I was placed in charge of her
son James, who employed me at teaming, that is, hauling cotton, lumber,
etc.

In this occupation I became pretty well acquainted with the surrounding
country and the people, and was very well satisfied with matters
generally as they then stood. But I was soon to learn that my young