Thursday, September 21, 1863

Dear Diary,

Living in Lafayette, Georgia, isn’t the heaven I imagined it to be. I still have my scars from a year ago, when I first entered this plantation. I remember I was 15 years old, livin’ in Maine, I was sayin’ goodbye to my mother when walkin’ to school, but then I got hit over the head. Next thing I knew was bein’ brought on a boat to this other land, I got so sick on the boat, I threw up on myself at least three times. But that wasn’t the worst of it, the first day I got put to work I was still shocked from being taken away, and I worried I would never see my parents again. I wasn’t workin’ too hard because Mr. Allen came over and was whippin’ me on the back. The pain was unbearable, I screamed at the top of my lungs just to get whipped again. I wish I knew what I knew back then, and if I had only knew what was goin’ on. Thankfully people were nice enough to comfort me, most of my friends are enslaved against their will, and most of them got taken from Maine. I remember how happy I felt when somebody hugged me after I got whipped. I was glad to be back into open arms every night, that’s what kept me goin’ on that field. 

The guns and cannon shots have stopped for a while since Mr. Allen came back home. I heard from Mr. Allen that his “side” of the battle won. I also heard that over 4000 brave soldiers died for their cause, and that over 125,000 soldiers fought in the battle, what they called “The Battle of Chickamauga”. Everyone kept talking ‘bout the “war of slavery”. I had heard ‘bout it before, but hadn’t paid much attention to it. I cried myself to sleep that night thinking about all of the brave people that risked their lives to defend what mattered to them, and how I couldn’t defend myself. 

I remember the night I tried to escape Mr. Allen’s house. The hounds caught me before I reached outside the plantation. The whippin’ I got that day was so bad, I fainted. When I went to bed that night, guilty and ashamed of what I had done, I remembered all the soldiers in the war, what they were goin’ through, it couldn’t be as bad as this. The day Mr. Allen’s son died was the worst, I felt sad for him, until he came over to me and hit me across my face. I fell to the ground, scared of what he might do next, but he just walked away with a face as sad as a dyin’ dog. This war will hopefully change my freedom, not that I have much. But I also hope this war will change attitudes, how people act towards me, and the courage to stand up for what is right.