I do not even know his name. I have heard reports to the effect that
he was a white man who lived on one of the near-by plantations.
Whoever he was, I never heard of his taking the least interest in me
or providing in any way for my rearing. But I do not find especial
fault with him. He was simply another unfortunate victim of the
institution which the Nation unhappily had engrafted upon it at that
time.
The cabin was not only our living-place, but was also used as the
kitchen for the plantation. My mother was the plantation cook. The
cabin was without glass windows; it had only openings in the side
which let in the light, and also the cold, chilly air of winter.
There was a door to the cabin -- that is, something that was called a
door -- but the uncertain hinges by which it was hung, and the large
cracks in it, to say nothing of the fact that it was too small, made
the room a very uncomfortable one. In addition to these openings
there was, in the lower right-hand corner of the room, the "cat-hole,"
-- a contrivance which almost every mansion or cabin in Virginia
possessed during the ante-bellum period. The "cat-hole" was a square
opening, about seven by eight inches, provided for the purpose of
letting the cat pass in and out of the house at will during the night.
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