Introduction and Context
"Oh, if the miserable men and women, now toiling on the plantations of Alabama, could know that thousands in the free states are praying and striving for their deliverance, how would the glad tidings be whispered from cabin to cabin, and how would the slave-mother, as she watches over her infant, bless God, on her knees, for the hope that this child of her day of sorrow might never realize, in stripes, and toil, and grief unspeakable, what it is to be a slave!" - James Williams, Narrative of James Williams, an American Slave, Who Was for Several Years a Driver on a Cotton Plantation in Alabama, Documenting the American South, Page 99
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James Williams was born in 1805 and was raised as a household servant in Virginia. Upon the death of his master, he was sold further south and found himself in the unfamiliar and unwelcome role of slave driver in the state of Alabama. Not only this, but Williams was also on the plantation of a cruel and violent overseer, Huckstep.
There was a great deal of controversy surrounding the credibility of Williams, especially in relation to the details of his life in Alabama. At the time of its publication, the narrative sparked outrage in the South. Historian John Blassingame warns that modern readers often refer to this narrative as a "fraud" because of the attacks made on it at the time. One reporter in Alabama reported on the details of Williams' account of his experience there, trying to refute it. The reporter, J.B. Rittenhouse, argued that the slaveholders and slave driver named in the book did not correspond to residents in that region and additionally, that Williams' story contained questionable timelines. |
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This was the first narrative that was published by the American Anti-Slavery Society. Also important in this narrative is the role of famous poet, John Greenleaf Whittier, who served as a literary assistant for Williams and helped with the dictation of the document. In the battle over credibility, Whittier himself issued statements that attested to Williams' "intelligence [and] evident candor" and his "strong confirmation of the truth and accuracy of his story."
Whether or not the narrative is completely factual, the narrative stands as a compelling probability in the American understanding of the southern slave experience. William's transition from a well-treated house slave to an abused slave driver compelled to become an abuser is a shocking testimony. The experiences described in his narrative would have been a startling affront to the standards of human safety and dignity considered essential for enfranchised Americans. Fearing his recapture, Williams took the advice of his abolitionist friends and moved to London.
Whether or not the narrative is completely factual, the narrative stands as a compelling probability in the American understanding of the southern slave experience. William's transition from a well-treated house slave to an abused slave driver compelled to become an abuser is a shocking testimony. The experiences described in his narrative would have been a startling affront to the standards of human safety and dignity considered essential for enfranchised Americans. Fearing his recapture, Williams took the advice of his abolitionist friends and moved to London.
Document - Narrative of James Williams: An American Slave: Who Was for Several Years a Driver on a Cotton Plantation in Alabama
Nothing more of special importance occurred until July, of last year, when one of our men, named John, was whipped three times for not performing his task. On the last day of the month, after his third whipping, he ran away. On the following morning, I found that he was missing at his row. The overseer said we must hunt him up; and he blew the "negro* horn," as it is called, for the dogs. This horn was only used when we went in pursuit of fugitives. It is a cow's horn, and makes a short, loud sound. We crossed Flincher's and Goldsby's plantations, as the dogs had got upon John's track, and went off barking in that direction, and the two overseers joined us in the chase. The dogs soon caught sight of the runaway, and compelled him to climb a tree. We came up; Huckstep ordered him down, and secured him upon my horse by tying him to my back. On reaching home he was stripped entirely naked and lashed to a tree. Flincher then volunteered to whip him on one side of his legs and Goldsby on the other. I had, in the mean time, been ordered to prepare a wash of salt and pepper, and wash his wounds with it.
The poor fellow groaned, and his flesh shrunk and quivered as the burning solution was applied to it. This wash, while it adds to the immediate torment of the sufferer, facilitates the cure of the wounded parts. Huckstep then whipped him from his neck down to his thighs, making the cuts lengthwise of his back. He was very expert with the whip, and could strike, at any time, within an inch of his mark. He then gave the whip to me and told me to strike directly across his back. When I had finished, the miserable sufferer, from his neck to his heels, was covered with blood and bruises. Goldsby and Flincher now turned to Huckstep, and told him that I deserved a whipping as much as John did; that they had known me frequently disobey his orders, and that I was partial to the "Virginia ladies," and didn't whip them as I did the men. They said that if I was a driver of theirs they would know what to do with me. Huckstep agreed with them; and after directing me to go to the house and prepare more of the wash for John's back, he called after me, with an oath, to see to it that I had some for myself, for he meant to give me, at least, two hundred and fifty lashes. I returned to the house, and, scarcely conscious of what I was doing, filled an iron vessel with water, put in the salt and pepper, and placed it over the embers.
As I stood by the fire watching the boiling of the mixture, and reflecting upon the dreadful torture to which I was about to be subjected, the thought of escape flashed upon my mind. The chance was a desperate one, but I resolved to attempt it. I ran up stairs, tied my shirt in a handkerchief, and stepped out of the back door of the house, telling aunt Polly to take care of the wash at the fire until I returned. The sun was about one hour high, but, luckily for me, the hands, as well as the three overseers, were on the other side of the house. I kept the house between them and myself, and ran as fast as I could for the woods. On reaching them I found myself obliged to proceed slowly, as there was a thick undergrowth of cane and reeds. Night came on; I straggled forward by a dim starlight, amidst vines and reedbeds. About midnight the horizon began to be overcast, and the darkness increased, until, in the thick forest, I could scarcely see a yard before me. Fearing that I might lose my way and wander towards the plantation, instead of from it, I resolved to wait until day. I laid down upon a little hillock and fell asleep.
When I awoke it was broad day. The clouds had vanished, and the hot sunshine fell through the trees upon my face. I started up, realizing my situation, and darted onward. My object was to reach the great road by which we travelled when we came out from Virginia. I had, however, very little hope of escape. I knew that a hot pursuit would be made after me, and what I most dreaded was that the overseer would procure Crop's bloodhounds to follow my track. If only the hounds of our plantation were sent after me, I had hopes of being able to make friends of them, as they were always good-natured and obedient to me. I travelled until, as near as I could judge, about ten o'clock, when a distant sound startled me. I stopped and listened. It was the deep bay of the bloodhound, apparently at a great distance. I hurried on until I came to a creek about fifteen yards wide, skirted by an almost impenetrable growth of reeds and cane. Plunging into it, I swam across and ran down by the side of it a short distance, and, in order to baffle the dogs, swam back to the other side again. I stopped in the reed-bed and listened.
The dogs seemed close at hand, and by the loud barking I felt persuaded that Crop's hounds were with them. I thought of the fate of Little John, who had been torn in pieces by the hounds, and of the scarcely less dreadful condition of those who had escaped the dogs only to fall into the hands of the overseer. The yell of the dogs grew louder. Escape seemed impossible. I ran down the creek with a determination to drown myself. I plunged into the water and went down to the bottom, but the dreadful strangling sensation compelled me to struggle up to the surface. Again I heard the yell of the bloodhounds, and again desperately plunged down into the water.
As I went down I opened my mouth, and, choked and gasping, found myself once more struggling upward. As I rose to the top of the water and caught a glimpse of the sunshine and the trees, the love of life revived in me. I swam to the other side of the creek, and forced my way through the reeds to a large bass-wood tree, and stood under one of its lowest limbs, ready, in case of necessity, to spring up into it. Here, panting and exhausted, I stood waiting for the dogs.
(from Narrative of James Williams, an American Slave, Who Was for Several Years a Driver on a Cotton Plantation in Alabama, Documenting the American South, Page 81-85)
The poor fellow groaned, and his flesh shrunk and quivered as the burning solution was applied to it. This wash, while it adds to the immediate torment of the sufferer, facilitates the cure of the wounded parts. Huckstep then whipped him from his neck down to his thighs, making the cuts lengthwise of his back. He was very expert with the whip, and could strike, at any time, within an inch of his mark. He then gave the whip to me and told me to strike directly across his back. When I had finished, the miserable sufferer, from his neck to his heels, was covered with blood and bruises. Goldsby and Flincher now turned to Huckstep, and told him that I deserved a whipping as much as John did; that they had known me frequently disobey his orders, and that I was partial to the "Virginia ladies," and didn't whip them as I did the men. They said that if I was a driver of theirs they would know what to do with me. Huckstep agreed with them; and after directing me to go to the house and prepare more of the wash for John's back, he called after me, with an oath, to see to it that I had some for myself, for he meant to give me, at least, two hundred and fifty lashes. I returned to the house, and, scarcely conscious of what I was doing, filled an iron vessel with water, put in the salt and pepper, and placed it over the embers.
As I stood by the fire watching the boiling of the mixture, and reflecting upon the dreadful torture to which I was about to be subjected, the thought of escape flashed upon my mind. The chance was a desperate one, but I resolved to attempt it. I ran up stairs, tied my shirt in a handkerchief, and stepped out of the back door of the house, telling aunt Polly to take care of the wash at the fire until I returned. The sun was about one hour high, but, luckily for me, the hands, as well as the three overseers, were on the other side of the house. I kept the house between them and myself, and ran as fast as I could for the woods. On reaching them I found myself obliged to proceed slowly, as there was a thick undergrowth of cane and reeds. Night came on; I straggled forward by a dim starlight, amidst vines and reedbeds. About midnight the horizon began to be overcast, and the darkness increased, until, in the thick forest, I could scarcely see a yard before me. Fearing that I might lose my way and wander towards the plantation, instead of from it, I resolved to wait until day. I laid down upon a little hillock and fell asleep.
When I awoke it was broad day. The clouds had vanished, and the hot sunshine fell through the trees upon my face. I started up, realizing my situation, and darted onward. My object was to reach the great road by which we travelled when we came out from Virginia. I had, however, very little hope of escape. I knew that a hot pursuit would be made after me, and what I most dreaded was that the overseer would procure Crop's bloodhounds to follow my track. If only the hounds of our plantation were sent after me, I had hopes of being able to make friends of them, as they were always good-natured and obedient to me. I travelled until, as near as I could judge, about ten o'clock, when a distant sound startled me. I stopped and listened. It was the deep bay of the bloodhound, apparently at a great distance. I hurried on until I came to a creek about fifteen yards wide, skirted by an almost impenetrable growth of reeds and cane. Plunging into it, I swam across and ran down by the side of it a short distance, and, in order to baffle the dogs, swam back to the other side again. I stopped in the reed-bed and listened.
The dogs seemed close at hand, and by the loud barking I felt persuaded that Crop's hounds were with them. I thought of the fate of Little John, who had been torn in pieces by the hounds, and of the scarcely less dreadful condition of those who had escaped the dogs only to fall into the hands of the overseer. The yell of the dogs grew louder. Escape seemed impossible. I ran down the creek with a determination to drown myself. I plunged into the water and went down to the bottom, but the dreadful strangling sensation compelled me to struggle up to the surface. Again I heard the yell of the bloodhounds, and again desperately plunged down into the water.
As I went down I opened my mouth, and, choked and gasping, found myself once more struggling upward. As I rose to the top of the water and caught a glimpse of the sunshine and the trees, the love of life revived in me. I swam to the other side of the creek, and forced my way through the reeds to a large bass-wood tree, and stood under one of its lowest limbs, ready, in case of necessity, to spring up into it. Here, panting and exhausted, I stood waiting for the dogs.
(from Narrative of James Williams, an American Slave, Who Was for Several Years a Driver on a Cotton Plantation in Alabama, Documenting the American South, Page 81-85)
Questions for Discussion and Document Based Analysis
- After John was captured by the overseers, what happens to him?
- Why did Huckstep decide that Williams should also be whipped?
- According to the text, when does James WIlliams decide to escape the plantation?
- According to the text, what is it that caused the "love of life" to be revived in James Williams?
Sources Referenced
Amanda M. Page, "Summary of the Narrative of James Williams," Documenting the American South, The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, 2004.
James Basker, ed., American Antislavery Writings: Colonial Beginnings to Emancipation, New York: Literary Classics of the United States, Inc., 2012: 367.
John W. Blassingame, "Using the Testimony of Ex-Slaves: Approaches and Problems," The Journal of Southern History, Vol. 41, No. 4 (Nov., 1975): 473-492.
James Basker, ed., American Antislavery Writings: Colonial Beginnings to Emancipation, New York: Literary Classics of the United States, Inc., 2012: 367.
John W. Blassingame, "Using the Testimony of Ex-Slaves: Approaches and Problems," The Journal of Southern History, Vol. 41, No. 4 (Nov., 1975): 473-492.
