“‘Matter,’ says I ‘matter enough; they got me into a ring up there, and scart me half to pieces, and I made off, I tell ye; and if scarein’ folks makes ’em religious, I’ll be a good Christian arter this as any on ’em, for they scart me like tarnation.’ Well, goin’ home that night, the gals talked to me a good deal ’bout religion. They used to be a good deal more religiouser ’bout Camp meetin’ times than any other times, and they’d try to git me to pray, and larn me how; and come up into my chamber arter the old folks had gone to bed, to tell me ’bout religion, and all that; and so, arter this meetin’ I used to pray some, and when I went arter my cows, I’d git behind some big tree, and pray as well as I knew how, and so every time I got a chance, I’d keep it up, for six or seven months, and then I’d git all over it, and I could swear as bad as ever; and by this time the gals had got kind’a cold, and didn’t say much ’bout religion; and that’s the history of all my religion then. And arter this scare I tell on, I didn’t have any more religious fits very soon.
“Prayin’ in the woods makes me think of bein’ tied up there. Once master gits mad with me, cause I didn’t plane cherry boards ’nough, and he takes me out into the woods, and ties me up, ’bout dark, and says he, ‘now stay there, you black devil, till mornin’.’ Well, he’d whipped me raw afore this, and there ’twas dark as pitch, and the woods full of all kinds of live varmints,—a sore back, and enemost starved; and I tell ye if I didn’t scream jist like a good fellow, I’ll give up. I hollered jist as loud as I could bawl, and there I stayed a good while, afeared of bein’ eat up by varmints every minute. Finally, a man who hears me, comes up and says, ‘whose there?’
“‘Peter,’ says I.
“‘And what’s the matter?’
“‘Matter ’nough! Master’s whipped me raw, and enemost starved me, and tied me up, and is a goin’ to keep me here all night.’
“‘No, he ain’t ‘nother.’ And at that he out with a big jack-knife, and cut the rope; and I says, ‘Thank’ee, Sir;’ and off he went. But I warn’t much better off now, for I darn’t go to the house, for there I should git it worse yit; and so I went to the fence, so if any wild thing come arter me, I could be on the move; and there I stood, and hollered, and bawled, and screamed, till I thought it must be near mornin’; and finally, one of the gals comes out to untie me; and if ever I was glad to see a woman’s face, ’twas then; but if there’d been fifty wild beasts within a mile on me, they’d been so scart by my bawlin’, that they’d made tracks t’other way.
“But up to ’bout this time, I used to have some sunny days, when I’d enjoy myself pretty well. But I don’t think that for five years, my wounds, of his make, fairly healed up, afore he tore ’em open agin’ with an ox-goad, or cat-o’-nine-tails, and made ’em bleed agin’. But I’ve not told you the worst part of the story yit. Master got to be more savage than ever, and so cruel, that it did seem that I couldn’t live with him. He got to be a dreadful drunkard, and ☞ owned a share in a still; ☜ and he used to keep a barrel of whiskey in his cellar all the time; and he’d git up airly in the mornin’, and take jist enough to make him cross; and then ’twas ‘here, nigger,’ and ‘there, nigger,’ and ‘every where, nigger,’ at once.
“He got to be sheriff, and then he drinked worse than ever; and when he come home, he used to ‘buse his wife and family, and beat the fust one he’d come to; and I’d generally be on the move, if my eyes was open, when he got home, for he’d thrash me for nothin’. And I’ve seen him whip his gals arter they got big enough to be young women grown, in his drunken fits; and many a time I’ve run out, and stayed round the barn, for hours and hours, till I was nearly froze, from fear on him; only, sometimes, when I knew he would thrash somebody, he was so savage, I’d stay in doors, and let his rage bile over on me, rather than on the gals; for I couldn’t bear to have them beat so.
“One day he tells me to git up the team, and go to drawin’ wood to the door. I used to have nothin’ to eat generally, but buttermilk and samp, except, now and then, a good bite from some of the gals or neighbors. The buttermilk used to be kept in an old-fashioned Dutch barrel-churn, till ’twas sour enough to make a pig squeal. Well, I drawed wood all day, and one of the coldest in winter, and eat nothin’ but a basin of buttermilk in the mornin’, and so at night I goes to put out the team, and he says, ‘Nigger, don’t put out that team yit; go and do your chores, and then put up ten bushels of wheat, and go to mill with it, and bring it back to-night ground, or I’ll whip your guts out.’
“Well, I hadn’t had any dinner or supper, and it was a tremendous cold night; but ‘Lecta puts into the sleigh one of these old-fashioned cloaks, with a hood on it, and says she, ‘Don’t put it on till you git out of sight of the house, and here’s two nut-cakes; and, if I was in your place, I wouldn’t let the horses creep, for it’s awful cold, and I’m ‘fraid you’ll freeze.’