~Wendell Phillips~

FREDERICK DOUGLASS.

Frederick Douglass was born in slavery as Fred-

erick Augustus Washington Bailey near Easton in

Talbot County, Maryland. He was not sure of the

exact year of his birth, but he knew that it was 1817

or 1818. As a young boy he was sent to Baltimore,

to be a house servant, where he learned to read and

write, with the assistance of his master's wife. In

1838 he escaped from slavery and went to New York

City, where he married Anna Murray, a free colored

woman whom he had met in Baltimore. Soon there-

after he changed his name to Frederick Douglass.

In 1841 he addressed a convention of the Massa-

chusetts Anti-Slavery Society in Nantucket and so

greatly impressed the group that they immediately

employed him as an agent. He was such an impres-

sive orator that numerous persons doubted if he had

ever been a slave, so he wrote NARRATIVE OF THE LIFE

OF FREDERICK DOUGLASS. During the Civil War he as-

sisted in the recruiting of colored men for the 54th

and 55th Massachusetts Regiments and consistently

argued for the emancipation of slaves. After the war

he was active in securing and protecting the rights

of the freemen. In his later years, at different times,

he was secretary of the Santo Domingo Commission,

marshall and recorder of deeds of the District of

Columbia, and United States Minister to Haiti. His

other autobiographical works are MY BONDAGE AND

MY FREEDOM and LIFE AND TIMES OF FREDERICK

DOUGLASS, published in 1855 and 1881 respectively.

He died in 1895.

CHAPTER I

I was born in Tuckahoe, near Hillsborough, and

about twelve miles from Easton, in Talbot county,

Maryland. I have no accurate knowledge of my age,

never having seen any authentic record containing it.

By far the larger part of the slaves know as little of

their ages as horses know of theirs, and it is the wish

of most masters within my knowledge to keep their

slaves thus ignorant. I do not remember to have ever

met a slave who could tell of his birthday. They

seldom come nearer to it than planting-time, harvest-

time, cherry-time, spring-time, or fall-time. A want

of information concerning my own was a source of

unhappiness to me even during childhood. The white

children could tell their ages. I could not tell why I

ought to be deprived of the same privilege. I was

not allowed to make any inquiries of my master con-

cerning it. He deemed all such inquiries on the part

of a slave improper and impertinent, and evidence

of a restless spirit. The nearest estimate I can give

makes me now between twenty-seven and twenty-

eight years of age. I come to this, from hearing my

master say, some time during 1835, I was about

seventeen years old.

My mother was named Harriet Bailey. She was

the daughter of Isaac and Betsey Bailey, both col-

ored, and quite dark. My mother was of a darker

complexion than either my grandmother or grand-

father.

My father was a white man. He was admitted to

be such by all I ever heard speak of my parentage.

The opinion was also whispered that my master was

my father; but of the correctness of this opinion, I

know nothing; the means of knowing was withheld

from me. My mother and I were separated when I

was but an infant--before I knew her as my mother.

It is a common custom, in the part of Maryland

from which I ran away, to part children from their

mothers at a very early age. Frequently, before the

child has reached its twelfth month, its mother is

taken from it, and hired out on some farm a con-

siderable distance off, and the child is placed under

the care of an old woman, too old for field labor.

For what this separation is done, I do not know,

unless it be to hinder the development of the child's

affection toward its mother, and to blunt and destroy

the natural affection of the mother for the child.

This is the inevitable result.

I never saw my mother, to know her as such, more

than four or five times in my life; and each of these

times was very short in duration, and at night. She

was hired by a Mr. Stewart, who lived about twelve

miles from my home. She made her journeys to see

me in the night, travelling the whole distance on

foot, after the performance of her day's work. She

was a field hand, and a whipping is the penalty of

not being in the field at sunrise, unless a slave has

special permission from his or her master to the con-

trary--a permission which they seldom get, and one

that gives to him that gives it the proud name of

being a kind master. I do not recollect of ever seeing

my mother by the light of day. She was with me in

the night. She would lie down with me, and get me

to sleep, but long before I waked she was gone. Very

little communication ever took place between us.

Death soon ended what little we could have while

she lived, and with it her hardships and suffering.

She died when I was about seven years old, on one

of my master's farms, near Lee's Mill. I was not al-

lowed to be present during her illness, at her death,

or burial. She was gone long before I knew any thing

about it. Never having enjoyed, to any considerable

extent, her soothing presence, her tender and watch-

ful care, I received the tidings of her death with

much the same emotions I should have probably

felt at the death of a stranger.

Called thus suddenly away, she left me without

the slightest intimation of who my father was. The

whisper that my master was my father, may or may

not be true; and, true or false, it is of but little con-

sequence to my purpose whilst the fact remains,

in all its glaring odiousness, that slaveholders have

ordained, and by law established, that the children

of slave women shall in all cases follow the condi-

tion of their mothers; and this is done too obviously

to administer to their own lusts, and make a grati-

fication of their wicked desires profitable as well as

pleasurable; for by this cunning arrangement, the

slaveholder, in cases not a few, sustains to his slaves

the double relation of master and father.

I know of such cases; and it is worthy of remark

that such slaves invariably suffer greater hardships,

and have more to contend with, than others. They

are, in the first place, a constant offence to their

mistress. She is ever disposed to find fault with them;

they can seldom do any thing to please her; she is

never better pleased than when she sees them under

the lash, especially when she suspects her husband

of showing to his mulatto children favors which he

withholds from his black slaves. The master is fre-

quently compelled to sell this class of his slaves, out

of deference to the feelings of his white wife; and,

cruel as the deed may strike any one to be, for a

man to sell his own children to human flesh-mongers,

it is often the dictate of humanity for him to do so;

for, unless he does this, he must not only whip them

himself, but must stand by and see one white son

tie up his brother, of but few shades darker com-

plexion than himself, and ply the gory lash to his

naked back; and if he lisp one word of disapproval,

it is set down to his parental partiality, and only

makes a bad matter worse, both for himself and the

slave whom he would protect and defend.

Every year brings with it multitudes of this class

of slaves. It was doubtless in consequence of a knowl-

edge of this fact, that one great statesman of the

south predicted the downfall of slavery by the in-

evitable laws of population. Whether this prophecy

is ever fulfilled or not, it is nevertheless plain that a

very different-looking class of people are springing up

at the south, and are now held in slavery, from those

originally brought to this country from Africa; and

if their increase do no other good, it will do

away the force of the argument, that God cursed

Ham, and therefore American slavery is right. If the

lineal descendants of Ham are alone to be scriptur-

ally enslaved, it is certain that slavery at the south

must soon become unscriptural; for thousands are

ushered into the world, annually, who, like myself,

owe their existence to white fathers, and those fa-

thers most frequently their own masters.

I have had two masters. My first master's name

was Anthony. I do not remember his first name.

He was generally called Captain Anthony--a title

which, I presume, he acquired by sailing a craft on

the Chesapeake Bay. He was not considered a rich

slaveholder. He owned two or three farms, and about

thirty slaves. His farms and slaves were under the

care of an overseer. The overseer's name was

Plummer. Mr. Plummer was a miserable drunkard,

a profane swearer, and a savage monster. He always

went armed with a cowskin and a heavy cudgel. I

have known him to cut and slash the women's heads

so horribly, that even master would be enraged at

his cruelty, and would threaten to whip him if he

did not mind himself. Master, however, was not a

humane slaveholder. It required extraordinary bar-

barity on the part of an overseer to affect him. He

was a cruel man, hardened by a long life of slave-

holding. He would at times seem to take great pleas-

ure in whipping a slave. I have often been awakened

at the dawn of day by the most heart-rending shrieks

of an own aunt of mine, whom he used to tie up

to a joist, and whip upon her naked back till she

was literally covered with blood. No words, no tears,

no prayers, from his gory victim, seemed to move

his iron heart from its bloody purpose. The louder

she screamed, the harder he whipped; and where

the blood ran fastest, there he whipped longest. He

would whip her to make her scream, and whip her

to make her hush; and not until overcome by fatigue,

would he cease to swing the blood-clotted cowskin.

I remember the first time I ever witnessed this hor-

rible exhibition. I was quite a child, but I well re-

member it. I never shall forget it whilst I remember

any thing. It was the first of a long series of such out-

rages, of which I was doomed to be a witness and a

participant. It struck me with awful force. It was

the blood-stained gate, the entrance to the hell of

slavery, through which I was about to pass. It was

a most terrible spectacle. I wish I could commit to

paper the feelings with which I beheld it.

This occurrence took place very soon after I went

to live with my old master, and under the following

circumstances. Aunt Hester went out one night,--

where or for what I do not know,--and happened to

be absent when my master desired her presence. He

had ordered her not to go out evenings, and warned

her that she must never let him catch her in com-

pany with a young man, who was paying attention

to her belonging to Colonel Lloyd. The young man's

name was Ned Roberts, generally called Lloyd's

Ned. Why master was so careful of her, may be

safely left to conjecture. She was a woman of noble

form, and of graceful proportions, having very few

equals, and fewer superiors, in personal appearance,

among the colored or white women of our neighbor-

hood.

Aunt Hester had not only disobeyed his orders in

going out, but had been found in company with

Lloyd's Ned; which circumstance, I found, from

what he said while whipping her, was the chief of-

fence. Had he been a man of pure morals himself,

he might have been thought interested in protecting

the innocence of my aunt; but those who knew him

will not suspect him of any such virtue. Before

he commenced whipping Aunt Hester, he took her

into the kitchen, and stripped her from neck to waist,

leaving her neck, shoulders, and back, entirely

naked. He then told her to cross her hands, calling

her at the same time a d----d b---h. After crossing

her hands, he tied them with a strong rope, and led

her to a stool under a large hook in the joist, put

in for the purpose. He made her get upon the stool,

and tied her hands to the hook. She now stood fair

for his infernal purpose. Her arms were stretched

up at their full length, so that she stood upon the

ends of her toes. He then said to her, "Now, you

d----d b---h, I'll learn you how to disobey my

orders!" and after rolling up his sleeves, he com-

menced to lay on the heavy cowskin, and soon the

warm, red blood (amid heart-rending shrieks from

her, and horrid oaths from him) came dripping to

the floor. I was so terrified and horror-stricken at the

sight, that I hid myself in a closet, and dared not

venture out till long after the bloody transaction was

over. I expected it would be my turn next. It was

all new to me. I had never seen any thing like it

before. I had always lived with my grandmother on

the outskirts of the plantation, where she was put to

raise the children of the younger women. I had there-

fore been, until now, out of the way of the bloody

scenes that often occurred on the plantation.

CHAPTER II

My master's family consisted of two sons, Andrew

and Richard; one daughter, Lucretia, and her hus-

band, Captain Thomas Auld. They lived in one

house, upon the home plantation of Colonel Edward

Lloyd. My master was Colonel Lloyd's clerk and

superintendent. He was what might be called the

overseer of the overseers. I spent two years of child-

hood on this plantation in my old master's family.

It was here that I witnessed the bloody transaction

recorded in the first chapter; and as I received my

first impressions of slavery on this plantation,

I will give some description of it, and of slavery as

it there existed. The plantation is about twelve miles

north of Easton, in Talbot county, and is situated

on the border of Miles River. The principal products

raised upon it were tobacco, corn, and wheat. These

were raised in great abundance; so that, with the

products of this and the other farms belonging to

him, he was able to keep in almost constant em-

ployment a large sloop, in carrying them to market

at Baltimore. This sloop was named Sally Lloyd,

in honor of one of the colonel's daughters. My mas-

ter's son-in-law, Captain Auld, was master of the

vessel; she was otherwise manned by the colonel's

own slaves. Their names were Peter, Isaac, Rich, and

Jake. These were esteemed very highly by the other

slaves, and looked upon as the privileged ones of the

plantation; for it was no small affair, in the eyes of

the slaves, to be allowed to see Baltimore.

Colonel Lloyd kept from three to four hundred

slaves on his home plantation, and owned a large

number more on the neighboring farms belonging to

him. The names of the farms nearest to the home

plantation were Wye Town and New Design. "Wye

Town" was under the overseership of a man named

Noah Willis. New Design was under the overseer-

ship of a Mr. Townsend. The overseers of these,

and all the rest of the farms, numbering over twenty,

received advice and direction from the managers of

the home plantation. This was the great business

place. It was the seat of government for the whole

twenty farms. All disputes among the overseers were

settled here. If a slave was convicted of any high

misdemeanor, became unmanageable, or evinced a

determination to run away, he was brought immedi-

ately here, severely whipped, put on board the sloop,

carried to Baltimore, and sold to Austin Woolfolk,

or some other slave-trader, as a warning to the slaves

remaining.

Here, too, the slaves of all the other farms received

their monthly allowance of food, and their yearly

clothing. The men and women slaves received, as

their monthly allowance of food, eight pounds of

pork, or its equivalent in fish, and one bushel of

corn meal. Their yearly clothing consisted of two

coarse linen shirts, one pair of linen trousers, like

the shirts, one jacket, one pair of trousers for winter,

made of coarse negro cloth, one pair of stockings,

and one pair of shoes; the whole of which could not

have cost more than seven dollars. The allowance

of the slave children was given to their mothers, or

the old women having the care of them. The chil-

dren unable to work in the field had neither shoes,

stockings, jackets, nor trousers, given to them; their

clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts per year.

When these failed them, they went naked until the

next allowance-day. Children from seven to ten years

old, of both sexes, almost naked, might be seen

at all seasons of the year.

There were no beds given the slaves, unless one

coarse blanket be considered such, and none but

the men and women had these. This, however, is

not considered a very great privation. They find less

difficulty from the want of beds, than from the want

of time to sleep; for when their day's work in the

field is done, the most of them having their wash-

ing, mending, and cooking to do, and having few or

none of the ordinary facilities for doing either of

these, very many of their sleeping hours are con-

sumed in preparing for the field the coming day;

and when this is done, old and young, male and

female, married and single, drop down side by side,

on one common bed,--the cold, damp floor,--each

covering himself or herself with their miserable

blankets; and here they sleep till they are summoned

to the field by the driver's horn. At the sound of

this, all must rise, and be off to the field. There

must be no halting; every one must be at his or

her post; and woe betides them who hear not this

morning summons to the field; for if they are not

awakened by the sense of hearing, they are by the

sense of feeling: no age nor sex finds any favor.

Mr. Severe, the overseer, used to stand by the door

of the quarter, armed with a large hickory stick

and heavy cowskin, ready to whip any one who was

so unfortunate as not to hear, or, from any other

cause, was prevented from being ready to start for

the field at the sound of the horn.

Mr. Severe was rightly named: he was a cruel

man. I have seen him whip a woman, causing the

blood to run half an hour at the time; and this, too,

in the midst of her crying children, pleading for their

mother's release. He seemed to take pleasure in

manifesting his fiendish barbarity. Added to his

cruelty, he was a profane swearer. It was enough to

chill the blood and stiffen the hair of an ordinary

man to hear him talk. Scarce a sentence escaped him

but that was commenced or concluded by some hor-

rid oath. The field was the place to witness his

cruelty and profanity. His presence made it both

the field of blood and of blasphemy. From the rising

till the going down of the sun, he was cursing, raving,

cutting, and slashing among the slaves of the field,

in the most frightful manner. His career was short.

He died very soon after I went to Colonel Lloyd's;

and he died as he lived, uttering, with his dying

groans, bitter curses and horrid oaths. His death was

regarded by the slaves as the result of a merciful

providence.

Mr. Severe's place was filled by a Mr. Hopkins.

He was a very different man. He was less cruel, less

profane, and made less noise, than Mr. Severe. His

course was characterized by no extraordinary demon-

strations of cruelty. He whipped, but seemed to take

no pleasure in it. He was called by the slaves a good

overseer.

The home plantation of Colonel Lloyd wore the

appearance of a country village. All the mechanical

operations for all the farms were performed here.

The shoemaking and mending, the blacksmithing,

cartwrighting, coopering, weaving, and grain-grind-

ing, were all performed by the slaves on the home

plantation. The whole place wore a business-like as-

pect very unlike the neighboring farms. The num-

ber of houses, too, conspired to give it advantage

over the neighboring farms. It was called by the

slaves the ~Great House Farm.~ Few privileges were

esteemed higher, by the slaves of the out-farms, than

that of being selected to do errands at the Great

House Farm. It was associated in their minds with

greatness. A representative could not be prouder of

his election to a seat in the American Congress,

than a slave on one of the out-farms would be of his

election to do errands at the Great House Farm.

They regarded it as evidence of great confidence re-

posed in them by their overseers; and it was on

this account, as well as a constant desire to be out of

the field from under the driver's lash, that they es-

teemed it a high privilege, one worth careful living

for. He was called the smartest and most trusty fel-

low, who had this honor conferred upon him the

most frequently. The competitors for this office

sought as diligently to please their overseers, as the

office-seekers in the political parties seek to please

and deceive the people. The same traits of character

might be seen in Colonel Lloyd's slaves, as are seen

in the slaves of the political parties.

The slaves selected to go to the Great House Farm,

for the monthly allowance for themselves and their

fellow-slaves, were peculiarly enthusiastic. While on

their way, they would make the dense old woods,

for miles around, reverberate with their wild songs,

revealing at once the highest joy and the deepest

sadness. They would compose and sing as they went

along, consulting neither time nor tune. The thought

that came up, came out--if not in the word, in the

sound;--and as frequently in the one as in the other.

They would sometimes sing the most pathetic senti-

ment in the most rapturous tone, and the most rap-

turous sentiment in the most pathetic tone. Into all

of their songs they would manage to weave some-

thing of the Great House Farm. Especially would

they do this, when leaving home. They would then

sing most exultingly the following words:--

"I am going away to the Great House Farm!

O, yea! O, yea! O!"

This they would sing, as a chorus, to words which to

many would seem unmeaning jargon, but which,

nevertheless, were full of meaning to themselves. I

have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of

those songs would do more to impress some minds

with the horrible character of slavery, than the read-

ing of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject

could do.

I did not, when a slave, understand the deep

meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent

songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I nei-

ther saw nor heard as those without might see and

hear. They told a tale of woe which was then al-

together beyond my feeble comprehension; they

were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed the

prayer and complaint of souls boiling over with the

bitterest anguish. Every tone was a testimony against

slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance from

chains. The hearing of those wild notes always de-

pressed my spirit, and filled me with ineffable sad-

ness. I have frequently found myself in tears while

hearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs,

even now, afflicts me; and while I am writing these

lines, an expression of feeling has already found its

way down my cheek. To those songs I trace my first

glimmering conception of the dehumanizing char-

acter of slavery. I can never get rid of that concep-

tion. Those songs still follow me, to deepen my

hatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies for

my brethren in bonds. If any one wishes to be im-

pressed with the soul-killing effects of slavery, let

him go to Colonel Lloyd's plantation, and, on allow-

ance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, and

there let him, in silence, analyze the sounds that

shall pass through the chambers of his soul,--and if

he is not thus impressed, it will only be because

"there is no flesh in his obdurate heart."

I have often been utterly astonished, since I came

to the north, to find persons who could speak of

the singing, among slaves, as evidence of their con-

tentment and happiness. It is impossible to conceive

of a greater mistake. Slaves sing most when they are

most unhappy. The songs of the slave represent the

sorrows of his heart; and he is relieved by them, only

as an aching heart is relieved by its tears. At least,

such is my experience. I have often sung to drown

my sorrow, but seldom to express my happiness.

Crying for joy, and singing for joy, were alike un-

common to me while in the jaws of slavery. The

singing of a man cast away upon a desolate island

might be as appropriately considered as evidence of

contentment and happiness, as the singing of a

slave; the songs of the one and of the other are

prompted by the same emotion.

CHAPTER III

Colonel Lloyd kept a large and finely cultivated

garden, which afforded almost constant employment

for four men, besides the chief gardener, (Mr.

M'Durmond.) This garden was probably the great-

est attraction of the place. During the summer

months, people came from far and near--from

Baltimore, Easton, and Annapolis--to see it. It

abounded in fruits of almost every description, from

the hardy apple of the north to the delicate orange

of the south. This garden was not the least source

of trouble on the plantation. Its excellent fruit was

quite a temptation to the hungry swarms of boys,

as well as the older slaves, belonging to the colonel,

few of whom had the virtue or the vice to resist

it. Scarcely a day passed, during the summer, but

that some slave had to take the lash for stealing fruit.

The colonel had to resort to all kinds of stratagems

to keep his slaves out of the garden. The last and

most successful one was that of tarring his fence

all around; after which, if a slave was caught with

any tar upon his person, it was deemed sufficient

proof that he had either been into the garden, or had

tried to get in. In either case, he was severely whip-

ped by the chief gardener. This plan worked well;

the slaves became as fearful of tar as of the lash.

They seemed to realize the impossibility of touching

TAR without being defiled.

The colonel also kept a splendid riding equipage.

His stable and carriage-house presented the appear-

ance of some of our large city livery establishments.

His horses were of the finest form and noblest blood.

His carriage-house contained three splendid coaches,

three or four gigs, besides dearborns and barouches

of the most fashionable style.

This establishment was under the care of two

slaves--old Barney and young Barney--father and son.

To attend to this establishment was their sole work.

But it was by no means an easy employment; for in

nothing was Colonel Lloyd more particular than in

the management of his horses. The slightest inat-

tention to these was unpardonable, and was visited

upon those, under whose care they were placed, with

the severest punishment; no excuse could shield

them, if the colonel only suspected any want of

attention to his horses--a supposition which he fre-

quently indulged, and one which, of course, made

the office of old and young Barney a very trying one.

They never knew when they were safe from punish-

ment. They were frequently whipped when least

deserving, and escaped whipping when most deserv-

ing it. Every thing depended upon the looks of the

horses, and the state of Colonel Lloyd's own mind

when his horses were brought to him for use. If a

horse did not move fast enough, or hold his head

high enough, it was owing to some fault of his keep-

ers. It was painful to stand near the stable-door,

and hear the various complaints against the keepers

when a horse was taken out for use. "This horse has

not had proper attention. He has not been suffi-

ciently rubbed and curried, or he has not been prop-

erly fed; his food was too wet or too dry; he got it

too soon or too late; he was too hot or too cold; he

had too much hay, and not enough of grain; or he

had too much grain, and not enough of hay; instead

of old Barney's attending to the horse, he had very

improperly left it to his son." To all these com-

plaints, no matter how unjust, the slave must an-

swer never a word. Colonel Lloyd could not brook

any contradiction from a slave. When he spoke, a

slave must stand, listen, and tremble; and such was

literally the case. I have seen Colonel Lloyd make

old Barney, a man between fifty and sixty years of

age, uncover his bald head, kneel down upon the

cold, damp ground, and receive upon his naked and

toil-worn shoulders more than thirty lashes at the

time. Colonel Lloyd had three sons--Edward, Mur-

ray, and Daniel,--and three sons-in-law, Mr. Winder,

Mr. Nicholson, and Mr. Lowndes. All of these lived

at the Great House Farm, and enjoyed the luxury of

whipping the servants when they pleased, from old

Barney down to William Wilkes, the coach-driver.

I have seen Winder make one of the house-servants

stand off from him a suitable distance to be touched

with the end of his whip, and at every stroke raise

great ridges upon his back.

To describe the wealth of Colonel Lloyd would

be almost equal to describing the riches of Job. He

kept from ten to fifteen house-servants. He was said

to own a thousand slaves, and I think this estimate

quite within the truth. Colonel Lloyd owned so

many that he did not know them when he saw them;

nor did all the slaves of the out-farms know him. It

is reported of him, that, while riding along the road

one day, he met a colored man, and addressed him

in the usual manner of speaking to colored people

on the public highways of the south: "Well, boy,

whom do you belong to?" "To Colonel Lloyd," re-

plied the slave. "Well, does the colonel treat you

well?" "No, sir," was the ready reply. "What, does

he work you too hard?" "Yes, sir." "Well, don't he

give you enough to eat?" "Yes, sir, he gives me

enough, such as it is."

The colonel, after ascertaining where the slave

belonged, rode on; the man also went on about his

business, not dreaming that he had been conversing

with his master. He thought, said, and heard noth-

ing more of the matter, until two or three weeks

afterwards. The poor man was then informed by his

overseer that, for having found fault with his master,

he was now to be sold to a Georgia trader. He was

immediately chained and handcuffed; and thus,

without a moment's warning, he was snatched away,

and forever sundered, from his family and friends,

by a hand more unrelenting than death. This is the

penalty of telling the truth, of telling the simple

truth, in answer to a series of plain questions.

It is partly in consequence of such facts, that

slaves, when inquired of as to their condition and

the character of their masters, almost universally say

they are contented, and that their masters are kind.

The slaveholders have been known to send in spies

among their slaves, to ascertain their views and feel-

ings in regard to their condition. The frequency of

this has had the effect to establish among the slaves

the maxim, that a still tongue makes a wise head.

They suppress the truth rather than take the con-

sequences of telling it, and in so doing prove them-

selves a part of the human family. If they have any

thing to say of their masters, it is generally in their

masters' favor, especially when speaking to an un-

tried man. I have been frequently asked, when a

slave, if I had a kind master, and do not remember

ever to have given a negative answer; nor did I, in

pursuing this course, consider myself as uttering what

was absolutely false; for I always measured the kind-

ness of my master by the standard of kindness set

up among slaveholders around us. Moreover, slaves

are like other people, and imbibe prejudices quite

common to others. They think their own better than

that of others. Many, under the influence of this

prejudice, think their own masters are better than

the masters of other slaves; and this, too, in some

cases, when the very reverse is true. Indeed, it is

not uncommon for slaves even to fall out and quar-

rel among themselves about the relative goodness of

their masters, each contending for the superior good-

ness of his own over that of the others. At the very

same time, they mutually execrate their masters

when viewed separately. It was so on our plantation.

When Colonel Lloyd's slaves met the slaves of Jacob

Jepson, they seldom parted without a quarrel about

their masters; Colonel Lloyd's slaves contending that

he was the richest, and Mr. Jepson's slaves that he

was the smartest, and most of a man. Colonel Lloyd's

slaves would boast his ability to buy and sell Jacob

Jepson. Mr. Jepson's slaves would boast his ability

to whip Colonel Lloyd. These quarrels would almost

always end in a fight between the parties, and those

that whipped were supposed to have gained the

point at issue. They seemed to think that the great-

ness of their masters was transferable to themselves.

It was considered as being bad enough to be a

slave; but to be a poor man's slave was deemed a

disgrace indeed!

CHAPTER IV

Mr. Hopkins remained but a short time in the

office of overseer. Why his career was so short, I

do not know, but suppose he lacked the necessary

severity to suit Colonel Lloyd. Mr. Hopkins was suc-

ceeded by Mr. Austin Gore, a man possessing, in

an eminent degree, all those traits of character in-

dispensable to what is called a first-rate overseer. Mr.

Gore had served Colonel Lloyd, in the capacity of

overseer, upon one of the out-farms, and had shown

himself worthy of the high station of overseer upon

the home or Great House Farm.

Mr. Gore was proud, ambitious, and persevering.

He was artful, cruel, and obdurate. He was just the

man for such a place, and it was just the place for

such a man. It afforded scope for the full exercise

of all his powers, and he seemed to be perfectly

at home in it. He was one of those who could torture

the slightest look, word, or gesture, on the part of

the slave, into impudence, and would treat it ac-

cordingly. There must be no answering back to him;

no explanation was allowed a slave, showing himself

to have been wrongfully accused. Mr. Gore acted

fully up to the maxim laid down by slaveholders,--

"It is better that a dozen slaves should suffer under the

lash, than that the overseer should be convicted, in

the presence of the slaves, of having been at fault."

No matter how innocent a slave might be--it availed

him nothing, when accused by Mr. Gore of any

misdemeanor. To be accused was to be convicted,

and to be convicted was to be punished; the one

always following the other with immutable certainty.

To escape punishment was to escape accusation; and

few slaves had the fortune to do either, under the

overseership of Mr. Gore. He was just proud enough

to demand the most debasing homage of the slave,

and quite servile enough to crouch, himself, at the

feet of the master. He was ambitious enough to be

contented with nothing short of the highest rank

of overseers, and persevering enough to reach the

height of his ambition. He was cruel enough to in-

flict the severest punishment, artful enough to de-

scend to the lowest trickery, and obdurate enough to

be insensible to the voice of a reproving conscience.

He was, of all the overseers, the most dreaded by

the slaves. His presence was painful; his eye flashed

confusion; and seldom was his sharp, shrill voice

heard, without producing horror and trembling in

their ranks.

Mr. Gore was a grave man, and, though a young

man, he indulged in no jokes, said no funny words,

seldom smiled. His words were in perfect keeping

with his looks, and his looks were in perfect keeping

with his words. Overseers will sometimes indulge in

a witty word, even with the slaves; not so with Mr.

Gore. He spoke but to command, and commanded

but to be obeyed; he dealt sparingly with his words,

and bountifully with his whip, never using the

former where the latter would answer as well. When

he whipped, he seemed to do so from a sense of

duty, and feared no consequences. He did nothing

reluctantly, no matter how disagreeable; always at his

post, never inconsistent. He never promised but to

fulfil. He was, in a word, a man of the most in-

flexible firmness and stone-like coolness.

His savage barbarity was equalled only by the con-

summate coolness with which he committed the

grossest and most savage deeds upon the slaves under

his charge. Mr. Gore once undertook to whip one of

Colonel Lloyd's slaves, by the name of Demby. He

had given Demby but few stripes, when, to get rid

of the scourging, he ran and plunged himself into a

creek, and stood there at the depth of his shoulders,

refusing to come out. Mr. Gore told him that he

would give him three calls, and that, if he did not

come out at the third call, he would shoot him.

The first call was given. Demby made no response,

but stood his ground. The second and third calls

were given with the same result. Mr. Gore then,

without consultation or deliberation with any one,

not even giving Demby an additional call, raised

his musket to his face, taking deadly aim at his

standing victim, and in an instant poor Demby was

no more. His mangled body sank out of sight, and

blood and brains marked the water where he had

stood.

A thrill of horror flashed through every soul upon

the plantation, excepting Mr. Gore. He alone

seemed cool and collected. He was asked by Colonel

Lloyd and my old master, why he resorted to this

extraordinary expedient. His reply was, (as well as

I can remember,) that Demby had become unman-

ageable. He was setting a dangerous example to the

other slaves,--one which, if suffered to pass without

some such demonstration on his part, would finally

lead to the total subversion of all rule and order

upon the plantation. He argued that if one slave re-

fused to be corrected, and escaped with his life, the

other slaves would soon copy the example; the re-

sult of which would be, the freedom of the slaves,

and the enslavement of the whites. Mr. Gore's de-

fence was satisfactory. He was continued in his sta-

tion as overseer upon the home plantation. His

fame as an overseer went abroad. His horrid crime

was not even submitted to judicial investigation. It

was committed in the presence of slaves, and they of

course could neither institute a suit, nor testify

against him; and thus the guilty perpetrator of one of

the bloodiest and most foul murders goes unwhipped

of justice, and uncensured by the community in

which he lives. Mr. Gore lived in St. Michael's, Tal-

bot county, Maryland, when I left there; and if he

is still alive, he very probably lives there now; and if

so, he is now, as he was then, as highly esteemed

and as much respected as though his guilty soul

had not been stained with his brother's blood.

I speak advisedly when I say this,--that killing

a slave, or any colored person, in Talbot county,

Maryland, is not treated as a crime, either by the

courts or the community. Mr. Thomas Lanman, of

St. Michael's, killed two slaves, one of whom he

killed with a hatchet, by knocking his brains out. He

used to boast of the commission of the awful and

bloody deed. I have heard him do so laughingly,

saying, among other things, that he was the only

benefactor of his country in the company, and that

when others would do as much as he had done, we

should be relieved of "the d----d niggers."

The wife of Mr. Giles Hicks, living but a short

distance from where I used to live, murdered my

wife's cousin, a young girl between fifteen and six-

teen years of age, mangling her person in the most

horrible manner, breaking her nose and breastbone

with a stick, so that the poor girl expired in a few

hours afterward. She was immediately buried, but

had not been in her untimely grave but a few hours

before she was taken up and examined by the cor-

oner, who decided that she had come to her death

by severe beating. The offence for which this girl

was thus murdered was this:--She had been set

that night to mind Mrs. Hicks's baby, and during the

night she fell asleep, and the baby cried. She, having

lost her rest for several nights previous, did not hear

the crying. They were both in the room with Mrs.

Hicks. Mrs. Hicks, finding the girl slow to move,

jumped from her bed, seized an oak stick of wood

by the fireplace, and with it broke the girl's nose

and breastbone, and thus ended her life. I will not

say that this most horrid murder produced no sen-

sation in the community. It did produce sensation,

but not enough to bring the murderess to punish-

ment. There was a warrant issued for her arrest,

but it was never served. Thus she escaped not only

punishment, but even the pain of being arraigned

before a court for her horrid crime.

Whilst I am detailing bloody deeds which took

place during my stay on Colonel Lloyd's plantation,

I will briefly narrate another, which occurred about

the same time as the murder of Demby by Mr.

Gore.

Colonel Lloyd's slaves were in the habit of spend-

ing a part of their nights and Sundays in fishing for

oysters, and in this way made up the deficiency of

their scanty allowance. An old man belonging to

Colonel Lloyd, while thus engaged, happened to get

beyond the limits of Colonel Lloyd's, and on the

premises of Mr. Beal Bondly. At this trespass, Mr.

Bondly took offence, and with his musket came

down to the shore, and blew its deadly contents

into the poor old man.

Mr. Bondly came over to see Colonel Lloyd the

next day, whether to pay him for his property, or

to justify himself in what he had done, I know not.

At any rate, this whole fiendish transaction was soon

hushed up. There was very little said about it at all,

and nothing done. It was a common saying, even

among little white boys, that it was worth a half-

cent to kill a "nigger," and a half-cent to bury one.

CHAPTER V

As to my own treatment while I lived on Colonel

Lloyd's plantation, it was very similar to that of the

other slave children. I was not old enough to work in

the field, and there being little else than field work

to do, I had a great deal of leisure time. The most

I had to do was to drive up the cows at evening,

keep the fowls out of the garden, keep the front

yard clean, and run of errands for my old master's

daughter, Mrs. Lucretia Auld. The most of my lei-

sure time I spent in helping Master Daniel Lloyd

in finding his birds, after he had shot them. My

connection with Master Daniel was of some advan-

tage to me. He became quite attached to me, and

was a sort of protector of me. He would not allow

the older boys to impose upon me, and would divide

his cakes with me.

I was seldom whipped by my old master, and suf-

fered little from any thing else than hunger and

cold. I suffered much from hunger, but much more

from cold. In hottest summer and coldest winter, I

was kept almost naked--no shoes, no stockings, no

jacket, no trousers, nothing on but a coarse tow linen

shirt, reaching only to my knees. I had no bed. I

must have perished with cold, but that, the coldest

nights, I used to steal a bag which was used for carry-

ing corn to the mill. I would crawl into this bag,

and there sleep on the cold, damp, clay floor, with

my head in and feet out. My feet have been so

cracked with the frost, that the pen with which I

am writing might be laid in the gashes.

We were not regularly allowanced. Our food was

coarse corn meal boiled. This was called MUSH. It

was put into a large wooden tray or trough, and set

down upon the ground. The children were then

called, like so many pigs, and like so many pigs they

would come and devour the mush; some with oyster-

shells, others with pieces of shingle, some with naked

hands, and none with spoons. He that ate fastest

got most; he that was strongest secured the best

place; and few left the trough satisfied.

I was probably between seven and eight years old

when I left Colonel Lloyd's plantation. I left it with

joy. I shall never forget the ecstasy with which I

received the intelligence that my old master (An-

thony) had determined to let me go to Baltimore,

to live with Mr. Hugh Auld, brother to my old

master's son-in-law, Captain Thomas Auld. I re-

ceived this information about three days before my

departure. They were three of the happiest days

I ever enjoyed. I spent the most part of all these

three days in the creek, washing off the plantation

scurf, and preparing myself for my departure.

The pride of appearance which this would indicate

was not my own. I spent the time in washing, not so

much because I wished to, but because Mrs.

Lucretia had told me I must get all the dead skin

off my feet and knees before I could go to Balti-

more; for the people in Baltimore were very cleanly,

and would laugh at me if I looked dirty. Besides,

she was going to give me a pair of trousers, which I

should not put on unless I got all the dirt off me.

The thought of owning a pair of trousers was great

indeed! It was almost a sufficient motive, not only

to make me take off what would be called by pig-

drovers the mange, but the skin itself. I went at it

in good earnest, working for the first time with the

hope of reward.

The ties that ordinarily bind children to their

homes were all suspended in my case. I found no

severe trial in my departure. My home was charm-

less; it was not home to me; on parting from it, I

could not feel that I was leaving any thing which I

could have enjoyed by staying. My mother was dead,

my grandmother lived far off, so that I seldom saw

her. I had two sisters and one brother, that lived in

the same house with me; but the early separation of

us from our mother had well nigh blotted the fact

of our relationship from our memories. I looked for

home elsewhere, and was confident of finding none

which I should relish less than the one which I was

leaving. If, however, I found in my new home hard-

ship, hunger, whipping, and nakedness, I had the

consolation that I should not have escaped any one

of them by staying. Having already had more than

a taste of them in the house of my old master, and

having endured them there, I very naturally inferred

my ability to endure them elsewhere, and especially

at Baltimore; for I had something of the feeling

about Baltimore that is expressed in the proverb,

that "being hanged in England is preferable to

dying a natural death in Ireland." I had the strongest

desire to see Baltimore. Cousin Tom, though not

fluent in speech, had inspired me with that desire

by his eloquent description of the place. I could

never point out any thing at the Great House, no

matter how beautiful or powerful, but that he had

seen something at Baltimore far exceeding, both in

beauty and strength, the object which I pointed out

to him. Even the Great House itself, with all its

pictures, was far inferior to many buildings in Bal-

timore. So strong was my desire, that I thought a

gratification of it would fully compensate for what-

ever loss of comforts I should sustain by the ex-

change. I left without a regret, and with the highest

hopes of future happiness.

We sailed out of Miles River for Baltimore on a

Saturday morning. I remember only the day of the

week, for at that time I had no knowledge of the

days of the month, nor the months of the year. On

setting sail, I walked aft, and gave to Colonel Lloyd's

plantation what I hoped would be the last look. I

then placed myself in the bows of the sloop, and

there spent the remainder of the day in looking

ahead, interesting myself in what was in the distance

rather than in things near by or behind.

In the afternoon of that day, we reached Annap-

olis, the capital of the State. We stopped but a

few moments, so that I had no time to go on shore.

It was the first large town that I had ever seen, and

though it would look small compared with some of

our New England factory villages, I thought it a

wonderful place for its size--more imposing even

than the Great House Farm!

We arrived at Baltimore early on Sunday morn-

ing, landing at Smith's Wharf, not far from Bow-

ley's Wharf. We had on board the sloop a large

flock of sheep; and after aiding in driving them to

the slaughterhouse of Mr. Curtis on Louden Slater's

Hill, I was conducted by Rich, one of the hands

belonging on board of the sloop, to my new home

in Alliciana Street, near Mr. Gardner's ship-yard, on

Fells Point.

Mr. and Mrs. Auld were both at home, and met

me at the door with their little son Thomas, to take

care of whom I had been given. And here I saw what

I had never seen before; it was a white face beaming

with the most kindly emotions; it was the face of

my new mistress, Sophia Auld. I wish I could de-

scribe the rapture that flashed through my soul as I

beheld it. It was a new and strange sight to me,

brightening up my pathway with the light of happi-

ness. Little Thomas was told, there was his Freddy,

--and I was told to take care of little Thomas; and

thus I entered upon the duties of my new home with

the most cheering prospect ahead.

I look upon my departure from Colonel Lloyd's

plantation as one of the most interesting events of

my life. It is possible, and even quite probable, that

but for the mere circumstance of being removed

from that plantation to Baltimore, I should have

to-day, instead of being here seated by my own table,

in the enjoyment of freedom and the happiness of

home, writing this Narrative, been confined in the

galling chains of slavery. Going to live at Baltimore

laid the foundation, and opened the gateway, to all

my subsequent prosperity. I have ever regarded it

as the first plain manifestation of that kind provi-

dence which has ever since attended me, and marked

my life with so many favors. I regarded the selection

of myself as being somewhat remarkable. There were

a number of slave children that might have been

sent from the plantation to Baltimore. There were

those younger, those older, and those of the same

age. I was chosen from among them all, and was

the first, last, and only choice.

I may be deemed superstitious, and even egotisti-

cal, in regarding this event as a special interposition

of divine Providence in my favor. But I should be

false to the earliest sentiments of my soul, if I sup-

pressed the opinion. I prefer to be true to myself,

even at the hazard of incurring the ridicule of others,

rather than to be false, and incur my own abhor-

rence. From my earliest recollection, I date the en-

tertainment of a deep conviction that slavery would

not always be able to hold me within its foul em-

brace; and in the darkest hours of my career in slav-

ery, this living word of faith and spirit of hope de-

parted not from me, but remained like ministering

angels to cheer me through the gloom. This good

spirit was from God, and to him I offer thanksgiving

and praise.

CHAPTER VI

My new mistress proved to be all she appeared

when I first met her at the door,--a woman of the

kindest heart and finest feelings. She had never had

a slave under her control previously to myself, and

prior to her marriage she had been dependent upon

her own industry for a living. She was by trade a

weaver; and by constant application to her business,

she had been in a good degree preserved from the

blighting and dehumanizing effects of slavery. I was

utterly astonished at her goodness. I scarcely knew

how to behave towards her. She was entirely unlike

any other white woman I had ever seen. I could not

approach her as I was accustomed to approach other

white ladies. My early instruction was all out of

place. The crouching servility, usually so acceptable

a quality in a slave, did not answer when manifested

toward her. Her favor was not gained by it; she

seemed to be disturbed by it. She did not deem it

impudent or unmannerly for a slave to look her in

the face. The meanest slave was put fully at ease

in her presence, and none left without feeling bet-

ter for having seen her. Her face was made of heav-

enly smiles, and her voice of tranquil music.

But, alas! this kind heart had but a short time to

remain such. The fatal poison of irresponsible power

was already in her hands, and soon commenced its

infernal work. That cheerful eye, under the influ-

ence of slavery, soon became red with rage; that

voice, made all of sweet accord, changed to one of

harsh and horrid discord; and that angelic face gave

place to that of a demon.

Very soon after I went to live with Mr. and Mrs.

Auld, she very kindly commenced to teach me the

A, B, C. After I had learned this, she assisted me in

learning to spell words of three or four letters. Just

at this point of my progress, Mr. Auld found out

what was going on, and at once forbade Mrs. Auld

to instruct me further, telling her, among other

things, that it was unlawful, as well as unsafe, to

teach a slave to read. To use his own words, further,

he said, "If you give a nigger an inch, he will take

an ell. A nigger should know nothing but to obey

his master--to do as he is told to do. Learning would

~spoil~ the best nigger in the world. Now," said he, "if

you teach that nigger (speaking of myself) how to

read, there would be no keeping him. It would for-

ever unfit him to be a slave. He would at once be-

come unmanageable, and of no value to his master.

As to himself, it could do him no good, but a great

deal of harm. It would make him discontented and

unhappy." These words sank deep into my heart,

stirred up sentiments within that lay slumbering,

and called into existence an entirely new train of

thought. It was a new and special revelation, ex-

plaining dark and mysterious things, with which my

youthful understanding had struggled, but struggled

in vain. I now understood what had been to me a

most perplexing difficulty--to wit, the white man's

power to enslave the black man. It was a grand

achievement, and I prized it highly. From that mo-

ment, I understood the pathway from slavery to free-

dom. It was just what I wanted, and I got it at a

time when I the least expected it. Whilst I was sad-

dened by the thought of losing the aid of my kind

mistress, I was gladdened by the invaluable instruc-

tion which, by the merest accident, I had gained

from my master. Though conscious of the difficulty

of learning without a teacher, I set out with high

hope, and a fixed purpose, at whatever cost of trou-

ble, to learn how to read. The very decided manner

with which he spoke, and strove to impress his wife

with the evil consequences of giving me instruction,

served to convince me that he was deeply sensible

of the truths he was uttering. It gave me the best

assurance that I might rely with the utmost confi-

dence on the results which, he said, would flow from

teaching me to read. What he most dreaded, that

I most desired. What he most loved, that I most

hated. That which to him was a great evil, to be

carefully shunned, was to me a great good, to be

diligently sought; and the argument which he so

warmly urged, against my learning to read, only

served to inspire me with a desire and determina-

tion to learn. In learning to read, I owe almost as

much to the bitter opposition of my master, as to

the kindly aid of my mistress. I acknowledge the

benefit of both.

I had resided but a short time in Baltimore before

I observed a marked difference, in the treatment of

slaves, from that which I had witnessed in the coun-

try. A city slave is almost a freeman, compared with

a slave on the plantation. He is much better fed and

clothed, and enjoys privileges altogether unknown

to the slave on the plantation. There is a vestige of

decency, a sense of shame, that does much to curb

and check those outbreaks of atrocious cruelty so

commonly enacted upon the plantation. He is a des-

perate slaveholder, who will shock the humanity of

his non-slaveholding neighbors with the cries of his

lacerated slave. Few are willing to incur the odium

attaching to the reputation of being a cruel master;

and above all things, they would not be known as

not giving a slave enough to eat. Every city slave-

holder is anxious to have it known of him, that he

feeds his slaves well; and it is due to them to say,

that most of them do give their slaves enough to eat.

There are, however, some painful exceptions to this

rule. Directly opposite to us, on Philpot Street, lived

Mr. Thomas Hamilton. He owned two slaves. Their

names were Henrietta and Mary. Henrietta was

about twenty-two years of age, Mary was about four-

teen; and of all the mangled and emaciated creatures

I ever looked upon, these two were the most so. His

heart must be harder than stone, that could look

upon these unmoved. The head, neck, and shoulders

of Mary were literally cut to pieces. I have fre-

quently felt her head, and found it nearly covered

with festering sores, caused by the lash of her cruel

mistress. I do not know that her master ever whipped

her, but I have been an eye-witness to the cruelty of

Mrs. Hamilton. I used to be in Mr. Hamilton's house

nearly every day. Mrs. Hamilton used to sit in a large

chair in the middle of the room, with a heavy cow-

skin always by her side, and scarce an hour passed

during the day but was marked by the blood of one

of these slaves. The girls seldom passed her without

her saying, "Move faster, you ~black gip!~" at the same

time giving them a blow with the cowskin over the

head or shoulders, often drawing the blood. She

would then say, "Take that, you ~black gip!~" con-

tinuing, "If you don't move faster, I'll move you!"

Added to the cruel lashings to which these slaves

were subjected, they were kept nearly half-starved.

They seldom knew what it was to eat a full meal.

I have seen Mary contending with the pigs for the

offal thrown into the street. So much was Mary

kicked and cut to pieces, that she was oftener called

"~pecked~" than by her name.

CHAPTER VII

I lived in Master Hugh's family about seven years.

During this time, I succeeded in learning to read and

write. In accomplishing this, I was compelled to re-

sort to various stratagems. I had no regular teacher.

My mistress, who had kindly commenced to instruct

me, had, in compliance with the advice and direc-

tion of her husband, not only ceased to instruct, but

had set her face against my being instructed by any

one else. It is due, however, to my mistress to say

of her, that she did not adopt this course of treat-

ment immediately. She at first lacked the depravity

indispensable to shutting me up in mental darkness.

It was at least necessary for her to have some training

in the exercise of irresponsible power, to make her

equal to the task of treating me as though I were

a brute.

My mistress was, as I have said, a kind and tender-

hearted woman; and in the simplicity of her soul she

commenced, when I first went to live with her, to

treat me as she supposed one human being ought

to treat another. In entering upon the duties of a

slaveholder, she did not seem to perceive that I sus-

tained to her the relation of a mere chattel, and

that for her to treat me as a human being was not

only wrong, but dangerously so. Slavery proved as

injurious to her as it did to me. When I went there,

she was a pious, warm, and tender-hearted woman.

There was no sorrow or suffering for which she had

not a tear. She had bread for the hungry, clothes for

the naked, and comfort for every mourner that came

within her reach. Slavery soon proved its ability to

divest her of these heavenly qualities. Under its in-

fluence, the tender heart became stone, and the

lamblike disposition gave way to one of tiger-like

fierceness. The first step in her downward course was

in her ceasing to instruct me. She now commenced

to practise her husband's precepts. She finally be-

came even more violent in her opposition than her

husband himself. She was not satisfied with simply

doing as well as he had commanded; she seemed

anxious to do better. Nothing seemed to make her

more angry than to see me with a newspaper. She

seemed to think that here lay the danger. I have had

her rush at me with a face made all up of fury, and

snatch from me a newspaper, in a manner that fully

revealed her apprehension. She was an apt woman;

and a little experience soon demonstrated, to her

satisfaction, that education and slavery were incom-

patible with each other.

From this time I was most narrowly watched. If I

was in a separate room any considerable length of

time, I was sure to be suspected of having a book,

and was at once called to give an account of myself.

All this, however, was too late. The first step had

been taken. Mistress, in teaching me the alphabet,

had given me the ~inch,~ and no precaution could pre-

vent me from taking the ~ell.~

The plan which I adopted, and the one by which

I was most successful, was that of making friends of

all the little white boys whom I met in the street.

As many of these as I could, I converted into teach-

ers. With their kindly aid, obtained at different times

and in different places, I finally succeeded in learn-

ing to read. When I was sent of errands, I always

took my book with me, and by going one part of

my errand quickly, I found time to get a lesson be-

fore my return. I used also to carry bread with me,

enough of which was always in the house, and to

which I was always welcome; for I was much better

off in this regard than many of the poor white chil-

dren in our neighborhood. This bread I used to be-

stow upon the hungry little urchins, who, in return,

would give me that more valuable bread of knowl-

edge. I am strongly tempted to give the names of

two or three of those little boys, as a testimonial of

the gratitude and affection I bear them; but pru-

dence forbids;--not that it would injure me, but it

might embarrass them; for it is almost an unpar-

donable offence to teach slaves to read in this Chris-

tian country. It is enough to say of the dear little

fellows, that they lived on Philpot Street, very near

Durgin and Bailey's ship-yard. I used to talk this

matter of slavery over with them. I would sometimes

say to them, I wished I could be as free as they

would be when they got to be men. "You will be

free as soon as you are twenty-one, ~but I am a slave

for life!~ Have not I as good a right to be free as

you have?" These words used to trouble them; they

would express for me the liveliest sympathy, and con-

sole me with the hope that something would occur

by which I might be free.

I was now about twelve years old, and the thought

of being ~a slave for life~ began to bear heavily upon

my heart. Just about this time, I got hold of a book

entitled "The Columbian Orator." Every opportu-

nity I got, I used to read this book. Among much of

other interesting matter, I found in it a dialogue be-

tween a master and his slave. The slave was repre-

sented as having run away from his master three

times. The dialogue represented the conversation

which took place between them, when the slave was

retaken the third time. In this dialogue, the whole

argument in behalf of slavery was brought forward

by the master, all of which was disposed of by the

slave. The slave was made to say some very smart as

well as impressive things in reply to his master--

things which had the desired though unexpected ef-

fect; for the conversation resulted in the voluntary

emancipation of the slave on the part of the master.

In the same book, I met with one of Sheridan's

mighty speeches on and in behalf of Catholic eman-

cipation. These were choice documents to me. I read

them over and over again with unabated interest.

They gave tongue to interesting thoughts of my own

soul, which had frequently flashed through my mind,

and died away for want of utterance. The moral

which I gained from the dialogue was the power of

truth over the conscience of even a slaveholder. What

I got from Sheridan was a bold denunciation of slav-

ery, and a powerful vindication of human rights.

The reading of these documents enabled me to

utter my thoughts, and to meet the arguments

brought forward to sustain slavery; but while they

relieved me of one difficulty, they brought on an-

other even more painful than the one of which I was

relieved. The more I read, the more I was led to

abhor and detest my enslavers. I could regard them

in no other light than a band of successful robbers,

who had left their homes, and gone to Africa, and

stolen us from our homes, and in a strange land

reduced us to slavery. I loathed them as being the

meanest as well as the most wicked of men. As I

read and contemplated the subject, behold! that very

discontentment which Master Hugh had predicted

would follow my learning to read had already come,

to torment and sting my soul to unutterable anguish.

As I writhed under it, I would at times feel that

learning to read had been a curse rather than a bless-

ing. It had given me a view of my wretched condi-

tion, without the remedy. It opened my eyes to the

horrible pit, but to no ladder upon which to get out.

In moments of agony, I envied my fellow-slaves for

their stupidity. I have often wished myself a beast.

I preferred the condition of the meanest reptile to

my own. Any thing, no matter what, to get rid of

thinking! It was this everlasting thinking of my con-

dition that tormented me. There was no getting rid

of it. It was pressed upon me by every object within

sight or hearing, animate or inanimate. The silver

trump of freedom had roused my soul to eternal

wakefulness. Freedom now appeared, to disappear

no more forever. It was heard in every sound, and

seen in every thing. It was ever present to torment

me with a sense of my wretched condition. I saw

nothing without seeing it, I heard nothing without

hearing it, and felt nothing without feeling it. It

looked from every star, it smiled in every calm,

breathed in every wind, and moved in every storm.

I often found myself regretting my own existence,

and wishing myself dead; and but for the hope of

being free, I have no doubt but that I should have

killed myself, or done something for which I should

have been killed. While in this state of mind, I was

eager to hear any one speak of slavery. I was a ready

listener. Every little while, I could hear something

about the abolitionists. It was some time before I

found what the word meant. It was always used in

such connections as to make it an interesting word

to me. If a slave ran away and succeeded in getting

clear, or if a slave killed his master, set fire to a

barn, or did any thing very wrong in the mind of a

slaveholder, it was spoken of as the fruit of ~abolition.~

Hearing the word in this connection very often, I set

about learning what it meant. The dictionary af-

forded me little or no help. I found it was "the act

of abolishing;" but then I did not know what was

to be abolished. Here I was perplexed. I did not

dare to ask any one about its meaning, for I was

satisfied that it was something they wanted me to

know very little about. After a patient waiting, I got

one of our city papers, containing an account of the

number of petitions from the north, praying for the

abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia, and

of the slave trade between the States. From this

time I understood the words ~abolition~ and ~abolition-

ist,~ and always drew near when that word was spoken,

expecting to hear something of importance to my-

self and fellow-slaves. The light broke in upon me

by degrees. I went one day down on the wharf of

Mr. Waters; and seeing two Irishmen unloading a

scow of stone, I went, unasked, and helped them.

When we had finished, one of them came to me

and asked me if I were a slave. I told him I was. He

asked, "Are ye a slave for life?" I told him that I

was. The good Irishman seemed to be deeply af-

fected by the statement. He said to the other that

it was a pity so fine a little fellow as myself should

be a slave for life. He said it was a shame to hold

me. They both advised me to run away to the north;

that I should find friends there, and that I should

be free. I pretended not to be interested in what

they said, and treated them as if I did not under-

stand them; for I feared they might be treacherous.

White men have been known to encourage slaves to

escape, and then, to get the reward, catch them and

return them to their masters. I was afraid that these

seemingly good men might use me so; but I never-

theless remembered their advice, and from that time

I resolved to run away. I looked forward to a time

at which it would be safe for me to escape. I was

too young to think of doing so immediately; besides,

I wished to learn how to write, as I might have oc-

casion to write my own pass. I consoled myself with

the hope that I should one day find a good chance.

Meanwhile, I would learn to write.

The idea as to how I might learn to write was

suggested to me by being in Durgin and Bailey's

ship-yard, and frequently seeing the ship carpenters,

after hewing, and getting a piece of timber ready

for use, write on the timber the name of that part

of the ship for which it was intended. When a piece

of timber was intended for the larboard side, it

would be marked thus--"L." When a piece was for

the starboard side, it would be marked thus--"S." A

piece for the larboard side forward, would be marked

thus--"L. F." When a piece was for starboard side

forward, it would be marked thus--"S. F." For lar-

board aft, it would be marked thus--"L. A." For star-

board aft, it would be marked thus--"S. A." I soon

learned the names of these letters, and for what

they were intended when placed upon a piece of

timber in the ship-yard. I immediately commenced

copying them, and in a short time was able to make

the four letters named. After that, when I met with

any boy who I knew could write, I would tell him

I could write as well as he. The next word would be,

"I don't believe you. Let me see you try it." I would

then make the letters which I had been so fortunate

as to learn, and ask him to beat that. In this way I

got a good many lessons in writing, which it is quite

possible I should never have gotten in any other way.

During this time, my copy-book was the board fence,

brick wall, and pavement; my pen and ink was a

lump of chalk. With these, I learned mainly how to

write. I then commenced and continued copying the

Italics in Webster's Spelling Book, until I could make

them all without looking on the book. By this time,

my little Master Thomas had gone to school, and

learned how to write, and had written over a number

of copy-books. These had been brought home, and

shown to some of our near neighbors, and then laid

aside. My mistress used to go to class meeting at

the Wilk Street meetinghouse every Monday after-

noon, and leave me to take care of the house. When

left thus, I used to spend the time in writing in the

spaces left in Master Thomas's copy-book, copying

what he had written. I continued to do this until I

could write a hand very similar to that of Master

Thomas. Thus, after a long, tedious effort for years,

I finally succeeded in learning how to write.

CHAPTER VIII

In a very short time after I went to live at Balti-

more, my old master's youngest son Richard died;

and in about three years and six months after his

death, my old master, Captain Anthony, died, leav-

only his son, Andrew, and daughter, Lucretia, to

share his estate. He died while on a visit to see his

daughter at Hillsborough. Cut off thus unexpectedly,

he left no will as to the disposal of his property. It

was therefore necessary to have a valuation of the

property, that it might be equally divided between

Mrs. Lucretia and Master Andrew. I was immedi-

ately sent for, to be valued with the other property.

Here again my feelings rose up in detestation of

slavery. I had now a new conception of my degraded

condition. Prior to this, I had become, if not in-

sensible to my lot, at least partly so. I left Baltimore

with a young heart overborne with sadness, and a

soul full of apprehension. I took passage with Cap-

tain Rowe, in the schooner Wild Cat, and, after a

sail of about twenty-four hours, I found myself near

the place of my birth. I had now been absent from

it almost, if not quite, five years. I, however, re-

membered the place very well. I was only about

five years old when I left it, to go and live with my

old master on Colonel Lloyd's plantation; so that

I was now between ten and eleven years old.

We were all ranked together at the valuation. Men

and women, old and young, married and single, were

ranked with horses, sheep, and swine. There were

horses and men, cattle and women, pigs and chil-

dren, all holding the same rank in the scale of being,

and were all subjected to the same narrow examina-

tion. Silvery-headed age and sprightly youth, maids

and matrons, had to undergo the same indelicate

inspection. At this moment, I saw more clearly than

ever the brutalizing effects of slavery upon both

slave and slaveholder.

After the valuation, then came the division. I have

no language to express the high excitement and deep

anxiety which were felt among us poor slaves during

this time. Our fate for life was now to be decided.

we had no more voice in that decision than the

brutes among whom we were ranked. A single word

from the white men was enough--against all our

wishes, prayers, and entreaties--to sunder forever the

dearest friends, dearest kindred, and strongest ties

known to human beings. In addition to the pain of

separation, there was the horrid dread of falling into

the hands of Master Andrew. He was known to us

all as being a most cruel wretch,--a common drunk-

ard, who had, by his reckless mismanagement and

profligate dissipation, already wasted a large por-

tion of his father's property. We all felt that we

might as well be sold at once to the Georgia traders,

as to pass into his hands; for we knew that that

would be our inevitable condition,--a condition held

by us all in the utmost horror and dread.

I suffered more anxiety than most of my fellow-

slaves. I had known what it was to be kindly treated;

they had known nothing of the kind. They had seen

little or nothing of the world. They were in very

deed men and women of sorrow, and acquainted with

grief. Their backs had been made familiar with the

bloody lash, so that they had become callous; mine

was yet tender; for while at Baltimore I got few whip-

pings, and few slaves could boast of a kinder master

and mistress than myself; and the thought of pass-

ing out of their hands into those of Master Andrew--

a man who, but a few days before, to give me a

sample of his bloody disposition, took my little

brother by the throat, threw him on the ground, and

with the heel of his boot stamped upon his head

till the blood gushed from his nose and ears--was

well calculated to make me anxious as to my fate.

After he had committed this savage outrage upon

my brother, he turned to me, and said that was the

way he meant to serve me one of these days,--mean-

ing, I suppose, when I came into his possession.

Thanks to a kind Providence, I fell to the portion

of Mrs. Lucretia, and was sent immediately back

to Baltimore, to live again in the family of Master

Hugh. Their joy at my return equalled their sorrow

at my departure. It was a glad day to me. I had

escaped a worse than lion's jaws. I was absent from

Baltimore, for the purpose of valuation and division,

just about one month, and it seemed to have been

six.

Very soon after my return to Baltimore, my mis-

tress, Lucretia, died, leaving her husband and one

child, Amanda; and in a very short time after her

death, Master Andrew died. Now all the property

of my old master, slaves included, was in the hands

of strangers,--strangers who had had nothing to do

with accumulating it. Not a slave was left free. All

remained slaves, from the youngest to the oldest. If

any one thing in my experience, more than another,

served to deepen my conviction of the infernal char-

acter of slavery, and to fill me with unutterable

loathing of slaveholders, it was their base ingrati-

tude to my poor old grandmother. She had served

my old master faithfully from youth to old age. She

had been the source of all his wealth; she had peo-

pled his plantation with slaves; she had become a

great grandmother in his service. She had rocked

him in infancy, attended him in childhood, served

him through life, and at his death wiped from his

icy brow the cold death-sweat, and closed his eyes

forever. She was nevertheless left a slave--a slave for

life--a slave in the hands of strangers; and in their

hands she saw her children, her grandchildren, and

her great-grandchildren, divided, like so many sheep,

without being gratified with the small privilege of a

single word, as to their or her own destiny. And, to

cap the climax of their base ingratitude and fiendish

barbarity, my grandmother, who was now very old,

having outlived my old master and all his children,

having seen the beginning and end of all of them,

and her present owners finding she was of but little

value, her frame already racked with the pains of old

age, and complete helplessness fast stealing over her

once active limbs, they took her to the woods, built

her a little hut, put up a little mud-chimney, and

then made her welcome to the privilege of support-

ing herself there in perfect loneliness; thus virtually

turning her out to die! If my poor old grandmother

now lives, she lives to suffer in utter loneliness; she

lives to remember and mourn over the loss of chil-

dren, the loss of grandchildren, and the loss of great-

grandchildren. They are, in the language of the

slave's poet, Whittier,--

"Gone, gone, sold and gone

To the rice swamp dank and lone,

Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings,

Where the noisome insect stings,

Where the fever-demon strews

Poison with the falling dews,

Where the sickly sunbeams glare

Through the hot and misty air:--

Gone, gone, sold and gone

To the rice swamp dank and lone,

From Virginia hills and waters--

Woe is me, my stolen daughters!"

The hearth is desolate. The children, the uncon-

scious children, who once sang and danced in her

presence, are gone. She gropes her way, in the dark-

ness of age, for a drink of water. Instead of the voices

of her children, she hears by day the moans of the

dove, and by night the screams of the hideous owl.

All is gloom. The grave is at the door. And now,

when weighed down by the pains and aches of old

age, when the head inclines to the feet, when the

beginning and ending of human existence meet, and

helpless infancy and painful old age combine to-

gether--at this time, this most needful time, the time

for the exercise of that tenderness and affection

which children only can exercise towards a declining

parent--my poor old grandmother, the devoted

mother of twelve children, is left all alone, in yonder

little hut, before a few dim embers. She stands--

she sits--she staggers--she falls--she groans--she dies

--and there are none of her children or grandchildren

present, to wipe from her wrinkled brow the cold

sweat of death, or to place beneath the sod her

fallen remains. Will not a righteous God visit for

these things?

In about two years after the death of Mrs. Lu-

cretia, Master Thomas married his second wife. Her

name was Rowena Hamilton. She was the eldest

daughter of Mr. William Hamilton. Master now

lived in St. Michael's. Not long after his marriage,

a misunderstanding took place between himself and

Master Hugh; and as a means of punishing his

brother, he took me from him to live with himself

at St. Michael's. Here I underwent another most

painful separation. It, however, was not so severe

as the one I dreaded at the division of property; for,

during this interval, a great change had taken place

in Master Hugh and his once kind and affectionate

wife. The influence of brandy upon him, and of

slavery upon her, had effected a disastrous change

in the characters of both; so that, as far as they

were concerned, I thought I had little to lose by the

change. But it was not to them that I was attached.

It was to those little Baltimore boys that I felt the

strongest attachment. I had received many good

lessons from them, and was still receiving them, and

the thought of leaving them was painful indeed. I

was leaving, too, without the hope of ever being

allowed to return. Master Thomas had said he would

never let me return again. The barrier betwixt him-

self and brother he considered impassable.

I then had to regret that I did not at least make

the attempt to carry out my resolution to run away;

for the chances of success are tenfold greater from

the city than from the country.

I sailed from Baltimore for St. Michael's in the

sloop Amanda, Captain Edward Dodson. On my

passage, I paid particular attention to the direction

which the steamboats took to go to Philadelphia. I

found, instead of going down, on reaching North

Point they went up the bay, in a north-easterly direc-

tion. I deemed this knowledge of the utmost im-

portance. My determination to run away was again

revived. I resolved to wait only so long as the offering

of a favorable opportunity. When that came, I was

determined to be off.

CHAPTER IX

I have now reached a period of my life when I

can give dates. I left Baltimore, and went to live

with Master Thomas Auld, at St. Michael's, in

March, 1832. It was now more than seven years

since I lived with him in the family of my old mas-

ter, on Colonel Lloyd's plantation. We of course

were now almost entire strangers to each other. He

was to me a new master, and I to him a new slave.

I was ignorant of his temper and disposition; he

was equally so of mine. A very short time, however,

brought us into full acquaintance with each other.

I was made acquainted with his wife not less than

with himself. They were well matched, being equally

mean and cruel. I was now, for the first time during

a space of more than seven years, made to feel the

painful gnawings of hunger--a something which I

had not experienced before since I left Colonel

Lloyd's plantation. It went hard enough with me

then, when I could look back to no period at which

I had enjoyed a sufficiency. It was tenfold harder

after living in Master Hugh's family, where I had

always had enough to eat, and of that which was

good. I have said Master Thomas was a mean man.

He was so. Not to give a slave enough to eat, is

regarded as the most aggravated development of

meanness even among slaveholders. The rule is, no

matter how coarse the food, only let there be enough

of it. This is the theory; and in the part of Maryland

from which I came, it is the general practice,--though

there are many exceptions. Master Thomas gave us

enough of neither coarse nor fine food. There were

four slaves of us in the kitchen--my sister Eliza, my

aunt Priscilla, Henny, and myself; and we were al-

lowed less than a half of a bushel of corn-meal per

week, and very little else, either in the shape of

meat or vegetables. It was not enough for us to

subsist upon. We were therefore reduced to the

wretched necessity of living at the expense of our

neighbors. This we did by begging and stealing,

whichever came handy in the time of need, the one

being considered as legitimate as the other. A great

many times have we poor creatures been nearly

perishing with hunger, when food in abundance lay

mouldering in the safe and smoke-house, and our

pious mistress was aware of the fact; and yet that

mistress and her husband would kneel every morn-

ing, and pray that God would bless them in basket

and store!

Bad as all slaveholders are, we seldom meet one

destitute of every element of character commanding

respect. My master was one of this rare sort. I do

not know of one single noble act ever performed by

him. The leading trait in his character was mean-

ness; and if there were any other element in his

nature, it was made subject to this. He was mean;

and, like most other mean men, he lacked the ability

to conceal his meanness. Captain Auld was not born

a slaveholder. He had been a poor man, master only

of a Bay craft. He came into possession of all his

slaves by marriage; and of all men, adopted slave-

holders are the worst. He was cruel, but cowardly.

He commanded without firmness. In the enforce-

ment of his rules, he was at times rigid, and at times

lax. At times, he spoke to his slaves with the firmness

of Napoleon and the fury of a demon; at other times,

he might well be mistaken for an inquirer who had

lost his way. He did nothing of himself. He might

have passed for a lion, but for his ears. In all things

noble which he attempted, his own meanness shone

most conspicuous. His airs, words, and actions,

were the airs, words, and actions of born slave-

holders, and, being assumed, were awkward enough.

He was not even a good imitator. He possessed all

the disposition to deceive, but wanted the power.

Having no resources within himself, he was com-

pelled to be the copyist of many, and being such, he

was forever the victim of inconsistency; and of con-

sequence he was an object of contempt, and was held

as such even by his slaves. The luxury of having

slaves of his own to wait upon him was something

new and unprepared for. He was a slaveholder with-

out the ability to hold slaves. He found himself in-

capable of managing his slaves either by force, fear,

or fraud. We seldom called him "master;" we gen-

erally called him "Captain Auld," and were hardly

disposed to title him at all. I doubt not that our

conduct had much to do with making him appear

awkward, and of consequence fretful. Our want of

reverence for him must have perplexed him greatly.

He wished to have us call him master, but lacked

the firmness necessary to command us to do so. His

wife used to insist upon our calling him so, but to

no purpose. In August, 1832, my master attended a

Methodist camp-meeting held in the Bay-side, Tal-

bot county, and there experienced religion. I in-

dulged a faint hope that his conversion would lead

him to emancipate his slaves, and that, if he did not

do this, it would, at any rate, make him more kind

and humane. I was disappointed in both these re-

spects. It neither made him to be humane to his

slaves, nor to emancipate them. If it had any effect

on his character, it made him more cruel and hateful

in all his ways; for I believe him to have been a much

worse man after his conversion than before. Prior

to his conversion, he relied upon his own depravity

to shield and sustain him in his savage barbarity;

but after his conversion, he found religious sanction

and support for his slaveholding cruelty. He made

the greatest pretensions to piety. His house was the

house of prayer. He prayed morning, noon, and

night. He very soon distinguished himself among

his brethren, and was soon made a class-leader and

exhorter. His activity in revivals was great, and he

proved himself an instrument in the hands of the

church in converting many souls. His house was the

preachers' home. They used to take great pleasure

in coming there to put up; for while he starved us, he

stuffed them. We have had three or four preachers

there at a time. The names of those who used to

come most frequently while I lived there, were Mr.

Storks, Mr. Ewery, Mr. Humphry, and Mr. Hickey.

I have also seen Mr. George Cookman at our house.

We slaves loved Mr. Cookman. We believed him to

be a good man. We thought him instrumental in get-

ting Mr. Samuel Harrison, a very rich slaveholder, to

emancipate his slaves; and by some means got the

impression that he was laboring to effect the emanci-

pation of all the slaves. When he was at our house,

we were sure to be called in to prayers. When the

others were there, we were sometimes called in and

sometimes not. Mr. Cookman took more notice of

us than either of the other ministers. He could not

come among us without betraying his sympathy for

us, and, stupid as we were, we had the sagacity to

see it.

While I lived with my master in St. Michael's,

there was a white young man, a Mr. Wilson, who

proposed to keep a Sabbath school for the instruction

of such slaves as might be disposed to learn to read

the New Testament. We met but three times, when

Mr. West and Mr. Fairbanks, both class-leaders,

with many others, came upon us with sticks and

other missiles, drove us off, and forbade us to meet

again. Thus ended our little Sabbath school in the

pious town of St. Michael's.

I have said my master found religious sanction

for his cruelty. As an example, I will state one of

many facts going to prove the charge. I have seen

him tie up a lame young woman, and whip her with

a heavy cowskin upon her naked shoulders, causing

the warm red blood to drip; and, in justification

of the bloody deed, he would quote this passage of

Scripture--"He that knoweth his master's will, and

doeth it not, shall be beaten with many stripes."

Master would keep this lacerated young woman

tied up in this horrid situation four or five hours at

a time. I have known him to tie her up early in the

morning, and whip her before breakfast; leave her,

go to his store, return at dinner, and whip her again,

cutting her in the places already made raw with his

cruel lash. The secret of master's cruelty toward

"Henny" is found in the fact of her being almost

helpless. When quite a child, she fell into the fire,

and burned herself horribly. Her hands were so

burnt that she never got the use of them. She could

do very little but bear heavy burdens. She was to

master a bill of expense; and as he was a mean man,

she was a constant offence to him. He seemed

desirous of getting the poor girl out of existence.

He gave her away once to his sister; but, being a

poor gift, she was not disposed to keep her. Finally,

my benevolent master, to use his own words, "set

her adrift to take care of herself." Here was a re-

cently-converted man, holding on upon the mother,

and at the same time turning out her helpless child,

to starve and die! Master Thomas was one of the

many pious slaveholders who hold slaves for the

very charitable purpose of taking care of them.

My master and myself had quite a number of

differences. He found me unsuitable to his purpose.

My city life, he said, had had a very pernicious effect

upon me. It had almost ruined me for every good

purpose, and fitted me for every thing which was

bad. One of my greatest faults was that of letting

his horse run away, and go down to his father-in-

law's farm, which was about five miles from St.

Michael's. I would then have to go after it. My

reason for this kind of carelessness, or carefulness,

was, that I could always get something to eat when

I went there. Master William Hamilton, my master's

father-in-law, always gave his slaves enough to eat.

I never left there hungry, no matter how great the

need of my speedy return. Master Thomas at length

said he would stand it no longer. I had lived with

him nine months, during which time he had given

me a number of severe whippings, all to no good

purpose. He resolved to put me out, as he said, to

be broken; and, for this purpose, he let me for one

year to a man named Edward Covey. Mr. Covey

was a poor man, a farm-renter. He rented the place

upon which he lived, as also the hands with which

he tilled it. Mr. Covey had acquired a very high

reputation for breaking young slaves, and this repu-

tation was of immense value to him. It enabled him

to get his farm tilled with much less expense to

himself than he could have had it done without

such a reputation. Some slaveholders thought it not

much loss to allow Mr. Covey to have their slaves

one year, for the sake of the training to which they

were subjected, without any other compensation.

He could hire young help with great ease, in con-

sequence of this reputation. Added to the natural

good qualities of Mr. Covey, he was a professor of

religion--a pious soul--a member and a class-leader in

the Methodist church. All of this added weight to

his reputation as a "nigger-breaker." I was aware of

all the facts, having been made acquainted with

them by a young man who had lived there. I never-

theless made the change gladly; for I was sure of

getting enough to eat, which is not the smallest

consideration to a hungry man.

CHAPTER X

I had left Master Thomas's house, and went to live

with Mr. Covey, on the 1st of January, 1833. I was

now, for the first time in my life, a field hand. In

my new employment, I found myself even more

awkward than a country boy appeared to be in a

large city. I had been at my new home but one

week before Mr. Covey gave me a very severe whip-

ping, cutting my back, causing the blood to run,

and raising ridges on my flesh as large as my little finger.

The details of this affair are as follows: Mr. Covey

sent me, very early in the morning of one of our

coldest days in the month of January, to the woods,

to get a load of wood. He gave me a team of un-

broken oxen. He told me which was the in-hand ox,

and which the off-hand one. He then tied the end

of a large rope around the horns of the in-hand ox,

and gave me the other end of it, and told me, if

the oxen started to run, that I must hold on upon

the rope. I had never driven oxen before, and of

course I was very awkward. I, however, succeeded in

getting to the edge of the woods with little diffi-

culty; but I had got a very few rods into the woods,

when the oxen took fright, and started full tilt, carry-

ing the cart against trees, and over stumps, in the

most frightful manner. I expected every moment

that my brains would be dashed out against the

trees. After running thus for a considerable dis-

tance, they finally upset the cart, dashing it with

great force against a tree, and threw themselves into

a dense thicket. How I escaped death, I do not

know. There I was, entirely alone, in a thick wood,

in a place new to me. My cart was upset and shat-

tered, my oxen were entangled among the young

trees, and there was none to help me. After a long

spell of effort, I succeeded in getting my cart righted,

my oxen disentangled, and again yoked to the cart.

I now proceeded with my team to the place where

I had, the day before, been chopping wood, and

loaded my cart pretty heavily, thinking in this way

to tame my oxen. I then proceeded on my way

home. I had now consumed one half of the day. I

got out of the woods safely, and now felt out of

danger. I stopped my oxen to open the woods gate;

and just as I did so, before I could get hold of my

ox-rope, the oxen again started, rushed through the

gate, catching it between the wheel and the body of

the cart, tearing it to pieces, and coming within a

few inches of crushing me against the gate-post. Thus

twice, in one short day, I escaped death by the

merest chance. On my return, I told Mr. Covey

what had happened, and how it happened. He or-

dered me to return to the woods again immediately.

I did so, and he followed on after me. Just as I got

into the woods, he came up and told me to stop my

cart, and that he would teach me how to trifle away

my time, and break gates. He then went to a large

gum-tree, and with his axe cut three large switches,

and, after trimming them up neatly with his pocket-

knife, he ordered me to take off my clothes. I made

him no answer, but stood with my clothes on. He

repeated his order. I still made him no answer, nor

did I move to strip myself. Upon this he rushed

at me with the fierceness of a tiger, tore off my

clothes, and lashed me till he had worn out his

switches, cutting me so savagely as to leave the marks

visible for a long time after. This whipping was the

first of a number just like it, and for similar of-

fences.

I lived with Mr. Covey one year. During the first

six months, of that year, scarce a week passed with-

out his whipping me. I was seldom free from a sore

back. My awkwardness was almost always his ex-

cuse for whipping me. We were worked fully up

to the point of endurance. Long before day we were

up, our horses fed, and by the first approach of day

we were off to the field with our hoes and plough-

ing teams. Mr. Covey gave us enough to eat, but

scarce time to eat it. We were often less than five

minutes taking our meals. We were often in the field

from the first approach of day till its last lingering

ray had left us; and at saving-fodder time, midnight

often caught us in the field binding blades.

Covey would be out with us. The way he used to

stand it, was this. He would spend the most of his

afternoons in bed. He would then come out fresh

in the evening, ready to urge us on with his words,

example, and frequently with the whip. Mr. Covey

was one of the few slaveholders who could and did

work with his hands. He was a hard-working man.

He knew by himself just what a man or a boy could

do. There was no deceiving him. His work went on

in his absence almost as well as in his presence; and

he had the faculty of making us feel that he was

ever present with us. This he did by surprising us.

He seldom approached the spot where we were at

work openly, if he could do it secretly. He always

aimed at taking us by surprise. Such was his cunning,

that we used to call him, among ourselves, "the

snake." When we were at work in the cornfield, he

would sometimes crawl on his hands and knees to

avoid detection, and all at once he would rise

nearly in our midst, and scream out, "Ha, ha!

Come, come! Dash on, dash on!" This being his

mode of attack, it was never safe to stop a single

minute. His comings were like a thief in the night.

He appeared to us as being ever at hand. He was

under every tree, behind every stump, in every bush,

and at every window, on the plantation. He would

sometimes mount his horse, as if bound to St. Mi-

chael's, a distance of seven miles, and in half an

hour afterwards you would see him coiled up in

the corner of the wood-fence, watching every motion

of the slaves. He would, for this purpose, leave his

horse tied up in the woods. Again, he would some-

times walk up to us, and give us orders as though

he was upon the point of starting on a long journey,

turn his back upon us, and make as though he was

going to the house to get ready; and, before he would

get half way thither, he would turn short and crawl

into a fence-corner, or behind some tree, and there

watch us till the going down of the sun.

Mr. Covey's FORTE consisted in his power to de-

ceive. His life was devoted to planning and perpe-

trating the grossest deceptions. Every thing he pos-

sessed in the shape of learning or religion, he made

conform to his disposition to deceive. He seemed

to think himself equal to deceiving the Almighty.

He would make a short prayer in the morning, and

a long prayer at night; and, strange as it may seem,

few men would at times appear more devotional

than he. The exercises of his family devotions were

always commenced with singing; and, as he was a

very poor singer himself, the duty of raising the

hymn generally came upon me. He would read his

hymn, and nod at me to commence. I would at

times do so; at others, I would not. My non-com-

pliance would almost always produce much confu-

sion. To show himself independent of me, he would

start and stagger through with his hymn in the most

discordant manner. In this state of mind, he prayed

with more than ordinary spirit. Poor man! such was

his disposition, and success at deceiving, I do verily

believe that he sometimes deceived himself into the

solemn belief, that he was a sincere worshipper of

the most high God; and this, too, at a time when

he may be said to have been guilty of compelling

his woman slave to commit the sin of adultery. The

facts in the case are these: Mr. Covey was a poor

man; he was just commencing in life; he was only

able to buy one slave; and, shocking as is the fact,

he bought her, as he said, for A BREEDER. This woman

was named Caroline. Mr. Covey bought her from

Mr. Thomas Lowe, about six miles from St. Mi-

chael's. She was a large, able-bodied woman, about

twenty years old. She had already given birth to one

child, which proved her to be just what he wanted.

After buying her, he hired a married man of Mr.

Samuel Harrison, to live with him one year; and him

he used to fasten up with her every night! The re-

sult was, that, at the end of the year, the miserable

woman gave birth to twins. At this result Mr. Covey

seemed to be highly pleased, both with the man and

the wretched woman. Such was his joy, and that of

his wife, that nothing they could do for Caroline

during her confinement was too good, or too hard,

to be done. The children were regarded as being

quite an addition to his wealth.

If at any one time of my life more than another,

I was made to drink the bitterest dregs of slavery,

that time was during the first six months of my stay

with Mr. Covey. We were worked in all weathers.

It was never too hot or too cold; it could never rain,

blow, hail, or snow, too hard for us to work in the

field. Work, work, work, was scarcely more the order

of the day than of the night. The longest days were

too short for him, and the shortest nights too long

for him. I was somewhat unmanageable when I first

went there, but a few months of this discipline

tamed me. Mr. Covey succeeded in breaking me. I

was broken in body, soul, and spirit. My natural

elasticity was crushed, my intellect languished, the

disposition to read departed, the cheerful spark that

lingered about my eye died; the dark night of slavery

closed in upon me; and behold a man transformed

into a brute!

Sunday was my only leisure time. I spent this in

a sort of beast-like stupor, between sleep and wake,

under some large tree. At times I would rise up, a

flash of energetic freedom would dart through my

soul, accompanied with a faint beam of hope, that

flickered for a moment, and then vanished. I sank

down again, mourning over my wretched condition.

I was sometimes prompted to take my life, and that

of Covey, but was prevented by a combination of

hope and fear. My sufferings on this plantation seem

now like a dream rather than a stern reality.

Our house stood within a few rods of the Chesa-

peake Bay, whose broad bosom was ever white with

sails from every quarter of the habitable globe.

Those beautiful vessels, robed in purest white, so

delightful to the eye of freemen, were to me so

many shrouded ghosts, to terrify and torment me

with thoughts of my wretched condition. I have of-

ten, in the deep stillness of a summer's Sabbath,

stood all alone upon the lofty banks of that noble

bay, and traced, with saddened heart and tearful

eye, the countless number of sails moving off to

the mighty ocean. The sight of these always affected

me powerfully. My thoughts would compel utter-

ance; and there, with no audience but the Almighty,

I would pour out my soul's complaint, in my rude

way, with an apostrophe to the moving multitude of

ships:--

"You are loosed from your moorings, and are free;

I am fast in my chains, and am a slave! You move

merrily before the gentle gale, and I sadly before

the bloody whip! You are freedom's swift-winged

angels, that fly round the world; I am confined in

bands of iron! O that I were free! O, that I were

on one of your gallant decks, and under your pro-

tecting wing! Alas! betwixt me and you, the turbid

waters roll. Go on, go on. O that I could also go!

Could I but swim! If I could fly! O, why was I born

a man, of whom to make a brute! The glad ship

is gone; she hides in the dim distance. I am left in

the hottest hell of unending slavery. O God, save

me! God, deliver me! Let me be free! Is there any

God? Why am I a slave? I will run away. I will not

stand it. Get caught, or get clear, I'll try it. I had

as well die with ague as the fever. I have only one

life to lose. I had as well be killed running as die

standing. Only think of it; one hundred miles

straight north, and I am free! Try it? Yes! God

helping me, I will. It cannot be that I shall live

and die a slave. I will take to the water. This very

bay shall yet bear me into freedom. The steam-

boats steered in a north-east course from North

Point. I will do the same; and when I get to the

head of the bay, I will turn my canoe adrift, and

walk straight through Delaware into Pennsylvania.

When I get there, I shall not be required to have a

pass; I can travel without being disturbed. Let but

the first opportunity offer, and, come what will, I

am off. Meanwhile, I will try to bear up under the

yoke. I am not the only slave in the world. Why

should I fret? I can bear as much as any of them.

Besides, I am but a boy, and all boys are bound to

some one. It may be that my misery in slavery will

only increase my happiness when I get free. There

is a better day coming."

Thus I used to think, and thus I used to speak

to myself; goaded almost to madness at one mo-

ment, and at the next reconciling myself to my

wretched lot.

I have already intimated that my condition was

much worse, during the first six months of my stay

at Mr. Covey's, than in the last six. The circum-

stances leading to the change in Mr. Covey's course

toward me form an epoch in my humble history.

You have seen how a man was made a slave; you

shall see how a slave was made a man. On one of

the hottest days of the month of August, 1833, Bill

Smith, William Hughes, a slave named Eli, and

myself, were engaged in fanning wheat. Hughes was

clearing the fanned wheat from before the fan. Eli

was turning, Smith was feeding, and I was carrying

wheat to the fan. The work was simple, requiring

strength rather than intellect; yet, to one entirely

unused to such work, it came very hard. About three

o'clock of that day, I broke down; my strength failed

me; I was seized with a violent aching of the head,

attended with extreme dizziness; I trembled in every

limb. Finding what was coming, I nerved myself

up, feeling it would never do to stop work. I stood

as long as I could stagger to the hopper with grain.

When I could stand no longer, I fell, and felt as

if held down by an immense weight. The fan of

course stopped; every one had his own work to do;

and no one could do the work of the other, and

have his own go on at the same time.

Mr. Covey was at the house, about one hundred

yards from the treading-yard where we were fanning.

On hearing the fan stop, he left immediately, and

came to the spot where we were. He hastily in-

quired what the matter was. Bill answered that I

was sick, and there was no one to bring wheat to the

fan. I had by this time crawled away under the

side of the post and rail-fence by which the yard

was enclosed, hoping to find relief by getting out

of the sun. He then asked where I was. He was

told by one of the hands. He came to the spot, and,

after looking at me awhile, asked me what was

the matter. I told him as well as I could, for I scarce

had strength to speak. He then gave me a savage

kick in the side, and told me to get up. I tried to

do so, but fell back in the attempt. He gave me

another kick, and again told me to rise. I again

tried, and succeeded in gaining my feet; but, stoop-

ing to get the tub with which I was feeding the

fan, I again staggered and fell. While down in this

situation, Mr. Covey took up the hickory slat with

which Hughes had been striking off the half-bushel

measure, and with it gave me a heavy blow upon

the head, making a large wound, and the blood ran

freely; and with this again told me to get up. I made

no effort to comply, having now made up my mind

to let him do his worst. In a short time after re-

ceiving this blow, my head grew better. Mr. Covey

had now left me to my fate. At this moment I re-

solved, for the first time, to go to my master, enter

a complaint, and ask his protection. In order to do

this, I must that afternoon walk seven miles; and

this, under the circumstances, was truly a severe

undertaking. I was exceedingly feeble; made so as

much by the kicks and blows which I received, as

by the severe fit of sickness to which I had been

subjected. I, however, watched my chance, while

Covey was looking in an opposite direction, and

started for St. Michael's. I succeeded in getting a

considerable distance on my way to the woods, when

Covey discovered me, and called after me to come

back, threatening what he would do if I did not

come. I disregarded both his calls and his threats,

and made my way to the woods as fast as my feeble

state would allow; and thinking I might be over-

hauled by him if I kept the road, I walked through

the woods, keeping far enough from the road to

avoid detection, and near enough to prevent losing

my way. I had not gone far before my little strength

again failed me. I could go no farther. I fell down,

and lay for a considerable time. The blood was yet

oozing from the wound on my head. For a time I

thought I should bleed to death; and think now that

I should have done so, but that the blood so matted

my hair as to stop the wound. After lying there

about three quarters of an hour, I nerved myself

up again, and started on my way, through bogs and

briers, barefooted and bareheaded, tearing my feet

sometimes at nearly every step; and after a journey

of about seven miles, occupying some five hours to

perform it, I arrived at master's store. I then pre-

sented an appearance enough to affect any but a

heart of iron. From the crown of my head to my

feet, I was covered with blood. My hair was all

clotted with dust and blood; my shirt was stiff with

blood. I suppose I looked like a man who had es-

caped a den of wild beasts, and barely escaped them.

In this state I appeared before my master, humbly

entreating him to interpose his authority for my

protection. I told him all the circumstances as well

as I could, and it seemed, as I spoke, at times to

affect him. He would then walk the floor, and seek

to justify Covey by saying he expected I deserved

it. He asked me what I wanted. I told him, to let

me get a new home; that as sure as I lived with Mr.

Covey again, I should live with but to die with

him; that Covey would surely kill me; he was in a

fair way for it. Master Thomas ridiculed the idea

that there was any danger of Mr. Covey's killing

me, and said that he knew Mr. Covey; that he was

a good man, and that he could not think of taking

me from him; that, should he do so, he would lose

the whole year's wages; that I belonged to Mr. Covey

for one year, and that I must go back to him, come

what might; and that I must not trouble him with

any more stories, or that he would himself GET HOLD

OF ME. After threatening me thus, he gave me a very

large dose of salts, telling me that I might remain

in St. Michael's that night, (it being quite late,)

but that I must be off back to Mr. Covey's early

in the morning; and that if I did not, he would

~get hold of me,~ which meant that he would whip

me. I remained all night, and, according to his or-

ders, I started off to Covey's in the morning, (Sat-

urday morning,) wearied in body and broken in

spirit. I got no supper that night, or breakfast that

morning. I reached Covey's about nine o'clock; and

just as I was getting over the fence that divided

Mrs. Kemp's fields from ours, out ran Covey with

his cowskin, to give me another whipping. Before

he could reach me, I succeeded in getting to the

cornfield; and as the corn was very high, it afforded

me the means of hiding. He seemed very angry, and

searched for me a long time. My behavior was al-

together unaccountable. He finally gave up the

chase, thinking, I suppose, that I must come home

for something to eat; he would give himself no fur-

ther trouble in looking for me. I spent that day

mostly in the woods, having the alternative before

me,--to go home and be whipped to death, or stay

in the woods and be starved to death. That night,

I fell in with Sandy Jenkins, a slave with whom

I was somewhat acquainted. Sandy had a free wife

who lived about four miles from Mr. Covey's; and

it being Saturday, he was on his way to see her. I

told him my circumstances, and he very kindly in-

vited me to go home with him. I went home with

him, and talked this whole matter over, and got his

advice as to what course it was best for me to pursue.

I found Sandy an old adviser. He told me, with

great solemnity, I must go back to Covey; but that

before I went, I must go with him into another

part of the woods, where there was a certain ~root,~

which, if I would take some of it with me, carrying

it ~always on my right side,~ would render it impos-

sible for Mr. Covey, or any other white man, to

whip me. He said he had carried it for years; and

since he had done so, he had never received a blow,

and never expected to while he carried it. I at first

rejected the idea, that the simple carrying of a root

in my pocket would have any such effect as he had

said, and was not disposed to take it; but Sandy

impressed the necessity with much earnestness, tell-

ing me it could do no harm, if it did no good. To

please him, I at length took the root, and, ac-

cording to his direction, carried it upon my right

side. This was Sunday morning. I immediately

started for home; and upon entering the yard gate,

out came Mr. Covey on his way to meeting. He

spoke to me very kindly, bade me drive the pigs

from a lot near by, and passed on towards the

church. Now, this singular conduct of Mr. Covey

really made me begin to think that there was some-

thing in the ROOT which Sandy had given me; and

had it been on any other day than Sunday, I could

have attributed the conduct to no other cause than

the influence of that root; and as it was, I was half

inclined to think the ~root~ to be something more

than I at first had taken it to be. All went well till

Monday morning. On this morning, the virtue of

the ROOT was fully tested. Long before daylight, I

was called to go and rub, curry, and feed, the horses.

I obeyed, and was glad to obey. But whilst thus

engaged, whilst in the act of throwing down some

blades from the loft, Mr. Covey entered the stable

with a long rope; and just as I was half out of the

loft, he caught hold of my legs, and was about tying

me. As soon as I found what he was up to, I gave

a sudden spring, and as I did so, he holding to my

legs, I was brought sprawling on the stable floor.

Mr. Covey seemed now to think he had me, and

could do what he pleased; but at this moment--

from whence came the spirit I don't know--I re-

solved to fight; and, suiting my action to the reso-

lution, I seized Covey hard by the throat; and as I

did so, I rose. He held on to me, and I to him. My

resistance was so entirely unexpected that Covey

seemed taken all aback. He trembled like a leaf.

This gave me assurance, and I held him uneasy,

causing the blood to run where I touched him with

the ends of my fingers. Mr. Covey soon called out

to Hughes for help. Hughes came, and, while Covey

held me, attempted to tie my right hand. While he

was in the act of doing so, I watched my chance,

and gave him a heavy kick close under the ribs.

This kick fairly sickened Hughes, so that he left

me in the hands of Mr. Covey. This kick had the

effect of not only weakening Hughes, but Covey also.

When he saw Hughes bending over with pain, his

courage quailed. He asked me if I meant to persist

in my resistance. I told him I did, come what

might; that he had used me like a brute for six

months, and that I was determined to be used so

no longer. With that, he strove to drag me to a

stick that was lying just out of the stable door. He

meant to knock me down. But just as he was leaning

over to get the stick, I seized him with both hands

by his collar, and brought him by a sudden snatch

to the ground. By this time, Bill came. Covey called

upon him for assistance. Bill wanted to know what

he could do. Covey said, "Take hold of him, take

hold of him!" Bill said his master hired him out to

work, and not to help to whip me; so he left Covey

and myself to fight our own battle out. We were

at it for nearly two hours. Covey at length let me

go, puffing and blowing at a great rate, saying that

if I had not resisted, he would not have whipped

me half so much. The truth was, that he had not

whipped me at all. I considered him as getting en-

tirely the worst end of the bargain; for he had drawn

no blood from me, but I had from him. The whole

six months afterwards, that I spent with Mr. Covey,

he never laid the weight of his finger upon me in

anger. He would occasionally say, he didn't want

to get hold of me again. "No," thought I, "you

need not; for you will come off worse than you did

before."

This battle with Mr. Covey was the turning-

point in my career as a slave. It rekindled the few

expiring embers of freedom, and revived within me

a sense of my own manhood. It recalled the de-

parted self-confidence, and inspired me again with

a determination to be free. The gratification af-

forded by the triumph was a full compensation for

whatever else might follow, even death itself. He

only can understand the deep satisfaction which I

experienced, who has himself repelled by force the

bloody arm of slavery. I felt as I never felt before.

It was a glorious resurrection, from the tomb of

slavery, to the heaven of freedom. My long-crushed

spirit rose, cowardice departed, bold defiance took

its place; and I now resolved that, however long I

might remain a slave in form, the day had passed

forever when I could be a slave in fact. I did not

hesitate to let it be known of me, that the white

man who expected to succeed in whipping, must

also succeed in killing me.

From this time I was never again what might be

called fairly whipped, though I remained a slave

four years afterwards. I had several fights, but was

never whipped.

It was for a long time a matter of surprise to me

why Mr. Covey did not immediately have me taken

by the constable to the whipping-post, and there

regularly whipped for the crime of raising my hand

against a white man in defence of myself. And the

only explanation I can now think of does not entirely

satisfy me; but such as it is, I will give it. Mr. Covey

enjoyed the most unbounded reputation for being

a first-rate overseer and negro-breaker. It was of con-

siderable importance to him. That reputation was at

stake; and had he sent me--a boy about sixteen years

old--to the public whipping-post, his reputation

would have been lost; so, to save his reputation, he

suffered me to go unpunished.

My term of actual service to Mr. Edward Covey

ended on Christmas day, 1833. The days between

Christmas and New Year's day are allowed as holi-

days; and, accordingly, we were not required to per-

form any labor, more than to feed and take care of

the stock. This time we regarded as our own, by the

grace of our masters; and we therefore used or

abused it nearly as we pleased. Those of us who had

families at a distance, were generally allowed to

spend the whole six days in their society. This time,

however, was spent in various ways. The staid, sober,

thinking and industrious ones of our number would

employ themselves in making corn-brooms, mats,

horse-collars, and baskets; and another class of us

would spend the time in hunting opossums, hares,

and coons. But by far the larger part engaged in

such sports and merriments as playing ball, wres-

tling, running foot-races, fiddling, dancing, and

drinking whisky; and this latter mode of spending

the time was by far the most agreeable to the feel-

ings of our masters. A slave who would work during

the holidays was considered by our masters as

scarcely deserving them. He was regarded as one

who rejected the favor of his master. It was deemed

a disgrace not to get drunk at Christmas; and he

was regarded as lazy indeed, who had not provided

himself with the necessary means, during the year,

to get whisky enough to last him through Christmas.

From what I know of the effect of these holidays

upon the slave, I believe them to be among the

most effective means in the hands of the slaveholder

in keeping down the spirit of insurrection. Were

the slaveholders at once to abandon this practice,

I have not the slightest doubt it would lead to an

immediate insurrection among the slaves. These

holidays serve as conductors, or safety-valves, to carry

off the rebellious spirit of enslaved humanity. But

for these, the slave would be forced up to the wild-

est desperation; and woe betide the slaveholder, the

day he ventures to remove or hinder the operation

of those conductors! I warn him that, in such an

event, a spirit will go forth in their midst, more to

be dreaded than the most appalling earthquake.

The holidays are part and parcel of the gross

fraud, wrong, and inhumanity of slavery. They are

professedly a custom established by the benevolence

of the slaveholders; but I undertake to say, it is the

result of selfishness, and one of the grossest frauds

committed upon the down-trodden slave. They do

not give the slaves this time because they would

not like to have their work during its continuance,

but because they know it would be unsafe to deprive

them of it. This will be seen by the fact, that the

slaveholders like to have their slaves spend those

days just in such a manner as to make them as glad

of their ending as of their beginning. Their object

seems to be, to disgust their slaves with freedom,

by plunging them into the lowest depths of dissipa-

tion. For instance, the slaveholders not only like to

see the slave drink of his own accord, but will adopt

various plans to make him drunk. One plan is, to

make bets on their slaves, as to who can drink the

most whisky without getting drunk; and in this way

they succeed in getting whole multitudes to drink

to excess. Thus, when the slave asks for virtuous

freedom, the cunning slaveholder, knowing his ig-

norance, cheats him with a dose of vicious dissi-

pation, artfully labelled with the name of liberty.

The most of us used to drink it down, and the result

was just what might be supposed; many of us

were led to think that there was little to choose

between liberty and slavery. We felt, and very prop-

erly too, that we had almost as well be slaves to

man as to rum. So, when the holidays ended, we

staggered up from the filth of our wallowing, took

a long breath, and marched to the field,--feeling,

upon the whole, rather glad to go, from what our

master had deceived us into a belief was freedom,

back to the arms of slavery.

I have said that this mode of treatment is a part

of the whole system of fraud and inhumanity of

slavery. It is so. The mode here adopted to disgust

the slave with freedom, by allowing him to see only

the abuse of it, is carried out in other things. For

instance, a slave loves molasses; he steals some.

His master, in many cases, goes off to town, and

buys a large quantity; he returns, takes his whip,

and commands the slave to eat the molasses, until

the poor fellow is made sick at the very mention

of it. The same mode is sometimes adopted to make

the slaves refrain from asking for more food than

their regular allowance. A slave runs through his

allowance, and applies for more. His master is en-

raged at him; but, not willing to send him off with-

out food, gives him more than is necessary, and com-

pels him to eat it within a given time. Then, if he

complains that he cannot eat it, he is said to be

satisfied neither full nor fasting, and is whipped

for being hard to please! I have an abundance of

such illustrations of the same principle, drawn from

my own observation, but think the cases I have cited

sufficient. The practice is a very common one.

On the first of January, 1834, I left Mr. Covey,

and went to live with Mr. William Freeland, who

lived about three miles from St. Michael's. I soon

found Mr. Freeland a very different man from Mr.

Covey. Though not rich, he was what would be

called an educated southern gentleman. Mr. Covey,

as I have shown, was a well-trained negro-breaker

and slave-driver. The former (slaveholder though he

was) seemed to possess some regard for honor,

some reverence for justice, and some respect for

humanity. The latter seemed totally insensible to

all such sentiments. Mr. Freeland had many of the

faults peculiar to slaveholders, such as being very

passionate and fretful; but I must do him the

justice to say, that he was exceedingly free from

those degrading vices to which Mr. Covey was con-

stantly addicted. The one was open and frank, and

we always knew where to find him. The other was a

most artful deceiver, and could be understood only

by such as were skilful enough to detect his cun-

ningly-devised frauds. Another advantage I gained

in my new master was, he made no pretensions to,

or profession of, religion; and this, in my opinion,

was truly a great advantage. I assert most unhesi-

tatingly, that the religion of the south is a mere

covering for the most horrid crimes,--a justifier of

the most appalling barbarity,--a sanctifier of the

most hateful frauds,--and a dark shelter under,

which the darkest, foulest, grossest, and most infer-

nal deeds of slaveholders find the strongest protec-

tion. Were I to be again reduced to the chains of

slavery, next to that enslavement, I should regard

being the slave of a religious master the greatest

calamity that could befall me. For of all slaveholders

with whom I have ever met, religious slaveholders

are the worst. I have ever found them the meanest

and basest, the most cruel and cowardly, of all oth-

ers. It was my unhappy lot not only to belong to a

religious slaveholder, but to live in a community of

such religionists. Very near Mr. Freeland lived the

Rev. Daniel Weeden, and in the same neighborhood

lived the Rev. Rigby Hopkins. These were members

and ministers in the Reformed Methodist Church.

Mr. Weeden owned, among others, a woman slave,

whose name I have forgotten. This woman's back,

for weeks, was kept literally raw, made so by the

lash of this merciless, ~religious~ wretch. He used to

hire hands. His maxim was, Behave well or behave

ill, it is the duty of a master occasionally to whip

a slave, to remind him of his master's authority.

Such was his theory, and such his practice.

Mr. Hopkins was even worse than Mr. Weeden.

His chief boast was his ability to manage slaves.

The peculiar feature of his government was that

of whipping slaves in advance of deserving it. He

always managed to have one or more of his slaves

to whip every Monday morning. He did this to alarm

their fears, and strike terror into those who escaped.

His plan was to whip for the smallest offences, to

prevent the commission of large ones. Mr. Hopkins

could always find some excuse for whipping a slave.

It would astonish one, unaccustomed to a slave-

holding life, to see with what wonderful ease a slave-

holder can find things, of which to make occasion

to whip a slave. A mere look, word, or motion,--a

mistake, accident, or want of power,--are all matters

for which a slave may be whipped at any time. Does

a slave look dissatisfied? It is said, he has the devil

in him, and it must be whipped out. Does he speak

loudly when spoken to by his master? Then he is

getting high-minded, and should be taken down a

button-hole lower. Does he forget to pull off his

hat at the approach of a white person? Then he is

wanting in reverence, and should be whipped for

it. Does he ever venture to vindicate his conduct,

when censured for it? Then he is guilty of impu-

dence,--one of the greatest crimes of which a slave

can be guilty. Does he ever venture to suggest a

different mode of doing things from that pointed

out by his master? He is indeed presumptuous, and

getting above himself; and nothing less than a flog-

ging will do for him. Does he, while ploughing,

break a plough,--or, while hoeing, break a hoe? It

is owing to his carelessness, and for it a slave must

always be whipped. Mr. Hopkins could always find

something of this sort to justify the use of the lash,

and he seldom failed to embrace such opportunities.

There was not a man in the whole county, with

whom the slaves who had the getting their own

home, would not prefer to live, rather than with

this Rev. Mr. Hopkins. And yet there was not a

man any where round, who made higher professions

of religion, or was more active in revivals,--more

attentive to the class, love-feast, prayer and preach-

ing meetings, or more devotional in his family,--

that prayed earlier, later, louder, and longer,--than

this same reverend slave-driver, Rigby Hopkins.

But to return to Mr. Freeland, and to my experi-

ence while in his employment. He, like Mr. Covey,

gave us enough to eat; but, unlike Mr. Covey, he

also gave us sufficient time to take our meals. He

worked us hard, but always between sunrise and

sunset. He required a good deal of work to be done,

but gave us good tools with which to work. His

farm was large, but he employed hands enough to

work it, and with ease, compared with many of

his neighbors. My treatment, while in his employ-

ment, was heavenly, compared with what I experi-

enced at the hands of Mr. Edward Covey.

Mr. Freeland was himself the owner of but two

slaves. Their names were Henry Harris and John

Harris. The rest of his hands he hired. These con-

sisted of myself, Sandy Jenkins,* and Handy Cald-

well. Henry and John were quite intelligent, and in

a very little while after I went there, I succeeded in

creating in them a strong desire to learn how to

read. This desire soon sprang up in the others also.

They very soon mustered up some old spelling-books,

and nothing would do but that I must keep a Sab-

bath school. I agreed to do so, and accordingly

devoted my Sundays to teaching these my loved fel-

low-slaves how to read. Neither of them knew his

letters when I went there. Some of the slaves of the

neighboring farms found what was going on, and

also availed themselves of this little opportunity to

learn to read. It was understood, among all who

came, that there must be as little display about it

as possible. It was necessary to keep our religious

masters at St. Michael's unacquainted with the fact,

that, instead of spending the Sabbath in wrestling,

boxing, and drinking whisky, we were trying to learn

how to read the will of God; for they had much

*This is the same man who gave me the roots to prevent

my being whipped by Mr. Covey. He was "a clever soul."

We used frequently to talk about the fight with Covey, and

as often as we did so, he would claim my success as the

result of the roots which he gave me. This superstition

is very common among the more ignorant slaves. A slave

seldom dies but that his death is attributed to trickery.

rather see us engaged in those degrading sports, than

to see us behaving like intellectual, moral, and ac-

countable beings. My blood boils as I think of the

bloody manner in which Messrs. Wright Fairbanks

and Garrison West, both class-leaders, in connection

with many others, rushed in upon us with sticks

and stones, and broke up our virtuous little Sab-

bath school, at St. Michael's--all calling themselves

Christians! humble followers of the Lord Jesus

Christ! But I am again digressing.

I held my Sabbath school at the house of a free

colored man, whose name I deem it imprudent to

mention; for should it be known, it might embar-

rass him greatly, though the crime of holding the

school was committed ten years ago. I had at one

time over forty scholars, and those of the right sort,

ardently desiring to learn. They were of all ages,

though mostly men and women. I look back to those

Sundays with an amount of pleasure not to be ex-

pressed. They were great days to my soul. The work

of instructing my dear fellow-slaves was the sweetest

engagement with which I was ever blessed. We loved

each other, and to leave them at the close of the

Sabbath was a severe cross indeed. When I think

that these precious souls are to-day shut up in the

prison-house of slavery, my feelings overcome me,

and I am almost ready to ask, "Does a righteous

God govern the universe? and for what does he hold

the thunders in his right hand, if not to smite the

oppressor, and deliver the spoiled out of the hand

of the spoiler?" These dear souls came not to Sab-

bath school because it was popular to do so, nor did

I teach them because it was reputable to be thus

engaged. Every moment they spent in that school,

they were liable to be taken up, and given thirty-

nine lashes. They came because they wished to

learn. Their minds had been starved by their cruel

masters. They had been shut up in mental darkness.

I taught them, because it was the delight of my

soul to be doing something that looked like better-

ing the condition of my race. I kept up my school

nearly the whole year I lived with Mr. Freeland;

and, beside my Sabbath school, I devoted three eve-

nings in the week, during the winter, to teaching the

slaves at home. And I have the happiness to know,

that several of those who came to Sabbath school

learned how to read; and that one, at least, is now

free through my agency.

The year passed off smoothly. It seemed only

about half as long as the year which preceded it.

I went through it without receiving a single blow.

I will give Mr. Freeland the credit of being the

best master I ever had, ~till I became my own mas-

ter.~ For the ease with which I passed the year, I

was, however, somewhat indebted to the society of

my fellow-slaves. They were noble souls; they not

only possessed loving hearts, but brave ones. We

were linked and interlinked with each other. I loved

them with a love stronger than any thing I have

experienced since. It is sometimes said that we

slaves do not love and confide in each other. In

answer to this assertion, I can say, I never loved

any or confided in any people more than my fellow-

slaves, and especially those with whom I lived at

Mr. Freeland's. I believe we would have died for

each other. We never undertook to do any thing,

of any importance, without a mutual consultation.

We never moved separately. We were one; and as

much so by our tempers and dispositions, as by the

mutual hardships to which we were necessarily sub-

jected by our condition as slaves.

At the close of the year 1834, Mr. Freeland again

hired me of my master, for the year 1835. But, by

this time, I began to want to live ~upon free land~

as well as ~with freeland;~ and I was no longer con-

tent, therefore, to live with him or any other slave-

holder. I began, with the commencement of the

year, to prepare myself for a final struggle, which

should decide my fate one way or the other. My

tendency was upward. I was fast approaching man-

hood, and year after year had passed, and I was

still a slave. These thoughts roused me--I must do

something. I therefore resolved that 1835 should

not pass without witnessing an attempt, on my part,

to secure my liberty. But I was not willing to cherish

this determination alone. My fellow-slaves were dear

to me. I was anxious to have them participate with

me in this, my life-giving determination. I therefore,

though with great prudence, commenced early to

ascertain their views and feelings in regard to their

condition, and to imbue their minds with thoughts

of freedom. I bent myself to devising ways and

means for our escape, and meanwhile strove, on all

fitting occasions, to impress them with the gross

fraud and inhumanity of slavery. I went first to

Henry, next to John, then to the others. I found,

in them all, warm hearts and noble spirits. They

were ready to hear, and ready to act when a feasible

plan should be proposed. This was what I wanted.

I talked to them of our want of manhood, if we

submitted to our enslavement without at least one

noble effort to be free. We met often, and consulted

frequently, and told our hopes and fears, recounted

the difficulties, real and imagined, which we should

be called on to meet. At times we were almost dis-

posed to give up, and try to content ourselves with

our wretched lot; at others, we were firm and un-

bending in our determination to go. Whenever we

suggested any plan, there was shrinking--the odds

were fearful. Our path was beset with the greatest

obstacles; and if we succeeded in gaining the end

of it, our right to be free was yet questionable--we

were yet liable to be returned to bondage. We could

see no spot, this side of the ocean, where we could

be free. We knew nothing about Canada. Our

knowledge of the north did not extend farther than

New York; and to go there, and be forever harassed

with the frightful liability of being returned to

slavery--with the certainty of being treated tenfold

worse than before--the thought was truly a horrible

one, and one which it was not easy to overcome.

The case sometimes stood thus: At every gate

through which we were to pass, we saw a watchman

--at every ferry a guard--on every bridge a sentinel--

and in every wood a patrol. We were hemmed in

upon every side. Here were the difficulties, real or

imagined--the good to be sought, and the evil to be

shunned. On the one hand, there stood slavery, a

stern reality, glaring frightfully upon us,--its robes

already crimsoned with the blood of millions, and

even now feasting itself greedily upon our own flesh.

On the other hand, away back in the dim distance,

under the flickering light of the north star, behind

some craggy hill or snow-covered mountain, stood

a doubtful freedom--half frozen--beckoning us to

come and share its hospitality. This in itself was

sometimes enough to stagger us; but when we per-

mitted ourselves to survey the road, we were fre-

quently appalled. Upon either side we saw grim

death, assuming the most horrid shapes. Now it was

starvation, causing us to eat our own flesh;--now we

were contending with the waves, and were drowned;

--now we were overtaken, and torn to pieces by the

fangs of the terrible bloodhound. We were stung

by scorpions, chased by wild beasts, bitten by snakes,

and finally, after having nearly reached the desired

spot,--after swimming rivers, encountering wild

beasts, sleeping in the woods, suffering hunger and

nakedness,--we were overtaken by our pursuers, and,

in our resistance, we were shot dead upon the spot!

I say, this picture sometimes appalled us, and made

us

"rather bear those ills we had,

Than fly to others, that we knew not of."

In coming to a fixed determination to run away,

we did more than Patrick Henry, when he resolved

upon liberty or death. With us it was a doubtful

liberty at most, and almost certain death if we failed.

For my part, I should prefer death to hopeless bond-

age.

Sandy, one of our number, gave up the notion,

but still encouraged us. Our company then consisted

of Henry Harris, John Harris, Henry Bailey, Charles

Roberts, and myself. Henry Bailey was my uncle,

and belonged to my master. Charles married my

aunt: he belonged to my master's father-in-law, Mr.

William Hamilton.

The plan we finally concluded upon was, to get

a large canoe belonging to Mr. Hamilton, and upon

the Saturday night previous to Easter holidays,

paddle directly up the Chesapeake Bay. On our ar-

rival at the head of the bay, a distance of seventy

or eighty miles from where we lived, it was our

purpose to turn our canoe adrift, and follow the

guidance of the north star till we got beyond the

limits of Maryland. Our reason for taking the water

route was, that we were less liable to be suspected as

runaways; we hoped to be regarded as fishermen;

whereas, if we should take the land route, we should

be subjected to interruptions of almost every kind.

Any one having a white face, and being so disposed,

could stop us, and subject us to examination.

The week before our intended start, I wrote sev-

eral protections, one for each of us. As well as I

can remember, they were in the following words, to

wit:--

"This is to certify that I, the undersigned, have

given the bearer, my servant, full liberty to go to

Baltimore, and spend the Easter holidays. Written

with mine own hand, &c., 1835.