Today, I arrived at the plantation with my younger brother. I cannot believe that I had survived the entire journey from Africa to America below deck. Even though, I had tried to kill myself, twice, by not eating. Alas, they prevented me by placing some sort of screw device in my mouth in order to open it and force me to eat. After the second attempt, I realized there will be no one to take care of my young brother, so I tried my best to keep myself, and my brother, alive. We had some trouble when a customer bought me. I argued with "my master" to also buy my brother with me, in which he finally agreed, but for half the price.
I have always heard rumors about masters that whip slaves who don’t do their job. I fear for my brother more than myself, for he does not do well with following orders. "My master" shoved us inside the barn, where he told us the rules of the place. Finally, when he finished blabbering, he gave us the tools to start working. Then while working, I realized we were the only slaves around.
October 14, 1857
Work. Work. Work. That word is now stuck in my head. I cannot remember anything that happened in the past few months except working. Occasionally, "My Master" beats us up for fun. He picks up a whip on his way out, whips us a few times, then he goes on to his outing. The same thing happens when he gets home.
Until today. Today, his wife got out of the house for the first time, with suitcases packed up. Then "my master" yelled at her from the door and slammed it shut. He got out late at night, which was unusual for him, because he usually closes his lights at 9:30p.m. When he came back, about 2:00a.m., he looked drunk like hell.
He grabbed the stone whip, with spikes on the edge. He has never touched that whip ever, must have saved it for disobedient slaves; luckily we are as good as a lamb. Then he grabbed my brother, waking him from his sleep, and whipped him hard. I was shocked...