First of all, I do not want you to worry about me. I am in America
now, and I am alive, at least. I am living on a large farm; they call them
"plantations" here. There are many people from our village here, and we
talk about all of you at home often, at least, when the overseer (he's the
boss) isn't looking, and we are allowed to talk with each other. You will
be happy to know that I live with a good family, and they are watching over
me as much as they can. I will tell you what happened to me since you last
saw me, and what my life is like now.
You remember that I left our village to look for food, and that was
the last you saw of me. Some men where hiding in the bush, and they
attacked me and carried me to the coast, where they had many other of our
people herded together like animals. They moved us onto a huge structure
that floated upon the water that they called a "ship." The ship floated
all the way across the water from our home to America, and it was a long
and terrible trip. Hundreds of us were thrown into the bottom of the ship
where there was no light and no fresh air. There was nowhere for our body
waste, and food came down to us in a bucket, when it came at all. The
stench was horrible, and many of our people died on that journey. By the
time we arrived in America, most of us were so weak we could barely walk.
Our captors took us from the ship in chains, and placed us on public
display in a large city, where people came and haggled over us as if we
were melons in the street market back home. A large man in a white suit
with a big, wide hat purchased several others from our village and me, and
we left the city still chained together. It took us two days to reach our
new home; in a land the people here call "Georgia." The earth is good
here, and the "master," as he is called, grows a perplexing crop called
cotton, that is backbreaking to hoe and p...