The narrator, Agnes Aleck, is a 10 year-old slave who recounts the time he escaped death at the age of 6.

My name is Agnes-- Agnes Aleck. I am a 10 year old boy who is a slave, but I am able to read and write. I live on the property of the Allstons in South Carolina. The Allstons include Master Albert Allston, Mrs. Betty Allston, and Caroline Allston. There are, in total, 25 slaves on  the Allstons’ small plantation-including me- where most of us pick tomatoes, bell peppers, eggplants, cotton, potatoes, cabbage, broccoli, and lettuce. The remaining few slaves work in the main house taking care of the farm animals or delivering goods to Mr. Allston’s customers. I used to work in the fields until Miss Caroline saved me from certain death. It was also Miss Caroline who taught me how to read and write. Miss Caroline and I are best friends, and I am eternally grateful to her for keeping me alive.

I was born the “runt of the litter” out of all the slave children born that December of 1797, for I was the smallest, shortest, and weakest of them all. What I lack in brawn, I make up for in brain; however, none of these characteristics were appreciated by my master. From inception, I analyze everything-- from the tiniest of bugs that crawl along the blades of grass to the biggest yet indiscernible stars. I like to envision how things are formed together, like the wheels on a wagon that are held fast by a small pin, or how a well never dries up. But these things don’t matter on a plantation, all a slave needs to know is how to pick vegetables and cotton. Ever since my mother was sold to another plantation--the year after I started working in the fields—I’ve been an orphan, at the mercy of my master and by the grace of God. My mama told me that God looks out for babies and fools, and I must be both because he sure looks out for me.

My first major scare happened when I was about nine or ten years old. After 6 years in the fields picking fruits and vegetables, my ineffectiveness had become quite obvious to the Allstons. I had often been chastised for making mistakes while working in the fields and for causing other field hands to clean up the disasters I had created. Well this time, Master Albert had enough. The horse I should have been tending bolted out the stable and ran careening into the fields—Master Albert’s prized race horse at that. In my haste to sit up, I had tripped up Jackson who was carrying a big basket of the harvest’s ripest tomatoes, leafy firm cabbages, and other select veggies. I could have avoided a whipping if I had not been so prone to causing accidents. But they knew; they all knew that I had been doing something I shouldn’t have been doing.

They had been right. Too intrigued by a caterpillar spinning its cocoon, I had failed to notice the field hand Jackson marching toward me. As I laid there studying nature, Jackson had tripped over me and landed on the caterpillar as well as the newly harvested vegetables that had spilled to the ground; the horse that I should have been leading ran away, and to make matters worse, the commotion had caused another horse to buck and make contact with Jackson’s skull almost killing him instantly. Another slave who was close by came running to see what all the commotion was about.  Master had been making his daily rounds of the plantation and heard the slaves in the field attempting to catch a runaway horse. I could sense a pending doom; cloaked in darkness, Master Allstons’ shadow loomed over my trembling body. My body ached and my head throbbed as I slowly moved myself into a sitting position; a high pitched buzzing sound in my ears and a dizziness in my head told me that I had really made a mistake this time. I took in the scene: the horse had disappeared; Jackson was seriously injured as blood streamed from his wound; pieces of vegetables were scattered all over the ground, and Master Allston was standing over me, turning a shade of reddish-purple and bellowing obscenities about my uselessness. Master yanked me up by the collar and dragged me to the whipping post. My head was still throbbing from my collision, but I clearly heard him say, “Chain dat useless boy up!” From the look on the faces of the other slaves, I knew my time was up. I was to be culled the next morning, for I was not even good enough to be sold.

That night, it rained miserably. The rain was frigid and fast. The unforgiving raindrops pelted off of the makeshift roof of the shed like a hundred race-horses on a track and seeped through the many holes, forming gushing rivulets of freezing water that left me chilled to the bone. Trying to keep myself as dry as possible, I slept standing on the thin, rotting wooden slats used for the floor. Barely supported by a corner of two unevenly cut walls, I awoke completely soaked and sleep deprived. I forced my heavy eyelids open and peered through a large crack in the wall to the brighter side of the world. Some of the younger slaves had started to wake and a few farm animals seemed to stir; otherwise, the plantation seemed serene at the moment. I knew my time was running out. One thing was for certain, I was not about to give up on life just yet. While I thinking of ways to escape, the paddy roller came for me right before line up call. It was time to meet my maker. He led me to my spot then took his spot in front, facing me and the other slaves. Even with my head bowed, I didn’t have to look in his eyes to know that he wouldn't hesitate to kill me if I tried to escape.

The Allston’s collie came running out the back kitchen door, barking up a clamor. Mr. Allston marched loftily across the porch, down the steps, and across the lawn to the two lines where all the slaves stood. This was done every morning whether he came out on time or not. There I stood until Mr. Allston finished his scan of his property; after some time, he dropped his gaze to meet mine and gave an irritated sigh. My heart skipped a beat, and I melted two inches right before his eyes. He emphatically motioned for me to follow him to the barn. As I took one shaky step after another, my mind spun and my thoughts jumbled. I felt nauseated and sick. Only one clear thought remained, “I need to get out of here." I tried to play dumb, but as we neared the barn, I started to whimper. I heard the other slaves humming the spiritual "O' Mary don't you weep." The collie trotted close behind, sniffing at my heels; as we came to the door, the collie plopped down next to a lethal-looking sickle and a bunch of tankard bottles jumbled-up in a box.

The barn was old, falling apart, and in need of repair. The boards creaked under our footsteps, and I could hear (and definitely smell) animals to our right mingling with the aroma of fruit and vegetables to my left. The air felt damp, and the farther we walked the darker it became. I already knew where we were headed--the secret shed in the back. I know this because I had once accidentally wandered through a fissure in the barn walls. I tried to lag behind as much as possible to spare myself time to think, but then that’s when I heard it, a muffled creak behind us. I stole a glance using my peripheral vision. A girl with satiny green eyes and auburn hair snuck tentatively across the wall. “Mr. Allston’s daughter little Miss Caroline?” I thought, “What was she doing here?” As we arrived to our destination, Mr. Allston started removing boxes and shuffling through items while I again started to think about ways of escaping. Mr. Allston lifted a hexagonal, cylinder shaped metal object out of a metal box. “Oh my lord! Master is going to shoot me with gun” I thought.  He pulled back the part of the gun that makes a clicking sound and pointed the gun right at me. I knew it was up to God Almighty to deliver me from certain death.

Before Mr. Allston could pull the trigger, I fell to my knees as Miss Caroline screeched with hysteria. Mr. Allston snapped his neck around to locate the scream. His face wore an enraged expression that quickly turned to shock as he recognized his daughter was in the shed with us. Mr. Allston shouted at Miss Caroline to go, and she shouted at him to let me go--but he just sadly but firmly shook his head and said, "Baby girl, it don't work that way." He turned back to me as if he were stalking his prey. He was the tiger while I was the baby antelope with no way of escape. Miss. Caroline ran across the room to shield me before her father could finish his deed. This stopped Mr. Allston dead in his tracks. He sighed and stood off to the side looking woozy from the adrenaline rush. "Alright little gal, you win." Shaking his head and bellowing the paddy roller's name, Mr. Allston walked off and left Miss Caroline and me in the shack. Caroline shyly extended her hand and I bravely reached out to shake it. Barely audible above a whisper, she said, "You mine now." With a smile on her face and her hand tightly wrapped in mine, she led me out of the barn. Outside of the barn, the sun was shining on both of us with a warm smile. Hand in hand, we skipped to the kitchen door. Before she opened the door she said, “Hi, my name is Caroline, Caroline Allston.” I replied, “My name is…Agnes, Agnes Aleck.”

That was 4 years ago, now I am 14 years old. I have been serving Miss Caroline ever since that fateful day at the barn. After Miss Caroline and Mr. Allston had a long talk that afternoon sorting out little things, I was told that I was to be Miss Caroline’s errand boy. As a house negro, I was  clothed well and treated better, especially since I was Miss Caroline’s personal slave. Basically, she treated me like an adored pet. Whenever I did make mistakes, like the time I had tripped and broken a china dish while wiping it with a cloth, or had gotten in the way of the mistress’s sewing by humming a tune she disliked, or had been 5 minutes late waking up, the most anyone would dare venture as punishment was to slap the back of my head. Even then, if Miss Caroline had seen, she got angry at the person who dared touch me.

Through the years, I grew accustomed to Miss Caroline’s pampering and took for granted the turn my life had taken. Only, I did not realize how small my world was and the limitations of the plantation, which leads me to tell you about my second brush with death. The year was 1812. On a beautiful April morning, I had awoken earlier than usual. I was excited because Miss Caroline was letting me tag along with her to town for the first time; Mr. Allston always had always sent another slave instead of me. I had been fine with this rule because I had not taken interest with anything other than my immediate world: what  I valued was right here on this plantation--nature, God, and Miss Caroline. However, I had grown as did my thirst for knowledge. I felt trapped in my ever shrinking world. Of course, I shared my thoughts with Miss Caroline during one of our many private talks, and the week Mr. Allston had left the plantation for business work, Miss Caroline invited me to accompany her to town. I could only imagine the wondrous things I would see, smell, taste, touch, and hear there. I had heard from the other slaves and Miss Caroline that town was a place that was larger than life.
I quickly splashed some water on my face and raced to get dressed in my Sunday best. Then, I hurried to the kitchen to grab some breakfast. The cooks that had awoken many hours before me paid no mind to me as I swallowed whole bits of leftover dinner that served as my breakfast. As I walked briskly toward the barn, the coach and horses had already been prepared to leave for town. The stable hand was feeding the horses bits of carrot tips while the coachman looked down at me upon hearing my footsteps. He started to say, “Miss Caroline the …” but abruptly stopped mid-sentence when he saw it was me. He flicked his focus back to the horses and turned his back to me. No conversation was made, and I was left to wait in silence and anticipation for Miss Caroline to be done with her preparations. I wondered why things had to be so awkward between me and the other slaves.

When Miss Caroline finally emerged from the kitchen, she smiled at me funny like and giggled because she knew my excitement was about to be the death of me. While I blushed and reminded myself to stand stiller and to be patient, my heart was beating so fast my shirt moved. The stable hand from before prepared to set off, but Miss Caroline told him that his work would not be necessary “for Agnes will be handling the reins today.” With a big-old grin on my face, I mounted the seat and grabbed the reins. When Miss Caroline had comfortably settled in the carriage, we set off at a steady pace. In an hour we had arrived.

Oh! The city was a sight to see! Everything was … indescribable! I couldn’t keep my eyes on the road as my head swiveled back and forth at all the delightful sounds, people, and wares. Miss Caroline and the horses were patient with me. After a while, Miss Caroline directed me to a tailor shop. As I opened the carriage door for her, she cautioned me, “Now, Agnes, don’t go off wandering away to look at something of the shiny like. Stay near the coach and make sure that the horses don’t stray.” I nodded and watched her walk into the shop. I had intended to do my very best to follow her orders, but my excitement and pleasure outweighed my patience and obedience. My feet took control as I absentmindedly wandered from shop window to shop window. Each unique item left me with an awed expression on my face--not to mention the animals I saw in the center of the town square!

The letters C-I-R-C-U-S were spelled across a towering banner that rippled across a moving wagon; the circus had brought with it a collection of unusual animals in cages. There was a large sandy-colored animal, as large as a horse, that caught my attention as it roared and yawned at the crowd. I looked from afar but with the same intense interest as the rest of the crowd in front of me. The animal possessed a mane 10 times the height and width of one of Miss Caroline’s fans, and its teeth and claws were larger than butchering knives! There was a bird with a black, heart-shaped tip on its big, yellow beak. The bird’s body was colored pink, and its neck and legs were the longest I had ever seen. Another animal stood low to the ground as it looked menacing with its dark, greenish-brown scales, jagged teeth, and long trailing tail. I watched intently as a wigged man in sparkling colored tights cracked a whip and danced around the latter animal’s cage, putting on a show for the audience. The wigged man threw a fish high in the air. The animal sprang off the ground and caught the fish with one SNAP! of its jaw.

With a wide-eyed grin, I continued to walk around the bustling town square. As I turned a corner, I found myself in a dark alley. Oh no! My fear was two-fold; first, I had left my post--secondly, no slave wanted to be caught in a dark alley alone. In my haste back to Miss Caroline, I bumped into three White men. I could not see their faces clearly as they were shadowed in the dark, but I could smell the stench of liquor on them (as there were other smells but none that improved their images). One of the men I bumped into swayed and stumbled. He looked through me with a quizzical expression that quickly changed from irritated to menacing as he pulled closer to my face trying to focus. He said to me with slurred words, “Whaats aaaa (hiccup) ssslave …  doin ere?” I nervously took two steps backward, knowing I was in danger. I turned on my heel and started to run, but the drunk man grabbed me by my collar and his accomplices dragged me to the ground. Panicking, I hollered for help hoping that Miss Caroline would hear me. As the men pummeled me with their fists and stomped me with their boots, I wondered if any good Christian man, woman, or child would stop to help me. However, the passerbyers just stared and whispered. “Shut dat mouth will ya! No one’s gonna help a mangy runaway slave like you.” My head felt boggled and heavy. Runaway slave? What was he talking about? Why would I run away from Miss Caroline? Somehow, these drunk men had mistaken me as a runaway slave. Things were not looking so good for me.

I knew I had to do something, or they would kill me. With a rush of adrenaline, I swung my leg and made contact with the biggest man’s legs and capsized him. Wasting no time, I jumped up and rammed headlong into another one of the men, making him fall down. I slowly straightened up and started toward the last and shortest man.  He just stood there dazed and dumbfounded for a second then fled, screaming with his arms raised. I stumbled back to the carriage bruised and bloody, lowering my head to shield my bruises from suspicion as I heard the local constable barking orders to his henchmen about tracking a runaway slave from the alley.

I looked back and panicked as 3 humongous officers lunged for me. I stepped back just in time. This time I did not make haste as my legs registered the action of running before I could think. I took fast around a corner and then another. By now, I had absolutely no idea where in the world I was. But, I was not about to slow down to think. Soon I was tired of running, and my muscles had begun to cramp. I slowed my pace to a leisurely walk and joined the crowd of people. The officers were soon inside the crowd pushing and shoving. I lowered my head and walked close to an old woman with 3 big, fancy haired dogs on leashes. Yet still, the police recognized my clothes and grabbed for me. The lady in the front screamed, and her hair fell off! The mop of blondish hair fell to the ground. I had no idea whether she was screeching because her wig had fallen off or because I was a runaway slave being roughed up by the constable’s henchmen. At first, I wished she would just stop screaming then I realized her screams could help me. She was causing more chaos than my apprehension as she let go of the leashes and continued to bellow. The dogs ran loose, barking, pushing, and tripping people left and right. By now, people had started to notice the scene and gathered into a small mob. I struggled and yelled out to Miss Caroline and even for Mr. Allston at that point.

Deep down, I knew that this was it.  If no one came to save me, I would be whipped and tortured then sold off to another plantation, a plantation without Miss Caroline. Just when my will had finally run dry a familiar looking carriage halted in front of me.  I breathed a strangled breath of relief as the carriage door swung wide and out stepped Mr. Allston. Mr. Allston!...Mr. Allston!; my brain was racing with fear and relief. I thought he would not be back till tomorrow at the very least! But here he was, standing before me. He stepped down from the carriage looking most professional-like and … irritated. I think I could guess why. The constable patiently waited for Mr. Allston to speak or do something. And that he did. He closed his eyes, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. In that one moment, he looked pitifully exhausted. When he opened his eyes once more, he was back to his professional self. He spoke at the constable and his men, “Gentlemen, it seems as though one of my property has accidentally strayed a bit farther than the norm. Please forgive the trouble that I am sure this young’un has caused. I will take it from here and teach this slave to mind directions.” I grinned sheepishly and quickly got into the carriage. Mr. Allston joined me inside; instead of sitting opposite of me or making me walk shackled to the back of the carriage, he sat next to me and begin to untie my hands. I looked into my lap and said nothing for the moment then looked up and said “Mr. Allston, I was just walking and looking around when I got lost and…” My voice trailed off as Mr. Allston just looked at me smiled and said, “I know Agnes; now let’s go find Miss Caroline. I’m sure she’s worried sick.”