Books with author Charles W. Hall

My father's study as I entered it on an April morning in 1809 to learn his decision regarding a matter that was to determine the course of all my life was dim and spacious and far removed from the bustle and clamor of the harbor-side. It was a large room paneled with dark wood. There were books along the walls and paintings of ships and over the fireplace there stood a beautiful model of a Burmese junk carved by some brown artist on the bank of the Irawadi.

My story is a true one, and I shall tell it in a simple style. It will be merely a recital of my life as a slave in the Southern States of the Union - a description of negro slavery in the "model Republic." My grandfather was brought from Africa and sold as a slave in Calvert county, in Maryland. I never understood the name of the ship in which he was imported, nor the name of the planter who bought him on his arrival, but at the time I knew him he was a slave in a family called Maud, who resided near Leonardtown. My father was a slave in a family named Hauty, living near the same place. My mother was the slave of a tobacco planter, who died when I was about four years old. My mother had several children, and they were sold upon master's death to separate purchasers. She was sold, my father told me, to a Georgia trader. I, of all her children, was the only one left in Maryland. When sold I was naked, never having had on clothes in my life, but my new master gave me a child's frock, belonging to one of his own children. After he had purchased me, he dressed me in this garment, took me before him on his horse, and started home; but my poor mother, when she saw me leaving her for the last time, ran after me, took me down from the horse, clasped me in her arms, and wept loudly and bitterly over me. My master seemed to pity her; and endeavored to soothe her distress by telling her that he would be a good master to me, and that I should not want anything. She then, still holding me in her arms, walked along the road beside the horse as he moved slowly, and earnestly and imploringly besought my master to buy her and the rest of her children, and not permit them to be carried away by the negro buyers; but whilst thus entreating him to save her and her family, the slave-driver, who had first bought her, came running in pursuit of her with a raw-hide in his hand. When he overtook us, he told her he was her master now, and ordered her to give that little negro to its owner, and come back with him. My mother then turned to him and cried, "Oh, master, do not take me from my child!" Without making any reply, he gave her two or three heavy blows on the shoulders with his raw-hide, snatched me from her arms, handed me to my master, and seizing her by one arm, dragged her back towards the place of sale. My master then quickened the pace of his horse; and as we advanced, the cries of my poor parent became more and more indistinct - at length they died away in the distance, and I never again heard the voice of my poor mother. Young as I was, the horrors of that day sank deeply into my heart, and even at this time, though half a century has elapsed, the terrors of the scene return with painful vividness upon my memory. Frightened at the sight of the cruelties inflicted upon my poor mother, I forgot my own sorrows at parting from her and clung to my new master, as an angel and a saviour, when compared with the hardened fiend into whose power she had fallen. She had been a kind and good mother to me; had warmed me in her bosom in the cold nights of winter; and had often divided the scanty pittance of food allowed her by her mistress, between my brothers, and sisters, and me, and gone supperless to bed herself. Whatever victuals she could obtain beyond the coarse food, salt fish and corn bread, allowed to slaves on the Patuxent and Potomac rivers, she carefully, distributed among her children, and treated us with all the tenderness which her own miserable condition would permit. I have no doubt that she was chained and driven to Carolina, and toiled out the residue of a forlorn and famished existence in the rice swamps, or indigo fields of the South. My father never recovered from the effects of the shock, which this sudden and overwhelming ruin of his family gave him. He had formerly been of a gay, social temper, and when he came to see us on a Saturday night....

This book was originally published prior to 1923, and represents a reproduction of an important historical work, maintaining the same format as the original work. While some publishers have opted to apply OCR (optical character recognition) technology to the process, we believe this leads to sub-optimal results (frequent typographical errors, strange characters and confusing formatting) and does not adequately preserve the historical character of the original artifact. We believe this work is culturally important in its original archival form. While we strive to adequately clean and digitally enhance the original work, there are occasionally instances where imperfections such as blurred or missing pages, poor pictures or errant marks may have been introduced due to either the quality of the original work or the scanning process itself. Despite these occasional imperfections, we have brought it back into print as part of our ongoing global book preservation commitment, providing customers with access to the best possible historical reprints. We appreciate your understanding of these occasional imperfections, and sincerely hope you enjoy seeing the book in a format as close as possible to that intended by the original publisher.

This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work.This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work.As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1880 edition. Excerpt: ...a short story," said the Highlander, for such he evidently was. "Put, chentlemen, chust pefore the Irishes unter Alaster MacDonald landed at Ardnamurchan to choin the great Montrose, there was strange omens an' sights such as has put rarely been seen efen in Scotland. Fairy drums were heard in the air, rushing sounts like the whustling o' cannon-balls were heard all over the country, an' in many places soldiers an' horsemen was seen in the air, an' on hillsides an' lochs, where no man might find footing. Put one winter's night in 1750, when it had set in so gloomy an' wet that no man cared to pe out of quarters, the sounts of a drum peating an English point o' war was heard in front o' the castle, an' the sergeant o' the guard peing called to the gate, reported that the commanding officer, Colonel Dundas, of that Ilk, was summoned to a conference. On peing asked how many were in the party, he seemed unaple to give a certain answer, so thick and heavy was the mist, put he was certain that only a few persons at most formed the party. Chust then a Scottish march was peat, and Dundas descended the narrow and winding stairs pelow to the main gate; put when he crossed the drawpridge, with a file o' musketeers an' the lieutenant, there was nopody to pe seen or heard ava." "And what was the cause of this ghostly summons?" asked Fortescue pleasantly. "That no one will efer know, I'll be pound," said the drover, for such his Highland acquaintance was; "put only a few weeks later the same Colonel Dundas was pribed with English gold, and sold the castle with saxty pieces o' cannon to Cromwell, an' the chamade, as they call the peating of the drums pefore a castle called to surrender, was peat on that fery...

CONTENTS.CHAPTERPAGEOur Company9Building the Ice-Houses.—Matthew Collins's Ghost19The Silver Thaw.—A Fox Hunt.—Anthony Worrell's Dog55The Grand Flight.—A Good Stratagem.—The Packet Light75A Mad Sportsman.—Snow-blind.—A Night Of Peril95Additions to the Party.—An Indian Outfit.—A Contested Election110A Change in the Weather.—Breaking up Of the Ice.—Jim Mountain'sFight with the Devil136Float-Shooting.—A General Field-Day.—Changes Of the Ice148Adrift158The Council.—Passing the Cape169Taking an Inventory.—Setting up the Stove175Doctoring Under Difficulties.—An Anxious Night.—Frozen up187The Chapel Bell.—The First Seal.—The North Cape.—A Snow-Squall199The Pack Opens.—Mysterious Murmurs.—Love Scenes and Sounds207A Sail.—The Sealing Grounds.—The Esquimaux Lamp.—An Indian Legend220The Breeding-Grounds of the Seal.—A Curious Sight.—A SharpEncounter.—Ice Changes230Enlarging the Boat.—Winged Scavengers.—Notice To Quit244A Change of Base.—Building a Snow-Hut.—The View from theBerg.—A Strange Meeting254The Ring.—The Burial.—A Mausoleum of Ice263A Strange Life-History.—Among the Red Indians271Northward Again.—The Steamer.—Taking to the Boat287The Forecastle of the Sealer.—a Sealer's Story.—The LastHunt.—Arrival at St. John's303The Captain's Visit.—Homeward Bound.—Brother and Sister313

About the Book In historical fiction the plot is set in the past, and pays attention to the manners, social conditions and other details of the period portrayed. Some authors choose to include famous historical figures in their fictional plots, so that audiences can imagine how those individuals might have responded to the plots and environments established by the author. The Western literary component of this genre is founded in the early 19th century works of such authors as Sir Walter Scott, Honoré de Balzac, James Fenimore Cooper, and Leo Tolstoy. Also in this Book Our offering includes memoirs, or collections of memories that individuals have written about moments or events, both public or private, that took place in their lives. While the assertions made in these works are generally taken to be factual, the biases or perspectives of the authors are often present. Historically, memoirs have been defined as a subcategory of biography or autobiography, however the genre is differentiated in form, since it presents a narrower focus. While a biography or autobiography tells the story "of a life", a memoir generally tells the story "from a life", tending to emphasize touchstone events and turning points in the author's life experience. The authors are referred to as memoirists or memorialists. About us Leopold Classic Library has the goal of making available to readers the classic books that have been out of print for decades. While these books may have occasional imperfections, we consider that only hand checking of every page ensures readable content without poor picture quality, blurred or missing text etc. That's why we: republish only hand checked books; that are high quality; enabling readers to see classic books in original formats; that are unlikely to have missing or blurred pages. You can search "Leopold Classic Library" in categories of your interest to find other books in our extensive collection. Happy reading!