I was a kind of a house servant and was frequently sent off on errands, but never without a written pass; and on Sundays I have sometimes got permission to visit our neighbor's slaves, and I have often tried to write myself a pass.
Whenever I got hold of an old letter that had been thrown away, or a piece of white paper, I would save it to write on.

I have often gone off in the woods and spent the greater part of the day alone, trying to learn to write myself a pass, by writing on the backs of old letters; copying after the pass that had been written by Whitfield; by so doing I got the use of the pen and could form letters as well as I can now, but knew not what they were.
The Deacon had an old slave by the name of Jack whom he bought about the time that he bought me.

Jack was born in the State of Virginia.

He had some idea of freedom; had often run away, but was very ignorant; knew not where to go for refuge; but understood all about providing something to eat when unjustly deprived of it.
So for ill treatment, we concluded to take a tramp together.

I was to be the pilot, while Jack was to carry the baggage and keep us in provisions.