Page:Narrative of Henry Box Brown.pdf/36

 you a great while ago, when I used to take you on my knee, and show you the leaves blown from the trees by the fearful winds." Yes, I now saw that one after another were the slave mother's children torn from her embrace, and John was given to one brother, Sarah to another, and Jane to a third, while Samuel fell into the hands of the fourth. It is a difficult matter to satisfactorily divide the slaves on a plantation, for no person wishes for "all" children, or for all old people; while both old, young, and middle aged ones are to be divided. There is no. equitable way of dividing them, but by allowing each one to take his portion of both children, middle aged and old people; which necessarily causes heart-rending separations; but "slaves have no feelings," I am sometimes told. "You get used to these things; it would not do for us to experience them, but you are not constituted as we are;" to which I reply, that a slave's friends are "all" he possesses that is of value to him. He cannot read, he has no property, he cannot be a teacher of truth, or a politician; he cannot be very religious, and all that remains to him, aside from the hope of freedom, that ever present deity, forever inspiring him in his most terrible hours of despair, is the society of his friends. We love our friends more than white people love theirs, for we risk more to save them from suffering. Many of our number who have escaped from bondage ourselves, have jeopardized our own liberty, in order to release our friends, and sometimes we have been retaken and made slaves of again, while endeavoring to rescue our friends from slavery's iron jaws.

But does not the slave love his friends! What mean then those frantic screams, which every