Now, this was all originally made to be one long segment that I had to write for a Social Studies project. My teacher liked it so I decided to post it up on here. This is dedicated to my Social Studies teacher Mrs. Duzjy. Please review and tell me if you want me to post some more of my stories on here that I had to do for school because I have one that is Boo Radley's diary from To Kill a Mockingbird. Enjoy the diary!

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April 15, 1853

I was born a slave, and I will die a slave. My parents have long since passed away even though I am 18 years old, my mother and father died at ages unknown to me, and their graves remain unmarked. I have just come back from a day of working in the cotton fields. My back hurts and it stings from the overseer's whip. He had seen me trying to take a break from cotton picking to give my ailing back a rest and he started whipping me. To hurt me even more, he threw salt all over my back. Oh how it stung! My tears fell in abundance to the field as I went back to work. To add to the insult he dared to say, "Slave, you best do your work, or you'll feel the sting of the whip. Look, it cries." Here he rubbed salt into my open wounds, "You'll die a slave and you aren't even human. You're just a stinking piece of property." He went so far as to spit in my wounds, saying, "You aren't even worth the spit I spit on you."
I wonder why I write in my little ledger book. I know that no one will ever read this, but it does give me comfort and reassurance when there is none to be offered by the other slaves. Here, I can write all my true thoughts. If anyone is reading this, I know that they are probably wondering why I can write fluently. The fact is that I was taught by the master's son; that is I was before he grew up and decided that associating with me was wrong because I was a piece of property. And to think that I had actually thought that he had been my friend. However, I know that this diary will probably never be read by eyes other than my own.
I want to be free. I want to shed these bonds of slavery and be free. The worst thing about slavery to me is the fact that

April 18, 1853

I'm sorry about the unfinished diary entry, but I had meant to say that the worst thing about slavery to me is the fact that I'm a piece of property. It is a thought damaging to the mind and soul. It doesn't seem as though it would be but it is. It hurts me mentally.
I know that whoever is reading this probably doesn't care but I was interrupted from writing my last entry by my dear friend Angelina. She came with terrible news. She had come to my slave hut, which I happen to share with about eight other people. It's a horrific way of life. These are the members of my adopted family that my parents had asked to take me in if they were to die. I love them, but I can't help but wish that I lived with them in a bigger cabin. It's not as though there are any slave families that live in bigger cabins though. All of the slave huts are about the same size, 16 or 18 feet by 16 feet, but they were still too small for most of the slave families. Anyway, Angelina had rushed into our cabin, and asked for me to come immediately to her cabin. My other friend, Victoria, was dying.
Angelina had told me about how Victoria had to suffer through an encounter with the overseer, and he had decided that she was being impertinent. I ask you, how is picking cotton and answering interrogation meekly being impertinent? She had the kindest soul possible, and the overseer had thought her impertinent. He had her stripped bare and tied to a pole, and then, he had started whipping her with his dreaded whip, the one with the broadest straps attached to it. She had just married a respectable black blacksmith, Tom, who was called to the whipping. Victoria's husband had to watch his wife whipped. The cruelty of it all! He truly loved her with all his soul, and he couldn't do anything to help her. He had to hear her shrieks for help, and watch as she was flayed, unable to do anything to help herself. Finally, after being hit 39 times by the whip, the overseer released her.
By this time, my blood was already boiling, but Angelina had more to tell. She went on to tell me how Victoria was unable to walk, and had to be carried to the shack that she and Tom shared. Angelina told me how Tom had ran to Angelina's shack and asked for her assistance. Angelina arrived to find Victoria "in ruins". I was terrified at what I might find.
It was terrible. The sight was horrific. My dear friend Victoria looked horrendous. The whipping had been brutal, and it had left her truly in ruins. The whipping had left many raw wounds on her back, shoulders, arms, and basically everywhere. The overseer had been particularly fond of whipping her back and shoulders, and her shoulders were whipped to the point where you could see a tiny bit of her bone. It was simply horrific, and I hoped that I could do something to help Victoria, who had long since passed into a fevered consciousness. I had a feeling that Victoria wasn't going to live through this, and that I should try to make her journey to death as easy and comfortable as possible. I headed to my hut and looked for a cloth. I tried to find fresh water, but my efforts proved fruitless. I had to soak the cloth in stale water, and I hurried back to Victoria's shack. I arrived to find Tom sobbing his heart out and Angelina crying silently. I looked over at Victoria's limp form on the dirt floor of the cabin and saw that she had opened her eyes. She turned her head towards me when she heard my footsteps, and she gave a small smile. "Dahlia, go find freedom with Tom and Angelina. I know that I will find freedom when I leave for the Lord, and I don't want to leave you three behind. Please do this for me?" were the last words uttered by Victoria before she died.
What do I do? She wants me to lead Tom and Angelina to the North; to be free. However, I'm full of fears. Do I have the strength and determination to do this? What if I lead them the wrong way, and we get caught? There are so many things that could go wrong.

April 21, 1853

I can't stand it anymore. To know that I'm the property of someone else, that I'm not even considered human is terrible. I thought that I might be able to bear it, but I can't. Victoria's last words are haunting me. Tom was nearly whipped today for letting Victoria die, but it wasn't his fault. The master can be so inconsiderate. Plus, I realized that if I fly for freedom, I could possibly die or I could reach freedom. However, I realized that if I stay here, I will die too.

as a captive.

I am running away, but the question is how am I going to run away?

I have no clue, whatsoever, about how to get to freedom.

April 22, 1853

I told Tom and Angelina about my plan. It seems a bit strange that I, a mere 18 year old, am leading Tom, already 25, and Angelina, 21, to freedom. I don't think that I'm particularly brave but that's not for me to decide. Why hadn't I been able to protect Victoria?

Later today
It's miraculous. Somebody up there heard my prayers and pleas.

An Underground Railroad conductor has sneaked onto the plantation grounds. It's amazing how she is of the same skin color as us. She had hidden by the slave huts, waiting for a chance to talk to all of us. When all of us, excepting the house slaves, had gotten back, she came out of her hiding place, a crate of rotten potatoes, and we all gathered around her. She was the first person to speak to me as an equal, for I was the first to speak up. I hadn't meant to say anything, but I had. I blurted out, "When are you leaving, for I wish to go with you, along with my two friends."


However, all three of us have a means of escaping now, because she is taking us along with her back up North! However, we are the only three going, because the rest of the slaves have decided that the journey would be too risky.

Right now, I'm writing by the weak, wavering light, provided by a fire burning in a dish of oil. I know that it is dangerous and could easily tip over and set the cabin on fire, but I want to write in my diary. There are so many things that I must do. First, I must gather up the small amount of belongings that I do have. However, all my belongings, no matter the small number, are precious beyond all reason to me. They range from a beautiful flower that I had preserved between two small sheets of linen, snitched by yours truly, and my mother's kerchief. I guess I better stop writing and start packing now for I leave at sundown tomorrow. One more day of bondage left.

April 23, 1853

I have my belongings packed. I have to go, right now, to the fields, but I will be back to collect you along the rest of my belongings.
I feel a twinge of pride regarding the brilliant way in which I had packed up my belongings. At first, I couldn't figure out a way to bring all my belongings with me, because it was impossible for me to carry it all. However, I figured out a way of folding my mother's kerchief so it carries everything. Thank the heavens that I don't have any large-sized/heavy belongings. The kerchief looks like a decent sack now, amazingly enough. Oh, I'm late. I see the sun rising. I better go now.

Later today

My back aches, and my head spins from the heat of the sun. I was late, so I had to work an extra hour longer than the rest of the slaves, but I believe that it was worth it. I will be on my way to freedom soon, as soon as I see the signal from the Underground Railroad conductor; a glint of light from the forest.
I think I will go and check on Tom and Angelina.

Even Later today

Still no signal, and trust me, I haven't missed it. I've been watching. Angelina and Tom are sitting right next to me, Angelina on my right and Tom on my left. Wait, nevermind, I think I see it! It is the Underground Railroad conductor.

April 24, 1853

We've been walking for half a day now. Apparently, it had been midnight when we left, and the sun is just beginning to dare peak its head above the horizon.
We've been walking with Harriet Tubman, a truly blessed thing. She says that we need to learn a little about the terrain that we are walking on. She says that we are escaping from Mississippi, the place where we were enslaved, and she says that we are to head to Tennessee. She cannot say exactly where because someone might overhear our plans. She has told us of the terrible things that have happened to the slaves that have been caught while trying to escape. It has made me feel quite skittish. Every leaf's crackle and twig snap is very nerve-racking. I fear for my two companions. Angelina looks exhausted and Tom looks pale. Is he actually scared? I must stop writing because we must start walking again.
However, I can't help but wonder about how little I know about the rest of the world.

April 26, 1853

We've had so many close calls. There was one time when we were walking in the forest when we heard the barking of dogs. General Tubman, as we jokingly call her, led us across a creek. I asked her why she had us walk through a creek and she told us that it was so that the dogs could not pick up our scent.
Despite the challenges and dangers that we have had to overcome, we are now in Tennessee! I'm so glad that I didn't take a lot of things with me, unlike Angelina, because Angelina looks exhausted. I have lightened the load for her by carrying her beloved Bible and her cooking pots, but she still looks frightfully weary. I mentioned this to the General, and we are now taking a break just for Angelina. I look over at Tom to see how he is faring, and I wish that I hadn't. He looks sad and forlorn, so he is obviously thinking about his beloved Victoria. I have a feeling that he is reminded of Victoria everyday. My heart is seriously bleeding for Tom, because I certainly am reminded about Victoria every single day. We should pass through Tennessee in another day or so.
Oh, the General says it's time for the troops to start moving again.

May 3, 1853

It took a little longer than expected to get through Tennessee because of a few mishaps such as a huge thunderstorm, which we happened to have to endure outside in ineffective shelter consisting of a log and a few bushes. There is also the fact that there are slavehunters combing the area for us. Who knew that we were so important? I certainly didn't. We were walking by a farm, more like crawling, when I looked up and saw a poster of us nailed to the tree. It was a most unflattering likeness of me, but Angelina looked beautiful and Tom looked handsome as ever. I thought that this might cheer Angelina up, so I ripped the poster from the tree. Unfortunately, I was spotted by a farmhand, and the slavehunters were after us in a flash. We came so close to capture, but the General's expertise saved us from certain death. There as a wonderful little beaver dam in the middle of a creek, and we all fit in it. The beaver happened to be outside, fixing the dam, and we had managed to sneak in. We sat there for what seemed like hours before the barks disappeared in the distance. We decided that it was no longer safe for us to travel in broad daylight, even in the forest. So, we are now traveling by darkness. I have shoved the poster into the back of this diary. I will wait for the opportune moment to give Angelina the poster.

May 4, 1853

I am wet, soggy, and downright miserable. We have been walking through this godforsaken spit of trees for what seems like an eternity. We are trying to head to Evansville, somewhere in Indiana, but we are having trouble getting out of Tennessee. The General remains as optimistic as usual, and it looks like Tom and Angelina are as frustrated as me with our slow progress. The dozen mosquito bites must also be a contributing factor. Plus, my back hurts. The old whip wounds have started acting up again.
However I know for a fact that we were still going only because we felt that we owed it to Victoria, who had to die in the chains of bondage. She was the one who had sent us on this journey to freedom. To ignore her last wishes would be like denying an unshakeable oath. This was something that we had to do, and we would either make it to freedom or die trying.
It seems so strange that I could ever have such profound thoughts. We'll get out of Tennessee soon.

May 16, 1853

The General has led her troops successfully into Evansville. We are finally here! We are finally in Northern territory. It's amazing. The air feels freer here, although we still must travel by night. My back still acts up with dull throbs of pain, but I think that it is healing as I am.
I remember one particular conversation with her. Tom and Angelina had already fallen asleep, and the General and I were still awake. I know for certain that I was unable to sleep because of my anxiety resulting from an earlier skirmish the day before. I have no clue, whatsoever, why the General couldn't sleep, but she was unable to. We talked about my adopted family, and her family. She told me how she had rescued her very own parents from slavery! I can hardly believe it, but it's true.
I cannot hold my head up any longer, and my eyes feel as though they are weighted down by rocks.

May 18, 1853

We are in forests bordering Indianapolis. I have read over the pages of my diary, and I realized that I have never mentioned how the General has managed to keep all four of us decently fed. I guess it was so mundane an everyday task that I hardly noticed it. However, I shall mention it now. General Tubman has found different herbs and roots for us to feed on, and she has done so throughout the journey. We have not dared cooking the herbs and roots over an open fire because we all fear that someone will smell the food cooking, or detect a trace of the smoke; be it in scent or sight.
I fear that we will turn into rabbits, what with all the herbs that we are eating and all.

May 21, 1853

We May 31, 1853

Sorry about the lack of diary entries, dearest diary. We are in Toledo, and there was no time for me to write before we got here because General Tubman had decided that we needed to hurry. She felt that the sooner we got to the North, the better. I trust her instincts, because they have never failed her yet.

June 3, 1853

The nights are hot and humid, and most uncomfortable. We have long- since left Toledo behind, and General Tubman is trying to take us to Canada via a route through Detroit. We are somewhere in between Toledo and Detroit right now. The General says that we are very fortunate to have made this journey in nearly less than 2 months. She says that it usually takes from two months to one year, if the weather is particularly troublesome. I secretly think, and I know that this sounds so stupid, that we have a guardian angel, namely Victoria, who is watching over us.

June 4, 1853

We are walking, still. Now, I know how the children of Jerusalem felt walking around in the desert. We just passed a small town. The General has been able to go into some a small town, populated mostly by Africans, and buy some fresh groceries for us.
I've noticed that my recent entries have been getting shorter and shorter. The reason why is mainly because the fever of freedom is upon all of us, excepting the General. I am trying to write less so I can sleep more, which leads to me having more strength to walk in the night, which means that we'll be able to reach Canada quicker. And that is my excuse, as pitiful as it may be, but it is the truth.
Angelina seems to be in much better spirits. She joined the General and me in humming spirituals. Angelina is much better colored, and definitely not feeling as sick as she did before. Tom is still a bit withdrawn, because he never talks about his feelings. I think that Victoria's death is still killing him inside, but he won't seek help. It's so frustrating, because I know that Angelina and I would be able to help him bear the burden, but he refuses to share his burden with us, lest we should be crushed under its enormous weight. However, a bundle of sticks is not so hard to break when divided.
I must sleep now.

June 12, 1853

We have been in Detroit for a long time; about three of four days. Can you believe that Tom slipped down a ravine and broke his leg? So, we have been very busy for the past two days, trying to treat him.
Do you know what the worst thing is?

Tom has also fallen into an unconscious state, and has been struggling to overcome fever. The General has been trying to help; making mashed willow bark and herb stews, but nothing has helped, yet. We've all been so busy trying to make sure that we don't get caught by the slavehunters that search the forest frequently.
We were so close to getting caught yesterday. Angelina heard the dogs barking in the distance, and she was sure that they were coming closer. Angelina and I were carrying Tom, Angelina carried him by his ankles and I had his wrists in my hands, and we scurried down a shallow ravine. We had to run, with him in between us, after the General. The General led us across a creek, and up the other side of the ravine. Then, Harriet decided that we should climb up a tree. It was very difficult and I was sure that the dogs would sniff us out, but the General had a certain herb with her that she scattered around the bottom of the tree. Then, I clambered up the tree, and Angelina lifted up Tom, a very difficult feat. I grabbed his arms, and I had to practically drag him up the tree. Angelina climbed up after her, and then, the General lifted herself up. We sat there, waiting with bated breath. One of the dogs came up to the tree that we were hiding in and sniffed the trunk, but it couldn't find us.
Later, I found out that the herb did not naturally hide our scent. The General told me, with a laugh, "Chillun, you must realize that the plant wasn't given the gift of blocking our scent by God, chillun! I have some friends who had created a chemical that temporarily numbed the dog's sense of smell. They had soaked the herbs that I had in that chemical, and I have a handkerchief soaked in that too, and I will use the handkerchief when we run out of herbs."
However, we survived. Now, the question is, will Tom live to see his freedom?

June 13, 1853

It is with great pleasure and gratefulness that I pen these words. Tom has beaten the fever! He has gained consciousness! He can walk a bit, more like crawl, but we have decided that we will continue walking tomorrow. We cannot loose anymore time.

June 14, 1853

The walk continues, however, Tom will have to use crutches, and he has to be carried at times because his leg is still at a crucial stage; it can still break.

June 15, 1853

Angelina and I have had a very pleasant chat with General Tubman. It also turns out that I have given Angelina that poster of Tom, her, and I. She loved it. She found her picture simply stunning.

As she said it, "I can't believe that that is how I look like! It's lovely Dahlia!"

We're one big happy traveling crew aren't we? I'm happy that she's delighted with the gift. I flipped through the last few pages, and I discovered, much to my distress, that there are only a few more pages in you. I must take care not to write entries that are too long, so I must conserve the pages and reserve my pointless thoughts until after the trip. For now, I shall only write about things that are of importance.

June 18, 1853

I shall not waste time getting into the subject. WE ARE IN CANADA!

As General Tubman said, "Free at last, praise be to God that you three are free at last!"

I can't believe it. I can open a shop, publish my diary, write poetry, and do basically anything I want. We all live in a wonderful house. It's amazing.

The question that remains is what will be the first thing that I do now that I'm free.

May the rest of us be freed from bondage.