Life+of+Slaves+in+Early+America

The Life of Slaves in Early America
Slavery in America is often thought as to have been on plantations or farms. The image that comes to mind is of a huge plantation with hundreds of slaves working in the fields. In reality, plantation and farm slaves made up only a small percentage of the slaves in early America. Many more lived in towns and cities. Both plantation and urban slaves faced the challenges of oppression and shared the dream of freedom. Their lives and work though, varied considerably.


 * Type of Work**
 * || City and Household Slaves || Plantation Slaves ||
 * Men || There were few male slaves. They were hardly needed in the cities since female slaves were favored as household servants. The few male were Coachmen, gardeners, waiting men and tradesmen, which were slaves that worked in their master's shops or were hired out to make money for their masters. Sometimes a slave tradesman was lucky enough to earn some of his wages. || Men and women slaves were given many of the same jobs when it came to working on plantations. They would tend to crops and livestock and the estate in general. The largest cash crop of early American though was Tobacco. Tobacco required lots of care and backbreaking work. Plantation owners bought slaves to do tend to this crop and they would work sun-up to sundown in the fields. ||
 * Women || Women were most commonly used as household servants in the cities. They cooked, cleaned, washed, and preformed household chores. || Women worked in the fields along-side the men. They were not usually pardoned from fieldwork. ||

**Living Conditions**

 * City and Household Slaves || Plantation Slaves ||
 * Household slaves often had much less privacy than those living on plantations. Their living spaces were often times lofts or cellars and they lived in close proximity to their masters. Also, household slaves did not commonly live in complete family units. There were some advantages though to being a household slave. For one, they were privy to much more information then field slaves. Politics and news could be obtained from listening to their master's talk. || Plantation slaves had much more privacy than household slaves. For one, they generally lived separately from their masters in slave quarters. Despite the fact that these living quarters were normally made up of shabby huts or shacks, these slaves could live in complete family units and with the company of other slaves. Often times, plantation slaves could develop a community and their own culture. ||
 * **Punishment**

City and Household Slaves || Plantation Slaves ||
 * Household slaves were punished, but often times less severely than plantation slaves. They were considered more valuable than plantation slaves. This doesn’t mean they were pardoned from punishment though. Masters would do slap, beat and lock-up slaves who were disobedient. In rarer cases, they’d have the slave branded. The worst of punishments would be to be sold, especially away from family. || Plantation Slaves were punished severely for often very little or nothing. Their value was considered less than those of household slaves and punishments were handed out more freely. Overseers in the fields would carry whips that they’d use on slaves who were supposedly working poorly. Mutilation, beatings, whippings and being sold were punishments many plantation slaves faced. Their lives were fraught with much crueler treatment than household slaves. ||


 * A Day in the Life of a Household Slave **

You awake well before the sun rises. It's a cold morning and you hurry to build up the kitchen fire. It's barely morning and you have already started your chores. Sleep clouds your thoughts, but you push it aside. Water must be fetched and you hurry to the pump a few blocks away. The sun still isn't up and you shiver with cold. Other slaves stand in line, some are talking, but most are silent, enjoying the few minutes of peace. You join them. As soon as you've filled your two buckets you hurry home. There are chores to do and the sun has begun to make an appearance on the horizon.  The morning drags on as you prepare breakfast and clean the kitchen. It's late morning by the time Madam awakens. You serve her. She takes her time eating, and, as always, you stand still and try not to fidget. When she is finished she begins to tell you your chores for today. //Go to the market, bake bread, prepare the sitting room for guests, peal potatoes, empty the chamber pots...// You know it's going to be a long day. Madam retires to the study to compose a letter and you wash the dishes before heading to the market. It's good to be out in the fresh air and the day has warmed up considerably. At the market you get the chance to speak with some of the other familiar slave women. It's mostly gossip, but you appreciate any information. After tarrying as long as you dare, you run home. Madam is cross and scolds you for lateness. You stand, head bowed and eyes downcast, not saying a word. When she is finished it's back to doing chores. //Make the bed, hem the dress, dust the fine china, clean the study, sweep the parlor...// In mid-afternoon a few ladies come calling. You serve them tea in the sitting room and stand and listen to them talk for quite some time before Madam dismisses you. //Clean the study, sweep the parlor, dust the mantles...// When the ladies finally depart, Madam retires to her room, but not before ordering you to polish the silverware and set the table with finery; Master is having some distinguished guests for supper. As if the day weren't long enough. The silverware is polished and the table set by the time the men arrive. They're loud and smell bad, and you hurry back to the kitchen to tend to the supper. You manage to serve it on time and without earning too many scoldings from Madam. The men drain their glasses and call for more wine. You pour it. As supper drags on, you rush back and forth, your arms laden down with food. You're exhausted by the time the guests leave. Before retiring, madam tells you to clean up the mess left over from supper. You nod silently. To speak would be to risk punishment. An hour later you stumble back to the stable and up the ladder to the loft that serves as your room. Sleep comes quickly. Seemingly minutes later, you awaken. Time to do it all over again.

**A Day in the Life of a Plantation Slave ** It's a little before sunrise when you're awaken by the other slaves leaving for the fields. You rub your eyes and dress before joining them. Your wife and children lay asleep, and you are careful not to awaken them. Taking a small ration of food, you leave the slave quarters and trudge to the fields for a dreaded day of cotton picking. The other men walk with you, all wearing similar rags and carrying equally small portions of food. One man, older and frail, sings as you walk, and soon everyone has joined in. This seems to cheer everyone and you arrive in the fields in slightly higher spirits. The overseer is already there, whip in hand. He screams for you to get to work. Your brief lift of spirits falls and you begin to work. As the sun rises, the heat does too. In no time at all, you're soaked in sweat. Your back and arms are aching in no time and you're sourly tempted to rest, but you brush the notion aside. Your fear of punishment is too great. The day drags on, minute by agonizing minute. You continue to work, trying to ignore the pain.

Close to noon, a man about twenty paces to your right stops and stands, wiping sweat from his brow. He is young and not as haggard looking as the rest of you. You go back to your work, knowing what is to come. A moment later the overseer shouts. It is impossible to miss the sound of whip on human flesh. The man cries out in pain, earning another lash; this time he manages to stay silent. When the sun hangs directly over us the overseer yells for you to stop. It is a relief to finally stand straight and rest. A bucket is passed around and you take a sip of the water. It no where near satisfies your thirst, but you are thankful none the less. You could eat your food in three bites, the small hunk of bread is stale and the cheese hard. That doesn't matter, you'll take what you can get. You eat it all, bite by precious bite. The overseer screams for you to get back to work, calling you all manner of foul names. Despite the nourishment and rest, your mouth is soon dry, your stomach growling and your back, arms and legs aching once more. Your head is pounding so hard against your skull you fear it might burst open; but you push the pain aside. Near the end of the day, your work slows, as do most of the others. The water is passed around once more and your yelled at to work harder. But you do not. Your body is too exhausted. As the overseer approaches, you keep your head down, bracing for what is to come. He yells at you, calling you horrible, foul names. You tune him out. The whip comes down hard with a loud crack that echoes throughout the field. You bite your tongue. The pain is searing, but familiar, bearable. You continue to work. The overseer spits on you before striding away. When the day is done and the sun has spread its last rays on the world, you trudge back with the rest of the men. There is no singing. Your wife greets you at the doorway to your small hut. She examines the long, thin, ugly cut that now mars your back. She tends to it and some of the pain subsides. Your children arrive just in time for supper. Your daughter, whom is only ten, works up in the big house. She is little, but the cook finds her a help in the kitchen. You and your wife are thankful that she will not have to work in the fields. Your boy is older, sixteen or so, and less lucky. His strength has earned him a life-long job in the fields. He is defiant at times though, and has the scars to prove it. Today he carries two new ones. Your wife cleans them silently, but you read the worry in her eyes. Your master sells slaves easier than anything else, and he could sell your boy in the blink of an eye. Later in the evening, you and the rest of the slaves gather in the center of the slave quarters to sing songs and talk. You sit with your daughter on your knee, bouncing her up and down, making her laugh. It's a happy night, as nights go, and you sleep well. 

Next morning arrives and brings the same thing. Your boy is sold that day, little did you know last night was his last with you. Now sorrow is the first thing you feel in the morning and the last when you go to bed. Day after day. Week after week. Month after month. Life goes on and you know you'll never see him again.