In wearing them one presented and exceedingly awkward appearance.
The most trying ordeal that I was forced to endure as a slave
boy, however, was the wearing of a flax shirt. In the portion of
Virginia where I lived it was common to use flax as part of the
clothing for the slaves. That part of the flax from which our
clothing was made was largely the refuse, which of course was the
cheapest and roughest part. I can scarcely imagine any torture,
except, perhaps, the pulling of a tooth, that is equal to that
caused by putting on a new flax shirt for the first time. It is
almost equal to the feeling that one would experience if he had a
dozen or more chestnut burrs, or a hundred small pin-points, in
contact with his flesh. Even to this day I can recall accurately
the tortures that I underwent when putting on one of these
garments. The fact that my flesh was soft and tender added to the
pain. But I had no choice. I had to wear the flax shirt or none;
and had it been left to me to choose, I should have chosen to
wear no covering. In connection with the flax shirt, my brother
John, who is several years older than I am, performed one of the
most generous acts that I ever heard of one slave relative doing
for another. On several occasions when I was being forced to wear
a new flax shirt, he generously agreed to put it on in my stead
and wear it for several days, till it was "broken in.
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