For two years I worked in the fields, each day crawling by like a tortoise. Every time I saw my master, I was certain I was to be sold. But that did not happen. I did my work and kept out of Captain Barker’s way. But my spirit ached. Despair consumed me.
My life would have continued like this — a present without joy or satisfaction, and a future bereft of hope — had it not been for making the acquaintance of a young slave woman named Malinda. She eased the sadness in my heart and gave me hope to think that something other than slavery was possible. Here is how it happened.
Young slave men visited neighboring plantations on Saturday evenings and on Sundays. Some obtained passes from their owners for the Saturday evening outings, but many simply absconded and hoped their masters would not find out. The purpose of the outings was to meet with fellow young people and make merry. My friends often encouraged me to join them in their frolic; but I refused, having no heart for it. They persisted until one Sunday, having done all my tasks, I went with them to their meeting place, a neighboring plantation in Oldham County owned by a Mr. Gatewood.
In this manner I was introduced to the society of young women. And I must confess, it changed me. For the first time in my life, I came to be vain about my appearance, taking great pains to appear well dressed. I had always kept my hair long, and when I began to be attracted to girls, I pulled it back and tied it with a ribbon. I loved the company of young women and would do anything to please them. I brought them cakes and other sweets, and sang for them. I became a favorite among them.
It was during one such visit to the Gatewood Plantation that I met Malinda. Like me, she was a mulatto. She moved in the highest society of slaves and free Blacks. She was a businesswoman, selling her baked goods to both Black and White people. She was also what we called a “banker.” A group of people would enter into a financial partnership whereby they would pool their savings, which were held by a banker. Once every six weeks, a member of the group got a “draw” of the amount that had been saved up. Malinda had the reputation of being an honest banker. She would not take one cent, but would be rewarded with a gift of money from whomever received the draw.
Malinda’s mother had a head for business, which her daughter no doubt inherited. The mother had managed to save enough money to purchase herself from Mr. Gatewood, but was not able to buy Malinda; so Malinda remained alone on Gatewood’s plantation, holding court among the young people.
I had heard that Malinda was of immense beauty. And indeed she was. She had red cheeks, a dazzling smile and dark pools of water for eyes. I was shy at first because she was surrounded by admiring young men, most of whom were older than me. I also felt tongue-tied. What would I say to her?
But fate intervened. One Saturday evening Malinda raised her voice in song — she had a beautiful singing voice. I knew the song and joined in. She turned to me and called me into her circle. Who was I, and what was my name? Where did I live, and how come she hadn’t seen me before?
To my surprise, Malinda knew my mother very well. I had never heard my mother speak of her, but Malinda’s mother had come together with my mother from Virginia, and they had apparently remained friends. After we sang, Malinda and I sat and talked until it became quite dark and I was obliged to go back to my bondage. I could see that the other young men were jealous, looking at me with daggers in their eyes.
After that evening I became a regular visitor to the Gatewood plantation. All day and night I thought of Malinda. I would look up in the sky and see her eyes in the clouds smiling down at me. When I bathed in the creek, it was her voice I heard singing in the water. At every possible moment I was at her side. After some time, I told Malinda of my love for her. To my great delight she told me that she felt the same about me. One evening, a few months after our romance began, we sat alone together, gazing in each other’s eyes. The tenderest feelings came over me, and I made Malinda an offer of marriage. She accepted. Never before had I known such happiness.
However, an event was about to happen that would have an impact on my marriage proposal. Reverend William Smith was to hold a Revival in our area.
William Smith was a slave from Lexington whose master gave him permission to preach around the state. He had come to the Lord when he was fourteen, and had been preaching ever since. His fame spread far and wide and he was known to have converted and baptized hundreds of people. He even baptized some White folks in the Kentucky River, which caused a big controversy. The masters, thinking that religion would be good for their slaves, gave them permission to attend his Revival. Most of us from David White’s farm walked the many miles to the meeting, which was held in a grassy field.
The Revival began with the singing of spirited songs. People danced and praised the Lord. Mournful songs followed, and then the reverend started to preach in a loud voice. He told us that there was only one God, and that God was love. He said there was only one Lord and master, and that was God. (I didn’t think our masters would want to hear such a message.) Reverend Smith told us to turn away from our evil ways and prepare ourselves for heaven. “You can die any time,” he said. “Would you want to die in a state of sin? Prepare to meet thy God!”
As he preached, I began to see the error of my ways. All I wished for at that moment was God’s grace and forgiveness. When it was time to come forward to the altar for prayer, I was among those who made the walk. Tears fell down my face as I confessed my sins and promised to begin a new life. Reverend Smith prayed for us and asked if we wish to be baptized the following day. I said yes, and was among the slave people who were baptized in the local river.
Reverend Smith’s Revival swept through the region, and it appeared that all the slave people had become believers. A great many of us, with the permission of our owners, began attending the local Methodist church. I had stopped going years earlier because of the hypocrisy of the Whites who attended. But in my condition of grace, I returned to the church with hope in my heart.
My master, David White, was an elder in the church. The first few Sundays I attended I was still filled with the euphoria from the Revival; but the humiliation of sitting in the “nigger quarter” of the church and listening to the White pastor preach about servants obeying their masters and that a good servant was better than silver and gold made me angry. I did not want any of my master’s slaveholding religion, and I stopped going to church again. But some of the area’s slave people organized their own secret meetings in the woods, with guards to look out for patrollers. I attended these meetings after I finished my work, and we praised and communed with God.
Though I loved Malinda with all my heart, my conversion gave me a new outlook on life. I felt I could not enter the state of marriage with someone who was not of a religious frame of mind. I told my fears to my sweetheart, who replied that for a long time she had been contemplating becoming a Christian and saw herself as a lover of God. I also told her that it was my wish to escape from slavery one day. To this Malinda also agreed, saying that she too wanted to flee. I could not have been happier to hear those words from Malinda’s lips. We were in agreement on the two things that mattered most to me.
The following day, I rose earlier than usual and went to the Bedford Inn to see my mother. I told her about Malinda, and of my proposal of marriage. My mother objected, saying I was too young to enter into a serious relationship, much less get married. I told her that I would soon be eighteen, but she would not be dissuaded.
“Look at me, Henry. Look at you, and look at your brothers. We are all slaves because of me. Malinda is a slave. Her children will be slaves, too.”
Her words hit me like live coals. In my amorous state I had overlooked that one glaring fact.
I left my mother more lost and miserable than I had ever felt before. That evening, when I was with my beloved, I told her that it would break my heart to father slaves. Though we would marry, we must try to escape. Malinda, too, had been thinking about the tragedy of bringing slaves into the world, and knowing that we were of one mind made me love her even more.
My master was not happy about my visits to the Gatewood plantation. He knew of the object of my attention, but felt that the time I was spending at Malinda’s was taking time away from his work, although he knew I visited Malinda only after I had finished my duties. The evil man threatened to stop me from visiting my darling, fearing that I would take his chickens and foodstuffs to give to Malinda. But I took matters into my own hands before he could carry out his threat.
One evening after work, I saw my master exercising his finest horse in the yard. I approached him and told him he was right — I was spending too much time at the Gatewood farm. I proposed a solution: sell me to William Gatewood. My master remained quiet for a while and then said he would consider my proposition.
A week later, he told me he would act on my advice. For a farmhand, I knew too much, and I had a reputation as a runaway. I believed David White would be happy to be rid of me, but he wanted to make some money off my person. Even though I had been a gift to his daughter, I was worth a lot of money as a grown man, if the buyer didn’t know I had become “spoiled.”
My master convinced William Gatewood that I would be a good worker, because I would have a wife to keep me in good spirits. My wife, too, would be content, with a husband who would make her happy. (It was Malinda who told me all this. She was working in the house and eavesdropped on the masters’ conversation.)
When I arrived at the Gatewood farm, everyone knew that Malinda and I were sweethearts. We approached the two oldest slaves on the estate and made our intentions known to them. As it was illegal for slaves to be married, we asked permission to jump the broom, a ceremony recognized by the married parties and the slave people who witnessed it. They gave us their blessings and approval.
One Saturday evening, we gathered at a clearing with all the slave people on the plantation. Even my mother managed to come with my brother Lewis. A broom was laid out in front of Malinda and me and we made our vows to each other. Then we jumped the broom, to the great delight of those who watched. When we landed on the other side, everyone applauded. The slave people made a magnificent feast for us, and some of our friends played the fife and the fiddle. We ate, sang and danced all night. It was the best party I ever attended. Malinda and I were now married, in our eyes and in the eyes of the slave people, even if Gatewood, his wife and all the White people of Kentucky did not think so.