In the month
of August, 1841,
I attended
an anti-slavery convention
in Nantucket,
at which it
was my happiness
to become
acquainted
with FREDERICK DOUGLASS,
the writer
of the following Narrative.
He was a stranger
to nearly every member of
that body;
but,
having recently made
his escape
from the southern prison-house
of bondage,
and feeling his curiosity
excited to
ascertain the principles
and measures
of the abolitionists
-- of whom
he had heard
a somewhat
vague description
while he was a slave --
he was induced
to give his attendance,
on the occasion alluded to,
though
at that time
a resident in New Bedford.
Fortunate,
most fortunate occurrence!
-- fortunate
for the millions
of his manacled brethren,
yet panting
for deliverance
from their awful thraldom!
-- fortunate
for the cause
of negro emancipation,
and of universal liberty!
-- fortunate
for the land
of his birth,
which he
has already done so much
to save
and bless!
-- fortunate
for a large circle
of friends and acquaintances,
whose sympathy and affection
he has strongly secured
by the many sufferings
he has endured,
by his virtuous traits
of character,
by his ever-abiding remembrance
of those
who are in bonds,
as being bound with them!
-- fortunate for the multitudes,
in various parts
of our republic,
whose minds
he has enlightened
on the subject of slavery,
and who
have been melted to tears
by his pathos,
or roused
to virtuous indignation
by his stirring eloquence
against the enslavers of men!
-- fortunate for himself,
as it at
once brought him
into the field
of public usefulness,
"gave the world assurance
of a MAN,"
quickened
the slumbering energies
of his soul,
and consecrated him
to the great work
of breaking
the rod of the oppressor,
and letting the oppressed
go free!
I shall never forget
his first speech
at the convention
-- the extraordinary emotion it
excited in my own mind
-- the powerful impression it
created
upon a crowded auditory,
completely taken by surprise
-- the applause
which followed from the beginning
to the end
of his felicitous remarks.
I think I
never hated slavery so intensely
as at
that moment;
certainly,
my perception
of the enormous outrage
which is inflicted by it,
on the godlike nature
of its victims,
was rendered
far more clear than ever.
There
stood one,
in physical proportion
and stature
commanding
and exact
-- in intellect richly endowed
-- in natural eloquence
a prodigy
-- in soul manifestly
"created
but a little lower
than the angels"
-- yet a slave,
ay,
a fugitive slave --
trembling for his safety,
hardly
daring
to believe
that on the American soil,
a single white person
could be found
who would
befriend him at all hazards,
for the love
of God and humanity!
Capable
of high attainments
as an intellectual and moral
being
-- needing nothing
but a comparatively small amount
of cultivation
to make him an ornament
to society and
a blessing to his race --
by the law
of the land,
by the voice
of the people,
by the terms
of the slave code,
he was only a piece
of property,
a beast of burden,
a chattel personal,
nevertheless!
A beloved friend
from New Bedford
prevailed on Mr. DOUGLASS
to address the convention:
He came forward
to the platform
with a hesitancy
and embarrassment,
necessarily the attendants
of a sensitive mind in such
a novel position.
After apologizing
for his ignorance,
and reminding
the audience that slavery
was a poor school
for the human intellect
and heart,
he proceeded
to narrate some of the facts
in his own history
as a slave,
and in the course
of his speech
gave utterance to many noble
thoughts
and thrilling reflections.
As soon
as he
had taken his seat,
filled with hope and admiration,
I rose,
and declared
that PATRICK HENRY,
of revolutionary fame,
never
made a speech more eloquent
in the cause of liberty,
than the one
we had just listened to
from the lips of
that hunted fugitive.
So I
believed at that time
-- such
is my belief now.
I reminded
the audience of the peril
which surrounded this
self-emancipated young man
at the North
-- even in Massachusetts,
on the soil
of the Pilgrim Fathers,
among the descendants
of revolutionary sires;
and I appealed to them,
whether
they would ever allow him
to be carried back
into slavery --
law or no law,
constitution or no constitution.
The response
was unanimous
and in thunder-tones
-- "NO!"
"Will you
succor and protect him
as a brother-man
-- a resident
of the old Bay State?"
"YES!"
shouted the whole mass,
with an energy so startling,
that
the ruthless tyrants south
of Mason and Dixon's
line might almost have heard
the mighty burst
of feeling,
and recognized
it as the pledge
of an invincible determination,
on the part of those
who gave it,
never to betray him
that wanders,
but to hide the outcast,
and
firmly to abide the consequences.
It was
at once deeply impressed
upon my mind,
that,
if Mr. DOUGLASS
could be persuaded
to consecrate his time
and talents
to the promotion
of the anti-slavery enterprise,
a powerful impetus
would be given to it,
and a stunning blow
at the same time
inflicted on northern prejudice
against a colored complexion.
I
therefore
endeavored
to instil hope and courage
into his mind,
in order that
he might dare
to engage
in a
vocation
so anomalous and responsible
for a person
in his situation;
and I
was seconded
in this effort
by warm-hearted friends,
especially by
the late General Agent
of the Massachusetts
Anti-Slavery Society,
Mr. JOHN A. COLLINS,
whose judgment in this instance
entirely coincided with my own.
At first,
he could give
no encouragement;
with unfeigned diffidence,
he expressed
his conviction that
he was not adequate
to the performance
of so great a task;
the path
marked out
was wholly an untrodden one;
he was sincerely apprehensive
that he
should do more harm
than good.
After much deliberation,
however,
he consented
to make a trial;
and ever since that period,
he
has acted
as a lecturing agent,
under the auspices either
of the American
or
the Massachusetts
Anti-Slavery Society.
In labors
he has been most abundant;
and his success
in combating prejudice,
in gaining proselytes,
in agitating the public mind,
has far
surpassed
the most sanguine expectations
that were raised
at the commencement
of his brilliant career.
He has borne himself
with gentleness and meekness,
yet with true manliness
of character.
As a public speaker,
he excels in pathos,
wit,
comparison,
imitation,
strength
of reasoning,
and fluency of language.
There
is in him
that union of head and heart,
which is indispensable
to an enlightenment
of the heads and a winning
of the hearts
of others.
May his strength
continue
to be equal to his day!
May he continue to
"grow in grace,
and in the knowledge
of God,"
that
he may be increasingly
serviceable
in the cause
of bleeding humanity,
whether at home or abroad!
It is certainly
a very remarkable fact,
that one
of the
most efficient advocates
of the slave population,
now before the public,
is a fugitive slave,
in the person
of FREDERICK DOUGLASS;
and that
the free colored population
of the United States
are as ably represented
by one
of their own number,
in the person
of CHARLES LENOX REMOND,
whose eloquent appeals
have extorted
the highest applause
of multitudes
on both sides
of the Atlantic.
Let the calumniators
of the colored race
despise themselves
for their baseness
and illiberality
of spirit,
and henceforth cease
to talk
of the natural inferiority
of those who
require nothing
but time and
opportunity
to attain
to the highest point
of human excellence.
It may,
perhaps,
be fairly questioned,
whether any other
portion
of the population
of the earth
could have endured
the privations,
sufferings and horrors
of slavery,
without having become
more degraded
in the scale
of humanity
than the slaves
of African descent.
Nothing
has been left
undone
to cripple their intellects,
darken their minds,
debase their moral nature,
obliterate all traces
of their relationship to mankind;
and yet
how wonderfully
they have sustained
the mighty load
of a most frightful bondage,
under which they
have been groaning
for centuries!
To illustrate the effect
of slavery
on the white man
-- to show
that he
has no powers of endurance,
in such a condition,
superior to those
of his black brother --
DANIEL O'CONNELL,
the distinguished advocate
of universal emancipation,
and the mightiest champion
of prostrate
but not conquered Ireland,
relates the following anecdote
in a speech
delivered
by him
in the Conciliation Hall,
Dublin,
before
the Loyal National
Repeal Association,
March 31, 1845.
"No matter,"
said Mr. O'CONNELL,
"under what
specious term
it may disguise itself,
slavery
is still hideous.
It
has a natural,
an inevitable tendency
to brutalize
every noble faculty
of man.
An American sailor,
who was cast away
on the shore of Africa,
where he
was kept
in slavery for three years,
was, at the expiration of
that period,
found
to be imbruted and stultified
-- he had lost
all reasoning power;
and having forgotten
his native language,
could only utter
some savage gibberish
between Arabic and English,
which nobody
could understand,
and which
even he
himself found difficulty
in pronouncing.
So much
for the humanizing influence
of THE DOMESTIC INSTITUTION!"
Admitting
this to have been
an extraordinary case
of mental deterioration,
it proves at least
that the white slave
can sink
as low
in the scale
of humanity
as the black one.
Mr. DOUGLASS
has very properly chosen
to write his own Narrative,
in his own style,
and according to
the best of his ability,
rather than to employ some
one else.
It is,
therefore,
entirely his own production;
and,
considering
how long and dark
was the career
he had to run as a slave
-- how few
have been his opportunities
to improve
his mind
since he broke his iron
fetters --
it is,
in my judgment,
highly creditable
to his head and heart.
He who can peruse it
without a tearful eye,
a heaving breast,
an afflicted spirit
-- without being filled
with an unutterable abhorrence
of slavery and all
its abettors,
and animated
with a determination
to seek
the immediate overthrow
of
that execrable system
-- without trembling
for the fate of this country
in the hands
of a righteous God,
who is ever
on the side of the oppressed,
and whose arm
is not shortened that
it cannot save
-- must have a flinty heart,
and be qualified
to act the part
of a trafficker
"in slaves
and the souls of men."
I am confident
that it
is essentially true
in all its statements;
that nothing
has been set down in malice,
nothing
exaggerated,
nothing
drawn from the imagination;
that
it comes short
of the reality,
rather than
overstates a single fact
in
regard to SLAVERY AS IT IS.
The experience
of FREDERICK DOUGLASS,
as a slave,
was not a peculiar one;
his lot
was not especially
a hard one;
his case
may be regarded
as a very fair specimen
of the treatment
of slaves in Maryland,
in which
State
it is conceded
that they are better
fed
and less cruelly treated than
in Georgia,
Alabama,
or Louisiana.
Many
have suffered incomparably more,
while very few
on the plantations
have suffered less,
than himself.
Yet how deplorable
was his situation!
what
terrible chastisements
were inflicted
upon his person!
what still more shocking
outrages
were perpetrated
upon his mind!
with all
his noble powers
and sublime aspirations,
how like a brute
was
he treated,
even by those
professing
to have the same mind in
them
that was in Christ Jesus!
to what dreadful liabilities
was
he continually subjected!
how destitute
of friendly counsel
and aid,
even in
his greatest extremities!
how heavy
was the midnight
of woe which shrouded
in blackness the last ray
of hope,
and filled
the future
with terror and gloom!
what longings
after freedom took possession
of his breast,
and how his misery
augmented,
in proportion
as he
grew
reflective and intelligent
-- thus
demonstrating that
a happy slave
is an extinct man!
how he
thought,
reasoned,
felt,
under the lash
of the driver,
with the chains
upon his limbs!
what perils
he encountered
in his endeavors
to escape
from his horrible doom!
and how signal
have been his deliverance
and preservation
in the midst
of a nation
of pitiless enemies!
This Narrative
contains
many affecting incidents,
many passages
of great eloquence
and power;
but I
think
the most thrilling
one of them all
is the description DOUGLASS
gives of his feelings,
as he stood soliloquizing
respecting
his fate,
and the chances
of his one day
being a freeman,
on the banks
of the Chesapeake Bay
-- viewing
the receding vessels as they
flew with their white wings
before the breeze,
and apostrophizing them
as animated
by the living spirit
of freedom.
Who can read that passage,
and be insensible
to its pathos and sublimity?
Compressed into it
is a whole Alexandrian library
of thought,
feeling,
and sentiment
-- all that can,
all that need
be urged,
in the form of expostulation,
entreaty,
rebuke,
against
that crime of crimes --
making man the property
of his fellow-man!
O,
how accursed
is that system,
which entombs
the godlike mind of man,
defaces the divine image,
reduces
those
who by creation
were crowned
with glory and honor
to a level
with four-footed beasts,
and exalts
the dealer in human flesh above
all
that is called God!
Why should its existence
be prolonged one hour?
Is it not evil,
only evil,
and that continually?
What does its presence
imply
but the absence
of all fear of God,
all regard for man,
on the part
of the people
of the United States?
Heaven
speed
its eternal overthrow!
So profoundly ignorant
of the nature of slavery
are many persons,
that they
are stubbornly incredulous
whenever they
read or listen to any recital
of the cruelties
which are daily inflicted
on its victims.
They do not deny that
the slaves
are held as property;
but that
terrible fact
seems to convey
to their minds no idea
of injustice,
exposure
to outrage,
or savage barbarity.
Tell them of cruel scourgings,
of mutilations and brandings,
of scenes
of pollution and blood,
of the banishment
of all light and knowledge,
and they
affect to be greatly indignant
at such enormous exaggerations,
such wholesale misstatements,
such abominable libels
on the character
of the southern planters!
As if all these direful
outrages
were not
the natural results
of slavery!
As if it
were less cruel
to reduce a human being
to the condition
of a thing,
than
to give him
a severe flagellation,
or to deprive him
of necessary food
and clothing!
As if whips,
chains,
thumb-screws,
paddles,
blood-hounds,
overseers,
drivers,
patrols,
were not all indispensable
to keep the slaves down,
and to give protection
to their ruthless oppressors!
As if,
when the marriage
institution is abolished,
concubinage,
adultery,
and incest,
must not necessarily abound;
when all
the rights of humanity
are annihilated,
any barrier remains
to protect the victim
from the fury
of the spoiler;
when absolute power
is assumed
over life and liberty,
it will not be wielded
with destructive sway!
Skeptics of this character
abound in society.
In some few instances,
their incredulity
arises from a want
of reflection;
but,
generally,
it indicates a hatred
of the light,
a desire
to shield slavery
from the assaults
of its foes,
a contempt
of the colored race,
whether bond or free.
Such
will try
to discredit
the shocking tales
of slaveholding cruelty
which are recorded
in this truthful Narrative;
but they will labor in vain.
Mr. DOUGLASS
has frankly disclosed
the place of his birth,
the names of those
who claimed ownership
in his body and soul,
and the names also of those
who committed the crimes
which he
has alleged against them.
His statements,
therefore,
may easily be disproved,
if they are untrue.
In the course
of his Narrative,
he relates two instances
of murderous cruelty
-- in one
of which
a planter
deliberately shot a slave
belonging
to a neighboring plantation,
who had unintentionally gotten
within his lordly domain
in quest of fish;
and in the other,
an overseer
blew out the brains
of a slave
who had fled
to a stream
of water
to escape a bloody scourging.
Mr. DOUGLASS
states that in neither
of these instances
was any thing
done by way
of legal arrest
or judicial investigation.
The Baltimore American,
of March 17, 1845,
relates
a similar case of atrocity,
perpetrated
with similar impunity
-- as follows:
"Shooting a slave.
-- We learn,
upon the authority
of a letter
from Charles county,
Maryland,
received
by a gentleman of this city,
that a young man,
named Matthews,
a nephew of General Matthews,
and whose father,
it is believed,
holds an office at Washington,
killed one
of the slaves
upon his father's farm
by shooting him.
The letter
states that young Matthews
had been left
in charge of the farm;
that he
gave an order to the servant,
which was disobeyed,
when he
proceeded to the house,
obtained a gun,
and,
returning,
shot the servant.
He immediately,
the letter
continues,
fled
to his father's residence,
where he
still remains
unmolested."
-- Let
it never be forgotten,
that no slaveholder or overseer
can be convicted
of any outrage
perpetrated
on the person
of a slave,
however
diabolical it may be,
on the testimony
of colored witnesses,
whether bond or free.
By the slave code,
they
are adjudged
to be as incompetent
to testify
against a white man,
as though they
were indeed a part
of the brute creation.
Hence,
there
is no legal protection
in fact,
whatever
there may be in form,
for the slave population;
and any amount of cruelty
may be inflicted
on them with impunity.
Is it possible
for the human mind
to conceive
of a more horrible state
of society?
The effect
of a religious profession
on the conduct
of southern masters
is vividly described
in the following Narrative,
and shown
to be any thing
but salutary.
In the nature
of the case,
it
must be
in the
highest degree
pernicious.
The testimony of Mr. DOUGLASS,
on this point,
is sustained by a cloud
of witnesses,
whose veracity
is unimpeachable.
"A slaveholder's profession
of Christianity
is a palpable imposture.
He is a felon
of the highest grade.
He is a man-stealer.
It is
of no importance
what you
put in the other scale."
Reader!
are you
with the man-stealers
in sympathy and purpose,
or on the side
of their down-trodden victims?
If with the former,
then
are you the foe
of God and man.
If with the latter,
what
are you prepared
to do and dare
in their behalf?
Be faithful,
be vigilant,
be untiring
in your efforts
to break every yoke,
and let the oppressed
go free.
Come what may
-- cost what it may --
inscribe
on the banner which you
unfurl to the breeze,
as
your religious and political motto
-- "NO COMPROMISE WITH SLAVERY!
NO UNION WITH SLAVEHOLDERS!"
Wm.
Lloyd Garrison,
Boston,
May 1, 1845.
You remember the old fable of
"The Man and the Lion,"
where
the lion complained that
he should not be
so misrepresented
"when the lions
wrote history."
I am glad the time
has come when the
"lions
write history."
We have been left
long enough
to gather the character
of slavery
from the involuntary evidence
of the masters.
One might,
indeed,
rest sufficiently
satisfied with what,
it is evident,
must be,
in general,
the results
of such a relation,
without seeking farther
to find whether they
have followed in every
instance.
Indeed,
those
who stare
at the half-peck
of corn a week,
and love
to count the lashes
on the slave's back,
are seldom
the "stuff"
out of which reformers
and abolitionists
are to be made.
I remember that,
in 1838,
many
were waiting for the results
of the West India experiment,
before
they could come
into our ranks.
Those "results"
have come long ago;
but,
alas!
few of that number
have come with them,
as converts.
A man
must be disposed
to judge
of emancipation
by other tests than whether
it has increased the produce
of sugar
-- and to hate slavery
for other reasons than because
it starves men
and whips women --
before he
is ready
to lay the first stone
of his anti-slavery life.
I was glad
to learn,
in your story,
how early
the most neglected
of God's children
waken
to a sense of their rights,
and of the injustice
done them.
Experience
is a keen teacher;
and long
before you
had mastered your A B C,
or knew
where the "white sails"
of the Chesapeake were bound,
you began,
I see,
to gauge the wretchedness
of the slave,
not by his hunger
and want,
not by his lashes and toil,
but by the
cruel and blighting death
which gathers
over his soul.
In connection with this,
there
is one circumstance which
makes your recollections
peculiarly valuable,
and renders
your early insight
the more remarkable.
You come
from that part
of the country
where we
are told slavery
appears
with its fairest features.
Let us hear,
then,
what it
is at its best estate
-- gaze on its bright side,
if it has one;
and then imagination
may task
her powers
to add dark lines
to the picture,
as she travels southward to
that
(for the colored man)
Valley
of the Shadow of Death,
where
the Mississippi sweeps along.
Again,
we have known you long,
and can put
the most entire confidence
in your truth,
candor,
and sincerity.
Every one
who has heard you speak
has felt,
and, I am confident,
every one
who reads your book
will feel,
persuaded
that you
give them a fair specimen
of the whole truth.
No one-sided portrait
-- no wholesale complaints --
but strict justice done,
whenever individual
kindliness has neutralized,
for a moment,
the deadly system
with which
it was strangely allied.
You have been with us, too,
some years,
and can fairly compare
the twilight of rights,
which your race
enjoy at the North,
with that
"noon of night"
under which
they labor south
of Mason and Dixon's line.
Tell us whether,
after all,
the half-free colored man
of Massachusetts
is worse off
than the pampered slave
of the rice swamps!
In reading your life,
no one
can say that we
have unfairly picked
out some rare specimens
of cruelty.
We know that
the bitter drops,
which even you
have drained from the cup,
are no incidental aggravations,
no individual ills,
but such as
must mingle always and
necessarily in the lot
of every slave.
They are
the essential ingredients,
not the occasional results,
of the system.
After all,
I shall read your book with
trembling for you.
Some years ago,
when you
were beginning
to tell me your real name
and birthplace,
you
may remember I stopped you,
and preferred
to remain ignorant of all.
With the exception
of a vague description,
so I
continued,
till the other day,
when you
read me your memoirs.
I hardly knew,
at the time,
whether to thank you or
not for the sight
of them,
when I
reflected
that it was still dangerous,
in Massachusetts,
for honest men
to tell their names!
They say the fathers,
in 1776,
signed
the Declaration of Independence
with the halter
about their necks.
You, too,
publish
your declaration
of freedom with danger
compassing you around.
In all the broad lands which
the Constitution
of the United States
overshadows,
there
is no single spot
-- however narrow
or desolate --
where a fugitive slave
can plant himself
and say,
"I am safe."
The whole armory
of Northern Law
has no shield for you.
I am free
to say that,
in your place,
I should throw the MS.
into the fire.
You,
perhaps,
may tell
your story in safety,
endeared
as you
are to so many warm hearts
by rare gifts,
and a still rarer devotion
of them
to the service of others.
But it
will be owing only
to your labors,
and the fearless efforts
of those who,
trampling the laws
and Constitution
of the country
under their feet,
are determined that
they will
"hide the outcast,"
and that
their hearths shall be,
spite of the law,
an asylum for the oppressed,
if,
some time or other,
the humblest
may stand in our streets,
and bear witness
in safety
against the cruelties
of which
he has been the victim.
Yet it is sad
to think,
that
these very
throbbing hearts
which welcome your story,
and form
your best safeguard in telling it,
are all beating contrary
to the
"statute in such case
made and provided."
Go on,
my dear friend,
till you,
and those who,
like you,
have been saved,
so as by fire,
from the dark prison-house,
shall stereotype
these free,
illegal
pulses into statutes;
and New England,
cutting loose
from a blood-stained Union,
shall glory in being
the house of refuge for the
oppressed
-- till we no longer merely
"hide the outcast,"
or make a merit of
standing idly by while
he is hunted in our midst;
but,
consecrating anew
the soil
of the Pilgrims
as an asylum for the
oppressed,
proclaim our WELCOME
to the slave so loudly,
that the tones
shall reach every hut
in the Carolinas,
and make
the broken-hearted bondman leap
up at
the thought
of old Massachusetts.
God speed the day!
Till then,
and ever,
Yours truly,
Wendell Phillips.
Frederick Douglass
was born
in slavery
as Frederick 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 thereafter
he changed his name
to Frederick Douglass.
In 1841
he addressed a convention
of the Massachusetts
Anti-Slavery Society
in Nantucket
and so greatly impressed
the group that
they immediately employed him
as an agent.
He was
such an impressive 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 assisted 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.
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,
harvesttime,
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 concerning 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 colored,
and quite dark.
My mother
was of a darker complexion
than either my grandmother
or grandfather.
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 considerable 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 contrary
-- 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 allowed
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 watchful 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 consequence
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 condition
of their mothers;
and this
is done too obviously
to administer to their own
lusts,
and make
a gratification
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 frequently 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 complexion
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 knowledge of this fact,
that one great statesman
of the south
predicted the downfall
of slavery
by the inevitable 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 scripturally 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 fathers 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 barbarity
on the part
of an overseer
to affect him.
He was a cruel man,
hardened
by a long life
of slaveholding.
He would at times
seem to take great pleasure
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 horrible exhibition.
I was quite a child,
but I well
remember it.
I never shall forget
it whilst I
remember any thing.
It was the first
of a long series of such
outrages,
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 company 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 neighborhood.
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 offence.
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 commenced
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 therefore been,
until now,
out of the way
of the bloody scenes
that often occurred
on the plantation.
My master's family
consisted of two sons,
Andrew and Richard;
one daughter,
Lucretia,
and her husband,
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 childhood
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
employment 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 master'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 overseership
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 immediately 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 children 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 washing,
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 consumed
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 horrid 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
demonstrations
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-grinding,
were all performed
by the slaves
on the home plantation.
The whole place
wore a business-like
aspect
very unlike
the neighboring farms.
The number 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
reposed
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 esteemed it
a high privilege,
one worth careful living for.
He was called
the smartest and most trusty
fellow,
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 sentiment
in the most rapturous tone,
and
the most rapturous sentiment
in the most pathetic tone.
Into all of
their songs
they would manage
to weave something
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 reading 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 neither saw nor heard
as those without
might see
and hear.
They told a tale of woe
which was then
altogether 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 depressed my spirit,
and filled me
with ineffable sadness.
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 character
of slavery.
I can never get rid of
that conception.
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 impressed
with the soul-killing effects
of slavery,
let him
go
to Colonel Lloyd's plantation,
and, on allowance-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 contentment
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 uncommon
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.
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 greatest 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 whipped
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 appearance
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 inattention 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 frequently 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 punishment.
They
were frequently whipped when
least deserving,
and escaped
whipping
when most deserving 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 keepers.
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 sufficiently rubbed
and curried,
or he
has not been properly 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 complaints,
no matter how unjust,
the slave
must answer 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,
Murray,
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,"
replied 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 nothing 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 feelings
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 consequences
of telling it,
and in so
doing
prove themselves 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 untried 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 kindness
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 quarrel
among themselves
about the relative goodness
of their masters,
each contending
for the superior goodness
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 greatness 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!
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 succeeded
by Mr. Austin Gore,
a man
possessing,
in an eminent degree,
all those traits of character
indispensable to
what is called
a first-rate overseer. M
r. 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 accordingly.
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 inflict
the severest punishment,
artful enough
to descend
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 inflexible firmness
and stone-like coolness.
His savage barbarity
was equalled
only by the consummate 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 unmanageable.
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 refused
to be corrected,
and escaped with his life,
the other slaves
would soon copy the example;
the result of which
would be,
the freedom of the slaves,
and the enslavement
of the whites.
Mr. Gore's defence
was satisfactory.
He was continued
in his station 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,
Talbot 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 sixteen 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 coroner,
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 sensation
in the community.
It did produce sensation,
but not enough
to bring the murderess
to punishment.
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 spending 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.
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 leisure 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 advantage 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 suffered 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 carrying 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 (Anthony)
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 received
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 Baltimore;
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 charmless;
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 hardship,
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 Baltimore.
So strong
was my desire,
that I thought
a gratification of it
would fully compensate for
whatever loss
of comforts
I should sustain
by the exchange.
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 Annapolis,
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 morning,
landing at Smith's Wharf,
not far from Bowley'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 describe 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 happiness.
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 providence
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 egotistical,
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 suppressed 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 abhorrence.
From my earliest recollection,
I date the entertainment
of a deep conviction
that slavery
would not always be able
to hold me
within its foul embrace;
and in the darkest hours
of my career in slavery,
this living word
of faith and spirit
of hope departed 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.
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 better
for having seen her.
Her face
was made of heavenly 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 influence
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 forever unfit him
to be a slave.
He would at
once become 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,
explaining
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 moment,
I understood the pathway
from slavery to freedom.
It was just what I
wanted,
and I
got it at a time when
I the least expected it.
Whilst I
was saddened by the thought
of losing the aid
of my kind mistress,
I was gladdened
by the invaluable instruction 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 trouble,
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 confidence
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
determination
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 country.
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 desperate 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 slaveholder
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 fourteen;
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 frequently 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 cowskin
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"
continuing,
"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|n>" than
by her name.
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 resort
to various stratagems.
I had no regular teacher.
My mistress,
who had kindly commenced
to instruct me,
had,
in compliance
with the advice and direction
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 treatment 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 tenderhearted 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 sustained 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 influence,
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 became
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 incompatible
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 prevent 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 teachers.
With their kindly aid,
obtained
at different times
and in different places,
I finally succeeded
in learning 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 before 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 children
in our neighborhood.
This bread
I used
to bestow
upon the hungry little urchins,
who,
in return,
would give me
that more valuable bread
of knowledge.
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 prudence
forbids;
-- not that it
would injure me,
but it might embarrass them;
for it
is almost
an unpardonable offence
to teach slaves to
read in this Christian 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 console 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 opportunity I got,
I used to
read this book.
Among much
of other interesting matter,
I found in it a dialogue
between a master
and his slave.
The slave
was represented
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 effect;
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 emancipation.
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 slavery,
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 another 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 blessing.
It had given me a view
of my wretched condition,
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 condition
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
afforded 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 abolitionist,
and always drew near
when that word was spoken,
expecting
to hear something
of importance
to myself 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 affected
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 understand 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
nevertheless 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 occasion
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 larboard aft,
it would be marked thus
-- "L. A."
For starboard 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 afternoon,
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.
In a very short time
after
I went to live at Baltimore,
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,
leaving 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 immediately 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 insensible
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 Captain 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,
remembered
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 children,
all holding the same rank
in the scale
of being,
and were all subjected
to the
same narrow examination.
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 drunkard,
who had,
by his reckless mismanagement
and profligate dissipation,
already
wasted a large portion
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 fellowslaves.
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 whippings,
and few
slaves could boast
of a kinder master
and mistress
than myself;
and the thought
of passing
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
-- meaning,
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 mistress,
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 character
of slavery,
and to fill me
with unutterable loathing
of slaveholders,
it was their base ingratitude
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 peopled 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 supporting 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 children,
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 unconscious children,
who
once sang
and danced in her presence,
are gone.
She gropes her way,
in the darkness 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 together
-- 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. Lucretia,
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 himself 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 direction.
I deemed this knowledge
of the utmost importance.
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.
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 master,
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 allowed 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 morning,
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 meanness;
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
slaveholders are the worst.
He was cruel,
but cowardly.
He commanded
without firmness.
In the enforcement
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 slaveholders,
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 compelled
to be the copyist of many,
and being such,
he was forever the victim
of inconsistency;
and of consequence
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
without the ability
to hold slaves.
He found himself incapable
of managing his slaves either
by force,
fear,
or fraud.
We seldom
called him
"master;"
we generally 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,
Talbot county,
and there experienced religion.
I indulged
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 respects.
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 getting 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 emancipation
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 recently-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-inlaw'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 reputation
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 consequence
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 nevertheless made the change
gladly;
for I was sure
of getting enough
to eat,
which is not
the smallest consideration
to a hungry man.
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 whipping,
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 unbroken 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 difficulty;
but I
had got a very few rods
into the woods,
when the oxen
took fright,
and started full tilt,
carrying 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 distance,
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 shattered,
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 ordered 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 pocketknife,
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 offences.
I lived
with Mr. Covey one year.
During the first six months,
of that year,
scarce a week
passed
without his whipping me.
I was seldom free
from a sore back.
My awkwardness
was almost always his excuse
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 ploughing 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. Michael'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 sometimes 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 deceive.
His life
was devoted to
planning
and perpetrating
the grossest deceptions.
Every thing
he possessed 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-compliance
would almost always produce
much confusion.
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. M
r. Covey
bought her
from Mr. Thomas Lowe,
about six miles
from St. Michael'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 result 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 Chesapeake 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 often,
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 utterance;
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 protecting 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 steamboats
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 moment,
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 circumstances
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 inquired
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,
stooping
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 receiving this blow,
my head
grew better.
Mr. Covey
had now left me
to my fate.
At this moment
I resolved,
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 overhauled 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 presented 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 escaped 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 orders,
I started off
to Covey's in the morning,
(Saturday morning,)
wearied in body
and broken in spirit.
I got no supper that night,
or breakfast that m
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
departed self-confidence,
and inspired me again
with a determination
to be free.
The gratification
afforded 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 considerable 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 holidays;
and, accordingly,
we were not required
to perform 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,
wrestling,
running foot-races,
fiddling,
dancing,
and drinking whisky;
and this
latter mode
of spending the time
was by far the most agreeable
to the feelings
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 wildest 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 dissipation.
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 ignorance,
cheats him
with a dose
of vicious dissipation,
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 properly 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 enraged at him;
but,
not willing to send him off
without food,
gives him more than
is necessary,
and compels 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 constantly 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 cunningly-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 unhesitatingly,
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 infernal deeds
of slaveholders find
the strongest protection.
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 others.
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 slaveholding life,
to see with what
wonderful ease
a slaveholder
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 impudence
-- 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 flogging
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 preaching 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 experience
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 employment,
was heavenly,
compared with what
I experienced
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
consisted of myself,
Sandy Jenkins,*
and Handy Caldwell.
(*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.)
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 Sabbath school.
I agreed to do so,
and accordingly devoted
my Sundays to
teaching these my loved
fellow-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 rather
see us
engaged
in those degrading sports,
than
to see us behaving
like intellectual,
moral,
and accountable 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
Sabbath 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 embarrass 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 expressed.
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 Sabbath 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
bettering
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 evenings
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 master.
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 fellowslaves,
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 subjected
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 content,
therefore,
to live
with him
or any other slaveholder.
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 manhood,
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 disposed
to give up,
and try to content ourselves
with our wretched lot;
at others,
we were firm and unbending
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
permitted ourselves
to survey the road,
we were frequently 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 bondage.
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 arrival
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 several 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, etc.,
1835.
WILLIAM HAMILTON,
Near St.
Michael's,
in Talbot county,
Maryland."
We were not going
to Baltimore;
but,
in going up the bay,
we went toward Baltimore,
and these protections
were only intended
to protect us while
on the bay.
As the time
drew near for our departure,
our anxiety
became more and more intense.
It was truly a matter
of life and death
with us.
The strength
of our determination
was about
to be fully tested.
At this time,
I was very active
in explaining
every difficulty,
removing every doubt,
dispelling every fear,
and inspiring all
with the
firmness indispensable
to success in our undertaking;
assuring them that half
was gained
the instant
we made the move;
we had talked long enough;
we were now ready
to move;
if not now,
we never should be;
and if we did not intend
to move now,
we had as well fold our arms,
sit down,
and acknowledge ourselves
fit only
to be slaves.
This,
none of us
were prepared
to acknowledge.
Every man
stood firm;
and at our last meeting,
we pledged ourselves afresh,
in the most solemn manner,
that,
at the time appointed,
we would certainly start in
pursuit
of freedom.
This was
in the middle
of the week,
at the end
of which
we were to be off.
We went,
as usual,
to our several fields
of labor,
but with bosoms
highly agitated with thoughts
of our truly hazardous undertaking.
We tried
to conceal our feelings
as much as possible;
and I
think we
succeeded very well.
After a painful waiting,
the Saturday morning,
whose night
was
to witness our departure,
came.
I hailed it with joy,
bring what of sadness
it might.
Friday night
was a sleepless one for me.
I probably felt more anxious
than the rest,
because I was,
by common consent,
at the head
of the whole affair.
The responsibility
of success or failure
lay heavily upon me.
The glory of the one,
and the confusion
of the other,
were alike mine.
The first two hours of
that morning
were such as
I never experienced before,
and hope never to again.
Early in the morning,
we went,
as usual,
to the field.
We were spreading manure;
and all at once,
while thus engaged,
I was overwhelmed
with an indescribable feeling,
in the fulness
of which
I turned to Sandy,
who was near by,
and said,
"We are betrayed!"
"Well,"
said he,
"that
thought
has this moment struck me."
We said no more.
I was never more certain
of any thing.
The horn
was blown as usual,
and we
went up
from the field
to the house for breakfast.
I went for the form,
more than
for want of any thing
to eat that morning.
Just
as I got to the house,
in looking out
at the lane gate,
I saw four white men,
with two colored men.
The white men
were on horseback,
and the colored ones
were walking behind,
as if tied.
I watched them
a few moments till
they got up
to our lane gate.
Here
they halted,
and tied the colored men
to the gate-post.
I was not yet certain as
to what
the matter was.
In a few moments,
in rode Mr. Hamilton,
with a speed betokening
great excitement.
He came to the door,
and inquired
if Master William was in.
He was told
he was at the barn.
Mr. Hamilton,
without dismounting,
rode up to the barn
with extraordinary speed.
In a few moments,
he and Mr. Freeland
returned to the house.
By this time,
the three constables
rode up,
and in great haste dismounted,
tied their horses,
and met Master William
and Mr. Hamilton
returning from the barn;
and after talking awhile,
they all walked
up to the kitchen door.
There
was no one
in the kitchen but myself
and John.
Henry and Sandy
were up at the barn.
Mr. Freeland
put his head in
at the door,
and called me by name,
saying,
there
were some gentlemen
at the door
who wished
to see me.
I stepped to the door,
and inquired what they
wanted.
They at once seized me,
and,
without giving me
any satisfaction,
tied me
-- lashing my hands
closely together.
I insisted
upon knowing
what the matter was.
They at length said,
that they
had learned
I had been in a
"scrape,"
and that
I was to be examined
before my master;
and if their information
proved false,
I should not be hurt.
In a few moments,
they succeeded in tying John.
They then turned
to Henry,
who had
by this time returned,
and commanded him
to cross his hands.
"I won't!"
said Henry,
in a firm tone,
indicating
his readiness
to meet the consequences
of his refusal.
"Won't you?"
said Tom Graham,
the constable.
"No,
I won't!"
said Henry,
in a still stronger tone.
With this,
two of the constables pulled
out their shining pistols,
and swore,
by their Creator,
that
they would make him cross
his hands or kill him.
Each cocked his pistol,
and,
with fingers on the trigger,
walked up to Henry,
saying,
at the same time,
if he
did not cross his hands,
they
would blow
his damned heart out.
"Shoot me,
shoot me!"
said Henry;
"you can't kill me but once.
Shoot,
shoot
-- and be damned!
I
won't be tied!"
This
he said
in a tone of loud defiance;
and at the same time,
with
a motion as quick as lightning,
he with one single stroke
dashed the pistols
from the hand
of each constable.
As he did this,
all hands fell upon him,
and,
after beating him some time,
they finally overpowered him,
and got him tied.
During the scuffle,
I managed,
I know not how,
to get my pass out,
and,
without being discovered,
put it into the fire.
We were all now tied;
and just
as we
were to leave
for Easton jail,
Betsy Freeland,
mother of William Freeland,
came to the door
with her hands
full of biscuits,
and divided them
between Henry and John.
She then delivered herself
of a speech,
to the following effect:
-- addressing herself to me,
she said,
"You devil!
You yellow devil!
it was you that put it
into the heads
of Henry and John
to run away.
But for you,
you long-legged mulatto
devil!
Henry nor John
would never have thought
of such a thing."
I made no reply,
and was immediately hurried
off towards St. Michael's.
Just a moment previous
to the scuffle with Henry,
Mr. Hamilton
suggested the propriety
of making
a search
for the protections which he
had understood Frederick
had written
for himself and the rest.
But,
just at the moment
he was about carrying
his proposal into effect,
his aid
was needed
in helping to tie Henry;
and the excitement attending
the scuffle
caused them either
to forget,
or to deem it unsafe,
under the circumstances,
to search.
So we
were not yet convicted
of the intention
to run away.
When we
got about half way
to St. Michael's,
while the constables
having us in charge
were looking ahead,
Henry
inquired
of me
what he
should do with his pass.
I told him
to eat it with his biscuit,
and own nothing;
and we
passed the word around,
"Own nothing;"
and "Own nothing!"
said we all.
Our confidence
in each other was unshaken.
We were resolved
to succeed or fail together,
after the calamity
had befallen us
as much as
before.
We were now prepared
for any thing.
We were to be dragged
that morning fifteen miles
behind horses,
and then
to be placed
in the Easton jail.
When we
reached St. Michael's,
we underwent a sort
of examination.
We all
denied that we
ever intended to run away.
We did this
more to bring
out the evidence against us,
than from any hope
of getting clear
of being sold;
for,
as I have said,
we were ready for that.
The fact was,
we cared but little
where we went,
so we went together.
Our greatest concern
was about separation.
We dreaded
that more than any thing
this side of death.
We found the evidence
against us
to be the testimony
of one person;
our master
would not tell who it was;
but we
came to a unanimous decision
among ourselves
as to
who their informant was.
We were sent off
to the jail at Easton.
When we got there,
we were delivered
up to the sheriff,
Mr. Joseph Graham,
and by him
placed in jail.
Henry,
John,
and myself,
were placed
in one room together
-- Charles,
and Henry Bailey,
in another.
Their object
in separating us
was
to hinder concert.
We had been
in jail scarcely twenty minutes,
when a swarm
of slave traders,
and agents for slave traders,
flocked
into jail
to look at us,
and to
ascertain
if we were for sale.
Such a set of beings
I never saw before!
I felt myself
surrounded by so many fiends
from perdition.
A band of pirates
never
looked more like their father,
the devil.
They laughed
and grinned over us,
saying,
"Ah,
my boys!
we have
got you,
haven't we?"
And after taunting us
in various ways,
they one by one
went into an examination
of us,
with intent to ascertain
our value.
They
would impudently ask us
if we
would not like
to have them
for our masters.
We would make them no answer,
and leave them
to find out as best
they could.
Then they would curse
and swear at us,
telling us that
they could take the devil
out of us
in a very little while,
if we
were only in their hands.
While in jail,
we found ourselves
in much more comfortable quarters
than we expected
when we went
there.
We did not get
much to eat,
nor that
which was very good;
but we
had a good clean room,
from the windows
of which we
could see
what
was going on in the street,
which was very much better
than though
we had been placed
in one of the dark,
damp cells.
Upon the whole,
we got along very well,
so far
as the jail and its keeper
were concerned.
Immediately after the holidays
were over,
contrary to all
our expectations,
Mr. Hamilton
and Mr. Freeland
came up to Easton,
and took Charles,
the two Henrys,
and John,
out of jail,
and carried them home,
leaving me alone.
I regarded
this separation
as a final one.
It caused me more pain
than any thing else
in the whole transaction.
I was
ready
for any
thing rather than separation.
I supposed
that they
had consulted together,
and had decided that,
as I was the whole cause
of the intention
of the others to run away,
it was hard
to make the innocent
suffer with the guilty;
and that they had,
therefore,
concluded
to take the others home,
and sell me,
as a warning to the others
that remained.
It is
due to the noble Henry
to say,
he seemed almost as reluctant
at leaving the prison as
at leaving home
to come to the prison.
But we knew we should,
in all probability,
be separated,
if we were sold;
and since he
was in their hands,
he concluded
to go peaceably home.
I was now left
to my fate.
I was all alone,
and within the walls
of a stone prison.
But a few days before,
and I was full of hope.
I expected
to have been safe
in a land
of freedom;
but now I
was covered with gloom,
sunk down
to the utmost despair.
I thought
the possibility of freedom
was gone.
I was kept in this way
about one week,
at the end of which,
Captain Auld,
my master,
to my surprise
and utter astonishment,
came up,
and took me out,
with the intention
of sending me,
with a gentleman
of his acquaintance,
into Alabama.
But,
from some cause or other,
he did not send me
to Alabama,
but concluded
to send me back to Baltimore,
to live again
with his brother Hugh,
and to learn a trade.
Thus,
after an absence
of three years and one month,
I was once more
permitted
to return
to my old home
at Baltimore.
My master
sent me away,
because
there existed against me
a very great prejudice
in the community,
and he feared
I might be killed.
In a few weeks after
I went to Baltimore,
Master Hugh
hired me
to Mr. William Gardner,
an extensive ship-builder,
on Fell's Point.
I was put there
to learn how
to calk.
It,
however,
proved
a very unfavorable place
for the accomplishment
of this object.
Mr. Gardner
was engaged that spring
in building
two large man-of-war brigs,
professedly for
the Mexican government.
The vessels
were to be launched
in the July of
that year,
and in failure thereof,
Mr. Gardner
was
to lose a considerable sum;
so that when I
entered,
all was hurry.
There
was no time
to learn any thing.
Every man
had to do
that which
he knew how
to do.
In entering the shipyard,
my orders
from Mr. Gardner were,
to do whatever the carpenters
commanded me
to do.
This
was placing me
at the beck
and call of
about seventy-five men.
I was to regard all these
as masters.
Their word
was
to be my law.
My situation
was a most trying one.
At times
I needed a dozen pair
of hands.
I was called a dozen ways
in the space
of a single minute.
Three
or four
voices would strike my ear
at the same moment.
It was
-- "Fred.,
come
help me
to cant this timber here."
-- "Fred.,
come
carry this timber yonder."
-- "Fred.,
bring that roller here."
-- "Fred.,
go get a fresh can
of water."
-- "Fred.,
come help saw
off the end
of this timber."
-- "Fred.,
go quick,
and get the crowbar."
-- "Fred.,
hold on the end
of this fall."
-- "Fred.,
go to the blacksmith's shop,
and get a new punch."
-- "Hurra, Fred!
run and bring me
a cold chisel."
-- "I say, Fred.,
bear a hand,
and get up a fire
as quick as lightning
under that steam-box."
-- "Halloo, nigger!
come,
turn this grindstone."
--"Come, come!
move, move!
and BOWSE this timber
forward."
-- "I say, darky,
blast your eyes,
why don't you
heat up some pitch?"
-- "Halloo! halloo! halloo!"
(Three voices
at the same time.)
"Come here!
-- Go there!
-- Hold on where you are!
Damn you,
if you move,
I'll knock
your brains out!"
This
was my school
for eight months;
and I
might have remained there
longer,
but for a most horrid fight
I had
with four
of the white apprentices,
in which
my left eye
was nearly knocked out,
and I
was horribly mangled
in other respects.
The facts in the case
were these:
Until a very little
while after
I went there,
white and black ship-carpenters
worked side by side,
and no one
seemed
to see any impropriety
in it.
All hands
seemed
to be very well satisfied.
Many of the black carpenters
were freemen.
Things
seemed to be going on
very well.
All at once,
the white carpenters
knocked off,
and said
they would not work
with free colored workmen.
Their reason for this,
as alleged,
was, that
if free colored carpenters
were encouraged,
they
would soon take the trade
into their own hands,
and poor white men
would be thrown out of employment.
They
therefore
felt called upon at
once to put
a stop to it.
And,
taking advantage
of Mr. Gardner's necessities,
they broke off,
swearing
they would work no longer,
unless he
would discharge
his black carpenters.
Now,
though
this did not extend to me
in form,
it did reach me in fact.
My fellow-apprentices
very soon began
to feel it
degrading
to them
to work with me.
They
began to put on airs,
and talk about the "niggers"
taking the country,
saying we all
ought to be killed;
and,
being encouraged
by the journeymen,
they commenced
making
my condition as hard
as they
could,
by hectoring me around,
and sometimes striking me.
I,
of course,
kept the vow
I made after the fight
with Mr. Covey,
and struck back again,
regardless of consequences;
and while I
kept them from combining,
I succeeded very well;
for I could whip the whole
of them,
taking them separately.
They,
however,
at length combined,
and came upon me,
armed with sticks,
stones,
and heavy handspikes.
One came in front
with a half brick.
There
was one at each side
of me,
and one behind me.
While I
was attending to those
in front,
and on either side,
the one behind
ran up with the handspike,
and struck me
a heavy blow upon the head.
It stunned me.
I fell,
and with this
they all ran upon me,
and fell to
beating me with their fists.
I let them lay on
for a while,
gathering strength.
In an instant,
I gave a sudden surge,
and rose
to my hands and knees.
Just as I did that,
one of their number
gave me,
with his heavy boot,
a powerful kick
in the left eye.
My eyeball
seemed
to have burst.
When they saw my eye
closed,
and badly swollen,
they left me.
With this
I seized the handspike,
and for a time
pursued them.
But here
the carpenters interfered,
and I thought I might
as well
give it up.
It was impossible
to stand my hand
against so many.
All this
took place
in sight
of not less than
fifty white ship-carpenters,
and not one
interposed a friendly word;
but some
cried,
"Kill the damned nigger!
Kill him!
kill him!
He struck a white person."
I found my only chance
for life
was in flight.
I succeeded in
getting away
without an additional blow,
and barely so;
for to
strike a white man
is death by Lynch law
-- and that
was
the law in
Mr. Gardner's ship-yard;
nor is there much
of any
other
out of Mr. Gardner's ship-yard.
I went directly home,
and told the story
of my wrongs
to Master Hugh;
and I am happy
to say of him,
irreligious as he was,
his conduct
was heavenly,
compared with
that of his
brother
Thomas
under similar circumstances.
He listened attentively
to my narration
of the circumstances
leading to the savage outrage,
and gave many proofs
of his strong indignation
at it.
The heart
of my once overkind mistress
was again melted into pity.
My puffed-out eye
and blood-covered face
moved her to tears.
She took a chair
by me,
washed the blood
from my face,
and,
with a mother's tenderness,
bound up my head,
covering
the wounded eye
with a lean piece
of fresh beef.
It was almost compensation
for my suffering
to witness,
once more,
a manifestation
of kindness from this,
my once affectionate old mistress.
Master Hugh
was very much enraged.
He gave expression
to his feelings
by pouring
out curses
upon the heads of those
who did the deed.
As soon
as I got a little
the better of my bruises,
he took me
with him to Esquire Watson's,
on Bond Street,
to see
what
could be done
about the matter.
Mr. Watson
inquired
who saw
the assault committed.
Master Hugh
told him
it was done
in Mr. Gardner's ship-yard
at midday,
where there were
a large company
of men
at work.
"As to that,"
he said,
"the deed
was done,
and there was no question
as to who
did it."
His answer was,
he could do nothing
in the case,
unless some white man
would come forward
and testify.
He could issue no warrant
on my word.
If I
had been killed
in the presence
of a thousand colored people,
their testimony
combined
would have been insufficient
to have arrested one
of the murderers.
Master Hugh,
for once,
was compelled
to say
this state of things
was too bad.
Of course,
it was impossible
to get any white man
to volunteer his testimony
in my behalf,
and against the white young men.
Even those
who may have sympathized
with me
were not prepared
to do this.
It required a degree
of courage unknown to them
to do so;
for just at that time,
the slightest manifestation
of humanity
toward a colored person
was denounced as abolitionism,
and that name
subjected its bearer
to frightful liabilities.
The watchwords
of the bloody-minded in
that region,
and in those days,
were,
"Damn the abolitionists!"
and "Damn the niggers!"
There
was nothing done,
and probably nothing
would have been done
if I
had been killed.
Such was,
and such remains,
the state
of things
in the Christian city
of Baltimore.
Master Hugh,
finding
he could get no redress,
refused to
let me
go back again
to Mr. Gardner.
He kept me himself,
and his wife
dressed my wound till
I was again restored
to health.
He then took me
into the ship-yard
of which he
was foreman,
in the employment
of Mr. Walter Price.
There I
was immediately set
to calking,
and very soon learned the art
of using my mallet
and irons.
In the course
of one year
from the time
I left Mr. Gardner's,
I was able
to command
the highest wages
given
to the most experienced calkers.
I was now
of some importance
to my master.
I was bringing him
from six to seven dollars
per week.
I sometimes brought him
nine dollars
per week:
my wages
were a dollar
and a half a day.
After learning how to calk,
I sought my own employment,
made my own contracts,
and collected
the money which
I earned.
My pathway
became much more smooth
than before;
my condition
was now
much more comfortable.
When I
could get no
calking
to do,
I did nothing.
During these leisure times,
those
old notions about freedom
would steal over me
again.
When
in Mr. Gardner's employment,
I was kept in such
a perpetual whirl
of excitement,
I could think of nothing,
scarcely,
but my life;
and in thinking
of my life,
I almost forgot my liberty.
I have observed this
in my experience of slavery
-- that
whenever my condition
was improved,
instead of its increasing
my contentment,
it only increased
my desire
to be free,
and set me to thinking
of plans
to gain my freedom.
I have found that,
to make a contented slave,
it is necessary
to make a thoughtless one.
It is necessary
to darken his moral
and mental vision,
and,
as far as possible,
to annihilate the power
of reason.
He must be
able
to detect no inconsistencies
in slavery;
he must be made
to feel that slavery
is right;
and he
can be brought to that only
when he ceases
to be a man.
I was now getting,
as I have said,
one dollar and fifty cents
per day.
I contracted for it;
I earned it;
it was paid to me;
it was rightfully my own;
yet,
upon each returning Saturday night,
I was compelled
to deliver every cent of
that money
to Master Hugh.
And why?
Not because
he earned it
-- not because he
had any hand
in earning it
-- not because
I owed it to him
-- nor because
he possessed
the slightest shadow
of a right to it;
but solely because he
had the power
to compel me
to give it up.
The right
of the grim-visaged pirate
upon the high seas
is exactly the same.
I now come
to that part
of my life during which
I planned,
and finally succeeded in making,
my escape from slavery.
But before narrating
any of the
peculiar circumstances,
I deem it proper
to make known
my intention not
to state all the facts
connected
with the transaction.
My reasons
for pursuing this course
may be understood
from the following:
First,
were I to give a minute
statement
of all the facts,
it is not only possible,
but quite probable,
that others
would thereby be involved
in the most
embarrassing difficulties.
Secondly,
such
a statement
would most undoubtedly induce
greater vigilance
on the part of slaveholders
than
has existed heretofore
among them;
which would,
of course,
be the means
of guarding
a door whereby some dear brother
bondman
might escape
his galling chains.
I deeply regret the necessity
that impels me
to suppress any thing
of importance
connected
with my experience
in slavery.
It would afford me
great pleasure indeed,
as well as materially add
to the interest
of my narrative,
were I at liberty
to gratify a curiosity,
which
I know
exists in the minds
of many,
by an accurate statement
of all the facts
pertaining
to my most fortunate escape.
But I
must deprive myself
of this pleasure,
and the curious
of the
gratification which such
a statement would afford.
I would allow myself
to suffer
under the
greatest imputations
which evil-minded men
might suggest,
rather than
exculpate myself,
and thereby run the hazard
of closing
the slightest avenue
by which a brother
slave might clear himself
of the chains
and fetters of slavery.
I have never approved
of the very public manner
in which some of
our western friends
have conducted what they
call the underground
railroad,
but which
I think,
by their open declarations,
has been made most emphatically
the upper-ground railroad.
I honor those good men
and women
for their noble daring,
and applaud them
for willingly
subjecting themselves
to bloody persecution,
by openly avowing
their participation
in the escape of slaves.
I,
however,
can see
very little good resulting
from such a course,
either
to themselves or the slaves
escaping;
while,
upon the other hand,
I see
and feel assured that
those open declarations
are a positive evil
to the slaves
remaining,
who are seeking
to escape.
They do nothing
towards enlightening
the slave,
whilst they
do much
towards enlightening the master.
They stimulate him
to greater watchfulness,
and enhance his power
to capture his slave.
We owe something
to the slave south
of the line
as well as to those
north of it;
and in aiding the latter
on their way to freedom,
we should be careful
to do nothing
which would be likely
to hinder the former from
escaping from slavery.
I would keep
the merciless slaveholder
profoundly ignorant
of the means
of flight
adopted by the slave.
I would leave him
to imagine himself surrounded
by myriads
of invisible tormentors,
ever ready
to snatch
from his infernal grasp
his trembling prey.
Let him
be left
to feel his way
in the dark;
let darkness commensurate
with his crime hover
over him;
and let him
feel that at every step
he takes,
in pursuit
of the flying bondman,
he is running
the frightful risk
of having
his hot brains
dashed out
by an invisible agency.
Let us
render the tyrant no aid;
let us not hold
the light
by which
he can trace the footprints
of our flying brother.
But enough of this.
I will now proceed
to the statement
of those facts,
connected with my escape,
for which I
am alone responsible,
and for which no one
can be made
to suffer but myself.
In the early part
of the year 1838,
I became quite restless.
I could see no reason
why I should,
at the end of each week,
pour the reward
of my toil
into the purse
of my master.
When I
carried
to him my weekly wages,
he would,
after counting the money,
look me
in the face
with a robber-like fierceness,
and ask,
"Is this all?"
He was satisfied
with nothing
less than the last cent.
He would,
however,
when
I made him six dollars,
sometimes
give me six cents,
to encourage me.
It had the opposite effect.
I regarded
it as a sort
of admission
of my right
to the whole.
The fact
that he gave me
any part
of my wages was proof,
to my mind,
that
he believed me
entitled
to the whole of them.
I always felt worse
for having received any thing;
for I
feared that the giving me
a few cents would ease
his conscience,
and make him
feel himself
to be a pretty honorable sort
of robber.
My discontent
grew upon me.
I was ever on the look-out
for means of escape;
and, finding no direct means,
I determined
to try to hire my time,
with a view
of getting money
with which
to make my escape.
In the spring of 1838,
when
Master Thomas came
to Baltimore
to purchase his spring goods,
I got an opportunity,
and applied to him
to allow me
to hire my time.
He unhesitatingly refused
my request,
and told me
this was another
stratagem by which to escape.
He told me
I could go nowhere
but that
he could get me;
and that,
in the event
of my running away,
he should spare no pains in
his efforts
to catch me.
He exhorted me
to content myself,
and be obedient.
He told me,
if I would be happy,
I must lay out no plans
for the future.
He said,
if I
behaved myself properly,
he would take care of me.
Indeed,
he advised me
to complete thoughtlessness
of the future,
and taught me
to depend solely
upon him for happiness.
He seemed
to see fully
the pressing necessity
of
setting
aside my intellectual nature,
in order to contentment
in slavery.
But in spite of him,
and even in spite
of myself,
I continued
to think,
and to think
about the injustice
of my enslavement,
and the means of escape.
About two months after this,
I applied
to Master Hugh
for the privilege
of hiring my time.
He was not acquainted
with the fact
that I
had applied to Master Thomas,
and had been refused.
He too,
at first,
seemed disposed
to refuse;
but,
after some reflection,
he granted me the privilege,
and proposed
the following terms:
I was to be allowed
all my time,
make all contracts
with those for whom I
worked,
and find my own employment;
and,
in return
for this liberty,
I was to pay him
three dollars
at the end of each week;
find myself in calking tools,
and in board
and clothing.
My board
was two dollars
and a half per week.
This,
with the wear
and tear
of clothing and calking tools,
made my regular expenses
about six dollars per week.
This amount
I was compelled to make up,
or relinquish the privilege
of hiring my time.
Rain or shine,
work
or no work,
at the end
of each week
the money
must be forthcoming,
or I
must give up my privilege.
This arrangement,
it will be perceived,
was decidedly
in my master's favor.
It relieved him
of all need of
looking after me.
His money
was sure.
He received all the benefits
of slaveholding
without its evils;
while I
endured all
the evils of a slave,
and suffered all the care
and anxiety
of a freeman.
I found it a hard bargain.
But,
hard as it was,
I thought it better
than the old mode
of getting along.
It was a step towards freedom
to be allowed
to bear the responsibilities
of a freeman,
and I was determined
to hold on upon it.
I bent myself
to the work
of making money.
I was ready
to work
at night as well as day,
and by the most
untiring perseverance
and industry,
I made enough
to meet my expenses,
and lay up a
little money every week.
I went on thus
from May till August.
Master Hugh
then refused
to allow me
to hire my time longer.
The ground for his refusal
was a failure on my part,
one Saturday night,
to pay him
for my week's time.
This failure
was occasioned
by my attending a camp
meeting
about ten miles
from Baltimore.
During the week,
I had entered
into an engagement
with a number
of young friends
to start
from Baltimore
to the camp ground
early Saturday evening;
and being detained
by my employer,
I was unable to get down
to Master Hugh's
without disappointing
the company.
I knew that Master Hugh
was in no special need
of the money
that night.
I
therefore
decided
to go to camp meeting,
and upon my return
pay him the three dollars.
I staid at the camp
meeting one day longer
than I intended
when I left.
But as
soon as I returned,
I called upon him
to pay him
what he considered his due.
I found him very angry;
he could scarce
restrain his wrath.
He said he
had
a great mind
to give me
a severe whipping.
He wished
to know how I
dared
go out of the city
without asking his permission.
I told him I hired
my time and while I
paid him the price which
he asked for it,
I did not know that
I was bound
to ask him when and
where I should go.
This reply
troubled him;
and,
after reflecting a few moments,
he turned to me,
and said
I should hire my time
no longer;
that the next thing
he should know of,
I would be running away.
Upon the same plea,
he told me
to bring
my tools
and clothing home forthwith.
I did so;
but instead of seeking work,
as I had been accustomed
to do previously to
hiring my time,
I spent the whole week
without the performance
of a single stroke
of work.
I did this in retaliation.
Saturday night,
he called upon me as usual
for my week's wages.
I told him
I had no wages;
I had done no work
that week.
Here
we were upon the point of
coming to blows.
He raved,
and swore
his determination
to get hold of me.
I did not allow myself
a single word;
but was resolved,
if he
laid the weight
of his hand upon me,
it should be blow for blow.
He did not strike me,
but told me that
he would find me
in constant
employment in future.
I thought the matter over
during the next day,
Sunday,
and finally resolved
upon the third day
of September,
as the day upon which
I would make a second attempt
to secure my freedom.
I now had three weeks
during which
to prepare for my journey.
Early on Monday morning,
before Master Hugh
had time
to make any engagement
for me,
I went out and got employment
of Mr. Butler,
at his ship-yard
near the drawbridge,
upon
what is called
the City Block,
thus making it unnecessary
for him
to seek employment for me.
At the end
of the week,
I brought him
between eight and nine dollars.
He seemed very well pleased,
and asked
why I
did not do
the same the week
before.
He little
knew
what my plans were.
My object
in working steadily
was to remove
any suspicion
he might entertain
of my intent
to run away;
and in this
I succeeded admirably.
I suppose he thought
I was never better
satisfied
with my condition than
at the very time
during which
I was planning my escape.
The second week passed,
and again
I carried him my full wages;
and so well pleased
was he,
that he
gave me twenty-five cents,
(quite a large sum
for a slaveholder
to give a slave,)
and bade me
to make a good use
of it.
I told him I would.
Things
went on
without very smoothly indeed,
but within
there was trouble.
It is impossible for me
to describe
my feelings
as the time
of my contemplated start
drew near.
I had a number
of warmhearted friends
in Baltimore
-- friends
that
I loved almost
as I did my life --
and the
thought of
being separated from them
forever was painful
beyond expression.
It is my opinion
that thousands
would escape from slavery,
who now remain,
but for the strong cords
of affection that bind them
to their friends.
The thought
of leaving my friends
was decidedly
the most painful thought
with which I
had to contend.
The love of them
was my tender point,
and shook
my decision more than all
things else.
Besides the pain
of separation,
the dread and apprehension
of a failure exceeded
what
I had experienced
at my first attempt.
The appalling defeat
I then sustained
returned
to torment me.
I felt assured that,
if I failed in this attempt,
my case
would be a hopeless one
-- it would seal
my fate as a slave forever.
I could not hope
to get off
with any thing
less than
the severest punishment,
and being placed
beyond the means of escape.
It required
no very vivid imagination
to depict
the most frightful scenes
through which I
should have
to pass,
in case I
failed.
The wretchedness of slavery,
and the blessedness
of freedom,
were perpetually before me.
It was life and death
with me.
But I
remained firm,
and,
according to my resolution,
on the third day
of September, 1838,
I left my chains,
and succeeded
in reaching New York
without the slightest interruption
of any kind.
How I
did so
-- what means
I adopted
-- what direction
I travelled,
and by what mode
of conveyance
-- I must leave unexplained,
for the reasons
before mentioned.
I have been frequently asked
how I
felt when
I found myself
in a free State.
I have never been
able to answer the question
with any satisfaction
to myself.
It was a moment
of the highest excitement
I ever experienced.
I suppose I felt as one
may imagine
the unarmed mariner
to feel
when he
is rescued
by a friendly man-of-war
from the pursuit
of a pirate.
In writing to a dear friend,
immediately after my arrival
at New York,
I said
I felt like one
who had escaped a den
of hungry lions.
This state of mind,
however,
very soon
subsided;
and I
was again seized
with a feeling
of great insecurity
and loneliness.
I was yet liable
to be taken back,
and subjected to all
the tortures of slavery.
This in itself
was enough to damp
the ardor of my enthusiasm.
But the loneliness
overcame me.
There I
was in the midst
of thousands,
and yet a perfect stranger;
without home
and without friends,
in the midst
of thousands of
my own brethren
-- children of a common Father,
and yet
I dared not
to unfold to any one
of them my sad condition.
I was afraid to speak
to any one
for fear
of speaking to the wrong one,
and thereby falling
into the hands
of money-loving kidnappers,
whose business
it was
to lie in wait
for the panting fugitive,
as the ferocious beasts
of the forest
lie in wait for their prey.
The motto which
I adopted when
I started from slavery
was this
-- "Trust no man!"
I saw
in every white man an enemy,
and in almost
every colored man cause
for distrust.
It was
a most painful situation;
and,
to understand it,
one must needs experience it,
or imagine himself
in similar circumstances.
Let him
be a fugitive slave
in a strange land
-- a land given up to
be the hunting-ground
for slaveholders --
whose inhabitants
are legalized kidnappers
-- where he is every moment
subjected
to the terrible liability of
being seized upon
by his fellowmen,
as the hideous crocodile
seizes upon his prey!
-- I say,
let him
place himself in my situation
-- without home or friends
-- without money or credit
-- wanting shelter,
and no one
to give it --
wanting bread,
and no money to buy it
-- and at the same time
let him
feel
that he
is pursued
by merciless men-hunters,
and in total darkness
as to what to do,
where to go,
or where to stay --
perfectly helpless both
as to the means of defence
and means of escape
-- in the midst of plenty,
yet suffering
the terrible gnawings
of hunger
-- in the midst of houses,
yet having no home
-- among fellow-men,
yet feeling as if
in the midst of wild beasts,
whose greediness to swallow
up the
trembling
and half-famished fugitive
is only equalled by
that with which the monsters
of the deep swallow
up the helpless fish
upon which
they subsist --
I say,
let him
be placed
in this most trying situation
-- the situation
in which I was placed --
then,
and not till then,
will
he fully appreciate
the hardships of,
and know how
to sympathize with,
the toil-worn
and
whip-scarred fugitive slave.
Thank Heaven,
I remained
but a short time in this
distressed situation.
I was relieved from it
by the humane hand
of Mr. DAVID RUGGLES,
whose vigilance,
kindness,
and perseverance,
I shall never forget.
I am glad
of an opportunity
to express,
as far as words can,
the love and gratitude
I bear him.
Mr. Ruggles
is now afflicted
with blindness,
and is himself
in need of
the same kind offices
which he
was once so forward
in the performance of
toward others.
I had been
in New York but a few days,
when
Mr. Ruggles sought me out,
and very kindly took me
to his boarding-house
at the corner
of Church
and Lespenard Streets.
Mr. Ruggles
was then very deeply engaged
in the memorable Darg case,
as well as attending
to a number
of other fugitive slaves,
devising ways
and means
for their successful escape;
and,
though watched
and hemmed in
on almost every side,
he seemed
to be
more than a match
for his enemies.
Very soon
after
I went to Mr. Ruggles,
he wished
to know of me
where I
wanted
to go;
as he deemed it unsafe
for me
to remain in New York.
I told him
I was a calker,
and should like
to go
where I
could get work.
I thought of
going to Canada;
but he decided against it,
and in favor
of my going to New Bedford,
thinking
I should be able
to get work there
at my trade.
At this time,
Anna
(she was free),
my intended wife,
came on;
for I
wrote to her
immediately after my arrival
at New York,
(notwithstanding my homeless,
houseless,
and helpless condition,)
informing her
of my successful flight,
and wishing
her to come on forthwith.
In a few days
after her arrival,
Mr. Ruggles
called
in the Rev. J. W.
C. Pennington,
who,
in the presence
of Mr. Ruggles,
Mrs. Michaels,
and two or three others,
performed
the marriage ceremony,
and gave us a certificate,
of which
the following
is an exact copy:
"This
may certify,
that
I joined together
in holy
matrimony Frederick Johnson*
and Anna Murray,
as man and wife,
in the presence
of Mr. David Ruggles
and Mrs. Michaels.
(*I had changed my name
from Frederick BAILEY to
that of JOHNSON.)
JAMES W. C. PENNINGTON.
NEW YORK,
SEPT.
15,
1838.
Upon receiving
this certificate,
and a five-dollar bill
from Mr. Ruggles,
I shouldered one part
of our baggage,
and Anna took up the other,
and we
set out forthwith
to take passage on board
of the
steamboat John W. Richmond
for Newport,
on our way
to New Bedford.
Mr. Ruggles
gave me a letter
to a Mr. Shaw
in Newport,
and told me,
in case
my money
did not serve me
to New Bedford,
to stop in Newport
and obtain further assistance;
but upon our arrival
at Newport,
we were so anxious
to get
to a place of safety,
that,
notwithstanding
we lacked the necessary money
to pay our fare,
we decided
to take seats in the stage,
and promise
to pay
when we got to New Bedford.
We were encouraged
to do this
by two excellent gentlemen,
residents of New Bedford,
whose names
I afterward ascertained
to be Joseph Ricketson
and William C. Taber.
They seemed at once
to understand
our circumstances,
and gave us such assurance
of their friendliness
as put us fully at ease
in their presence.
It was good indeed to meet
with such friends,
at such a time.
Upon reaching New Bedford,
we were directed
to the house
of Mr. Nathan Johnson,
by whom
we were kindly received,
and hospitably provided for.
Both Mr.
and Mrs. Johnson
took
a deep and lively interest
in our welfare.
They proved themselves quite
worthy
of the name
of abolitionists.
When the stage-driver
found us unable
to pay our fare,
he held on
upon our baggage as security
for the debt.
I had
but to mention the fact
to Mr. Johnson,
and he
forthwith advanced the money.
We now began
to feel a degree of safety,
and to prepare ourselves
for the duties
and responsibilities
of a life
of freedom.
On the morning
after our arrival
at New Bedford,
while at the breakfast-table,
the question
arose as to what name
I should be called by.
The name
given me by my mother was,
"Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey."
I,
however,
had dispensed
with the
two middle names long
before I
left Maryland
so that I
was generally known
by the name of
"Frederick Bailey."
I started from Baltimore
bearing the name
of "Stanley."
When I
got to New York,
I again changed my name to
"Frederick Johnson,"
and thought
that would be
the last change.
But when
I got to New Bedford,
I found it necessary again
to change my name.
The reason
of this necessity was,
that there were
so many Johnsons
in New Bedford,
it was already quite difficult
to distinguish between them.
I gave Mr. Johnson
the privilege
of choosing me a name,
but told him
he must not take from me
the name of "Frederick."
I must hold on to that,
to preserve a sense
of my identity.
Mr. Johnson
had just been reading the
"Lady of the Lake,"
and at once suggested
that my name be "Douglass."
From that time until now
I have been called
"Frederick Douglass;"
and as
I am more widely known
by that name than
by either
of the others,
I shall continue
to use it as my own.
I was quite disappointed
at the general appearance
of things in New Bedford.
The impression which
I had received
respecting the character
and condition of the people
of the north,
I found to be singularly
erroneous.
I had very strangely supposed,
while in slavery,
that few of the comforts,
and scarcely any of the luxuries,
of life
were enjoyed at the north,
compared with what
were enjoyed
by the slaveholders
of the south.
I probably came to this
conclusion
from the fact
that northern
people owned no slaves.
I supposed
that they
were about
upon a level
with the non-slaveholding population
of the south.
I knew they
were exceedingly poor,
and I had been accustomed
to regard
their poverty
as the necessary consequence
of their being non-slaveholders.
I had somehow imbibed
the opinion that,
in the absence of slaves,
there
could be no wealth,
and very little refinement.
And upon coming to the north,
I expected
to meet with a rough,
hard-handed,
and uncultivated population,
living
in the most
Spartan-like simplicity,
knowing nothing of the ease,
luxury,
pomp,
and grandeur
of southern slaveholders.
Such
being my conjectures,
any one acquainted
with the appearance
of New Bedford
may very readily infer how palpably
I must have seen
my mistake.
In the afternoon
of the day
when I
reached New Bedford,
I visited the wharves,
to take a view
of the shipping.
Here I
found myself
surrounded
with the strongest proofs
of wealth.
Lying at the wharves,
and riding in the stream,
I saw many ships
of the finest model,
in the best order,
and of the largest size.
Upon the right and left,
I was walled in
by granite warehouses
of the widest dimensions,
stowed
to their utmost capacity
with the necessaries
and comforts of life.
Added to this,
almost every body
seemed
to be at work,
but noiselessly so,
compared with what
I had been accustomed to
in Baltimore.
There
were no loud songs
heard from those engaged
in loading
and unloading ships.
I heard no
deep oaths or horrid curses
on the laborer.
I saw no whipping of men;
but all
seemed to go smoothly on.
Every man
appeared
to understand his work,
and went at it
with a sober,
yet cheerful earnestness,
which betokened
the deep interest which
he felt in what
he was doing,
as well as
a sense
of his own dignity as
a man.
To me this
looked exceedingly strange.
From the wharves
I strolled
around and over the town,
gazing
with wonder and admiration
at the splendid churches,
beautiful dwellings,
and finely-cultivated gardens;
evincing an amount of wealth,
comfort,
taste,
and refinement,
such as I
had never seen
in any part
of slaveholding Maryland.
Every thing
looked clean,
new,
and beautiful.
I saw few
or
no dilapidated houses,
with poverty-stricken inmates;
no half-naked children
and barefooted women,
such as I
had been accustomed
to see in Hillsborough,
Easton,
St. Michael's,
and Baltimore.
The people
looked more able,
stronger,
healthier,
and happier,
than those of Maryland.
I was for once made glad
by a view of extreme wealth,
without being saddened
by seeing extreme poverty.
But
the most astonishing as well as
the most interesting thing
to me
was the condition
of the colored people,
a great many of whom,
like myself,
had escaped thither
as a refuge
from the hunters of men.
I found many,
who had not been seven years
out of their chains,
living in finer houses,
and evidently enjoying more
of the comforts of life,
than the average
of slaveholders in Maryland.
I will venture
to assert,
that
my friend Mr. Nathan Johnson
(of whom
I can say
with a grateful heart,
"I was hungry,
and he gave me meat;
I was thirsty,
and he gave me drink;
I was a stranger,
and he took me in")
lived in a neater house;
dined at a better table;
took,
paid for,
and read,
more newspapers;
better
understood the moral,
religious,
and political character
of the nation
-- than nine tenths
of the slaveholders
in Talbot county Maryland.
Yet Mr. Johnson
was a working man.
His hands
were hardened by toil,
and not his alone,
but those
also of Mrs. Johnson.
I found
the colored people
much more spirited
than I
had supposed
they
would be.
I found among them
a determination
to protect each other
from the
blood-thirsty kidnapper,
at all hazards.
Soon after my arrival,
I was told of a circumstance
which illustrated
their spirit.
A colored man
and a fugitive slave
were on unfriendly terms.
The former
was heard
to threaten the latter
with informing
his master
of his whereabouts.
Straightway
a meeting
was called
among the colored people,
under the stereotyped notice,
"Business of importance!"
The betrayer
was invited
to attend.
The people
came at the appointed hour,
and organized the meeting
by appointing
a very religious old
gentleman as president,
who,
I believe,
made a prayer,
after which
he addressed the meeting
as follows:
"Friends,
we have
got him here,
and I would recommend
that you young men
just take him
outside the door,
and kill him!"
With this,
a number
of them bolted at him;
but they
were intercepted
by some more timid
than themselves,
and the betrayer
escaped their vengeance,
and has not been seen
in New Bedford
since.
I believe there
have been
no
more such threats,
and should there be hereafter,
I doubt not that death
would be the consequence.
I found employment,
the third day
after my arrival,
in stowing a sloop
with a load of oil.
It was new,
dirty,
and hard work for me;
but I went at it
with a glad heart
and a willing hand.
I was now my own master.
It was a happy moment,
the rapture of which
can be understood only
by those
who have been slaves.
It was the first work,
the reward of which
was to be entirely my own.
There
was no Master Hugh standing ready,
the moment
I earned the money,
to rob me of it.
I worked
that day with a pleasure
I
had never before experienced.
I was
at work
for myself
and newly-married wife.
It was to me
the starting-point
of a new existence.
When I
got through with that job,
I went in pursuit
of a job
of calking;
but such
was the strength
of prejudice against color,
among the white calkers,
that
they refused
to work with me,
and of course
I could get no employment.
(I am told
that colored
persons
can now get employment
at calking
in New Bedford
-- a result
of anti-slavery effort.)
Finding
my trade
of no immediate benefit,
I threw
off my calking habiliments,
and prepared myself
to do any kind of work
I could get
to do.
Mr. Johnson
kindly let me
have
his wood-horse and saw,
and I
very soon found myself
a plenty
of work.
There
was no work too hard
-- none
too dirty.
I was ready
to saw wood,
shovel coal,
carry wood,
sweep the chimney,
or roll oil casks
-- all of which
I did for nearly three years
in New Bedford,
before I
became known
to the anti-slavery world.
In about four months
after
I went to New Bedford,
there
came a young man to me,
and inquired
if I
did not wish
to take the "Liberator."
I told him I did;
but,
just
having made
my escape from slavery,
I remarked that
I was unable to pay
for it then.
I,
however,
finally
became a subscriber to it.
The paper came,
and I
read
it from week to week
with such
feelings
as it
would be quite idle
for me to attempt
to describe.
The paper
became my meat and my drink.
My soul
was set all on fire.
Its sympathy for my brethren
in bonds
-- its scathing denunciations
of slaveholders
-- its faithful exposures
of slavery
-- and its powerful attacks
upon the upholders
of the institution --
sent a thrill
of joy through my soul,
such as
I had never felt before!
I had not long
been a reader of the
"Liberator,"
before
I got a pretty correct idea
of the principles,
measures and spirit
of the anti-slavery reform.
I took right hold
of the cause.
I could do but little;
but what I could,
I did with a joyful heart,
and never felt happier
than when
in an anti-slavery meeting.
I seldom
had much
to say at the meetings,
because
what
I wanted
to say was said
so much better by others.
But,
while attending
an anti-slavery convention
at Nantucket,
on the 11th of August, 1841,
I felt strongly
moved to speak,
and was
at the same time much urged
to do so
by Mr. William C. Coffin,
a gentleman
who had heard me
speak
in the colored people's meeting
at New Bedford.
It was a severe cross,
and I
took it up reluctantly.
The truth was,
I felt myself a slave,
and the idea
of speaking to white people
weighed me down.
I spoke
but a few moments,
when
I felt a degree of freedom,
and said what
I desired
with considerable ease.
From that time until now,
I have been engaged
in pleading
the cause of my brethren
-- with what success,
and with what devotion,
I leave those
acquainted with my labors
to decide.
I find,
since reading
over the foregoing Narrative,
that
I have,
in several instances,
spoken
in such a tone and manner,
respecting religion,
as may possibly lead those
unacquainted
with my religious views
to suppose me an opponent
of all religion.
To remove the liability
of such misapprehension,
I deem it proper
to append
the following brief explanation.
What I
have said
respecting
and against religion,
I mean strictly
to apply
to the slaveholding religion
of this land,
and with no possible reference
to Christianity proper;
for,
between the Christianity
of this land,
and the Christianity of Christ,
I recognize
the widest possible difference
-- so wide,
that
to receive the one as good,
pure,
and holy,
is of necessity
to reject the other as bad,
corrupt,
and wicked.
To be the friend
of the one,
is of necessity
to be the enemy
of the other.
I love the pure,
peaceable,
and impartial
Christianity of Christ:
I
therefore hate the corrupt,
slaveholding,
women-whipping,
cradle-plundering,
partial and hypocritical Christianity
of this land.
Indeed,
I can see no reason,
but the most deceitful one,
for calling the religion
of this land Christianity.
I look upon it
as the climax
of all misnomers,
the boldest of all frauds,
and the grossest
of all libels.
Never
was there a clearer case of
"stealing the livery
of the court
of heaven
to serve the devil in."
I am filled
with unutterable loathing
when I
contemplate
the religious pomp and show,
together
with the horrible inconsistencies,
which every
where surround me.
We have men-stealers
for ministers,
women-whippers for missionaries,
and cradle-plunderers
for church members.
The man
who wields
the blood-clotted cowskin
during the week
fills the pulpit on Sunday,
and claims
to be a minister
of the meek and lowly Jesus.
The man
who robs me
of my earnings
at the end
of each week
meets me
as a class-leader
on Sunday morning,
to show me the way of life,
and the path of salvation.
He who sells my sister,
for purposes of prostitution,
stands
forth as the pious advocate
of purity.
He who
proclaims it
a religious duty to
read the Bible
denies me the right
of learning to
read the name of the God
who made me.
He who
is the religious advocate
of marriage
robs whole millions
of its sacred influence,
and leaves them
to the ravages
of wholesale pollution.
The warm defender
of the sacredness
of the family relation
is the same
that scatters whole families
-- sundering husbands and wives,
parents and children,
sisters and brothers --
leaving the hut vacant,
and the hearth desolate.
We see the thief preaching
against theft,
and the adulterer
against adultery.
We have men
sold to build churches,
women
sold to support the gospel,
and babes
sold to purchase Bibles
for the POOR HEATHEN!
ALL FOR THE GLORY OF GOD
AND THE GOOD OF SOULS!
The slave
auctioneer's bell
and the church-going bell chime in
with each other,
and the bitter cries
of the heart-broken slave
are drowned
in the religious shouts
of his pious master.
Revivals
of religion and revivals
in the slave-trade
go hand in hand together.
The slave prison
and the church stand
near each other.
The clanking of
fetters and the rattling
of chains
in the prison,
and the pious psalm
and solemn prayer
in the church,
may be heard
at the same time.
The dealers in the bodies
and souls of men
erect their stand
in the presence
of the pulpit,
and they
mutually help each other.
The dealer
gives his blood-stained gold
to support the pulpit,
and the pulpit,
in return,
covers his infernal business
with the garb
of Christianity.
Here
we have religion
and robbery the allies
of each other
-- devils
dressed in angels' robes,
and hell
presenting
the semblance of paradise.
"Just God!
and these
are they,
Who minister at thine altar,
God of right!
Men who their hands,
with prayer
and blessing,
lay On Israel's ark
of light.
"What!
preach,
and kidnap men?
Give thanks,
and rob thy own
afflicted poor?
Talk of thy glorious liberty,
and then Bolt
hard the captive's door?
"What!
servants of thy
own Merciful Son,
who came
to seek and save
The homeless and the outcast,
fettering down The tasked
and plundered slave!
"Pilate and Herod friends!
Chief priests and rulers,
as of old,
combine!
Just God and holy!
is that church
which lends Strength
to the spoiler thine?"
The Christianity of America
is a Christianity,
of whose votaries
it may be as
truly said,
as it
was of the ancient scribes
and Pharisees,
"They bind heavy burdens,
and grievous
to be borne,
and lay them
on men's shoulders,
but they
themselves
will not move them
with one of their fingers.
All their works
they do for
to be seen of men.
" -- They love
the uppermost rooms
at feasts,
and the chief
seats in the synagogues,
... and to be called of men,
Rabbi,
Rabbi.
" -- But woe unto you,
scribes and Pharisees,
hypocrites!
for ye
shut up the kingdom of heaven
against men;
for ye neither
go in yourselves,
neither
suffer
ye them
that are entering
to go in.
Ye devour widows' houses,
and for a
pretence make long prayers;
therefore ye
shall receive the greater
damnation.
Ye compass sea and land
to make one proselyte,
and when he is made,
ye make him twofold more
the child
of hell
than yourselves.
" -- Woe unto you,
scribes and Pharisees,
hypocrites!
for ye pay tithe of mint,
and anise,
and cumin,
and have omitted
the weightier matters
of the law,
judgment,
mercy,
and faith;
these ought
ye to have done,
and not to leave
the other undone.
Ye blind guides!
which strain at a gnat,
and swallow a camel.
Woe unto you,
scribes and Pharisees,
hypocrites!
for ye
make clean the outside
of the cup
and of the platter;
but within,
they
are full of extortion
and excess.
" -- Woe unto you,
scribes and Pharisees,
hypocrites!
for ye
are like
unto whited sepulchres,
which
indeed appear beautiful outward,
but are
within full of dead men's bones,
and of all uncleanness.
Even so ye also
outwardly appear righteous
unto men,
but within
ye are full of hypocrisy
and iniquity."
Dark and terrible
as is this picture,
I hold it to be strictly
true
of the overwhelming mass
of professed Christians
in America.
They strain at a gnat,
and swallow a camel.
Could any thing
be more true
of our churches?
They would be shocked
at the proposition
of fellowshipping
a SHEEP-stealer;
and at the same time
they hug
to their communion
a MAN-stealer,
and brand me
with being an infidel,
if I
find fault with them for it.
They attend
with Pharisaical strictness
to the outward forms
of religion,
and at the same time neglect
the weightier matters
of the law,
judgment,
mercy,
and faith.
They
are always ready
to sacrifice,
but seldom to show mercy.
They
are they
who are represented
as professing
to love God whom
they have not seen,
whilst they
hate
their brother whom
they have seen.
They love the heathen
on the other side
of the globe.
They can pray for him,
pay money
to have the Bible put
into his hand,
and missionaries
to instruct him;
while they
despise
and totally neglect
the heathen
at their own doors.
Such is,
very briefly,
my view
of the religion
of this land;
and to avoid
any misunderstanding,
growing
out of the use
of general terms,
I mean
by the religion of this land,
that which
is revealed in the words,
deeds,
and actions,
of those bodies,
north and south,
calling themselves Christian churches,
and yet in union
with slaveholders.
It is against religion,
as presented by these bodies,
that
I have felt it
my duty
to testify.
I conclude these remarks
by copying
the following portrait
of the religion
of the south,
(which is,
by communion and fellowship,
the religion of the north,)
which
I soberly affirm
is
"true to the life,"
and without caricature
or
the slightest exaggeration.
It is said
to have been drawn,
several years before the present
anti-slavery agitation began,
by a
northern Methodist preacher,
who,
while residing at the south,
had an opportunity
to see slaveholding morals,
manners,
and piety,
with his own eyes.
"Shall I
not visit for these things?
saith the Lord.
Shall not my soul
be avenged
on such a nation as this?"
"Come,
saints and sinners,
hear me
tell How
pious priests whip Jack
and Nell,
And women buy
and children sell,
And preach all sinners down
to hell,
And sing of heavenly union.
"They'll bleat and baa,
dona like goats,
Gorge down black sheep,
and strain at motes,
Array their backs
in fine black coats,
Then
seize their negroes
by their throats,
And choke,
for heavenly union.
"They'll church you if you
sip a dram,
And damn you if you
steal a lamb;
Yet rob old Tony,
Doll,
and Sam,
Of human rights,
and bread and ham;
Kidnapper's heavenly union.
"They'll loudly talk
of Christ's reward,
And bind his image
with a cord,
And scold,
and swing the lash abhorred,
And sell their brother
in the Lord To handcuffed
heavenly
union.
"They'll read
and sing a sacred song,
And make
a prayer both loud and long,
And teach
the right and do the wrong,
Hailing the brother,
sister throng,
With words
of heavenly union.
"We wonder
how such saints can sing,
Or praise the Lord
upon the wing,
Who roar,
and scold,
and whip,
and sting,
And to their slaves
and mammon
cling,
In guilty conscience union.
"They'll raise tobacco,
corn,
and rye,
And drive,
and thieve,
and cheat,
and lie,
And lay up treasures
in the sky,
By making switch
and cowskin fly,
In hope of heavenly union.
"They'll crack
old Tony on the skull,
And preach and roar
like Bashan bull,
Or braying ass,
of mischief full,
Then
seize old Jacob by the wool,
And pull for heavenly union.
"A roaring,
ranting,
sleek man-thief,
Who lived on mutton,
veal,
and beef,
Yet never would afford relief
To needy,
sable sons of grief,
Was big with heavenly union.
"'Love not the world,'
the preacher said,
And winked his eye,
and shook his head;
He seized on Tom,
and Dick,
and Ned,
Cut short their meat,
and clothes,
and bread,
Yet still loved heavenly
union.
"Another preacher
whining spoke Of One
whose heart for sinners broke:
He tied old Nanny
to an oak,
And drew
the blood at every stroke,
And prayed
for heavenly union.
"Two others oped
their iron jaws,
And waved
their children-stealing paws;
There
sat their children in gewgaws;
By stinting negroes' backs
and maws,
They kept up heavenly union.
"All good
from Jack another takes,
And entertains their flirts
and rakes,
Who dress
as sleek as glossy snakes,
And cram their mouths
with sweetened cakes;
And this
goes down
for union."
Sincerely and earnestly hoping
that
this little book
may do something
toward throwing light
on the American slave system,
and hastening
the glad day
of deliverance
to the millions
of my brethren
in bonds
-- faithfully
relying
upon the power of truth,
love,
and justice,
for success
in my humble efforts --
and solemnly pledging my self
anew to the sacred cause
-- I subscribe myself:
FREDERICK DOUGLASS
LYNN, Mass.,
April 28, 1845.