"PREFACE\n\nIn the month of August, 1841, I attended an anti-slavery convention\nin Nantucket, at which it was my happiness to become acquainted with\n_Frederick Douglass_, the writer of the following Narrative. He was a\nstranger to nearly every member of that body; but, having recently made\nhis escape from the southern prison-house of bondage, and feeling\nhis curiosity excited to ascertain the principles and measures of the\nabolitionists,--of whom he had heard a somewhat vague description while\nhe was a slave,--he was induced to give his attendance, on the occasion\nalluded to, though at that time a resident in New Bedford.\n\nFortunate, most fortunate occurrence!--fortunate for the millions of\nhis manacled brethren, yet panting for deliverance from their awful\nthraldom!--fortunate for the cause of negro emancipation, and of\nuniversal liberty!--fortunate for the land of his birth, which he has\nalready done so much to save and bless!--fortunate for a large circle of\nfriends and acquaintances, whose sympathy and affection he has strongly\nsecured by the many sufferings he has endured, by his virtuous traits of\ncharacter, by his ever-abiding remembrance of those who are in bonds, as\nbeing bound with them!--fortunate for the multitudes, in various parts of\nour republic, whose minds he has enlightened on the subject of slavery,\nand who have been melted to tears by his pathos, or roused to virtuous\nindignation by his stirring eloquence against the enslavers of\nmen!--fortunate for himself, as it at once brought him into the field of\npublic usefulness, \"gave the world assurance of a MAN,\" quickened the\nslumbering energies of his soul, and consecrated him to the great work\nof breaking the rod of the oppressor, and letting the oppressed go free!\n\nI shall never forget his first speech at the convention--the\nextraordinary emotion it excited in my own mind--the powerful impression\nit created upon a crowded auditory, completely taken by surprise--the\napplause which followed from the beginning to the end of his felicitous\nremarks. I think I never hated slavery so intensely as at that moment;\ncertainly, my perception of the enormous outrage which is inflicted by\nit, on the godlike nature of its victims, was rendered far more\nclear than ever. There stood one, in physical proportion and stature\ncommanding and exact--in intellect richly endowed--in natural eloquence\na prodigy--in soul manifestly \"created but a little lower than the\nangels\"--yet a slave, ay, a fugitive slave,--trembling for his safety,\nhardly daring to believe that on the American soil, a single white\nperson could be found who would befriend him at all hazards, for the\nlove of God and humanity! Capable of high attainments as an intellectual\nand moral being--needing nothing but a comparatively small amount of\ncultivation to make him an ornament to society and a blessing to his\nrace--by the law of the land, by the voice of the people, by the terms\nof the slave code, he was only a piece of property, a beast of burden, a\nchattel personal, nevertheless!\n\nA beloved friend from New Bedford prevailed on _Mr. Douglass_ to address\nthe convention: He came forward to the platform with a hesitancy and\nembarrassment, necessarily the attendants of a sensitive mind in such a\nnovel position. After apologizing for his ignorance, and reminding the\naudience that slavery was a poor school for the human intellect and\nheart, he proceeded to narrate some of the facts in his own history as\na slave, and in the course of his speech gave utterance to many noble\nthoughts and thrilling reflections. As soon as he had taken his seat,\nfilled with hope and admiration, I rose, and declared that _Patrick\nHenry_, of revolutionary fame, never made a speech more eloquent in the\ncause of liberty, than the one we had just listened to from the lips of\nthat hunted fugitive. So I believed at that time--such is my belief\nnow. I reminded the audience of the peril which surrounded this\nself-emancipated young man at the North,--even in Massachusetts, on the\nsoil of the Pilgrim Fathers, among the descendants of revolutionary\nsires; and I appealed to them, whether they would ever allow him to\nbe carried back into slavery,--law or no law, constitution or no\nconstitution. The response was unanimous and in thunder-tones--\"NO!\"\n\"Will you succor and protect him as a brother-man--a resident of the old\nBay State?\" \"YES!\" shouted the whole mass, with an energy so startling,\nthat the ruthless tyrants south of Mason and Dixon's line might almost\nhave heard the mighty burst of feeling, and recognized it as the pledge\nof an invincible determination, on the part of those who gave it, never\nto betray him that wanders, but to hide the outcast, and firmly to abide\nthe consequences.\n\nIt was at once deeply impressed upon my mind, that, if _Mr. Douglass_\ncould be persuaded to consecrate his time and talents to the promotion\nof the anti-slavery enterprise, a powerful impetus would be given to\nit, and a stunning blow at the same time inflicted on northern prejudice\nagainst a colored complexion. I therefore endeavored to instil hope\nand courage into his mind, in order that he might dare to engage in a\nvocation so anomalous and responsible for a person in his situation; and\nI was seconded in this effort by warm-hearted friends, especially by the\nlate General Agent of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society, _Mr. John\nA. Collins_, whose judgment in this instance entirely coincided with\nmy own. At first, he could give no encouragement; with unfeigned\ndiffidence, he expressed his conviction that he was not adequate to\nthe performance of so great a task; the path marked out was wholly an\nuntrodden one; he was sincerely apprehensive that he should do more\nharm than good. After much deliberation, however, he consented to make\na trial; and ever since that period, he has acted as a lecturing\nagent, under the auspices either of the American or the Massachusetts\nAnti-Slavery Society. In labors he has been most abundant; and his\nsuccess in combating prejudice, in gaining proselytes, in agitating the\npublic mind, has far surpassed the most sanguine expectations that were\nraised at the commencement of his brilliant career. He has borne himself\nwith gentleness and meekness, yet with true manliness of character. As\na public speaker, he excels in pathos, wit, comparison, imitation,\nstrength of reasoning, and fluency of language. There is in him that\nunion of head and heart, which is indispensable to an enlightenment\nof the heads and a winning of the hearts of others. May his strength\ncontinue to be equal to his day! May he continue to \"grow in grace, and\nin the knowledge of God,\" that he may be increasingly serviceable in the\ncause of bleeding humanity, whether at home or abroad!\n\nIt is certainly a very remarkable fact, that one of the most efficient\nadvocates of the slave population, now before the public, is a fugitive\nslave, in the person of _Frederick Douglass_; and that the free colored\npopulation of the United States are as ably represented by one of their\nown number, in the person of _Charles Lenox Remond_, whose eloquent\nappeals have extorted the highest applause of multitudes on both sides\nof the Atlantic. Let the calumniators of the colored race despise\nthemselves for their baseness and illiberality of spirit, and henceforth\ncease to talk of the natural inferiority of those who require nothing\nbut time and opportunity to attain to the highest point of human\nexcellence.\n\nIt may, perhaps, be fairly questioned, whether any other portion of the\npopulation of the earth could have endured the privations, sufferings\nand horrors of slavery, without having become more degraded in the scale\nof humanity than the slaves of African descent. Nothing has been left\nundone to cripple their intellects, darken their minds, debase their\nmoral nature, obliterate all traces of their relationship to mankind;\nand yet how wonderfully they have sustained the mighty load of a most\nfrightful bondage, under which they have been groaning for centuries! To\nillustrate the effect of slavery on the white man,--to show that he has\nno powers of endurance, in such a condition, superior to those of\nhis black brother,--_Daniel O'connell_, the distinguished advocate of\nuniversal emancipation, and the mightiest champion of prostrate but not\nconquered Ireland, relates the following anecdote in a speech delivered\nby him in the Conciliation Hall, Dublin, before the Loyal National\nRepeal Association, March 31, 1845. \"No matter,\" said _Mr. O'connell_,\n\"under what specious term it may disguise itself, slavery is still\nhideous. _It has a natural, an inevitable tendency to brutalize every\nnoble faculty of man._ An American sailor, who was cast away on the\nshore of Africa, where he was kept in slavery for three years, was, at\nthe expiration of that period, found to be imbruted and stultified--he\nhad lost all reasoning power; and having forgotten his native language,\ncould only utter some savage gibberish between Arabic and English, which\nnobody could understand, and which even he himself found difficulty\nin pronouncing. So much for the humanizing influence of _The Domestic\nInstitution_!\" Admitting this to have been an extraordinary case of\nmental deterioration, it proves at least that the white slave can sink\nas low in the scale of humanity as the black one.\n\n_Mr. Douglass_ has very properly chosen to write his own Narrative, in\nhis own style, and according to the best of his ability, rather than\nto employ some one else. It is, therefore, entirely his own production;\nand, considering how long and dark was the career he had to run as a\nslave,--how few have been his opportunities to improve his mind since he\nbroke his iron fetters,--it is, in my judgment, highly creditable to his\nhead and heart. He who can peruse it without a tearful eye, a heaving\nbreast, an afflicted spirit,--without being filled with an unutterable\nabhorrence of slavery and all its abettors, and animated with a\ndetermination to seek the immediate overthrow of that execrable\nsystem,--without trembling for the fate of this country in the hands of\na righteous God, who is ever on the side of the oppressed, and whose arm\nis not shortened that it cannot save,--must have a flinty heart, and be\nqualified to act the part of a trafficker \"in slaves and the souls of\nmen.\" I am confident that it is essentially true in all its statements;\nthat nothing has been set down in malice, nothing exaggerated, nothing\ndrawn from the imagination; that it comes short of the reality, rather\nthan overstates a single fact in regard to _slavery as it is_. The\nexperience of _Frederick Douglass_, as a slave, was not a peculiar one;\nhis lot was not especially a hard one; his case may be regarded as a\nvery fair specimen of the treatment of slaves in Maryland, in which\nState it is conceded that they are better fed and less cruelly treated\nthan in Georgia, Alabama, or Louisiana. Many have suffered incomparably\nmore, while very few on the plantations have suffered less, than\nhimself. Yet how deplorable was his situation! what terrible\nchastisements were inflicted upon his person! what still more shocking\noutrages were perpetrated upon his mind! with all his noble powers and\nsublime aspirations, how like a brute was he treated, even by those\nprofessing to have the same mind in them that was in Christ Jesus! to\nwhat dreadful liabilities was he continually subjected! how destitute\nof friendly counsel and aid, even in his greatest extremities! how heavy\nwas the midnight of woe which shrouded in blackness the last ray of\nhope, and filled the future with terror and gloom! what longings after\nfreedom took possession of his breast, and how his misery augmented,\nin proportion as he grew reflective and intelligent,--thus demonstrating\nthat a happy slave is an extinct man! how he thought, reasoned, felt,\nunder the lash of the driver, with the chains upon his limbs! what\nperils he encountered in his endeavors to escape from his horrible doom!\nand how signal have been his deliverance and preservation in the midst\nof a nation of pitiless enemies!\n\nThis Narrative contains many affecting incidents, many passages of great\neloquence and power; but I think the most thrilling one of them all\nis the description _Douglass_ gives of his feelings, as he stood\nsoliloquizing respecting his fate, and the chances of his one day being\na freeman, on the banks of the Chesapeake Bay--viewing the receding\nvessels as they flew with their white wings before the breeze, and\napostrophizing them as animated by the living spirit of freedom. Who\ncan read that passage, and be insensible to its pathos and sublimity?\nCompressed into it is a whole Alexandrian library of thought, feeling,\nand sentiment--all that can, all that need be urged, in the form of\nexpostulation, entreaty, rebuke, against that crime of crimes,--making\nman the property of his fellow-man! O, how accursed is that system,\nwhich entombs the godlike mind of man, defaces the divine image, reduces\nthose who by creation were crowned with glory and honor to a level with\nfour-footed beasts, and exalts the dealer in human flesh above all that\nis called God! Why should its existence be prolonged one hour? Is it not\nevil, only evil, and that continually? What does its presence imply but\nthe absence of all fear of God, all regard for man, on the part of the\npeople of the United States? Heaven speed its eternal overthrow!\n\nSo profoundly ignorant of the nature of slavery are many persons, that\nthey are stubbornly incredulous whenever they read or listen to any\nrecital of the cruelties which are daily inflicted on its victims. They\ndo not deny that the slaves are held as property; but that terrible\nfact seems to convey to their minds no idea of injustice, exposure\nto outrage, or savage barbarity. Tell them of cruel scourgings, of\nmutilations and brandings, of scenes of pollution and blood, of the\nbanishment of all light and knowledge, and they affect to be greatly\nindignant at such enormous exaggerations, such wholesale misstatements,\nsuch abominable libels on the character of the southern planters! As if\nall these direful outrages were not the natural results of slavery!\nAs if it were less cruel to reduce a human being to the condition of\na thing, than to give him a severe flagellation, or to deprive him of\nnecessary food and clothing! As if whips, chains, thumb-screws, paddles,\nblood-hounds, overseers, drivers, patrols, were not all indispensable\nto keep the slaves down, and to give protection to their ruthless\noppressors! As if, when the marriage institution is abolished,\nconcubinage, adultery, and incest, must not necessarily abound; when all\nthe rights of humanity are annihilated, any barrier remains to protect\nthe victim from the fury of the spoiler; when absolute power is assumed\nover life and liberty, it will not be wielded with destructive sway!\nSkeptics of this character abound in society. In some few instances,\ntheir incredulity arises from a want of reflection; but, generally, it\nindicates a hatred of the light, a desire to shield slavery from the\nassaults of its foes, a contempt of the colored race, whether bond or\nfree. Such will try to discredit the shocking tales of slaveholding\ncruelty which are recorded in this truthful Narrative; but they will\nlabor in vain. _Mr. Douglass_ has frankly disclosed the place of his\nbirth, the names of those who claimed ownership in his body and soul,\nand the names also of those who committed the crimes which he has\nalleged against them. His statements, therefore, may easily be\ndisproved, if they are untrue.\n\nIn the course of his Narrative, he relates two instances of murderous\ncruelty,--in one of which a planter deliberately shot a slave belonging\nto a neighboring plantation, who had unintentionally gotten within his\nlordly domain in quest of fish; and in the other, an overseer blew out\nthe brains of a slave who had fled to a stream of water to escape\na bloody scourging. _Mr. Douglass_ states that in neither of these\ninstances was any thing done by way of legal arrest or judicial\ninvestigation. The Baltimore American, of March 17, 1845, relates\na similar case of atrocity, perpetrated with similar impunity--as\nfollows:--\"_Shooting a slave._--We learn, upon the authority of a letter\nfrom Charles county, Maryland, received by a gentleman of this city,\nthat a young man, named Matthews, a nephew of General Matthews, and\nwhose father, it is believed, holds an office at Washington, killed one\nof the slaves upon his father's farm by shooting him. The letter states\nthat young Matthews had been left in charge of the farm; that he gave\nan order to the servant, which was disobeyed, when he proceeded to\nthe house, _obtained a gun, and, returning, shot the servant._ He\nimmediately, the letter continues, fled to his father's residence,\nwhere he still remains unmolested.\"--Let it never be forgotten, that no\nslaveholder or overseer can be convicted of any outrage perpetrated on\nthe person of a slave, however diabolical it may be, on the testimony\nof colored witnesses, whether bond or free. By the slave code, they are\nadjudged to be as incompetent to testify against a white man, as though\nthey were indeed a part of the brute creation. Hence, there is no\nlegal protection in fact, whatever there may be in form, for the slave\npopulation; and any amount of cruelty may be inflicted on them with\nimpunity. Is it possible for the human mind to conceive of a more\nhorrible state of society?\n\nThe effect of a religious profession on the conduct of southern masters\nis vividly described in the following Narrative, and shown to be any\nthing but salutary. In the nature of the case, it must be in the highest\ndegree pernicious. The testimony of _Mr. Douglass_, on this point, is\nsustained by a cloud of witnesses, whose veracity is unimpeachable. \"A\nslaveholder's profession of Christianity is a palpable imposture. He\nis a felon of the highest grade. He is a man-stealer. It is of no\nimportance what you put in the other scale.\"\n\nReader! are you with the man-stealers in sympathy and purpose, or on the\nside of their down-trodden victims? If with the former, then are you the\nfoe of God and man. If with the latter, what are you prepared to do\nand dare in their behalf? Be faithful, be vigilant, be untiring in your\nefforts to break every yoke, and let the oppressed go free. Come what\nmay--cost what it may--inscribe on the banner which you unfurl to the\nbreeze, as your religious and political motto--\"NO COMPROMISE WITH\nSLAVERY! NO UNION WITH SLAVEHOLDERS!\"\n\nWM. LLOYD GARRISON BOSTON, _May_ 1, 1845.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLETTER FROM WENDELL PHILLIPS, ESQ.\n\nBOSTON, APRIL 22, 1845.\n\nMy Dear Friend:\n\nYou remember the old fable of \"The Man and the Lion,\" where the lion\ncomplained that he should not be so misrepresented \"when the lions wrote\nhistory.\"\n\nI am glad the time has come when the \"lions write history.\" We have been\nleft long enough to gather the character of slavery from the involuntary\nevidence of the masters. One might, indeed, rest sufficiently satisfied\nwith what, it is evident, must be, in general, the results of such a\nrelation, without seeking farther to find whether they have followed in\nevery instance. Indeed, those who stare at the half-peck of corn a week,\nand love to count the lashes on the slave's back, are seldom the \"stuff\"\nout of which reformers and abolitionists are to be made. I remember\nthat, in 1838, many were waiting for the results of the West India\nexperiment, before they could come into our ranks. Those \"results\" have\ncome long ago; but, alas! few of that number have come with them, as\nconverts. A man must be disposed to judge of emancipation by other tests\nthan whether it has increased the produce of sugar,--and to hate slavery\nfor other reasons than because it starves men and whips women,--before he\nis ready to lay the first stone of his anti-slavery life.\n\nI was glad to learn, in your story, how early the most neglected of\nGod's children waken to a sense of their rights, and of the injustice\ndone them. Experience is a keen teacher; and long before you had\nmastered your A B C, or knew where the \"white sails\" of the Chesapeake\nwere bound, you began, I see, to gauge the wretchedness of the slave,\nnot by his hunger and want, not by his lashes and toil, but by the cruel\nand blighting death which gathers over his soul.\n\nIn connection with this, there is one circumstance which makes your\nrecollections peculiarly valuable, and renders your early insight the\nmore remarkable. You come from that part of the country where we are\ntold slavery appears with its fairest features. Let us hear, then, what\nit is at its best estate--gaze on its bright side, if it has one; and\nthen imagination may task her powers to add dark lines to the picture,\nas she travels southward to that (for the colored man) Valley of the\nShadow of Death, where the Mississippi sweeps along.\n\nAgain, we have known you long, and can put the most entire confidence in\nyour truth, candor, and sincerity. Every one who has heard you speak\nhas felt, and, I am confident, every one who reads your book will feel,\npersuaded that you give them a fair specimen of the whole truth. No\none-sided portrait,--no wholesale complaints,--but strict justice done,\nwhenever individual kindliness has neutralized, for a moment, the deadly\nsystem with which it was strangely allied. You have been with us, too,\nsome years, and can fairly compare the twilight of rights, which your\nrace enjoy at the North, with that \"noon of night\" under which they\nlabor south of Mason and Dixon's line. Tell us whether, after all, the\nhalf-free colored man of Massachusetts is worse off than the pampered\nslave of the rice swamps!\n\nIn reading your life, no one can say that we have unfairly picked out\nsome rare specimens of cruelty. We know that the bitter drops, which\neven you have drained from the cup, are no incidental aggravations, no\nindividual ills, but such as must mingle always and necessarily in\nthe lot of every slave. They are the essential ingredients, not the\noccasional results, of the system.\n\nAfter all, I shall read your book with trembling for you. Some years\nago, when you were beginning to tell me your real name and birthplace,\nyou may remember I stopped you, and preferred to remain ignorant of\nall. With the exception of a vague description, so I continued, till the\nother day, when you read me your memoirs. I hardly knew, at the time,\nwhether to thank you or not for the sight of them, when I reflected that\nit was still dangerous, in Massachusetts, for honest men to tell\ntheir names! They say the fathers, in 1776, signed the Declaration of\nIndependence with the halter about their necks. You, too, publish your\ndeclaration of freedom with danger compassing you around. In all the\nbroad lands which the Constitution of the United States overshadows,\nthere is no single spot,--however narrow or desolate,--where a fugitive\nslave can plant himself and say, \"I am safe.\" The whole armory of\nNorthern Law has no shield for you. I am free to say that, in your\nplace, I should throw the MS. into the fire.\n\nYou, perhaps, may tell your story in safety, endeared as you are to so\nmany warm hearts by rare gifts, and a still rarer devotion of them to\nthe service of others. But it will be owing only to your labors, and the\nfearless efforts of those who, trampling the laws and Constitution of\nthe country under their feet, are determined that they will \"hide the\noutcast,\" and that their hearths shall be, spite of the law, an asylum\nfor the oppressed, if, some time or other, the humblest may stand in our\nstreets, and bear witness in safety against the cruelties of which he\nhas been the victim.\n\nYet it is sad to think, that these very throbbing hearts which welcome\nyour story, and form your best safeguard in telling it, are all beating\ncontrary to the \"statute in such case made and provided.\" Go on, my dear\nfriend, till you, and those who, like you, have been saved, so as by\nfire, from the dark prison-house, shall stereotype these free,\nillegal pulses into statutes; and New England, cutting loose from a\nblood-stained Union, shall glory in being the house of refuge for the\noppressed,--till we no longer merely \"_hide_ the outcast,\" or make\na merit of standing idly by while he is hunted in our midst; but,\nconsecrating anew the soil of the Pilgrims as an asylum for the\noppressed, proclaim our _welcome_ to the slave so loudly, that the tones\nshall reach every hut in the Carolinas, and make the broken-hearted\nbondman leap up at the thought of old Massachusetts.\n\nGod speed the day!\n\n_Till then, and ever,_ Yours truly, WENDELL PHILLIPS\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFREDERICK DOUGLASS.\n\nFrederick Douglass was born in slavery as Frederick Augustus Washington\nBailey near Easton in Talbot County, Maryland. He was not sure of the\nexact year of his birth, but he knew that it was 1817 or 1818. As a\nyoung boy he was sent to Baltimore, to be a house servant, where he\nlearned to read and write, with the assistance of his master's wife. In\n1838 he escaped from slavery and went to New York City, where he married\nAnna Murray, a free colored woman whom he had met in Baltimore. Soon\nthereafter he changed his name to Frederick Douglass. In 1841 he\naddressed a convention of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society in\nNantucket and so greatly impressed the group that they immediately\nemployed him as an agent. He was such an impressive orator that numerous\npersons doubted if he had ever been a slave, so he wrote _Narrative Of\nThe Life Of Frederick Douglass_. During the Civil War he assisted in the\nrecruiting of colored men for the 54th and 55th Massachusetts Regiments\nand consistently argued for the emancipation of slaves. After the war he\nwas active in securing and protecting the rights of the freemen. In his\nlater years, at different times, he was secretary of the Santo Domingo\nCommission, marshall and recorder of deeds of the District of Columbia,\nand United States Minister to Haiti. His other autobiographical works\nare _My Bondage And My Freedom_ and _Life And Times Of Frederick\nDouglass_, published in 1855 and 1881 respectively. He died in 1895.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nI was born in Tuckahoe, near Hillsborough, and about twelve miles from\nEaston, in Talbot county, Maryland. I have no accurate knowledge of my\nage, never having seen any authentic record containing it. By far the\nlarger part of the slaves know as little of their ages as horses know of\ntheirs, and it is the wish of most masters within my knowledge to keep\ntheir slaves thus ignorant. I do not remember to have ever met a slave\nwho could tell of his birthday. They seldom come nearer to it than\nplanting-time, harvest-time, cherry-time, spring-time, or fall-time. A\nwant of information concerning my own was a source of unhappiness to me\neven during childhood. The white children could tell their ages. I could\nnot tell why I ought to be deprived of the same privilege. I was not\nallowed to make any inquiries of my master concerning it. He deemed\nall such inquiries on the part of a slave improper and impertinent, and\nevidence of a restless spirit. The nearest estimate I can give makes me\nnow between twenty-seven and twenty-eight years of age. I come to this,\nfrom hearing my master say, some time during 1835, I was about seventeen\nyears old.\n\nMy mother was named Harriet Bailey. She was the daughter of Isaac and\nBetsey Bailey, both colored, and quite dark. My mother was of a darker\ncomplexion than either my grandmother or grandfather.\n\nMy father was a white man. He was admitted to be such by all I ever\nheard speak of my parentage. The opinion was also whispered that my\nmaster was my father; but of the correctness of this opinion, I know\nnothing; the means of knowing was withheld from me. My mother and I were\nseparated when I was but an infant--before I knew her as my mother. It is\na common custom, in the part of Maryland from which I ran away, to part\nchildren from their mothers at a very early age. Frequently, before the\nchild has reached its twelfth month, its mother is taken from it, and\nhired out on some farm a considerable distance off, and the child is\nplaced under the care of an old woman, too old for field labor. For\nwhat this separation is done, I do not know, unless it be to hinder the\ndevelopment of the child's affection toward its mother, and to blunt and\ndestroy the natural affection of the mother for the child. This is the\ninevitable result.\n\nI never saw my mother, to know her as such, more than four or five times\nin my life; and each of these times was very short in duration, and at\nnight. She was hired by a Mr. Stewart, who lived about twelve miles from\nmy home. She made her journeys to see me in the night, travelling the\nwhole distance on foot, after the performance of her day's work. She was\na field hand, and a whipping is the penalty of not being in the field at\nsunrise, unless a slave has special permission from his or her master to\nthe contrary--a permission which they seldom get, and one that gives\nto him that gives it the proud name of being a kind master. I do not\nrecollect of ever seeing my mother by the light of day. She was with me\nin the night. She would lie down with me, and get me to sleep, but long\nbefore I waked she was gone. Very little communication ever took place\nbetween us. Death soon ended what little we could have while she lived,\nand with it her hardships and suffering. She died when I was about\nseven years old, on one of my master's farms, near Lee's Mill. I was not\nallowed to be present during her illness, at her death, or burial. She\nwas gone long before I knew any thing about it. Never having enjoyed, to\nany considerable extent, her soothing presence, her tender and watchful\ncare, I received the tidings of her death with much the same emotions I\nshould have probably felt at the death of a stranger.\n\nCalled thus suddenly away, she left me without the slightest intimation\nof who my father was. The whisper that my master was my father, may or\nmay not be true; and, true or false, it is of but little consequence to\nmy purpose whilst the fact remains, in all its glaring odiousness, that\nslaveholders have ordained, and by law established, that the children\nof slave women shall in all cases follow the condition of their mothers;\nand this is done too obviously to administer to their own lusts, and\nmake a gratification of their wicked desires profitable as well as\npleasurable; for by this cunning arrangement, the slaveholder, in cases\nnot a few, sustains to his slaves the double relation of master and\nfather.\n\nI know of such cases; and it is worthy of remark that such slaves\ninvariably suffer greater hardships, and have more to contend with,\nthan others. They are, in the first place, a constant offence to their\nmistress. She is ever disposed to find fault with them; they can seldom\ndo any thing to please her; she is never better pleased than when she\nsees them under the lash, especially when she suspects her husband of\nshowing to his mulatto children favors which he withholds from his black\nslaves. The master is frequently compelled to sell this class of his\nslaves, out of deference to the feelings of his white wife; and, cruel\nas the deed may strike any one to be, for a man to sell his own children\nto human flesh-mongers, it is often the dictate of humanity for him to\ndo so; for, unless he does this, he must not only whip them himself,\nbut must stand by and see one white son tie up his brother, of but few\nshades darker complexion than himself, and ply the gory lash to his\nnaked back; and if he lisp one word of disapproval, it is set down to\nhis parental partiality, and only makes a bad matter worse, both for\nhimself and the slave whom he would protect and defend.\n\nEvery year brings with it multitudes of this class of slaves. It was\ndoubtless in consequence of a knowledge of this fact, that one great\nstatesman of the south predicted the downfall of slavery by the\ninevitable laws of population. Whether this prophecy is ever fulfilled\nor not, it is nevertheless plain that a very different-looking class of\npeople are springing up at the south, and are now held in slavery,\nfrom those originally brought to this country from Africa; and if their\nincrease do no other good, it will do away the force of the argument,\nthat God cursed Ham, and therefore American slavery is right. If the\nlineal descendants of Ham are alone to be scripturally enslaved, it is\ncertain that slavery at the south must soon become unscriptural; for\nthousands are ushered into the world, annually, who, like myself, owe\ntheir existence to white fathers, and those fathers most frequently\ntheir own masters.\n\nI have had two masters. My first master's name was Anthony. I do not\nremember his first name. He was generally called Captain Anthony--a title\nwhich, I presume, he acquired by sailing a craft on the Chesapeake Bay.\nHe was not considered a rich slaveholder. He owned two or three farms,\nand about thirty slaves. His farms and slaves were under the care of an\noverseer. The overseer's name was Plummer. Mr. Plummer was a miserable\ndrunkard, a profane swearer, and a savage monster. He always went armed\nwith a cowskin and a heavy cudgel. I have known him to cut and slash\nthe women's heads so horribly, that even master would be enraged at\nhis cruelty, and would threaten to whip him if he did not mind himself.\nMaster, however, was not a humane slaveholder. It required extraordinary\nbarbarity on the part of an overseer to affect him. He was a cruel man,\nhardened by a long life of slaveholding. He would at times seem to take\ngreat pleasure in whipping a slave. I have often been awakened at the\ndawn of day by the most heart-rending shrieks of an own aunt of mine,\nwhom he used to tie up to a joist, and whip upon her naked back till she\nwas literally covered with blood. No words, no tears, no prayers, from\nhis gory victim, seemed to move his iron heart from its bloody purpose.\nThe louder she screamed, the harder he whipped; and where the blood ran\nfastest, there he whipped longest. He would whip her to make her scream,\nand whip her to make her hush; and not until overcome by fatigue, would\nhe cease to swing the blood-clotted cowskin. I remember the first time I\never witnessed this horrible exhibition. I was quite a child, but I well\nremember it. I never shall forget it whilst I remember any thing. It was\nthe first of a long series of such outrages, of which I was doomed to be\na witness and a participant. It struck me with awful force. It was the\nblood-stained gate, the entrance to the hell of slavery, through which\nI was about to pass. It was a most terrible spectacle. I wish I could\ncommit to paper the feelings with which I beheld it.\n\nThis occurrence took place very soon after I went to live with my old\nmaster, and under the following circumstances. Aunt Hester went out one\nnight,--where or for what I do not know,--and happened to be absent\nwhen my master desired her presence. He had ordered her not to go\nout evenings, and warned her that she must never let him catch her in\ncompany with a young man, who was paying attention to her belonging to\nColonel Lloyd. The young man's name was Ned Roberts, generally called\nLloyd's Ned. Why master was so careful of her, may be safely left to\nconjecture. She was a woman of noble form, and of graceful proportions,\nhaving very few equals, and fewer superiors, in personal appearance,\namong the colored or white women of our neighborhood.\n\nAunt Hester had not only disobeyed his orders in going out, but had been\nfound in company with Lloyd's Ned; which circumstance, I found, from\nwhat he said while whipping her, was the chief offence. Had he been a\nman of pure morals himself, he might have been thought interested in\nprotecting the innocence of my aunt; but those who knew him will not\nsuspect him of any such virtue. Before he commenced whipping Aunt\nHester, he took her into the kitchen, and stripped her from neck to\nwaist, leaving her neck, shoulders, and back, entirely naked. He then\ntold her to cross her hands, calling her at the same time a d----d b---h.\nAfter crossing her hands, he tied them with a strong rope, and led her\nto a stool under a large hook in the joist, put in for the purpose. He\nmade her get upon the stool, and tied her hands to the hook. She now\nstood fair for his infernal purpose. Her arms were stretched up at their\nfull length, so that she stood upon the ends of her toes. He then said\nto her, \"Now, you d----d b---h, I'll learn you how to disobey my orders!\"\nand after rolling up his sleeves, he commenced to lay on the heavy\ncowskin, and soon the warm, red blood (amid heart-rending shrieks from\nher, and horrid oaths from him) came dripping to the floor. I was so\nterrified and horror-stricken at the sight, that I hid myself in a\ncloset, and dared not venture out till long after the bloody transaction\nwas over. I expected it would be my turn next. It was all new to me.\nI had never seen any thing like it before. I had always lived with my\ngrandmother on the outskirts of the plantation, where she was put to\nraise the children of the younger women. I had therefore been, until\nnow, out of the way of the bloody scenes that often occurred on the\nplantation.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nMy master's family consisted of two sons, Andrew and Richard; one\ndaughter, Lucretia, and her husband, Captain Thomas Auld. They lived in\none house, upon the home plantation of Colonel Edward Lloyd. My master\nwas Colonel Lloyd's clerk and superintendent. He was what might be\ncalled the overseer of the overseers. I spent two years of childhood on\nthis plantation in my old master's family. It was here that I witnessed\nthe bloody transaction recorded in the first chapter; and as I received\nmy first impressions of slavery on this plantation, I will give some\ndescription of it, and of slavery as it there existed. The plantation is\nabout twelve miles north of Easton, in Talbot county, and is situated\non the border of Miles River. The principal products raised upon it were\ntobacco, corn, and wheat. These were raised in great abundance; so that,\nwith the products of this and the other farms belonging to him, he was\nable to keep in almost constant employment a large sloop, in carrying\nthem to market at Baltimore. This sloop was named Sally Lloyd, in honor\nof one of the colonel's daughters. My master's son-in-law, Captain Auld,\nwas master of the vessel; she was otherwise manned by the colonel's\nown slaves. Their names were Peter, Isaac, Rich, and Jake. These\nwere esteemed very highly by the other slaves, and looked upon as the\nprivileged ones of the plantation; for it was no small affair, in the\neyes of the slaves, to be allowed to see Baltimore.\n\nColonel Lloyd kept from three to four hundred slaves on his home\nplantation, and owned a large number more on the neighboring farms\nbelonging to him. The names of the farms nearest to the home plantation\nwere Wye Town and New Design. \"Wye Town\" was under the overseership of\na man named Noah Willis. New Design was under the overseership of a\nMr. Townsend. The overseers of these, and all the rest of the farms,\nnumbering over twenty, received advice and direction from the managers\nof the home plantation. This was the great business place. It was the\nseat of government for the whole twenty farms. All disputes among\nthe overseers were settled here. If a slave was convicted of any high\nmisdemeanor, became unmanageable, or evinced a determination to run\naway, he was brought immediately here, severely whipped, put on board\nthe sloop, carried to Baltimore, and sold to Austin Woolfolk, or some\nother slave-trader, as a warning to the slaves remaining.\n\nHere, too, the slaves of all the other farms received their monthly\nallowance of food, and their yearly clothing. The men and women slaves\nreceived, as their monthly allowance of food, eight pounds of pork,\nor its equivalent in fish, and one bushel of corn meal. Their yearly\nclothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts, one pair of linen\ntrousers, like the shirts, one jacket, one pair of trousers for winter,\nmade of coarse negro cloth, one pair of stockings, and one pair of\nshoes; the whole of which could not have cost more than seven dollars.\nThe allowance of the slave children was given to their mothers, or the\nold women having the care of them. The children unable to work in the\nfield had neither shoes, stockings, jackets, nor trousers, given to\nthem; their clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts per year.\nWhen these failed them, they went naked until the next allowance-day.\nChildren from seven to ten years old, of both sexes, almost naked, might\nbe seen at all seasons of the year.\n\nThere were no beds given the slaves, unless one coarse blanket be\nconsidered such, and none but the men and women had these. This,\nhowever, is not considered a very great privation. They find less\ndifficulty from the want of beds, than from the want of time to sleep;\nfor when their day's work in the field is done, the most of them having\ntheir washing, mending, and cooking to do, and having few or none of\nthe ordinary facilities for doing either of these, very many of their\nsleeping hours are consumed in preparing for the field the coming day;\nand when this is done, old and young, male and female, married and\nsingle, drop down side by side, on one common bed,--the cold, damp\nfloor,--each covering himself or herself with their miserable blankets;\nand here they sleep till they are summoned to the field by the driver's\nhorn. At the sound of this, all must rise, and be off to the field.\nThere must be no halting; every one must be at his or her post; and woe\nbetides them who hear not this morning summons to the field; for if\nthey are not awakened by the sense of hearing, they are by the sense of\nfeeling: no age nor sex finds any favor. Mr. Severe, the overseer, used\nto stand by the door of the quarter, armed with a large hickory stick\nand heavy cowskin, ready to whip any one who was so unfortunate as not\nto hear, or, from any other cause, was prevented from being ready to\nstart for the field at the sound of the horn.\n\nMr. Severe was rightly named: he was a cruel man. I have seen him whip a\nwoman, causing the blood to run half an hour at the time; and this,\ntoo, in the midst of her crying children, pleading for their mother's\nrelease. He seemed to take pleasure in manifesting his fiendish\nbarbarity. Added to his cruelty, he was a profane swearer. It was enough\nto chill the blood and stiffen the hair of an ordinary man to hear him\ntalk. Scarce a sentence escaped him but that was commenced or concluded\nby some horrid oath. The field was the place to witness his cruelty\nand profanity. His presence made it both the field of blood and of\nblasphemy. From the rising till the going down of the sun, he was\ncursing, raving, cutting, and slashing among the slaves of the field, in\nthe most frightful manner. His career was short. He died very soon after\nI went to Colonel Lloyd's; and he died as he lived, uttering, with his\ndying groans, bitter curses and horrid oaths. His death was regarded by\nthe slaves as the result of a merciful providence.\n\nMr. Severe's place was filled by a Mr. Hopkins. He was a very different\nman. He was less cruel, less profane, and made less noise, than Mr.\nSevere. His course was characterized by no extraordinary demonstrations\nof cruelty. He whipped, but seemed to take no pleasure in it. He was\ncalled by the slaves a good overseer.\n\nThe home plantation of Colonel Lloyd wore the appearance of a country\nvillage. All the mechanical operations for all the farms were performed\nhere. The shoemaking and mending, the blacksmithing, cartwrighting,\ncoopering, weaving, and grain-grinding, were all performed by the slaves\non the home plantation. The whole place wore a business-like aspect very\nunlike the neighboring farms. The number of houses, too, conspired\nto give it advantage over the neighboring farms. It was called by the\nslaves the _Great House Farm._ Few privileges were esteemed higher, by\nthe slaves of the out-farms, than that of being selected to do\nerrands at the Great House Farm. It was associated in their minds with\ngreatness. A representative could not be prouder of his election to\na seat in the American Congress, than a slave on one of the out-farms\nwould be of his election to do errands at the Great House Farm. They\nregarded it as evidence of great confidence reposed in them by their\noverseers; and it was on this account, as well as a constant desire to\nbe out of the field from under the driver's lash, that they esteemed\nit a high privilege, one worth careful living for. He was called the\nsmartest and most trusty fellow, who had this honor conferred upon\nhim the most frequently. The competitors for this office sought as\ndiligently to please their overseers, as the office-seekers in the\npolitical parties seek to please and deceive the people. The same traits\nof character might be seen in Colonel Lloyd's slaves, as are seen in the\nslaves of the political parties.\n\nThe slaves selected to go to the Great House Farm, for the monthly\nallowance for themselves and their fellow-slaves, were peculiarly\nenthusiastic. While on their way, they would make the dense old woods,\nfor miles around, reverberate with their wild songs, revealing at once\nthe highest joy and the deepest sadness. They would compose and sing as\nthey went along, consulting neither time nor tune. The thought that came\nup, came out--if not in the word, in the sound;--and as frequently in\nthe one as in the other. They would sometimes sing the most pathetic\nsentiment in the most rapturous tone, and the most rapturous sentiment\nin the most pathetic tone. Into all of their songs they would manage to\nweave something of the Great House Farm. Especially would they do this,\nwhen leaving home. They would then sing most exultingly the following\nwords:--\n\n\n     \"I am going away to the Great House Farm!\n     O, yea! O, yea! O!\"\n\nThis they would sing, as a chorus, to words which to many would seem\nunmeaning jargon, but which, nevertheless, were full of meaning to\nthemselves. I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those\nsongs would do more to impress some minds with the horrible character of\nslavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject\ncould do.\n\nI did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and\napparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I\nneither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a\ntale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension;\nthey were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed the prayer and\ncomplaint of souls boiling over with the bitterest anguish. Every tone\nwas a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance\nfrom chains. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit,\nand filled me with ineffable sadness. I have frequently found myself in\ntears while hearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs, even\nnow, afflicts me; and while I am writing these lines, an expression of\nfeeling has already found its way down my cheek. To those songs I trace\nmy first glimmering conception of the dehumanizing character of slavery.\nI can never get rid of that conception. Those songs still follow me, to\ndeepen my hatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies for my brethren\nin bonds. If any one wishes to be impressed with the soul-killing\neffects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd's plantation, and, on\nallowance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, and there let him,\nin silence, analyze the sounds that shall pass through the chambers\nof his soul,--and if he is not thus impressed, it will only be because\n\"there is no flesh in his obdurate heart.\"\n\nI have often been utterly astonished, since I came to the north, to find\npersons who could speak of the singing, among slaves, as evidence of\ntheir contentment and happiness. It is impossible to conceive of a\ngreater mistake. Slaves sing most when they are most unhappy. The songs\nof the slave represent the sorrows of his heart; and he is relieved by\nthem, only as an aching heart is relieved by its tears. At least, such\nis my experience. I have often sung to drown my sorrow, but seldom to\nexpress my happiness. Crying for joy, and singing for joy, were alike\nuncommon to me while in the jaws of slavery. The singing of a man cast\naway upon a desolate island might be as appropriately considered as\nevidence of contentment and happiness, as the singing of a slave; the\nsongs of the one and of the other are prompted by the same emotion.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nColonel Lloyd kept a large and finely cultivated garden, which afforded\nalmost constant employment for four men, besides the chief gardener,\n(Mr. M'Durmond.) This garden was probably the greatest attraction of\nthe place. During the summer months, people came from far and near--from\nBaltimore, Easton, and Annapolis--to see it. It abounded in fruits of\nalmost every description, from the hardy apple of the north to the\ndelicate orange of the south. This garden was not the least source of\ntrouble on the plantation. Its excellent fruit was quite a temptation to\nthe hungry swarms of boys, as well as the older slaves, belonging to the\ncolonel, few of whom had the virtue or the vice to resist it. Scarcely a\nday passed, during the summer, but that some slave had to take the lash\nfor stealing fruit. The colonel had to resort to all kinds of stratagems\nto keep his slaves out of the garden. The last and most successful one\nwas that of tarring his fence all around; after which, if a slave was\ncaught with any tar upon his person, it was deemed sufficient proof that\nhe had either been into the garden, or had tried to get in. In either\ncase, he was severely whipped by the chief gardener. This plan worked\nwell; the slaves became as fearful of tar as of the lash. They seemed to\nrealize the impossibility of touching _tar_ without being defiled.\n\nThe colonel also kept a splendid riding equipage. His stable and\ncarriage-house presented the appearance of some of our large city livery\nestablishments. His horses were of the finest form and noblest blood.\nHis carriage-house contained three splendid coaches, three or four gigs,\nbesides dearborns and barouches of the most fashionable style.\n\nThis establishment was under the care of two slaves--old Barney and young\nBarney--father and son. To attend to this establishment was their sole\nwork. But it was by no means an easy employment; for in nothing was\nColonel Lloyd more particular than in the management of his horses. The\nslightest inattention to these was unpardonable, and was visited upon\nthose, under whose care they were placed, with the severest punishment;\nno excuse could shield them, if the colonel only suspected any want of\nattention to his horses--a supposition which he frequently indulged, and\none which, of course, made the office of old and young Barney a very\ntrying one. They never knew when they were safe from punishment. They\nwere frequently whipped when least deserving, and escaped whipping when\nmost deserving it. Every thing depended upon the looks of the horses,\nand the state of Colonel Lloyd's own mind when his horses were brought\nto him for use. If a horse did not move fast enough, or hold his head\nhigh enough, it was owing to some fault of his keepers. It was painful\nto stand near the stable-door, and hear the various complaints against\nthe keepers when a horse was taken out for use. \"This horse has not had\nproper attention. He has not been sufficiently rubbed and curried, or\nhe has not been properly fed; his food was too wet or too dry; he got it\ntoo soon or too late; he was too hot or too cold; he had too much hay,\nand not enough of grain; or he had too much grain, and not enough\nof hay; instead of old Barney's attending to the horse, he had very\nimproperly left it to his son.\" To all these complaints, no matter how\nunjust, the slave must answer never a word. Colonel Lloyd could not\nbrook any contradiction from a slave. When he spoke, a slave must\nstand, listen, and tremble; and such was literally the case. I have seen\nColonel Lloyd make old Barney, a man between fifty and sixty years of\nage, uncover his bald head, kneel down upon the cold, damp ground, and\nreceive upon his naked and toil-worn shoulders more than thirty\nlashes at the time. Colonel Lloyd had three sons--Edward, Murray, and\nDaniel,--and three sons-in-law, Mr. Winder, Mr. Nicholson, and Mr.\nLowndes. All of these lived at the Great House Farm, and enjoyed the\nluxury of whipping the servants when they pleased, from old Barney down\nto William Wilkes, the coach-driver. I have seen Winder make one of the\nhouse-servants stand off from him a suitable distance to be touched with\nthe end of his whip, and at every stroke raise great ridges upon his\nback.\n\nTo describe the wealth of Colonel Lloyd would be almost equal\nto describing the riches of Job. He kept from ten to fifteen\nhouse-servants. He was said to own a thousand slaves, and I think this\nestimate quite within the truth. Colonel Lloyd owned so many that he did\nnot know them when he saw them; nor did all the slaves of the out-farms\nknow him. It is reported of him, that, while riding along the road one\nday, he met a colored man, and addressed him in the usual manner of\nspeaking to colored people on the public highways of the south: \"Well,\nboy, whom do you belong to?\" \"To Colonel Lloyd,\" replied the slave.\n\"Well, does the colonel treat you well?\" \"No, sir,\" was the ready reply.\n\"What, does he work you too hard?\" \"Yes, sir.\" \"Well, don't he give you\nenough to eat?\" \"Yes, sir, he gives me enough, such as it is.\"\n\nThe colonel, after ascertaining where the slave belonged, rode on;\nthe man also went on about his business, not dreaming that he had been\nconversing with his master. He thought, said, and heard nothing more of\nthe matter, until two or three weeks afterwards. The poor man was then\ninformed by his overseer that, for having found fault with his master,\nhe was now to be sold to a Georgia trader. He was immediately chained\nand handcuffed; and thus, without a moment's warning, he was snatched\naway, and forever sundered, from his family and friends, by a hand more\nunrelenting than death. This is the penalty of telling the truth, of\ntelling the simple truth, in answer to a series of plain questions.\n\nIt is partly in consequence of such facts, that slaves, when inquired\nof as to their condition and the character of their masters, almost\nuniversally say they are contented, and that their masters are kind.\nThe slaveholders have been known to send in spies among their slaves,\nto ascertain their views and feelings in regard to their condition. The\nfrequency of this has had the effect to establish among the slaves the\nmaxim, that a still tongue makes a wise head. They suppress the truth\nrather than take the consequences of telling it, and in so doing prove\nthemselves a part of the human family. If they have any thing to say of\ntheir masters, it is generally in their masters' favor, especially when\nspeaking to an untried man. I have been frequently asked, when a\nslave, if I had a kind master, and do not remember ever to have given a\nnegative answer; nor did I, in pursuing this course, consider myself as\nuttering what was absolutely false; for I always measured the kindness\nof my master by the standard of kindness set up among slaveholders\naround us. Moreover, slaves are like other people, and imbibe prejudices\nquite common to others. They think their own better than that of others.\nMany, under the influence of this prejudice, think their own masters are\nbetter than the masters of other slaves; and this, too, in some cases,\nwhen the very reverse is true. Indeed, it is not uncommon for slaves\neven to fall out and quarrel among themselves about the relative\ngoodness of their masters, each contending for the superior goodness of\nhis own over that of the others. At the very same time, they mutually\nexecrate their masters when viewed separately. It was so on our\nplantation. When Colonel Lloyd's slaves met the slaves of Jacob Jepson,\nthey seldom parted without a quarrel about their masters; Colonel\nLloyd's slaves contending that he was the richest, and Mr. Jepson's\nslaves that he was the smartest, and most of a man. Colonel Lloyd's\nslaves would boast his ability to buy and sell Jacob Jepson. Mr.\nJepson's slaves would boast his ability to whip Colonel Lloyd. These\nquarrels would almost always end in a fight between the parties, and\nthose that whipped were supposed to have gained the point at issue. They\nseemed to think that the greatness of their masters was transferable to\nthemselves. It was considered as being bad enough to be a slave; but to\nbe a poor man's slave was deemed a disgrace indeed!\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nMr. Hopkins remained but a short time in the office of overseer. Why his\ncareer was so short, I do not know, but suppose he lacked the necessary\nseverity to suit Colonel Lloyd. Mr. Hopkins was succeeded by Mr. Austin\nGore, a man possessing, in an eminent degree, all those traits of\ncharacter indispensable to what is called a first-rate overseer. Mr.\nGore had served Colonel Lloyd, in the capacity of overseer, upon one\nof the out-farms, and had shown himself worthy of the high station of\noverseer upon the home or Great House Farm.\n\nMr. Gore was proud, ambitious, and persevering. He was artful, cruel,\nand obdurate. He was just the man for such a place, and it was just the\nplace for such a man. It afforded scope for the full exercise of all his\npowers, and he seemed to be perfectly at home in it. He was one of those\nwho could torture the slightest look, word, or gesture, on the part of\nthe slave, into impudence, and would treat it accordingly. There must\nbe no answering back to him; no explanation was allowed a slave, showing\nhimself to have been wrongfully accused. Mr. Gore acted fully up to\nthe maxim laid down by slaveholders,--\"It is better that a dozen\nslaves should suffer under the lash, than that the overseer should be\nconvicted, in the presence of the slaves, of having been at fault.\"\nNo matter how innocent a slave might be--it availed him nothing,\nwhen accused by Mr. Gore of any misdemeanor. To be accused was to\nbe convicted, and to be convicted was to be punished; the one always\nfollowing the other with immutable certainty. To escape punishment was\nto escape accusation; and few slaves had the fortune to do either, under\nthe overseership of Mr. Gore. He was just proud enough to demand the\nmost debasing homage of the slave, and quite servile enough to crouch,\nhimself, at the feet of the master. He was ambitious enough to be\ncontented with nothing short of the highest rank of overseers, and\npersevering enough to reach the height of his ambition. He was cruel\nenough to inflict the severest punishment, artful enough to descend to\nthe lowest trickery, and obdurate enough to be insensible to the voice\nof a reproving conscience. He was, of all the overseers, the most\ndreaded by the slaves. His presence was painful; his eye flashed\nconfusion; and seldom was his sharp, shrill voice heard, without\nproducing horror and trembling in their ranks.\n\nMr. Gore was a grave man, and, though a young man, he indulged in no\njokes, said no funny words, seldom smiled. His words were in perfect\nkeeping with his looks, and his looks were in perfect keeping with his\nwords. Overseers will sometimes indulge in a witty word, even with the\nslaves; not so with Mr. Gore. He spoke but to command, and commanded but\nto be obeyed; he dealt sparingly with his words, and bountifully with\nhis whip, never using the former where the latter would answer as well.\nWhen he whipped, he seemed to do so from a sense of duty, and feared no\nconsequences. He did nothing reluctantly, no matter how disagreeable;\nalways at his post, never inconsistent. He never promised but to fulfil.\nHe was, in a word, a man of the most inflexible firmness and stone-like\ncoolness.\n\nHis savage barbarity was equalled only by the consummate coolness with\nwhich he committed the grossest and most savage deeds upon the slaves\nunder his charge. Mr. Gore once undertook to whip one of Colonel Lloyd's\nslaves, by the name of Demby. He had given Demby but few stripes, when,\nto get rid of the scourging, he ran and plunged himself into a creek,\nand stood there at the depth of his shoulders, refusing to come out. Mr.\nGore told him that he would give him three calls, and that, if he did\nnot come out at the third call, he would shoot him. The first call was\ngiven. Demby made no response, but stood his ground. The second and\nthird calls were given with the same result. Mr. Gore then, without\nconsultation or deliberation with any one, not even giving Demby an\nadditional call, raised his musket to his face, taking deadly aim at his\nstanding victim, and in an instant poor Demby was no more. His mangled\nbody sank out of sight, and blood and brains marked the water where he\nhad stood.\n\nA thrill of horror flashed through every soul upon the plantation,\nexcepting Mr. Gore. He alone seemed cool and collected. He was asked by\nColonel Lloyd and my old master, why he resorted to this extraordinary\nexpedient. His reply was, (as well as I can remember,) that Demby had\nbecome unmanageable. He was setting a dangerous example to the other\nslaves,--one which, if suffered to pass without some such demonstration\non his part, would finally lead to the total subversion of all rule and\norder upon the plantation. He argued that if one slave refused to be\ncorrected, and escaped with his life, the other slaves would soon copy\nthe example; the result of which would be, the freedom of the slaves,\nand the enslavement of the whites. Mr. Gore's defence was satisfactory.\nHe was continued in his station as overseer upon the home plantation.\nHis fame as an overseer went abroad. His horrid crime was not even\nsubmitted to judicial investigation. It was committed in the presence of\nslaves, and they of course could neither institute a suit, nor testify\nagainst him; and thus the guilty perpetrator of one of the bloodiest\nand most foul murders goes unwhipped of justice, and uncensured by the\ncommunity in which he lives. Mr. Gore lived in St. Michael's, Talbot\ncounty, Maryland, when I left there; and if he is still alive, he very\nprobably lives there now; and if so, he is now, as he was then, as\nhighly esteemed and as much respected as though his guilty soul had not\nbeen stained with his brother's blood.\n\nI speak advisedly when I say this,--that killing a slave, or any colored\nperson, in Talbot county, Maryland, is not treated as a crime, either by\nthe courts or the community. Mr. Thomas Lanman, of St. Michael's, killed\ntwo slaves, one of whom he killed with a hatchet, by knocking his brains\nout. He used to boast of the commission of the awful and bloody deed. I\nhave heard him do so laughingly, saying, among other things, that he was\nthe only benefactor of his country in the company, and that when others\nwould do as much as he had done, we should be relieved of \"the d----d\nniggers.\"\n\nThe wife of Mr. Giles Hicks, living but a short distance from where I\nused to live, murdered my wife's cousin, a young girl between fifteen\nand sixteen years of age, mangling her person in the most horrible\nmanner, breaking her nose and breastbone with a stick, so that the poor\ngirl expired in a few hours afterward. She was immediately buried, but\nhad not been in her untimely grave but a few hours before she was taken\nup and examined by the coroner, who decided that she had come to her\ndeath by severe beating. The offence for which this girl was thus\nmurdered was this:--She had been set that night to mind Mrs. Hicks's\nbaby, and during the night she fell asleep, and the baby cried. She,\nhaving lost her rest for several nights previous, did not hear the\ncrying. They were both in the room with Mrs. Hicks. Mrs. Hicks, finding\nthe girl slow to move, jumped from her bed, seized an oak stick of wood\nby the fireplace, and with it broke the girl's nose and breastbone,\nand thus ended her life. I will not say that this most horrid murder\nproduced no sensation in the community. It did produce sensation, but\nnot enough to bring the murderess to punishment. There was a warrant\nissued for her arrest, but it was never served. Thus she escaped not\nonly punishment, but even the pain of being arraigned before a court for\nher horrid crime.\n\nWhilst I am detailing bloody deeds which took place during my stay\non Colonel Lloyd's plantation, I will briefly narrate another, which\noccurred about the same time as the murder of Demby by Mr. Gore.\n\nColonel Lloyd's slaves were in the habit of spending a part of their\nnights and Sundays in fishing for oysters, and in this way made up the\ndeficiency of their scanty allowance. An old man belonging to Colonel\nLloyd, while thus engaged, happened to get beyond the limits of Colonel\nLloyd's, and on the premises of Mr. Beal Bondly. At this trespass, Mr.\nBondly took offence, and with his musket came down to the shore, and\nblew its deadly contents into the poor old man.\n\nMr. Bondly came over to see Colonel Lloyd the next day, whether to pay\nhim for his property, or to justify himself in what he had done, I know\nnot. At any rate, this whole fiendish transaction was soon hushed up.\nThere was very little said about it at all, and nothing done. It was\na common saying, even among little white boys, that it was worth a\nhalf-cent to kill a \"nigger,\" and a half-cent to bury one.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nAs to my own treatment while I lived on Colonel Lloyd's plantation,\nit was very similar to that of the other slave children. I was not old\nenough to work in the field, and there being little else than field work\nto do, I had a great deal of leisure time. The most I had to do was to\ndrive up the cows at evening, keep the fowls out of the garden, keep the\nfront yard clean, and run of errands for my old master's daughter, Mrs.\nLucretia Auld. The most of my leisure time I spent in helping Master\nDaniel Lloyd in finding his birds, after he had shot them. My connection\nwith Master Daniel was of some advantage to me. He became quite attached\nto me, and was a sort of protector of me. He would not allow the older\nboys to impose upon me, and would divide his cakes with me.\n\nI was seldom whipped by my old master, and suffered little from any\nthing else than hunger and cold. I suffered much from hunger, but much\nmore from cold. In hottest summer and coldest winter, I was kept almost\nnaked--no shoes, no stockings, no jacket, no trousers, nothing on but a\ncoarse tow linen shirt, reaching only to my knees. I had no bed. I must\nhave perished with cold, but that, the coldest nights, I used to steal\na bag which was used for carrying corn to the mill. I would crawl into\nthis bag, and there sleep on the cold, damp, clay floor, with my head in\nand feet out. My feet have been so cracked with the frost, that the pen\nwith which I am writing might be laid in the gashes.\n\nWe were not regularly allowanced. Our food was coarse corn meal boiled.\nThis was called _mush_. It was put into a large wooden tray or trough,\nand set down upon the ground. The children were then called, like so\nmany pigs, and like so many pigs they would come and devour the mush;\nsome with oyster-shells, others with pieces of shingle, some with naked\nhands, and none with spoons. He that ate fastest got most; he that was\nstrongest secured the best place; and few left the trough satisfied.\n\nI was probably between seven and eight years old when I left Colonel\nLloyd's plantation. I left it with joy. I shall never forget the ecstasy\nwith which I received the intelligence that my old master (Anthony)\nhad determined to let me go to Baltimore, to live with Mr. Hugh Auld,\nbrother to my old master's son-in-law, Captain Thomas Auld. I received\nthis information about three days before my departure. They were three\nof the happiest days I ever enjoyed. I spent the most part of all these\nthree days in the creek, washing off the plantation scurf, and preparing\nmyself for my departure.\n\nThe pride of appearance which this would indicate was not my own. I\nspent the time in washing, not so much because I wished to, but because\nMrs. Lucretia had told me I must get all the dead skin off my feet and\nknees before I could go to Baltimore; for the people in Baltimore were\nvery cleanly, and would laugh at me if I looked dirty. Besides, she was\ngoing to give me a pair of trousers, which I should not put on unless\nI got all the dirt off me. The thought of owning a pair of trousers was\ngreat indeed! It was almost a sufficient motive, not only to make me\ntake off what would be called by pig-drovers the mange, but the skin\nitself. I went at it in good earnest, working for the first time with\nthe hope of reward.\n\nThe ties that ordinarily bind children to their homes were all suspended\nin my case. I found no severe trial in my departure. My home was\ncharmless; it was not home to me; on parting from it, I could not feel\nthat I was leaving any thing which I could have enjoyed by staying. My\nmother was dead, my grandmother lived far off, so that I seldom saw her.\nI had two sisters and one brother, that lived in the same house with me;\nbut the early separation of us from our mother had well nigh blotted the\nfact of our relationship from our memories. I looked for home elsewhere,\nand was confident of finding none which I should relish less than the\none which I was leaving. If, however, I found in my new home hardship,\nhunger, whipping, and nakedness, I had the consolation that I should not\nhave escaped any one of them by staying. Having already had more than\na taste of them in the house of my old master, and having endured them\nthere, I very naturally inferred my ability to endure them elsewhere,\nand especially at Baltimore; for I had something of the feeling about\nBaltimore that is expressed in the proverb, that \"being hanged in\nEngland is preferable to dying a natural death in Ireland.\" I had the\nstrongest desire to see Baltimore. Cousin Tom, though not fluent in\nspeech, had inspired me with that desire by his eloquent description\nof the place. I could never point out any thing at the Great House,\nno matter how beautiful or powerful, but that he had seen something at\nBaltimore far exceeding, both in beauty and strength, the object which I\npointed out to him. Even the Great House itself, with all its pictures,\nwas far inferior to many buildings in Baltimore. So strong was my\ndesire, that I thought a gratification of it would fully compensate\nfor whatever loss of comforts I should sustain by the exchange. I left\nwithout a regret, and with the highest hopes of future happiness.\n\nWe sailed out of Miles River for Baltimore on a Saturday morning. I\nremember only the day of the week, for at that time I had no knowledge\nof the days of the month, nor the months of the year. On setting sail, I\nwalked aft, and gave to Colonel Lloyd's plantation what I hoped would be\nthe last look. I then placed myself in the bows of the sloop, and there\nspent the remainder of the day in looking ahead, interesting myself in\nwhat was in the distance rather than in things near by or behind.\n\nIn the afternoon of that day, we reached Annapolis, the capital of the\nState. We stopped but a few moments, so that I had no time to go on\nshore. It was the first large town that I had ever seen, and though it\nwould look small compared with some of our New England factory villages,\nI thought it a wonderful place for its size--more imposing even than the\nGreat House Farm!\n\nWe arrived at Baltimore early on Sunday morning, landing at Smith's\nWharf, not far from Bowley's Wharf. We had on board the sloop a large\nflock of sheep; and after aiding in driving them to the slaughterhouse\nof Mr. Curtis on Louden Slater's Hill, I was conducted by Rich, one of\nthe hands belonging on board of the sloop, to my new home in Alliciana\nStreet, near Mr. Gardner's ship-yard, on Fells Point.\n\nMr. and Mrs. Auld were both at home, and met me at the door with their\nlittle son Thomas, to take care of whom I had been given. And here I saw\nwhat I had never seen before; it was a white face beaming with the most\nkindly emotions; it was the face of my new mistress, Sophia Auld. I wish\nI could describe the rapture that flashed through my soul as I beheld\nit. It was a new and strange sight to me, brightening up my pathway\nwith the light of happiness. Little Thomas was told, there was his\nFreddy,--and I was told to take care of little Thomas; and thus I entered\nupon the duties of my new home with the most cheering prospect ahead.\n\nI look upon my departure from Colonel Lloyd's plantation as one of\nthe most interesting events of my life. It is possible, and even quite\nprobable, that but for the mere circumstance of being removed from that\nplantation to Baltimore, I should have to-day, instead of being here\nseated by my own table, in the enjoyment of freedom and the happiness\nof home, writing this Narrative, been confined in the galling chains of\nslavery. Going to live at Baltimore laid the foundation, and opened the\ngateway, to all my subsequent prosperity. I have ever regarded it as the\nfirst plain manifestation of that kind providence which has ever since\nattended me, and marked my life with so many favors. I regarded the\nselection of myself as being somewhat remarkable. There were a number\nof slave children that might have been sent from the plantation to\nBaltimore. There were those younger, those older, and those of the same\nage. I was chosen from among them all, and was the first, last, and only\nchoice.\n\nI may be deemed superstitious, and even egotistical, in regarding this\nevent as a special interposition of divine Providence in my favor. But\nI should be false to the earliest sentiments of my soul, if I suppressed\nthe opinion. I prefer to be true to myself, even at the hazard of\nincurring the ridicule of others, rather than to be false, and incur my\nown abhorrence. From my earliest recollection, I date the entertainment\nof a deep conviction that slavery would not always be able to hold\nme within its foul embrace; and in the darkest hours of my career in\nslavery, this living word of faith and spirit of hope departed not from\nme, but remained like ministering angels to cheer me through the gloom.\nThis good spirit was from God, and to him I offer thanksgiving and\npraise.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nMy new mistress proved to be all she appeared when I first met her at\nthe door,--a woman of the kindest heart and finest feelings. She had\nnever had a slave under her control previously to myself, and prior to\nher marriage she had been dependent upon her own industry for a living.\nShe was by trade a weaver; and by constant application to her business,\nshe had been in a good degree preserved from the blighting and\ndehumanizing effects of slavery. I was utterly astonished at her\ngoodness. I scarcely knew how to behave towards her. She was entirely\nunlike any other white woman I had ever seen. I could not approach her\nas I was accustomed to approach other white ladies. My early instruction\nwas all out of place. The crouching servility, usually so acceptable a\nquality in a slave, did not answer when manifested toward her. Her favor\nwas not gained by it; she seemed to be disturbed by it. She did not\ndeem it impudent or unmannerly for a slave to look her in the face.\nThe meanest slave was put fully at ease in her presence, and none\nleft without feeling better for having seen her. Her face was made of\nheavenly smiles, and her voice of tranquil music.\n\nBut, alas! this kind heart had but a short time to remain such. The\nfatal poison of irresponsible power was already in her hands, and soon\ncommenced its infernal work. That cheerful eye, under the influence\nof slavery, soon became red with rage; that voice, made all of sweet\naccord, changed to one of harsh and horrid discord; and that angelic\nface gave place to that of a demon.\n\nVery soon after I went to live with Mr. and Mrs. Auld, she very kindly\ncommenced to teach me the A, B, C. After I had learned this, she\nassisted me in learning to spell words of three or four letters. Just at\nthis point of my progress, Mr. Auld found out what was going on, and at\nonce forbade Mrs. Auld to instruct me further, telling her, among other\nthings, that it was unlawful, as well as unsafe, to teach a slave to\nread. To use his own words, further, he said, \"If you give a nigger an\ninch, he will take an ell. A nigger should know nothing but to obey his\nmaster--to do as he is told to do. Learning would _spoil_ the best nigger\nin the world. Now,\" said he, \"if you teach that nigger (speaking of\nmyself) how to read, there would be no keeping him. It would forever\nunfit him to be a slave. He would at once become unmanageable, and of no\nvalue to his master. As to himself, it could do him no good, but a great\ndeal of harm. It would make him discontented and unhappy.\" These\nwords sank deep into my heart, stirred up sentiments within that lay\nslumbering, and called into existence an entirely new train of thought.\nIt was a new and special revelation, explaining dark and mysterious\nthings, with which my youthful understanding had struggled, but\nstruggled in vain. I now understood what had been to me a most\nperplexing difficulty--to wit, the white man's power to enslave the\nblack man. It was a grand achievement, and I prized it highly. From that\nmoment, I understood the pathway from slavery to freedom. It was just\nwhat I wanted, and I got it at a time when I the least expected it.\nWhilst I was saddened by the thought of losing the aid of my kind\nmistress, I was gladdened by the invaluable instruction which, by the\nmerest accident, I had gained from my master. Though conscious of the\ndifficulty of learning without a teacher, I set out with high hope, and\na fixed purpose, at whatever cost of trouble, to learn how to read. The\nvery decided manner with which he spoke, and strove to impress his wife\nwith the evil consequences of giving me instruction, served to convince\nme that he was deeply sensible of the truths he was uttering. It gave me\nthe best assurance that I might rely with the utmost confidence on the\nresults which, he said, would flow from teaching me to read. What he\nmost dreaded, that I most desired. What he most loved, that I most\nhated. That which to him was a great evil, to be carefully shunned, was\nto me a great good, to be diligently sought; and the argument which he\nso warmly urged, against my learning to read, only served to inspire\nme with a desire and determination to learn. In learning to read, I owe\nalmost as much to the bitter opposition of my master, as to the kindly\naid of my mistress. I acknowledge the benefit of both.\n\nI had resided but a short time in Baltimore before I observed a marked\ndifference, in the treatment of slaves, from that which I had witnessed\nin the country. A city slave is almost a freeman, compared with a\nslave on the plantation. He is much better fed and clothed, and enjoys\nprivileges altogether unknown to the slave on the plantation. There is\na vestige of decency, a sense of shame, that does much to curb and\ncheck those outbreaks of atrocious cruelty so commonly enacted upon the\nplantation. He is a desperate slaveholder, who will shock the humanity\nof his non-slaveholding neighbors with the cries of his lacerated slave.\nFew are willing to incur the odium attaching to the reputation of being\na cruel master; and above all things, they would not be known as not\ngiving a slave enough to eat. Every city slaveholder is anxious to have\nit known of him, that he feeds his slaves well; and it is due to them\nto say, that most of them do give their slaves enough to eat. There are,\nhowever, some painful exceptions to this rule. Directly opposite to us,\non Philpot Street, lived Mr. Thomas Hamilton. He owned two slaves. Their\nnames were Henrietta and Mary. Henrietta was about twenty-two years\nof age, Mary was about fourteen; and of all the mangled and emaciated\ncreatures I ever looked upon, these two were the most so. His heart\nmust be harder than stone, that could look upon these unmoved. The\nhead, neck, and shoulders of Mary were literally cut to pieces. I have\nfrequently felt her head, and found it nearly covered with festering\nsores, caused by the lash of her cruel mistress. I do not know that her\nmaster ever whipped her, but I have been an eye-witness to the cruelty\nof Mrs. Hamilton. I used to be in Mr. Hamilton's house nearly every day.\nMrs. Hamilton used to sit in a large chair in the middle of the room,\nwith a heavy cowskin always by her side, and scarce an hour passed\nduring the day but was marked by the blood of one of these slaves. The\ngirls seldom passed her without her saying, \"Move faster, you _black\ngip!_\" at the same time giving them a blow with the cowskin over the\nhead or shoulders, often drawing the blood. She would then say, \"Take\nthat, you _black gip!_\" continuing, \"If you don't move faster, I'll move\nyou!\" Added to the cruel lashings to which these slaves were subjected,\nthey were kept nearly half-starved. They seldom knew what it was to eat\na full meal. I have seen Mary contending with the pigs for the offal\nthrown into the street. So much was Mary kicked and cut to pieces, that\nshe was oftener called \"_pecked_\" than by her name.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nI lived in Master Hugh's family about seven years. During this time, I\nsucceeded in learning to read and write. In accomplishing this, I was\ncompelled to resort to various stratagems. I had no regular teacher. My\nmistress, who had kindly commenced to instruct me, had, in compliance\nwith the advice and direction of her husband, not only ceased to\ninstruct, but had set her face against my being instructed by any one\nelse. It is due, however, to my mistress to say of her, that she did\nnot adopt this course of treatment immediately. She at first lacked the\ndepravity indispensable to shutting me up in mental darkness. It was\nat least necessary for her to have some training in the exercise of\nirresponsible power, to make her equal to the task of treating me as\nthough I were a brute.\n\nMy mistress was, as I have said, a kind and tender-hearted woman; and in\nthe simplicity of her soul she commenced, when I first went to live with\nher, to treat me as she supposed one human being ought to treat another.\nIn entering upon the duties of a slaveholder, she did not seem to\nperceive that I sustained to her the relation of a mere chattel, and\nthat for her to treat me as a human being was not only wrong, but\ndangerously so. Slavery proved as injurious to her as it did to me. When\nI went there, she was a pious, warm, and tender-hearted woman. There was\nno sorrow or suffering for which she had not a tear. She had bread for\nthe hungry, clothes for the naked, and comfort for every mourner that\ncame within her reach. Slavery soon proved its ability to divest her of\nthese heavenly qualities. Under its influence, the tender heart became\nstone, and the lamblike disposition gave way to one of tiger-like\nfierceness. The first step in her downward course was in her ceasing to\ninstruct me. She now commenced to practise her husband's precepts. She\nfinally became even more violent in her opposition than her husband\nhimself. She was not satisfied with simply doing as well as he had\ncommanded; she seemed anxious to do better. Nothing seemed to make her\nmore angry than to see me with a newspaper. She seemed to think that\nhere lay the danger. I have had her rush at me with a face made all up\nof fury, and snatch from me a newspaper, in a manner that fully revealed\nher apprehension. She was an apt woman; and a little experience soon\ndemonstrated, to her satisfaction, that education and slavery were\nincompatible with each other.\n\nFrom this time I was most narrowly watched. If I was in a separate room\nany considerable length of time, I was sure to be suspected of having\na book, and was at once called to give an account of myself. All this,\nhowever, was too late. The first step had been taken. Mistress, in\nteaching me the alphabet, had given me the _inch,_ and no precaution\ncould prevent me from taking the _ell._\n\nThe plan which I adopted, and the one by which I was most successful,\nwas that of making friends of all the little white boys whom I met in\nthe street. As many of these as I could, I converted into teachers. With\ntheir kindly aid, obtained at different times and in different places,\nI finally succeeded in learning to read. When I was sent of errands, I\nalways took my book with me, and by going one part of my errand quickly,\nI found time to get a lesson before my return. I used also to carry\nbread with me, enough of which was always in the house, and to which I\nwas always welcome; for I was much better off in this regard than many\nof the poor white children in our neighborhood. This bread I used to\nbestow upon the hungry little urchins, who, in return, would give me\nthat more valuable bread of knowledge. I am strongly tempted to give\nthe names of two or three of those little boys, as a testimonial of the\ngratitude and affection I bear them; but prudence forbids;--not that\nit would injure me, but it might embarrass them; for it is almost an\nunpardonable offence to teach slaves to read in this Christian country.\nIt is enough to say of the dear little fellows, that they lived on\nPhilpot Street, very near Durgin and Bailey's ship-yard. I used to talk\nthis matter of slavery over with them. I would sometimes say to them, I\nwished I could be as free as they would be when they got to be men. \"You\nwill be free as soon as you are twenty-one, _but I am a slave for life!_\nHave not I as good a right to be free as you have?\" These words used\nto trouble them; they would express for me the liveliest sympathy, and\nconsole me with the hope that something would occur by which I might be\nfree.\n\nI was now about twelve years old, and the thought of being _a slave for\nlife_ began to bear heavily upon my heart. Just about this time, I got\nhold of a book entitled \"The Columbian Orator.\" Every opportunity I\ngot, I used to read this book. Among much of other interesting matter,\nI found in it a dialogue between a master and his slave. The slave was\nrepresented as having run away from his master three times. The dialogue\nrepresented the conversation which took place between them, when the\nslave was retaken the third time. In this dialogue, the whole argument\nin behalf of slavery was brought forward by the master, all of which was\ndisposed of by the slave. The slave was made to say some very smart as\nwell as impressive things in reply to his master--things which had the\ndesired though unexpected effect; for the conversation resulted in the\nvoluntary emancipation of the slave on the part of the master.\n\nIn the same book, I met with one of Sheridan's mighty speeches on and\nin behalf of Catholic emancipation. These were choice documents to me.\nI read them over and over again with unabated interest. They gave tongue\nto interesting thoughts of my own soul, which had frequently flashed\nthrough my mind, and died away for want of utterance. The moral which I\ngained from the dialogue was the power of truth over the conscience of\neven a slaveholder. What I got from Sheridan was a bold denunciation\nof slavery, and a powerful vindication of human rights. The reading\nof these documents enabled me to utter my thoughts, and to meet the\narguments brought forward to sustain slavery; but while they relieved\nme of one difficulty, they brought on another even more painful than\nthe one of which I was relieved. The more I read, the more I was led\nto abhor and detest my enslavers. I could regard them in no other light\nthan a band of successful robbers, who had left their homes, and gone to\nAfrica, and stolen us from our homes, and in a strange land reduced\nus to slavery. I loathed them as being the meanest as well as the most\nwicked of men. As I read and contemplated the subject, behold! that very\ndiscontentment which Master Hugh had predicted would follow my learning\nto read had already come, to torment and sting my soul to unutterable\nanguish. As I writhed under it, I would at times feel that learning to\nread had been a curse rather than a blessing. It had given me a view\nof my wretched condition, without the remedy. It opened my eyes to the\nhorrible pit, but to no ladder upon which to get out. In moments of\nagony, I envied my fellow-slaves for their stupidity. I have often\nwished myself a beast. I preferred the condition of the meanest reptile\nto my own. Any thing, no matter what, to get rid of thinking! It was\nthis everlasting thinking of my condition that tormented me. There was\nno getting rid of it. It was pressed upon me by every object within\nsight or hearing, animate or inanimate. The silver trump of freedom\nhad roused my soul to eternal wakefulness. Freedom now appeared, to\ndisappear no more forever. It was heard in every sound, and seen in\nevery thing. It was ever present to torment me with a sense of my\nwretched condition. I saw nothing without seeing it, I heard nothing\nwithout hearing it, and felt nothing without feeling it. It looked from\nevery star, it smiled in every calm, breathed in every wind, and moved\nin every storm.\n\nI often found myself regretting my own existence, and wishing myself\ndead; and but for the hope of being free, I have no doubt but that I\nshould have killed myself, or done something for which I should have\nbeen killed. While in this state of mind, I was eager to hear any one\nspeak of slavery. I was a ready listener. Every little while, I could\nhear something about the abolitionists. It was some time before I found\nwhat the word meant. It was always used in such connections as to make\nit an interesting word to me. If a slave ran away and succeeded in\ngetting clear, or if a slave killed his master, set fire to a barn, or\ndid any thing very wrong in the mind of a slaveholder, it was spoken of\nas the fruit of _abolition._ Hearing the word in this connection very\noften, I set about learning what it meant. The dictionary afforded me\nlittle or no help. I found it was \"the act of abolishing;\" but then I\ndid not know what was to be abolished. Here I was perplexed. I did not\ndare to ask any one about its meaning, for I was satisfied that it was\nsomething they wanted me to know very little about. After a patient\nwaiting, I got one of our city papers, containing an account of the\nnumber of petitions from the north, praying for the abolition of slavery\nin the District of Columbia, and of the slave trade between the States.\nFrom this time I understood the words _abolition_ and _abolitionist,_\nand always drew near when that word was spoken, expecting to hear\nsomething of importance to myself and fellow-slaves. The light broke in\nupon me by degrees. I went one day down on the wharf of Mr. Waters;\nand seeing two Irishmen unloading a scow of stone, I went, unasked, and\nhelped them. When we had finished, one of them came to me and asked\nme if I were a slave. I told him I was. He asked, \"Are ye a slave for\nlife?\" I told him that I was. The good Irishman seemed to be deeply\naffected by the statement. He said to the other that it was a pity so\nfine a little fellow as myself should be a slave for life. He said it\nwas a shame to hold me. They both advised me to run away to the north;\nthat I should find friends there, and that I should be free. I pretended\nnot to be interested in what they said, and treated them as if I did not\nunderstand them; for I feared they might be treacherous. White men have\nbeen known to encourage slaves to escape, and then, to get the reward,\ncatch them and return them to their masters. I was afraid that these\nseemingly good men might use me so; but I nevertheless remembered their\nadvice, and from that time I resolved to run away. I looked forward to\na time at which it would be safe for me to escape. I was too young to\nthink of doing so immediately; besides, I wished to learn how to write,\nas I might have occasion to write my own pass. I consoled myself with\nthe hope that I should one day find a good chance. Meanwhile, I would\nlearn to write.\n\nThe idea as to how I might learn to write was suggested to me by\nbeing in Durgin and Bailey's ship-yard, and frequently seeing the ship\ncarpenters, after hewing, and getting a piece of timber ready for use,\nwrite on the timber the name of that part of the ship for which it was\nintended. When a piece of timber was intended for the larboard side, it\nwould be marked thus--\"L.\" When a piece was for the starboard side, it\nwould be marked thus--\"S.\" A piece for the larboard side forward, would\nbe marked thus--\"L. F.\" When a piece was for starboard side forward,\nit would be marked thus--\"S. F.\" For larboard aft, it would be marked\nthus--\"L. A.\" For starboard aft, it would be marked thus--\"S. A.\" I soon\nlearned the names of these letters, and for what they were intended when\nplaced upon a piece of timber in the ship-yard. I immediately commenced\ncopying them, and in a short time was able to make the four letters\nnamed. After that, when I met with any boy who I knew could write, I\nwould tell him I could write as well as he. The next word would be, \"I\ndon't believe you. Let me see you try it.\" I would then make the letters\nwhich I had been so fortunate as to learn, and ask him to beat that.\nIn this way I got a good many lessons in writing, which it is quite\npossible I should never have gotten in any other way. During this time,\nmy copy-book was the board fence, brick wall, and pavement; my pen and\nink was a lump of chalk. With these, I learned mainly how to write. I\nthen commenced and continued copying the Italics in Webster's Spelling\nBook, until I could make them all without looking on the book. By this\ntime, my little Master Thomas had gone to school, and learned how to\nwrite, and had written over a number of copy-books. These had been\nbrought home, and shown to some of our near neighbors, and then laid\naside. My mistress used to go to class meeting at the Wilk Street\nmeetinghouse every Monday afternoon, and leave me to take care of the\nhouse. When left thus, I used to spend the time in writing in the\nspaces left in Master Thomas's copy-book, copying what he had written. I\ncontinued to do this until I could write a hand very similar to that of\nMaster Thomas. Thus, after a long, tedious effort for years, I finally\nsucceeded in learning how to write.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nIn a very short time after I went to live at Baltimore, my old master's\nyoungest son Richard died; and in about three years and six months after\nhis death, my old master, Captain Anthony, died, leaving only his son,\nAndrew, and daughter, Lucretia, to share his estate. He died while on a\nvisit to see his daughter at Hillsborough. Cut off thus unexpectedly,\nhe left no will as to the disposal of his property. It was therefore\nnecessary to have a valuation of the property, that it might be equally\ndivided between Mrs. Lucretia and Master Andrew. I was immediately sent\nfor, to be valued with the other property. Here again my feelings rose\nup in detestation of slavery. I had now a new conception of my degraded\ncondition. Prior to this, I had become, if not insensible to my lot,\nat least partly so. I left Baltimore with a young heart overborne with\nsadness, and a soul full of apprehension. I took passage with Captain\nRowe, in the schooner Wild Cat, and, after a sail of about twenty-four\nhours, I found myself near the place of my birth. I had now been absent\nfrom it almost, if not quite, five years. I, however, remembered the\nplace very well. I was only about five years old when I left it, to go\nand live with my old master on Colonel Lloyd's plantation; so that I was\nnow between ten and eleven years old.\n\nWe were all ranked together at the valuation. Men and women, old and\nyoung, married and single, were ranked with horses, sheep, and swine.\nThere were horses and men, cattle and women, pigs and children, all\nholding the same rank in the scale of being, and were all subjected to\nthe same narrow examination. Silvery-headed age and sprightly youth,\nmaids and matrons, had to undergo the same indelicate inspection. At\nthis moment, I saw more clearly than ever the brutalizing effects of\nslavery upon both slave and slaveholder.\n\nAfter the valuation, then came the division. I have no language to\nexpress the high excitement and deep anxiety which were felt among us\npoor slaves during this time. Our fate for life was now to be decided.\nwe had no more voice in that decision than the brutes among whom we\nwere ranked. A single word from the white men was enough--against all our\nwishes, prayers, and entreaties--to sunder forever the dearest friends,\ndearest kindred, and strongest ties known to human beings. In addition\nto the pain of separation, there was the horrid dread of falling into\nthe hands of Master Andrew. He was known to us all as being a most cruel\nwretch,--a common drunkard, who had, by his reckless mismanagement and\nprofligate dissipation, already wasted a large portion of his father's\nproperty. We all felt that we might as well be sold at once to the\nGeorgia traders, as to pass into his hands; for we knew that that would\nbe our inevitable condition,--a condition held by us all in the utmost\nhorror and dread.\n\nI suffered more anxiety than most of my fellow-slaves. I had known what\nit was to be kindly treated; they had known nothing of the kind. They\nhad seen little or nothing of the world. They were in very deed men and\nwomen of sorrow, and acquainted with grief. Their backs had been made\nfamiliar with the bloody lash, so that they had become callous; mine was\nyet tender; for while at Baltimore I got few whippings, and few slaves\ncould boast of a kinder master and mistress than myself; and the thought\nof passing out of their hands into those of Master Andrew--a man who, but\na few days before, to give me a sample of his bloody disposition, took\nmy little brother by the throat, threw him on the ground, and with the\nheel of his boot stamped upon his head till the blood gushed from his\nnose and ears--was well calculated to make me anxious as to my fate.\nAfter he had committed this savage outrage upon my brother, he turned\nto me, and said that was the way he meant to serve me one of these\ndays,--meaning, I suppose, when I came into his possession.\n\nThanks to a kind Providence, I fell to the portion of Mrs. Lucretia, and\nwas sent immediately back to Baltimore, to live again in the family\nof Master Hugh. Their joy at my return equalled their sorrow at my\ndeparture. It was a glad day to me. I had escaped a worse than lion's\njaws. I was absent from Baltimore, for the purpose of valuation and\ndivision, just about one month, and it seemed to have been six.\n\nVery soon after my return to Baltimore, my mistress, Lucretia, died,\nleaving her husband and one child, Amanda; and in a very short time\nafter her death, Master Andrew died. Now all the property of my old\nmaster, slaves included, was in the hands of strangers,--strangers who\nhad had nothing to do with accumulating it. Not a slave was left free.\nAll remained slaves, from the youngest to the oldest. If any one thing\nin my experience, more than another, served to deepen my conviction\nof the infernal character of slavery, and to fill me with unutterable\nloathing of slaveholders, it was their base ingratitude to my poor old\ngrandmother. She had served my old master faithfully from youth to old\nage. She had been the source of all his wealth; she had peopled his\nplantation with slaves; she had become a great grandmother in his\nservice. She had rocked him in infancy, attended him in childhood,\nserved him through life, and at his death wiped from his icy brow the\ncold death-sweat, and closed his eyes forever. She was nevertheless left\na slave--a slave for life--a slave in the hands of strangers; and in\ntheir hands she saw her children, her grandchildren, and her\ngreat-grandchildren, divided, like so many sheep, without being\ngratified with the small privilege of a single word, as to their or\nher own destiny. And, to cap the climax of their base ingratitude\nand fiendish barbarity, my grandmother, who was now very old, having\noutlived my old master and all his children, having seen the beginning\nand end of all of them, and her present owners finding she was of but\nlittle value, her frame already racked with the pains of old age, and\ncomplete helplessness fast stealing over her once active limbs,\nthey took her to the woods, built her a little hut, put up a little\nmud-chimney, and then made her welcome to the privilege of supporting\nherself there in perfect loneliness; thus virtually turning her out to\ndie! If my poor old grandmother now lives, she lives to suffer in utter\nloneliness; she lives to remember and mourn over the loss of children,\nthe loss of grandchildren, and the loss of great-grandchildren. They\nare, in the language of the slave's poet, Whittier,--\n\n\n     \"Gone, gone, sold and gone\n     To the rice swamp dank and lone,\n     Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings,\n     Where the noisome insect stings,\n     Where the fever-demon strews\n     Poison with the falling dews,\n     Where the sickly sunbeams glare\n     Through the hot and misty air:&mdash;\n     Gone, gone, sold and gone\n     To the rice swamp dank and lone,\n     From Virginia hills and waters&mdash;\n     Woe is me, my stolen daughters!\"\n\nThe hearth is desolate. The children, the unconscious children, who once\nsang and danced in her presence, are gone. She gropes her way, in the\ndarkness of age, for a drink of water. Instead of the voices of her\nchildren, she hears by day the moans of the dove, and by night the\nscreams of the hideous owl. All is gloom. The grave is at the door. And\nnow, when weighed down by the pains and aches of old age, when the head\ninclines to the feet, when the beginning and ending of human existence\nmeet, and helpless infancy and painful old age combine together--at\nthis time, this most needful time, the time for the exercise of that\ntenderness and affection which children only can exercise towards a\ndeclining parent--my poor old grandmother, the devoted mother of twelve\nchildren, is left all alone, in yonder little hut, before a few dim\nembers. She stands--she sits--she staggers--she falls--she groans--she\ndies--and there are none of her children or grandchildren present, to\nwipe from her wrinkled brow the cold sweat of death, or to place beneath\nthe sod her fallen remains. Will not a righteous God visit for these\nthings?\n\nIn about two years after the death of Mrs. Lucretia, Master Thomas\nmarried his second wife. Her name was Rowena Hamilton. She was the\neldest daughter of Mr. William Hamilton. Master now lived in St.\nMichael's. Not long after his marriage, a misunderstanding took place\nbetween himself and Master Hugh; and as a means of punishing his\nbrother, he took me from him to live with himself at St. Michael's. Here\nI underwent another most painful separation. It, however, was not so\nsevere as the one I dreaded at the division of property; for, during\nthis interval, a great change had taken place in Master Hugh and his\nonce kind and affectionate wife. The influence of brandy upon him, and\nof slavery upon her, had effected a disastrous change in the characters\nof both; so that, as far as they were concerned, I thought I had little\nto lose by the change. But it was not to them that I was attached. It\nwas to those little Baltimore boys that I felt the strongest attachment.\nI had received many good lessons from them, and was still receiving\nthem, and the thought of leaving them was painful indeed. I was leaving,\ntoo, without the hope of ever being allowed to return. Master Thomas had\nsaid he would never let me return again. The barrier betwixt himself and\nbrother he considered impassable.\n\nI then had to regret that I did not at least make the attempt to carry\nout my resolution to run away; for the chances of success are tenfold\ngreater from the city than from the country.\n\nI sailed from Baltimore for St. Michael's in the sloop Amanda, Captain\nEdward Dodson. On my passage, I paid particular attention to the\ndirection which the steamboats took to go to Philadelphia. I found,\ninstead of going down, on reaching North Point they went up the bay,\nin a north-easterly direction. I deemed this knowledge of the utmost\nimportance. My determination to run away was again revived. I resolved\nto wait only so long as the offering of a favorable opportunity. When\nthat came, I was determined to be off.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nI have now reached a period of my life when I can give dates. I left\nBaltimore, and went to live with Master Thomas Auld, at St. Michael's,\nin March, 1832. It was now more than seven years since I lived with him\nin the family of my old master, on Colonel Lloyd's plantation. We of\ncourse were now almost entire strangers to each other. He was to me a\nnew master, and I to him a new slave. I was ignorant of his temper and\ndisposition; he was equally so of mine. A very short time, however,\nbrought us into full acquaintance with each other. I was made acquainted\nwith his wife not less than with himself. They were well matched, being\nequally mean and cruel. I was now, for the first time during a space\nof more than seven years, made to feel the painful gnawings of hunger--a\nsomething which I had not experienced before since I left Colonel\nLloyd's plantation. It went hard enough with me then, when I could look\nback to no period at which I had enjoyed a sufficiency. It was tenfold\nharder after living in Master Hugh's family, where I had always had\nenough to eat, and of that which was good. I have said Master Thomas was\na mean man. He was so. Not to give a slave enough to eat, is regarded as\nthe most aggravated development of meanness even among slaveholders. The\nrule is, no matter how coarse the food, only let there be enough of it.\nThis is the theory; and in the part of Maryland from which I came, it\nis the general practice,--though there are many exceptions. Master Thomas\ngave us enough of neither coarse nor fine food. There were four slaves\nof us in the kitchen--my sister Eliza, my aunt Priscilla, Henny, and\nmyself; and we were allowed less than a half of a bushel of corn-meal\nper week, and very little else, either in the shape of meat or\nvegetables. It was not enough for us to subsist upon. We were therefore\nreduced to the wretched necessity of living at the expense of our\nneighbors. This we did by begging and stealing, whichever came handy in\nthe time of need, the one being considered as legitimate as the other.\nA great many times have we poor creatures been nearly perishing\nwith hunger, when food in abundance lay mouldering in the safe and\nsmoke-house, and our pious mistress was aware of the fact; and yet that\nmistress and her husband would kneel every morning, and pray that God\nwould bless them in basket and store!\n\nBad as all slaveholders are, we seldom meet one destitute of every\nelement of character commanding respect. My master was one of this rare\nsort. I do not know of one single noble act ever performed by him. The\nleading trait in his character was meanness; and if there were any other\nelement in his nature, it was made subject to this. He was mean; and,\nlike most other mean men, he lacked the ability to conceal his meanness.\nCaptain Auld was not born a slaveholder. He had been a poor man, master\nonly of a Bay craft. He came into possession of all his slaves by\nmarriage; and of all men, adopted slaveholders are the worst. He was\ncruel, but cowardly. He commanded without firmness. In the enforcement\nof his rules, he was at times rigid, and at times lax. At times, he\nspoke to his slaves with the firmness of Napoleon and the fury of a\ndemon; at other times, he might well be mistaken for an inquirer who\nhad lost his way. He did nothing of himself. He might have passed for a\nlion, but for his ears. In all things noble which he attempted, his own\nmeanness shone most conspicuous. His airs, words, and actions, were the\nairs, words, and actions of born slaveholders, and, being assumed, were\nawkward enough. He was not even a good imitator. He possessed all the\ndisposition to deceive, but wanted the power. Having no resources within\nhimself, he was compelled to be the copyist of many, and being such, he\nwas forever the victim of inconsistency; and of consequence he was an\nobject of contempt, and was held as such even by his slaves. The luxury\nof having slaves of his own to wait upon him was something new and\nunprepared for. He was a slaveholder without the ability to hold slaves.\nHe found himself incapable of managing his slaves either by force,\nfear, or fraud. We seldom called him \"master;\" we generally called him\n\"Captain Auld,\" and were hardly disposed to title him at all. I doubt\nnot that our conduct had much to do with making him appear awkward,\nand of consequence fretful. Our want of reverence for him must have\nperplexed him greatly. He wished to have us call him master, but lacked\nthe firmness necessary to command us to do so. His wife used to insist\nupon our calling him so, but to no purpose. In August, 1832, my master\nattended a Methodist camp-meeting held in the Bay-side, Talbot county,\nand there experienced religion. I indulged a faint hope that his\nconversion would lead him to emancipate his slaves, and that, if he did\nnot do this, it would, at any rate, make him more kind and humane. I was\ndisappointed in both these respects. It neither made him to be humane\nto his slaves, nor to emancipate them. If it had any effect on his\ncharacter, it made him more cruel and hateful in all his ways; for I\nbelieve him to have been a much worse man after his conversion than\nbefore. Prior to his conversion, he relied upon his own depravity\nto shield and sustain him in his savage barbarity; but after his\nconversion, he found religious sanction and support for his slaveholding\ncruelty. He made the greatest pretensions to piety. His house was\nthe house of prayer. He prayed morning, noon, and night. He very\nsoon distinguished himself among his brethren, and was soon made a\nclass-leader and exhorter. His activity in revivals was great, and he\nproved himself an instrument in the hands of the church in converting\nmany souls. His house was the preachers' home. They used to take great\npleasure in coming there to put up; for while he starved us, he stuffed\nthem. We have had three or four preachers there at a time. The names\nof those who used to come most frequently while I lived there, were Mr.\nStorks, Mr. Ewery, Mr. Humphry, and Mr. Hickey. I have also seen Mr.\nGeorge Cookman at our house. We slaves loved Mr. Cookman. We believed\nhim to be a good man. We thought him instrumental in getting Mr. Samuel\nHarrison, a very rich slaveholder, to emancipate his slaves; and by some\nmeans got the impression that he was laboring to effect the emancipation\nof all the slaves. When he was at our house, we were sure to be called\nin to prayers. When the others were there, we were sometimes called in\nand sometimes not. Mr. Cookman took more notice of us than either of\nthe other ministers. He could not come among us without betraying his\nsympathy for us, and, stupid as we were, we had the sagacity to see it.\n\nWhile I lived with my master in St. Michael's, there was a white\nyoung man, a Mr. Wilson, who proposed to keep a Sabbath school for the\ninstruction of such slaves as might be disposed to learn to read the New\nTestament. We met but three times, when Mr. West and Mr. Fairbanks,\nboth class-leaders, with many others, came upon us with sticks and other\nmissiles, drove us off, and forbade us to meet again. Thus ended our\nlittle Sabbath school in the pious town of St. Michael's.\n\nI have said my master found religious sanction for his cruelty. As an\nexample, I will state one of many facts going to prove the charge.\nI have seen him tie up a lame young woman, and whip her with a heavy\ncowskin upon her naked shoulders, causing the warm red blood to drip;\nand, in justification of the bloody deed, he would quote this passage of\nScripture--\"He that knoweth his master's will, and doeth it not, shall be\nbeaten with many stripes.\"\n\nMaster would keep this lacerated young woman tied up in this horrid\nsituation four or five hours at a time. I have known him to tie her up\nearly in the morning, and whip her before breakfast; leave her, go to\nhis store, return at dinner, and whip her again, cutting her in the\nplaces already made raw with his cruel lash. The secret of master's\ncruelty toward \"Henny\" is found in the fact of her being almost\nhelpless. When quite a child, she fell into the fire, and burned herself\nhorribly. Her hands were so burnt that she never got the use of them.\nShe could do very little but bear heavy burdens. She was to master a\nbill of expense; and as he was a mean man, she was a constant offence\nto him. He seemed desirous of getting the poor girl out of existence.\nHe gave her away once to his sister; but, being a poor gift, she was\nnot disposed to keep her. Finally, my benevolent master, to use his\nown words, \"set her adrift to take care of herself.\" Here was a\nrecently-converted man, holding on upon the mother, and at the same time\nturning out her helpless child, to starve and die! Master Thomas was one\nof the many pious slaveholders who hold slaves for the very charitable\npurpose of taking care of them.\n\nMy master and myself had quite a number of differences. He found\nme unsuitable to his purpose. My city life, he said, had had a very\npernicious effect upon me. It had almost ruined me for every good\npurpose, and fitted me for every thing which was bad. One of my greatest\nfaults was that of letting his horse run away, and go down to his\nfather-inlaw's farm, which was about five miles from St. Michael's. I\nwould then have to go after it. My reason for this kind of carelessness,\nor carefulness, was, that I could always get something to eat when I\nwent there. Master William Hamilton, my master's father-in-law, always\ngave his slaves enough to eat. I never left there hungry, no matter\nhow great the need of my speedy return. Master Thomas at length said he\nwould stand it no longer. I had lived with him nine months, during\nwhich time he had given me a number of severe whippings, all to no good\npurpose. He resolved to put me out, as he said, to be broken; and, for\nthis purpose, he let me for one year to a man named Edward Covey. Mr.\nCovey was a poor man, a farm-renter. He rented the place upon which he\nlived, as also the hands with which he tilled it. Mr. Covey had acquired\na very high reputation for breaking young slaves, and this reputation\nwas of immense value to him. It enabled him to get his farm tilled with\nmuch less expense to himself than he could have had it done without such\na reputation. Some slaveholders thought it not much loss to allow Mr.\nCovey to have their slaves one year, for the sake of the training to\nwhich they were subjected, without any other compensation. He could hire\nyoung help with great ease, in consequence of this reputation. Added\nto the natural good qualities of Mr. Covey, he was a professor of\nreligion--a pious soul--a member and a class-leader in the\nMethodist church. All of this added weight to his reputation as a\n\"nigger-breaker.\" I was aware of all the facts, having been made\nacquainted with them by a young man who had lived there. I nevertheless\nmade the change gladly; for I was sure of getting enough to eat, which\nis not the smallest consideration to a hungry man.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nI had left Master Thomas's house, and went to live with Mr. Covey, on\nthe 1st of January, 1833. I was now, for the first time in my life, a\nfield hand. In my new employment, I found myself even more awkward than\na country boy appeared to be in a large city. I had been at my new home\nbut one week before Mr. Covey gave me a very severe whipping, cutting my\nback, causing the blood to run, and raising ridges on my flesh as large\nas my little finger. The details of this affair are as follows: Mr.\nCovey sent me, very early in the morning of one of our coldest days in\nthe month of January, to the woods, to get a load of wood. He gave me\na team of unbroken oxen. He told me which was the in-hand ox, and which\nthe off-hand one. He then tied the end of a large rope around the horns\nof the in-hand ox, and gave me the other end of it, and told me, if\nthe oxen started to run, that I must hold on upon the rope. I had\nnever driven oxen before, and of course I was very awkward. I, however,\nsucceeded in getting to the edge of the woods with little difficulty;\nbut I had got a very few rods into the woods, when the oxen took fright,\nand started full tilt, carrying the cart against trees, and over stumps,\nin the most frightful manner. I expected every moment that my brains\nwould be dashed out against the trees. After running thus for a\nconsiderable distance, they finally upset the cart, dashing it with\ngreat force against a tree, and threw themselves into a dense thicket.\nHow I escaped death, I do not know. There I was, entirely alone, in a\nthick wood, in a place new to me. My cart was upset and shattered, my\noxen were entangled among the young trees, and there was none to\nhelp me. After a long spell of effort, I succeeded in getting my cart\nrighted, my oxen disentangled, and again yoked to the cart. I now\nproceeded with my team to the place where I had, the day before, been\nchopping wood, and loaded my cart pretty heavily, thinking in this way\nto tame my oxen. I then proceeded on my way home. I had now consumed\none half of the day. I got out of the woods safely, and now felt out of\ndanger. I stopped my oxen to open the woods gate; and just as I did so,\nbefore I could get hold of my ox-rope, the oxen again started, rushed\nthrough the gate, catching it between the wheel and the body of the\ncart, tearing it to pieces, and coming within a few inches of crushing\nme against the gate-post. Thus twice, in one short day, I escaped death\nby the merest chance. On my return, I told Mr. Covey what had happened,\nand how it happened. He ordered me to return to the woods again\nimmediately. I did so, and he followed on after me. Just as I got into\nthe woods, he came up and told me to stop my cart, and that he would\nteach me how to trifle away my time, and break gates. He then went to\na large gum-tree, and with his axe cut three large switches, and, after\ntrimming them up neatly with his pocketknife, he ordered me to take\noff my clothes. I made him no answer, but stood with my clothes on. He\nrepeated his order. I still made him no answer, nor did I move to strip\nmyself. Upon this he rushed at me with the fierceness of a tiger, tore\noff my clothes, and lashed me till he had worn out his switches, cutting\nme so savagely as to leave the marks visible for a long time after.\nThis whipping was the first of a number just like it, and for similar\noffences.\n\nI lived with Mr. Covey one year. During the first six months, of that\nyear, scarce a week passed without his whipping me. I was seldom free\nfrom a sore back. My awkwardness was almost always his excuse for\nwhipping me. We were worked fully up to the point of endurance. Long\nbefore day we were up, our horses fed, and by the first approach of day\nwe were off to the field with our hoes and ploughing teams. Mr. Covey\ngave us enough to eat, but scarce time to eat it. We were often less\nthan five minutes taking our meals. We were often in the field from the\nfirst approach of day till its last lingering ray had left us; and\nat saving-fodder time, midnight often caught us in the field binding\nblades.\n\nCovey would be out with us. The way he used to stand it, was this. He\nwould spend the most of his afternoons in bed. He would then come out\nfresh in the evening, ready to urge us on with his words, example, and\nfrequently with the whip. Mr. Covey was one of the few slaveholders who\ncould and did work with his hands. He was a hard-working man. He knew by\nhimself just what a man or a boy could do. There was no deceiving him.\nHis work went on in his absence almost as well as in his presence; and\nhe had the faculty of making us feel that he was ever present with us.\nThis he did by surprising us. He seldom approached the spot where we\nwere at work openly, if he could do it secretly. He always aimed at\ntaking us by surprise. Such was his cunning, that we used to call him,\namong ourselves, \"the snake.\" When we were at work in the cornfield, he\nwould sometimes crawl on his hands and knees to avoid detection, and\nall at once he would rise nearly in our midst, and scream out, \"Ha, ha!\nCome, come! Dash on, dash on!\" This being his mode of attack, it was\nnever safe to stop a single minute. His comings were like a thief in the\nnight. He appeared to us as being ever at hand. He was under every\ntree, behind every stump, in every bush, and at every window, on the\nplantation. He would sometimes mount his horse, as if bound to St.\nMichael's, a distance of seven miles, and in half an hour afterwards you\nwould see him coiled up in the corner of the wood-fence, watching every\nmotion of the slaves. He would, for this purpose, leave his horse tied\nup in the woods. Again, he would sometimes walk up to us, and give us\norders as though he was upon the point of starting on a long journey,\nturn his back upon us, and make as though he was going to the house\nto get ready; and, before he would get half way thither, he would turn\nshort and crawl into a fence-corner, or behind some tree, and there\nwatch us till the going down of the sun.\n\nMr. Covey's _forte_ consisted in his power to deceive. His life was\ndevoted to planning and perpetrating the grossest deceptions. Every\nthing he possessed in the shape of learning or religion, he made conform\nto his disposition to deceive. He seemed to think himself equal to\ndeceiving the Almighty. He would make a short prayer in the morning, and\na long prayer at night; and, strange as it may seem, few men would\nat times appear more devotional than he. The exercises of his family\ndevotions were always commenced with singing; and, as he was a very poor\nsinger himself, the duty of raising the hymn generally came upon me. He\nwould read his hymn, and nod at me to commence. I would at times do so;\nat others, I would not. My non-compliance would almost always produce\nmuch confusion. To show himself independent of me, he would start and\nstagger through with his hymn in the most discordant manner. In this\nstate of mind, he prayed with more than ordinary spirit. Poor man! such\nwas his disposition, and success at deceiving, I do verily believe that\nhe sometimes deceived himself into the solemn belief, that he was a\nsincere worshipper of the most high God; and this, too, at a time when\nhe may be said to have been guilty of compelling his woman slave to\ncommit the sin of adultery. The facts in the case are these: Mr. Covey\nwas a poor man; he was just commencing in life; he was only able to buy\none slave; and, shocking as is the fact, he bought her, as he said, for\n_a breeder_. This woman was named Caroline. Mr. Covey bought her from\nMr. Thomas Lowe, about six miles from St. Michael's. She was a large,\nable-bodied woman, about twenty years old. She had already given birth\nto one child, which proved her to be just what he wanted. After buying\nher, he hired a married man of Mr. Samuel Harrison, to live with him one\nyear; and him he used to fasten up with her every night! The result was,\nthat, at the end of the year, the miserable woman gave birth to twins.\nAt this result Mr. Covey seemed to be highly pleased, both with the man\nand the wretched woman. Such was his joy, and that of his wife, that\nnothing they could do for Caroline during her confinement was too good,\nor too hard, to be done. The children were regarded as being quite an\naddition to his wealth.\n\nIf at any one time of my life more than another, I was made to drink the\nbitterest dregs of slavery, that time was during the first six months of\nmy stay with Mr. Covey. We were worked in all weathers. It was never too\nhot or too cold; it could never rain, blow, hail, or snow, too hard for\nus to work in the field. Work, work, work, was scarcely more the order\nof the day than of the night. The longest days were too short for him,\nand the shortest nights too long for him. I was somewhat unmanageable\nwhen I first went there, but a few months of this discipline tamed me.\nMr. Covey succeeded in breaking me. I was broken in body, soul, and\nspirit. My natural elasticity was crushed, my intellect languished, the\ndisposition to read departed, the cheerful spark that lingered about my\neye died; the dark night of slavery closed in upon me; and behold a man\ntransformed into a brute!\n\nSunday was my only leisure time. I spent this in a sort of beast-like\nstupor, between sleep and wake, under some large tree. At times I\nwould rise up, a flash of energetic freedom would dart through my soul,\naccompanied with a faint beam of hope, that flickered for a moment, and\nthen vanished. I sank down again, mourning over my wretched condition.\nI was sometimes prompted to take my life, and that of Covey, but was\nprevented by a combination of hope and fear. My sufferings on this\nplantation seem now like a dream rather than a stern reality.\n\nOur house stood within a few rods of the Chesapeake Bay, whose broad\nbosom was ever white with sails from every quarter of the habitable\nglobe. Those beautiful vessels, robed in purest white, so delightful to\nthe eye of freemen, were to me so many shrouded ghosts, to terrify and\ntorment me with thoughts of my wretched condition. I have often, in the\ndeep stillness of a summer's Sabbath, stood all alone upon the lofty\nbanks of that noble bay, and traced, with saddened heart and tearful\neye, the countless number of sails moving off to the mighty ocean. The\nsight of these always affected me powerfully. My thoughts would compel\nutterance; and there, with no audience but the Almighty, I would pour\nout my soul's complaint, in my rude way, with an apostrophe to the\nmoving multitude of ships:--\n\n\"You are loosed from your moorings, and are free; I am fast in my\nchains, and am a slave! You move merrily before the gentle gale, and\nI sadly before the bloody whip! You are freedom's swift-winged angels,\nthat fly round the world; I am confined in bands of iron! O that I\nwere free! O, that I were on one of your gallant decks, and under your\nprotecting wing! Alas! betwixt me and you, the turbid waters roll. Go\non, go on. O that I could also go! Could I but swim! If I could fly! O,\nwhy was I born a man, of whom to make a brute! The glad ship is gone;\nshe hides in the dim distance. I am left in the hottest hell of unending\nslavery. O God, save me! God, deliver me! Let me be free! Is there any\nGod? Why am I a slave? I will run away. I will not stand it. Get caught,\nor get clear, I'll try it. I had as well die with ague as the fever.\nI have only one life to lose. I had as well be killed running as die\nstanding. Only think of it; one hundred miles straight north, and I am\nfree! Try it? Yes! God helping me, I will. It cannot be that I shall\nlive and die a slave. I will take to the water. This very bay shall yet\nbear me into freedom. The steamboats steered in a north-east course from\nNorth Point. I will do the same; and when I get to the head of the bay,\nI will turn my canoe adrift, and walk straight through Delaware into\nPennsylvania. When I get there, I shall not be required to have a pass;\nI can travel without being disturbed. Let but the first opportunity\noffer, and, come what will, I am off. Meanwhile, I will try to bear up\nunder the yoke. I am not the only slave in the world. Why should I fret?\nI can bear as much as any of them. Besides, I am but a boy, and all boys\nare bound to some one. It may be that my misery in slavery will only\nincrease my happiness when I get free. There is a better day coming.\"\n\nThus I used to think, and thus I used to speak to myself; goaded almost\nto madness at one moment, and at the next reconciling myself to my\nwretched lot.\n\nI have already intimated that my condition was much worse, during the\nfirst six months of my stay at Mr. Covey's, than in the last six. The\ncircumstances leading to the change in Mr. Covey's course toward me form\nan epoch in my humble history. You have seen how a man was made a slave;\nyou shall see how a slave was made a man. On one of the hottest days\nof the month of August, 1833, Bill Smith, William Hughes, a slave named\nEli, and myself, were engaged in fanning wheat. Hughes was clearing the\nfanned wheat from before the fan. Eli was turning, Smith was feeding,\nand I was carrying wheat to the fan. The work was simple, requiring\nstrength rather than intellect; yet, to one entirely unused to such\nwork, it came very hard. About three o'clock of that day, I broke down;\nmy strength failed me; I was seized with a violent aching of the head,\nattended with extreme dizziness; I trembled in every limb. Finding what\nwas coming, I nerved myself up, feeling it would never do to stop work.\nI stood as long as I could stagger to the hopper with grain. When I\ncould stand no longer, I fell, and felt as if held down by an immense\nweight. The fan of course stopped; every one had his own work to do;\nand no one could do the work of the other, and have his own go on at the\nsame time.\n\nMr. Covey was at the house, about one hundred yards from the\ntreading-yard where we were fanning. On hearing the fan stop, he left\nimmediately, and came to the spot where we were. He hastily inquired\nwhat the matter was. Bill answered that I was sick, and there was no\none to bring wheat to the fan. I had by this time crawled away under the\nside of the post and rail-fence by which the yard was enclosed, hoping\nto find relief by getting out of the sun. He then asked where I was. He\nwas told by one of the hands. He came to the spot, and, after looking at\nme awhile, asked me what was the matter. I told him as well as I could,\nfor I scarce had strength to speak. He then gave me a savage kick in\nthe side, and told me to get up. I tried to do so, but fell back in the\nattempt. He gave me another kick, and again told me to rise. I again\ntried, and succeeded in gaining my feet; but, stooping to get the tub\nwith which I was feeding the fan, I again staggered and fell. While down\nin this situation, Mr. Covey took up the hickory slat with which Hughes\nhad been striking off the half-bushel measure, and with it gave me\na heavy blow upon the head, making a large wound, and the blood ran\nfreely; and with this again told me to get up. I made no effort to\ncomply, having now made up my mind to let him do his worst. In a short\ntime after receiving this blow, my head grew better. Mr. Covey had now\nleft me to my fate. At this moment I resolved, for the first time, to go\nto my master, enter a complaint, and ask his protection. In order to\ndo this, I must that afternoon walk seven miles; and this, under the\ncircumstances, was truly a severe undertaking. I was exceedingly feeble;\nmade so as much by the kicks and blows which I received, as by the\nsevere fit of sickness to which I had been subjected. I, however,\nwatched my chance, while Covey was looking in an opposite direction,\nand started for St. Michael's. I succeeded in getting a considerable\ndistance on my way to the woods, when Covey discovered me, and called\nafter me to come back, threatening what he would do if I did not come. I\ndisregarded both his calls and his threats, and made my way to the\nwoods as fast as my feeble state would allow; and thinking I might\nbe overhauled by him if I kept the road, I walked through the woods,\nkeeping far enough from the road to avoid detection, and near enough\nto prevent losing my way. I had not gone far before my little strength\nagain failed me. I could go no farther. I fell down, and lay for a\nconsiderable time. The blood was yet oozing from the wound on my head.\nFor a time I thought I should bleed to death; and think now that I\nshould have done so, but that the blood so matted my hair as to stop\nthe wound. After lying there about three quarters of an hour, I nerved\nmyself up again, and started on my way, through bogs and briers,\nbarefooted and bareheaded, tearing my feet sometimes at nearly every\nstep; and after a journey of about seven miles, occupying some five\nhours to perform it, I arrived at master's store. I then presented an\nappearance enough to affect any but a heart of iron. From the crown of\nmy head to my feet, I was covered with blood. My hair was all clotted\nwith dust and blood; my shirt was stiff with blood. I suppose I looked\nlike a man who had escaped a den of wild beasts, and barely escaped\nthem. In this state I appeared before my master, humbly entreating\nhim to interpose his authority for my protection. I told him all the\ncircumstances as well as I could, and it seemed, as I spoke, at times to\naffect him. He would then walk the floor, and seek to justify Covey by\nsaying he expected I deserved it. He asked me what I wanted. I told him,\nto let me get a new home; that as sure as I lived with Mr. Covey again,\nI should live with but to die with him; that Covey would surely kill me;\nhe was in a fair way for it. Master Thomas ridiculed the idea that there\nwas any danger of Mr. Covey's killing me, and said that he knew Mr.\nCovey; that he was a good man, and that he could not think of taking me\nfrom him; that, should he do so, he would lose the whole year's wages;\nthat I belonged to Mr. Covey for one year, and that I must go back to\nhim, come what might; and that I must not trouble him with any more\nstories, or that he would himself _get hold of me_. After threatening\nme thus, he gave me a very large dose of salts, telling me that I might\nremain in St. Michael's that night, (it being quite late,) but that I\nmust be off back to Mr. Covey's early in the morning; and that if I did\nnot, he would _get hold of me,_ which meant that he would whip me.\nI remained all night, and, according to his orders, I started off to\nCovey's in the morning, (Saturday morning,) wearied in body and broken\nin spirit. I got no supper that night, or breakfast that morning. I\nreached Covey's about nine o'clock; and just as I was getting over the\nfence that divided Mrs. Kemp's fields from ours, out ran Covey with\nhis cowskin, to give me another whipping. Before he could reach me, I\nsucceeded in getting to the cornfield; and as the corn was very high, it\nafforded me the means of hiding. He seemed very angry, and searched for\nme a long time. My behavior was altogether unaccountable. He finally\ngave up the chase, thinking, I suppose, that I must come home for\nsomething to eat; he would give himself no further trouble in looking\nfor me. I spent that day mostly in the woods, having the alternative\nbefore me,--to go home and be whipped to death, or stay in the woods and\nbe starved to death. That night, I fell in with Sandy Jenkins, a slave\nwith whom I was somewhat acquainted. Sandy had a free wife who lived\nabout four miles from Mr. Covey's; and it being Saturday, he was on his\nway to see her. I told him my circumstances, and he very kindly invited\nme to go home with him. I went home with him, and talked this whole\nmatter over, and got his advice as to what course it was best for me to\npursue. I found Sandy an old adviser. He told me, with great solemnity,\nI must go back to Covey; but that before I went, I must go with him into\nanother part of the woods, where there was a certain _root,_ which, if\nI would take some of it with me, carrying it _always on my right side,_\nwould render it impossible for Mr. Covey, or any other white man, to\nwhip me. He said he had carried it for years; and since he had done so,\nhe had never received a blow, and never expected to while he carried it.\nI at first rejected the idea, that the simple carrying of a root in my\npocket would have any such effect as he had said, and was not disposed\nto take it; but Sandy impressed the necessity with much earnestness,\ntelling me it could do no harm, if it did no good. To please him, I at\nlength took the root, and, according to his direction, carried it upon\nmy right side. This was Sunday morning. I immediately started for\nhome; and upon entering the yard gate, out came Mr. Covey on his way to\nmeeting. He spoke to me very kindly, bade me drive the pigs from a lot\nnear by, and passed on towards the church. Now, this singular conduct of\nMr. Covey really made me begin to think that there was something in the\n_root_ which Sandy had given me; and had it been on any other day than\nSunday, I could have attributed the conduct to no other cause than the\ninfluence of that root; and as it was, I was half inclined to think the\n_root_ to be something more than I at first had taken it to be. All went\nwell till Monday morning. On this morning, the virtue of the _root_ was\nfully tested. Long before daylight, I was called to go and rub, curry,\nand feed, the horses. I obeyed, and was glad to obey. But whilst thus\nengaged, whilst in the act of throwing down some blades from the loft,\nMr. Covey entered the stable with a long rope; and just as I was half\nout of the loft, he caught hold of my legs, and was about tying me. As\nsoon as I found what he was up to, I gave a sudden spring, and as I did\nso, he holding to my legs, I was brought sprawling on the stable floor.\nMr. Covey seemed now to think he had me, and could do what he pleased;\nbut at this moment--from whence came the spirit I don't know--I resolved\nto fight; and, suiting my action to the resolution, I seized Covey hard\nby the throat; and as I did so, I rose. He held on to me, and I to him.\nMy resistance was so entirely unexpected that Covey seemed taken all\naback. He trembled like a leaf. This gave me assurance, and I held him\nuneasy, causing the blood to run where I touched him with the ends of my\nfingers. Mr. Covey soon called out to Hughes for help. Hughes came, and,\nwhile Covey held me, attempted to tie my right hand. While he was in the\nact of doing so, I watched my chance, and gave him a heavy kick close\nunder the ribs. This kick fairly sickened Hughes, so that he left me in\nthe hands of Mr. Covey. This kick had the effect of not only weakening\nHughes, but Covey also. When he saw Hughes bending over with pain, his\ncourage quailed. He asked me if I meant to persist in my resistance. I\ntold him I did, come what might; that he had used me like a brute for\nsix months, and that I was determined to be used so no longer. With\nthat, he strove to drag me to a stick that was lying just out of the\nstable door. He meant to knock me down. But just as he was leaning\nover to get the stick, I seized him with both hands by his collar, and\nbrought him by a sudden snatch to the ground. By this time, Bill came.\nCovey called upon him for assistance. Bill wanted to know what he could\ndo. Covey said, \"Take hold of him, take hold of him!\" Bill said his\nmaster hired him out to work, and not to help to whip me; so he left\nCovey and myself to fight our own battle out. We were at it for nearly\ntwo hours. Covey at length let me go, puffing and blowing at a great\nrate, saying that if I had not resisted, he would not have whipped\nme half so much. The truth was, that he had not whipped me at all. I\nconsidered him as getting entirely the worst end of the bargain; for\nhe had drawn no blood from me, but I had from him. The whole six months\nafterwards, that I spent with Mr. Covey, he never laid the weight of his\nfinger upon me in anger. He would occasionally say, he didn't want to\nget hold of me again. \"No,\" thought I, \"you need not; for you will come\noff worse than you did before.\"\n\nThis battle with Mr. Covey was the turning-point in my career as a\nslave. It rekindled the few expiring embers of freedom, and revived\nwithin me a sense of my own manhood. It recalled the departed\nself-confidence, and inspired me again with a determination to be free.\nThe gratification afforded by the triumph was a full compensation for\nwhatever else might follow, even death itself. He only can understand\nthe deep satisfaction which I experienced, who has himself repelled by\nforce the bloody arm of slavery. I felt as I never felt before. It was\na glorious resurrection, from the tomb of slavery, to the heaven of\nfreedom. My long-crushed spirit rose, cowardice departed, bold defiance\ntook its place; and I now resolved that, however long I might remain\na slave in form, the day had passed forever when I could be a slave in\nfact. I did not hesitate to let it be known of me, that the white man\nwho expected to succeed in whipping, must also succeed in killing me.\n\nFrom this time I was never again what might be called fairly whipped,\nthough I remained a slave four years afterwards. I had several fights,\nbut was never whipped.\n\nIt was for a long time a matter of surprise to me why Mr. Covey did not\nimmediately have me taken by the constable to the whipping-post, and\nthere regularly whipped for the crime of raising my hand against a white\nman in defence of myself. And the only explanation I can now think of\ndoes not entirely satisfy me; but such as it is, I will give it. Mr.\nCovey enjoyed the most unbounded reputation for being a first-rate\noverseer and negro-breaker. It was of considerable importance to him.\nThat reputation was at stake; and had he sent me--a boy about sixteen\nyears old--to the public whipping-post, his reputation would have been\nlost; so, to save his reputation, he suffered me to go unpunished.\n\nMy term of actual service to Mr. Edward Covey ended on Christmas day,\n1833. The days between Christmas and New Year's day are allowed as\nholidays; and, accordingly, we were not required to perform any labor,\nmore than to feed and take care of the stock. This time we regarded as\nour own, by the grace of our masters; and we therefore used or abused it\nnearly as we pleased. Those of us who had families at a distance, were\ngenerally allowed to spend the whole six days in their society. This\ntime, however, was spent in various ways. The staid, sober, thinking\nand industrious ones of our number would employ themselves in making\ncorn-brooms, mats, horse-collars, and baskets; and another class of us\nwould spend the time in hunting opossums, hares, and coons. But by far\nthe larger part engaged in such sports and merriments as playing ball,\nwrestling, running foot-races, fiddling, dancing, and drinking whisky;\nand this latter mode of spending the time was by far the most agreeable\nto the feelings of our masters. A slave who would work during the\nholidays was considered by our masters as scarcely deserving them. He\nwas regarded as one who rejected the favor of his master. It was deemed\na disgrace not to get drunk at Christmas; and he was regarded as lazy\nindeed, who had not provided himself with the necessary means, during\nthe year, to get whisky enough to last him through Christmas.\n\nFrom what I know of the effect of these holidays upon the slave, I\nbelieve them to be among the most effective means in the hands of\nthe slaveholder in keeping down the spirit of insurrection. Were the\nslaveholders at once to abandon this practice, I have not the slightest\ndoubt it would lead to an immediate insurrection among the slaves.\nThese holidays serve as conductors, or safety-valves, to carry off the\nrebellious spirit of enslaved humanity. But for these, the slave would\nbe forced up to the wildest desperation; and woe betide the slaveholder,\nthe day he ventures to remove or hinder the operation of those\nconductors! I warn him that, in such an event, a spirit will go forth in\ntheir midst, more to be dreaded than the most appalling earthquake.\n\nThe holidays are part and parcel of the gross fraud, wrong, and\ninhumanity of slavery. They are professedly a custom established by\nthe benevolence of the slaveholders; but I undertake to say, it is the\nresult of selfishness, and one of the grossest frauds committed upon the\ndown-trodden slave. They do not give the slaves this time because they\nwould not like to have their work during its continuance, but because\nthey know it would be unsafe to deprive them of it. This will be seen\nby the fact, that the slaveholders like to have their slaves spend those\ndays just in such a manner as to make them as glad of their ending as of\ntheir beginning. Their object seems to be, to disgust their slaves with\nfreedom, by plunging them into the lowest depths of dissipation. For\ninstance, the slaveholders not only like to see the slave drink of his\nown accord, but will adopt various plans to make him drunk. One plan\nis, to make bets on their slaves, as to who can drink the most whisky\nwithout getting drunk; and in this way they succeed in getting whole\nmultitudes to drink to excess. Thus, when the slave asks for virtuous\nfreedom, the cunning slaveholder, knowing his ignorance, cheats him\nwith a dose of vicious dissipation, artfully labelled with the name of\nliberty. The most of us used to drink it down, and the result was just\nwhat might be supposed; many of us were led to think that there was\nlittle to choose between liberty and slavery. We felt, and very properly\ntoo, that we had almost as well be slaves to man as to rum. So, when the\nholidays ended, we staggered up from the filth of our wallowing, took a\nlong breath, and marched to the field,--feeling, upon the whole, rather\nglad to go, from what our master had deceived us into a belief was\nfreedom, back to the arms of slavery.\n\nI have said that this mode of treatment is a part of the whole system\nof fraud and inhumanity of slavery. It is so. The mode here adopted to\ndisgust the slave with freedom, by allowing him to see only the abuse\nof it, is carried out in other things. For instance, a slave loves\nmolasses; he steals some. His master, in many cases, goes off to town,\nand buys a large quantity; he returns, takes his whip, and commands the\nslave to eat the molasses, until the poor fellow is made sick at the\nvery mention of it. The same mode is sometimes adopted to make the\nslaves refrain from asking for more food than their regular allowance.\nA slave runs through his allowance, and applies for more. His master is\nenraged at him; but, not willing to send him off without food, gives him\nmore than is necessary, and compels him to eat it within a given time.\nThen, if he complains that he cannot eat it, he is said to be satisfied\nneither full nor fasting, and is whipped for being hard to please! I\nhave an abundance of such illustrations of the same principle, drawn\nfrom my own observation, but think the cases I have cited sufficient.\nThe practice is a very common one.\n\nOn the first of January, 1834, I left Mr. Covey, and went to live with\nMr. William Freeland, who lived about three miles from St. Michael's. I\nsoon found Mr. Freeland a very different man from Mr. Covey. Though not\nrich, he was what would be called an educated southern gentleman.\nMr. Covey, as I have shown, was a well-trained negro-breaker and\nslave-driver. The former (slaveholder though he was) seemed to possess\nsome regard for honor, some reverence for justice, and some respect for\nhumanity. The latter seemed totally insensible to all such sentiments.\nMr. Freeland had many of the faults peculiar to slaveholders, such as\nbeing very passionate and fretful; but I must do him the justice to say,\nthat he was exceedingly free from those degrading vices to which Mr.\nCovey was constantly addicted. The one was open and frank, and we always\nknew where to find him. The other was a most artful deceiver, and\ncould be understood only by such as were skilful enough to detect his\ncunningly-devised frauds. Another advantage I gained in my new master\nwas, he made no pretensions to, or profession of, religion; and this, in\nmy opinion, was truly a great advantage. I assert most unhesitatingly,\nthat the religion of the south is a mere covering for the most horrid\ncrimes,--a justifier of the most appalling barbarity,--a sanctifier of\nthe most hateful frauds,--and a dark shelter under, which the darkest,\nfoulest, grossest, and most infernal deeds of slaveholders find the\nstrongest protection. Were I to be again reduced to the chains of\nslavery, next to that enslavement, I should regard being the slave of a\nreligious master the greatest calamity that could befall me. For of all\nslaveholders with whom I have ever met, religious slaveholders are the\nworst. I have ever found them the meanest and basest, the most cruel and\ncowardly, of all others. It was my unhappy lot not only to belong to a\nreligious slaveholder, but to live in a community of such religionists.\nVery near Mr. Freeland lived the Rev. Daniel Weeden, and in the same\nneighborhood lived the Rev. Rigby Hopkins. These were members and\nministers in the Reformed Methodist Church. Mr. Weeden owned, among\nothers, a woman slave, whose name I have forgotten. This woman's\nback, for weeks, was kept literally raw, made so by the lash of this\nmerciless, _religious_ wretch. He used to hire hands. His maxim was,\nBehave well or behave ill, it is the duty of a master occasionally to\nwhip a slave, to remind him of his master's authority. Such was his\ntheory, and such his practice.\n\nMr. Hopkins was even worse than Mr. Weeden. His chief boast was his\nability to manage slaves. The peculiar feature of his government was\nthat of whipping slaves in advance of deserving it. He always managed to\nhave one or more of his slaves to whip every Monday morning. He did this\nto alarm their fears, and strike terror into those who escaped. His\nplan was to whip for the smallest offences, to prevent the commission\nof large ones. Mr. Hopkins could always find some excuse for whipping\na slave. It would astonish one, unaccustomed to a slaveholding life, to\nsee with what wonderful ease a slaveholder can find things, of which to\nmake occasion to whip a slave. A mere look, word, or motion,--a mistake,\naccident, or want of power,--are all matters for which a slave may be\nwhipped at any time. Does a slave look dissatisfied? It is said, he has\nthe devil in him, and it must be whipped out. Does he speak loudly when\nspoken to by his master? Then he is getting high-minded, and should be\ntaken down a button-hole lower. Does he forget to pull off his hat at\nthe approach of a white person? Then he is wanting in reverence, and\nshould be whipped for it. Does he ever venture to vindicate his conduct,\nwhen censured for it? Then he is guilty of impudence,--one of the\ngreatest crimes of which a slave can be guilty. Does he ever venture to\nsuggest a different mode of doing things from that pointed out by\nhis master? He is indeed presumptuous, and getting above himself; and\nnothing less than a flogging will do for him. Does he, while ploughing,\nbreak a plough,--or, while hoeing, break a hoe? It is owing to his\ncarelessness, and for it a slave must always be whipped. Mr. Hopkins\ncould always find something of this sort to justify the use of the lash,\nand he seldom failed to embrace such opportunities. There was not a man\nin the whole county, with whom the slaves who had the getting their own\nhome, would not prefer to live, rather than with this Rev. Mr. Hopkins.\nAnd yet there was not a man any where round, who made higher professions\nof religion, or was more active in revivals,--more attentive to the\nclass, love-feast, prayer and preaching meetings, or more devotional in\nhis family,--that prayed earlier, later, louder, and longer,--than this\nsame reverend slave-driver, Rigby Hopkins.\n\nBut to return to Mr. Freeland, and to my experience while in his\nemployment. He, like Mr. Covey, gave us enough to eat; but, unlike Mr.\nCovey, he also gave us sufficient time to take our meals. He worked us\nhard, but always between sunrise and sunset. He required a good deal of\nwork to be done, but gave us good tools with which to work. His farm was\nlarge, but he employed hands enough to work it, and with ease, compared\nwith many of his neighbors. My treatment, while in his employment, was\nheavenly, compared with what I experienced at the hands of Mr. Edward\nCovey.\n\nMr. Freeland was himself the owner of but two slaves. Their names were\nHenry Harris and John Harris. The rest of his hands he hired. These\nconsisted of myself, Sandy Jenkins,* and Handy Caldwell.\n\n\n     *This is the same man who gave me the roots to prevent my\n     being whipped by Mr. Covey. He was \"a clever soul.\" We used\n     frequently to talk about the fight with Covey, and as often\n     as we did so, he would claim my success as the result of the\n     roots which he gave me. This superstition is very common\n     among the more ignorant slaves. A slave seldom dies but that\n     his death is attributed to trickery.\n\nHenry and John were quite intelligent, and in a very little while after\nI went there, I succeeded in creating in them a strong desire to learn\nhow to read. This desire soon sprang up in the others also. They very\nsoon mustered up some old spelling-books, and nothing would do but that\nI must keep a Sabbath school. I agreed to do so, and accordingly devoted\nmy Sundays to teaching these my loved fellow-slaves how to read. Neither\nof them knew his letters when I went there. Some of the slaves of the\nneighboring farms found what was going on, and also availed themselves\nof this little opportunity to learn to read. It was understood, among\nall who came, that there must be as little display about it as possible.\nIt was necessary to keep our religious masters at St. Michael's\nunacquainted with the fact, that, instead of spending the Sabbath in\nwrestling, boxing, and drinking whisky, we were trying to learn how to\nread the will of God; for they had much rather see us engaged in those\ndegrading sports, than to see us behaving like intellectual, moral, and\naccountable beings. My blood boils as I think of the bloody manner in\nwhich Messrs. Wright Fairbanks and Garrison West, both class-leaders, in\nconnection with many others, rushed in upon us with sticks and stones,\nand broke up our virtuous little Sabbath school, at St. Michael's--all\ncalling themselves Christians! humble followers of the Lord Jesus\nChrist! But I am again digressing.\n\nI held my Sabbath school at the house of a free colored man, whose\nname I deem it imprudent to mention; for should it be known, it might\nembarrass him greatly, though the crime of holding the school was\ncommitted ten years ago. I had at one time over forty scholars, and\nthose of the right sort, ardently desiring to learn. They were of all\nages, though mostly men and women. I look back to those Sundays with an\namount of pleasure not to be expressed. They were great days to my\nsoul. The work of instructing my dear fellow-slaves was the sweetest\nengagement with which I was ever blessed. We loved each other, and to\nleave them at the close of the Sabbath was a severe cross indeed. When\nI think that these precious souls are to-day shut up in the prison-house\nof slavery, my feelings overcome me, and I am almost ready to ask,\n\"Does a righteous God govern the universe? and for what does he hold the\nthunders in his right hand, if not to smite the oppressor, and deliver\nthe spoiled out of the hand of the spoiler?\" These dear souls came not\nto Sabbath school because it was popular to do so, nor did I teach them\nbecause it was reputable to be thus engaged. Every moment they spent\nin that school, they were liable to be taken up, and given thirty-nine\nlashes. They came because they wished to learn. Their minds had\nbeen starved by their cruel masters. They had been shut up in mental\ndarkness. I taught them, because it was the delight of my soul to be\ndoing something that looked like bettering the condition of my race. I\nkept up my school nearly the whole year I lived with Mr. Freeland; and,\nbeside my Sabbath school, I devoted three evenings in the week, during\nthe winter, to teaching the slaves at home. And I have the happiness to\nknow, that several of those who came to Sabbath school learned how to\nread; and that one, at least, is now free through my agency.\n\nThe year passed off smoothly. It seemed only about half as long as the\nyear which preceded it. I went through it without receiving a single\nblow. I will give Mr. Freeland the credit of being the best master\nI ever had, _till I became my own master._ For the ease with which I\npassed the year, I was, however, somewhat indebted to the society of\nmy fellow-slaves. They were noble souls; they not only possessed loving\nhearts, but brave ones. We were linked and interlinked with each other.\nI loved them with a love stronger than any thing I have experienced\nsince. It is sometimes said that we slaves do not love and confide in\neach other. In answer to this assertion, I can say, I never loved any or\nconfided in any people more than my fellow-slaves, and especially those\nwith whom I lived at Mr. Freeland's. I believe we would have died for\neach other. We never undertook to do any thing, of any importance,\nwithout a mutual consultation. We never moved separately. We were\none; and as much so by our tempers and dispositions, as by the mutual\nhardships to which we were necessarily subjected by our condition as\nslaves.\n\nAt the close of the year 1834, Mr. Freeland again hired me of my master,\nfor the year 1835. But, by this time, I began to want to live _upon\nfree land_ as well as _with Freeland;_ and I was no longer content,\ntherefore, to live with him or any other slaveholder. I began, with the\ncommencement of the year, to prepare myself for a final struggle, which\nshould decide my fate one way or the other. My tendency was upward. I\nwas fast approaching manhood, and year after year had passed, and I was\nstill a slave. These thoughts roused me--I must do something. I therefore\nresolved that 1835 should not pass without witnessing an attempt, on\nmy part, to secure my liberty. But I was not willing to cherish this\ndetermination alone. My fellow-slaves were dear to me. I was anxious to\nhave them participate with me in this, my life-giving determination.\nI therefore, though with great prudence, commenced early to ascertain\ntheir views and feelings in regard to their condition, and to imbue\ntheir minds with thoughts of freedom. I bent myself to devising ways and\nmeans for our escape, and meanwhile strove, on all fitting occasions,\nto impress them with the gross fraud and inhumanity of slavery. I went\nfirst to Henry, next to John, then to the others. I found, in them all,\nwarm hearts and noble spirits. They were ready to hear, and ready to\nact when a feasible plan should be proposed. This was what I wanted.\nI talked to them of our want of manhood, if we submitted to our\nenslavement without at least one noble effort to be free. We met often,\nand consulted frequently, and told our hopes and fears, recounted the\ndifficulties, real and imagined, which we should be called on to\nmeet. At times we were almost disposed to give up, and try to content\nourselves with our wretched lot; at others, we were firm and unbending\nin our determination to go. Whenever we suggested any plan, there was\nshrinking--the odds were fearful. Our path was beset with the greatest\nobstacles; and if we succeeded in gaining the end of it, our right to be\nfree was yet questionable--we were yet liable to be returned to bondage.\nWe could see no spot, this side of the ocean, where we could be free.\nWe knew nothing about Canada. Our knowledge of the north did not extend\nfarther than New York; and to go there, and be forever harassed with the\nfrightful liability of being returned to slavery--with the certainty of\nbeing treated tenfold worse than before--the thought was truly a horrible\none, and one which it was not easy to overcome. The case sometimes stood\nthus: At every gate through which we were to pass, we saw a watchman--at\nevery ferry a guard--on every bridge a sentinel--and in every wood a\npatrol. We were hemmed in upon every side. Here were the difficulties,\nreal or imagined--the good to be sought, and the evil to be shunned. On\nthe one hand, there stood slavery, a stern reality, glaring frightfully\nupon us,--its robes already crimsoned with the blood of millions, and\neven now feasting itself greedily upon our own flesh. On the other hand,\naway back in the dim distance, under the flickering light of the north\nstar, behind some craggy hill or snow-covered mountain, stood a doubtful\nfreedom--half frozen--beckoning us to come and share its hospitality.\nThis in itself was sometimes enough to stagger us; but when we permitted\nourselves to survey the road, we were frequently appalled. Upon either\nside we saw grim death, assuming the most horrid shapes. Now it was\nstarvation, causing us to eat our own flesh;--now we were contending with\nthe waves, and were drowned;--now we were overtaken, and torn to pieces\nby the fangs of the terrible bloodhound. We were stung by scorpions,\nchased by wild beasts, bitten by snakes, and finally, after having\nnearly reached the desired spot,--after swimming rivers, encountering\nwild beasts, sleeping in the woods, suffering hunger and nakedness,--we\nwere overtaken by our pursuers, and, in our resistance, we were shot\ndead upon the spot! I say, this picture sometimes appalled us, and made\nus\n\n\n     \"rather bear those ills we had,\n     Than fly to others, that we knew not of.\"\n\nIn coming to a fixed determination to run away, we did more than Patrick\nHenry, when he resolved upon liberty or death. With us it was a doubtful\nliberty at most, and almost certain death if we failed. For my part, I\nshould prefer death to hopeless bondage.\n\nSandy, one of our number, gave up the notion, but still encouraged us.\nOur company then consisted of Henry Harris, John Harris, Henry Bailey,\nCharles Roberts, and myself. Henry Bailey was my uncle, and belonged\nto my master. Charles married my aunt: he belonged to my master's\nfather-in-law, Mr. William Hamilton.\n\nThe plan we finally concluded upon was, to get a large canoe belonging\nto Mr. Hamilton, and upon the Saturday night previous to Easter\nholidays, paddle directly up the Chesapeake Bay. On our arrival at the\nhead of the bay, a distance of seventy or eighty miles from where we\nlived, it was our purpose to turn our canoe adrift, and follow the\nguidance of the north star till we got beyond the limits of Maryland.\nOur reason for taking the water route was, that we were less liable to\nbe suspected as runaways; we hoped to be regarded as fishermen;\nwhereas, if we should take the land route, we should be subjected to\ninterruptions of almost every kind. Any one having a white face, and\nbeing so disposed, could stop us, and subject us to examination.\n\nThe week before our intended start, I wrote several protections, one for\neach of us. As well as I can remember, they were in the following words,\nto wit:--\n\n\n     \"This is to certify that I, the undersigned, have given the bearer, my\n     servant, full liberty to go to Baltimore, and spend the Easter holidays.\n     Written with mine own hand, &amp;c., 1835.\n\n     \"WILLIAM HAMILTON,\n\n\n\"Near St. Michael's, in Talbot county, Maryland.\"\n\nWe were not going to Baltimore; but, in going up the bay, we went toward\nBaltimore, and these protections were only intended to protect us while\non the bay.\n\nAs the time drew near for our departure, our anxiety became more and\nmore intense. It was truly a matter of life and death with us. The\nstrength of our determination was about to be fully tested. At this\ntime, I was very active in explaining every difficulty, removing every\ndoubt, dispelling every fear, and inspiring all with the firmness\nindispensable to success in our undertaking; assuring them that half was\ngained the instant we made the move; we had talked long enough; we were\nnow ready to move; if not now, we never should be; and if we did\nnot intend to move now, we had as well fold our arms, sit down, and\nacknowledge ourselves fit only to be slaves. This, none of us were\nprepared to acknowledge. Every man stood firm; and at our last meeting,\nwe pledged ourselves afresh, in the most solemn manner, that, at the\ntime appointed, we would certainly start in pursuit of freedom. This\nwas in the middle of the week, at the end of which we were to be off. We\nwent, as usual, to our several fields of labor, but with bosoms highly\nagitated with thoughts of our truly hazardous undertaking. We tried to\nconceal our feelings as much as possible; and I think we succeeded very\nwell.\n\nAfter a painful waiting, the Saturday morning, whose night was to\nwitness our departure, came. I hailed it with joy, bring what of sadness\nit might. Friday night was a sleepless one for me. I probably felt more\nanxious than the rest, because I was, by common consent, at the head of\nthe whole affair. The responsibility of success or failure lay heavily\nupon me. The glory of the one, and the confusion of the other, were\nalike mine. The first two hours of that morning were such as I never\nexperienced before, and hope never to again. Early in the morning, we\nwent, as usual, to the field. We were spreading manure; and all at once,\nwhile thus engaged, I was overwhelmed with an indescribable feeling, in\nthe fulness of which I turned to Sandy, who was near by, and said, \"We\nare betrayed!\" \"Well,\" said he, \"that thought has this moment struck\nme.\" We said no more. I was never more certain of any thing.\n\nThe horn was blown as usual, and we went up from the field to the house\nfor breakfast. I went for the form, more than for want of any thing to\neat that morning. Just as I got to the house, in looking out at the lane\ngate, I saw four white men, with two colored men. The white men were\non horseback, and the colored ones were walking behind, as if tied. I\nwatched them a few moments till they got up to our lane gate. Here they\nhalted, and tied the colored men to the gate-post. I was not yet certain\nas to what the matter was. In a few moments, in rode Mr. Hamilton, with\na speed betokening great excitement. He came to the door, and inquired\nif Master William was in. He was told he was at the barn. Mr. Hamilton,\nwithout dismounting, rode up to the barn with extraordinary speed. In\na few moments, he and Mr. Freeland returned to the house. By this time,\nthe three constables rode up, and in great haste dismounted, tied their\nhorses, and met Master William and Mr. Hamilton returning from the barn;\nand after talking awhile, they all walked up to the kitchen door. There\nwas no one in the kitchen but myself and John. Henry and Sandy were up\nat the barn. Mr. Freeland put his head in at the door, and called me by\nname, saying, there were some gentlemen at the door who wished to see\nme. I stepped to the door, and inquired what they wanted. They at once\nseized me, and, without giving me any satisfaction, tied me--lashing my\nhands closely together. I insisted upon knowing what the matter was.\nThey at length said, that they had learned I had been in a \"scrape,\"\nand that I was to be examined before my master; and if their information\nproved false, I should not be hurt.\n\nIn a few moments, they succeeded in tying John. They then turned to\nHenry, who had by this time returned, and commanded him to cross his\nhands. \"I won't!\" said Henry, in a firm tone, indicating his readiness\nto meet the consequences of his refusal. \"Won't you?\" said Tom Graham,\nthe constable. \"No, I won't!\" said Henry, in a still stronger tone. With\nthis, two of the constables pulled out their shining pistols, and swore,\nby their Creator, that they would make him cross his hands or kill him.\nEach cocked his pistol, and, with fingers on the trigger, walked up to\nHenry, saying, at the same time, if he did not cross his hands, they\nwould blow his damned heart out. \"Shoot me, shoot me!\" said Henry; \"you\ncan't kill me but once. Shoot, shoot,--and be damned! _I won't be tied!_\"\nThis he said in a tone of loud defiance; and at the same time, with\na motion as quick as lightning, he with one single stroke dashed the\npistols from the hand of each constable. As he did this, all hands fell\nupon him, and, after beating him some time, they finally overpowered\nhim, and got him tied.\n\nDuring the scuffle, I managed, I know not how, to get my pass out, and,\nwithout being discovered, put it into the fire. We were all now tied;\nand just as we were to leave for Easton jail, Betsy Freeland, mother of\nWilliam Freeland, came to the door with her hands full of biscuits, and\ndivided them between Henry and John. She then delivered herself of a\nspeech, to the following effect:--addressing herself to me, she said,\n\"_You devil! You yellow devil!_ it was you that put it into the heads of\nHenry and John to run away. But for you, you long-legged mulatto devil!\nHenry nor John would never have thought of such a thing.\" I made no\nreply, and was immediately hurried off towards St. Michael's. Just a\nmoment previous to the scuffle with Henry, Mr. Hamilton suggested the\npropriety of making a search for the protections which he had understood\nFrederick had written for himself and the rest. But, just at the moment\nhe was about carrying his proposal into effect, his aid was needed in\nhelping to tie Henry; and the excitement attending the scuffle caused\nthem either to forget, or to deem it unsafe, under the circumstances, to\nsearch. So we were not yet convicted of the intention to run away.\n\nWhen we got about half way to St. Michael's, while the constables having\nus in charge were looking ahead, Henry inquired of me what he should do\nwith his pass. I told him to eat it with his biscuit, and own nothing;\nand we passed the word around, \"_Own nothing;_\" and \"_Own nothing!_\"\nsaid we all. Our confidence in each other was unshaken. We were resolved\nto succeed or fail together, after the calamity had befallen us as much\nas before. We were now prepared for any thing. We were to be dragged\nthat morning fifteen miles behind horses, and then to be placed in\nthe Easton jail. When we reached St. Michael's, we underwent a sort of\nexamination. We all denied that we ever intended to run away. We did\nthis more to bring out the evidence against us, than from any hope of\ngetting clear of being sold; for, as I have said, we were ready for\nthat. The fact was, we cared but little where we went, so we went\ntogether. Our greatest concern was about separation. We dreaded that\nmore than any thing this side of death. We found the evidence against us\nto be the testimony of one person; our master would not tell who it\nwas; but we came to a unanimous decision among ourselves as to who\ntheir informant was. We were sent off to the jail at Easton. When we got\nthere, we were delivered up to the sheriff, Mr. Joseph Graham, and by\nhim placed in jail. Henry, John, and myself, were placed in one\nroom together--Charles, and Henry Bailey, in another. Their object in\nseparating us was to hinder concert.\n\nWe had been in jail scarcely twenty minutes, when a swarm of slave\ntraders, and agents for slave traders, flocked into jail to look at us,\nand to ascertain if we were for sale. Such a set of beings I never saw\nbefore! I felt myself surrounded by so many fiends from perdition. A\nband of pirates never looked more like their father, the devil. They\nlaughed and grinned over us, saying, \"Ah, my boys! we have got you,\nhaven't we?\" And after taunting us in various ways, they one by one\nwent into an examination of us, with intent to ascertain our value.\nThey would impudently ask us if we would not like to have them for our\nmasters. We would make them no answer, and leave them to find out as\nbest they could. Then they would curse and swear at us, telling us that\nthey could take the devil out of us in a very little while, if we were\nonly in their hands.\n\nWhile in jail, we found ourselves in much more comfortable quarters than\nwe expected when we went there. We did not get much to eat, nor that\nwhich was very good; but we had a good clean room, from the windows of\nwhich we could see what was going on in the street, which was very much\nbetter than though we had been placed in one of the dark, damp cells.\nUpon the whole, we got along very well, so far as the jail and its\nkeeper were concerned. Immediately after the holidays were over,\ncontrary to all our expectations, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Freeland came up\nto Easton, and took Charles, the two Henrys, and John, out of jail, and\ncarried them home, leaving me alone. I regarded this separation as\na final one. It caused me more pain than any thing else in the whole\ntransaction. I was ready for any thing rather than separation. I\nsupposed that they had consulted together, and had decided that, as I\nwas the whole cause of the intention of the others to run away, it was\nhard to make the innocent suffer with the guilty; and that they had,\ntherefore, concluded to take the others home, and sell me, as a warning\nto the others that remained. It is due to the noble Henry to say, he\nseemed almost as reluctant at leaving the prison as at leaving home\nto come to the prison. But we knew we should, in all probability,\nbe separated, if we were sold; and since he was in their hands, he\nconcluded to go peaceably home.\n\nI was now left to my fate. I was all alone, and within the walls of a\nstone prison. But a few days before, and I was full of hope. I expected\nto have been safe in a land of freedom; but now I was covered with\ngloom, sunk down to the utmost despair. I thought the possibility of\nfreedom was gone. I was kept in this way about one week, at the end of\nwhich, Captain Auld, my master, to my surprise and utter astonishment,\ncame up, and took me out, with the intention of sending me, with a\ngentleman of his acquaintance, into Alabama. But, from some cause or\nother, he did not send me to Alabama, but concluded to send me back to\nBaltimore, to live again with his brother Hugh, and to learn a trade.\n\nThus, after an absence of three years and one month, I was once more\npermitted to return to my old home at Baltimore. My master sent me\naway, because there existed against me a very great prejudice in the\ncommunity, and he feared I might be killed.\n\nIn a few weeks after I went to Baltimore, Master Hugh hired me to Mr.\nWilliam Gardner, an extensive ship-builder, on Fell's Point. I was put\nthere to learn how to calk. It, however, proved a very unfavorable place\nfor the accomplishment of this object. Mr. Gardner was engaged that\nspring in building two large man-of-war brigs, professedly for the\nMexican government. The vessels were to be launched in the July of that\nyear, and in failure thereof, Mr. Gardner was to lose a considerable\nsum; so that when I entered, all was hurry. There was no time to learn\nany thing. Every man had to do that which he knew how to do. In entering\nthe shipyard, my orders from Mr. Gardner were, to do whatever the\ncarpenters commanded me to do. This was placing me at the beck and call\nof about seventy-five men. I was to regard all these as masters. Their\nword was to be my law. My situation was a most trying one. At times I\nneeded a dozen pair of hands. I was called a dozen ways in the space of\na single minute. Three or four voices would strike my ear at the same\nmoment. It was--\"Fred., come help me to cant this timber here.\"--\"Fred.,\ncome carry this timber yonder.\"--\"Fred., bring that roller here.\"--\"Fred.,\ngo get a fresh can of water.\"--\"Fred., come help saw off the end of this\ntimber.\"--\"Fred., go quick, and get the crowbar.\"--\"Fred., hold on the\nend of this fall.\"--\"Fred., go to the blacksmith's shop, and get a new\npunch.\"--\"Hurra, Fred! run and bring me a cold chisel.\"--\"I say, Fred.,\nbear a hand, and get up a fire as quick as lightning under that\nsteam-box.\"--\"Halloo, nigger! come, turn this grindstone.\"--\"Come, come!\nmove, move! and _bowse_ this timber forward.\"--\"I say, darky, blast\nyour eyes, why don't you heat up some pitch?\"--\"Halloo! halloo! halloo!\"\n(Three voices at the same time.) \"Come here!--Go there!--Hold on where you\nare! Damn you, if you move, I'll knock your brains out!\"\n\nThis was my school for eight months; and I might have remained there\nlonger, but for a most horrid fight I had with four of the white\napprentices, in which my left eye was nearly knocked out, and I was\nhorribly mangled in other respects. The facts in the case were\nthese: Until a very little while after I went there, white and black\nship-carpenters worked side by side, and no one seemed to see any\nimpropriety in it. All hands seemed to be very well satisfied. Many of\nthe black carpenters were freemen. Things seemed to be going on very\nwell. All at once, the white carpenters knocked off, and said they would\nnot work with free colored workmen. Their reason for this, as alleged,\nwas, that if free colored carpenters were encouraged, they would soon\ntake the trade into their own hands, and poor white men would be thrown\nout of employment. They therefore felt called upon at once to put a stop\nto it. And, taking advantage of Mr. Gardner's necessities, they broke\noff, swearing they would work no longer, unless he would discharge his\nblack carpenters. Now, though this did not extend to me in form, it\ndid reach me in fact. My fellow-apprentices very soon began to feel it\ndegrading to them to work with me. They began to put on airs, and\ntalk about the \"niggers\" taking the country, saying we all ought to be\nkilled; and, being encouraged by the journeymen, they commenced\nmaking my condition as hard as they could, by hectoring me around, and\nsometimes striking me. I, of course, kept the vow I made after the fight\nwith Mr. Covey, and struck back again, regardless of consequences; and\nwhile I kept them from combining, I succeeded very well; for I could\nwhip the whole of them, taking them separately. They, however, at\nlength combined, and came upon me, armed with sticks, stones, and heavy\nhandspikes. One came in front with a half brick. There was one at each\nside of me, and one behind me. While I was attending to those in front,\nand on either side, the one behind ran up with the handspike, and struck\nme a heavy blow upon the head. It stunned me. I fell, and with this they\nall ran upon me, and fell to beating me with their fists. I let them\nlay on for a while, gathering strength. In an instant, I gave a sudden\nsurge, and rose to my hands and knees. Just as I did that, one of their\nnumber gave me, with his heavy boot, a powerful kick in the left eye.\nMy eyeball seemed to have burst. When they saw my eye closed, and badly\nswollen, they left me. With this I seized the handspike, and for a time\npursued them. But here the carpenters interfered, and I thought I might\nas well give it up. It was impossible to stand my hand against so\nmany. All this took place in sight of not less than fifty white\nship-carpenters, and not one interposed a friendly word; but some cried,\n\"Kill the damned nigger! Kill him! kill him! He struck a white person.\"\nI found my only chance for life was in flight. I succeeded in getting\naway without an additional blow, and barely so; for to strike a white\nman is death by Lynch law,--and that was the law in Mr. Gardner's\nship-yard; nor is there much of any other out of Mr. Gardner's\nship-yard.\n\nI went directly home, and told the story of my wrongs to Master Hugh;\nand I am happy to say of him, irreligious as he was, his conduct\nwas heavenly, compared with that of his brother Thomas under similar\ncircumstances. He listened attentively to my narration of the\ncircumstances leading to the savage outrage, and gave many proofs of\nhis strong indignation at it. The heart of my once overkind mistress was\nagain melted into pity. My puffed-out eye and blood-covered face moved\nher to tears. She took a chair by me, washed the blood from my face,\nand, with a mother's tenderness, bound up my head, covering the wounded\neye with a lean piece of fresh beef. It was almost compensation for my\nsuffering to witness, once more, a manifestation of kindness from this,\nmy once affectionate old mistress. Master Hugh was very much enraged. He\ngave expression to his feelings by pouring out curses upon the heads\nof those who did the deed. As soon as I got a little the better of my\nbruises, he took me with him to Esquire Watson's, on Bond Street, to\nsee what could be done about the matter. Mr. Watson inquired who saw\nthe assault committed. Master Hugh told him it was done in Mr. Gardner's\nship-yard at midday, where there were a large company of men at work.\n\"As to that,\" he said, \"the deed was done, and there was no question as\nto who did it.\" His answer was, he could do nothing in the case, unless\nsome white man would come forward and testify. He could issue no warrant\non my word. If I had been killed in the presence of a thousand colored\npeople, their testimony combined would have been insufficient to have\narrested one of the murderers. Master Hugh, for once, was compelled to\nsay this state of things was too bad. Of course, it was impossible to\nget any white man to volunteer his testimony in my behalf, and against\nthe white young men. Even those who may have sympathized with me were\nnot prepared to do this. It required a degree of courage unknown to them\nto do so; for just at that time, the slightest manifestation of humanity\ntoward a colored person was denounced as abolitionism, and that name\nsubjected its bearer to frightful liabilities. The watchwords of\nthe bloody-minded in that region, and in those days, were, \"Damn the\nabolitionists!\" and \"Damn the niggers!\" There was nothing done, and\nprobably nothing would have been done if I had been killed. Such\nwas, and such remains, the state of things in the Christian city of\nBaltimore.\n\nMaster Hugh, finding he could get no redress, refused to let me go back\nagain to Mr. Gardner. He kept me himself, and his wife dressed my wound\ntill I was again restored to health. He then took me into the ship-yard\nof which he was foreman, in the employment of Mr. Walter Price. There I\nwas immediately set to calking, and very soon learned the art of using\nmy mallet and irons. In the course of one year from the time I left Mr.\nGardner's, I was able to command the highest wages given to the most\nexperienced calkers. I was now of some importance to my master. I was\nbringing him from six to seven dollars per week. I sometimes brought him\nnine dollars per week: my wages were a dollar and a half a day. After\nlearning how to calk, I sought my own employment, made my own contracts,\nand collected the money which I earned. My pathway became much more\nsmooth than before; my condition was now much more comfortable. When I\ncould get no calking to do, I did nothing. During these leisure times,\nthose old notions about freedom would steal over me again. When in\nMr. Gardner's employment, I was kept in such a perpetual whirl of\nexcitement, I could think of nothing, scarcely, but my life; and in\nthinking of my life, I almost forgot my liberty. I have observed this\nin my experience of slavery,--that whenever my condition was improved,\ninstead of its increasing my contentment, it only increased my desire\nto be free, and set me to thinking of plans to gain my freedom. I\nhave found that, to make a contented slave, it is necessary to make a\nthoughtless one. It is necessary to darken his moral and mental vision,\nand, as far as possible, to annihilate the power of reason. He must be\nable to detect no inconsistencies in slavery; he must be made to feel\nthat slavery is right; and he can be brought to that only when he ceases\nto be a man.\n\nI was now getting, as I have said, one dollar and fifty cents per day. I\ncontracted for it; I earned it; it was paid to me; it was rightfully my\nown; yet, upon each returning Saturday night, I was compelled to deliver\nevery cent of that money to Master Hugh. And why? Not because he earned\nit,--not because he had any hand in earning it,--not because I owed it to\nhim,--nor because he possessed the slightest shadow of a right to it; but\nsolely because he had the power to compel me to give it up. The right of\nthe grim-visaged pirate upon the high seas is exactly the same.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nI now come to that part of my life during which I planned, and finally\nsucceeded in making, my escape from slavery. But before narrating any of\nthe peculiar circumstances, I deem it proper to make known my intention\nnot to state all the facts connected with the transaction. My reasons\nfor pursuing this course may be understood from the following: First,\nwere I to give a minute statement of all the facts, it is not only\npossible, but quite probable, that others would thereby be involved in\nthe most embarrassing difficulties. Secondly, such a statement would\nmost undoubtedly induce greater vigilance on the part of slaveholders\nthan has existed heretofore among them; which would, of course, be the\nmeans of guarding a door whereby some dear brother bondman might escape\nhis galling chains. I deeply regret the necessity that impels me\nto suppress any thing of importance connected with my experience in\nslavery. It would afford me great pleasure indeed, as well as materially\nadd to the interest of my narrative, were I at liberty to gratify a\ncuriosity, which I know exists in the minds of many, by an accurate\nstatement of all the facts pertaining to my most fortunate escape. But\nI must deprive myself of this pleasure, and the curious of the\ngratification which such a statement would afford. I would allow myself\nto suffer under the greatest imputations which evil-minded men might\nsuggest, rather than exculpate myself, and thereby run the hazard\nof closing the slightest avenue by which a brother slave might clear\nhimself of the chains and fetters of slavery.\n\nI have never approved of the very public manner in which some of\nour western friends have conducted what they call the _underground\nrailroad,_ but which I think, by their open declarations, has been made\nmost emphatically the _upper-ground railroad._ I honor those good\nmen and women for their noble daring, and applaud them for willingly\nsubjecting themselves to bloody persecution, by openly avowing their\nparticipation in the escape of slaves. I, however, can see very little\ngood resulting from such a course, either to themselves or the slaves\nescaping; while, upon the other hand, I see and feel assured that those\nopen declarations are a positive evil to the slaves remaining, who\nare seeking to escape. They do nothing towards enlightening the slave,\nwhilst they do much towards enlightening the master. They stimulate him\nto greater watchfulness, and enhance his power to capture his slave. We\nowe something to the slave south of the line as well as to those north\nof it; and in aiding the latter on their way to freedom, we should be\ncareful to do nothing which would be likely to hinder the former from\nescaping from slavery. I would keep the merciless slaveholder profoundly\nignorant of the means of flight adopted by the slave. I would leave him\nto imagine himself surrounded by myriads of invisible tormentors, ever\nready to snatch from his infernal grasp his trembling prey. Let him be\nleft to feel his way in the dark; let darkness commensurate with his\ncrime hover over him; and let him feel that at every step he takes,\nin pursuit of the flying bondman, he is running the frightful risk of\nhaving his hot brains dashed out by an invisible agency. Let us render\nthe tyrant no aid; let us not hold the light by which he can trace the\nfootprints of our flying brother. But enough of this. I will now proceed\nto the statement of those facts, connected with my escape, for which\nI am alone responsible, and for which no one can be made to suffer but\nmyself.\n\nIn the early part of the year 1838, I became quite restless. I could see\nno reason why I should, at the end of each week, pour the reward of my\ntoil into the purse of my master. When I carried to him my weekly\nwages, he would, after counting the money, look me in the face with a\nrobber-like fierceness, and ask, \"Is this all?\" He was satisfied with\nnothing less than the last cent. He would, however, when I made him\nsix dollars, sometimes give me six cents, to encourage me. It had the\nopposite effect. I regarded it as a sort of admission of my right to the\nwhole. The fact that he gave me any part of my wages was proof, to my\nmind, that he believed me entitled to the whole of them. I always felt\nworse for having received any thing; for I feared that the giving me a\nfew cents would ease his conscience, and make him feel himself to be a\npretty honorable sort of robber. My discontent grew upon me. I was ever\non the look-out for means of escape; and, finding no direct means, I\ndetermined to try to hire my time, with a view of getting money with\nwhich to make my escape. In the spring of 1838, when Master Thomas came\nto Baltimore to purchase his spring goods, I got an opportunity, and\napplied to him to allow me to hire my time. He unhesitatingly refused my\nrequest, and told me this was another stratagem by which to escape. He\ntold me I could go nowhere but that he could get me; and that, in the\nevent of my running away, he should spare no pains in his efforts to\ncatch me. He exhorted me to content myself, and be obedient. He told me,\nif I would be happy, I must lay out no plans for the future. He said, if\nI behaved myself properly, he would take care of me. Indeed, he advised\nme to complete thoughtlessness of the future, and taught me to depend\nsolely upon him for happiness. He seemed to see fully the pressing\nnecessity of setting aside my intellectual nature, in order to\ncontentment in slavery. But in spite of him, and even in spite of\nmyself, I continued to think, and to think about the injustice of my\nenslavement, and the means of escape.\n\nAbout two months after this, I applied to Master Hugh for the privilege\nof hiring my time. He was not acquainted with the fact that I had\napplied to Master Thomas, and had been refused. He too, at first,\nseemed disposed to refuse; but, after some reflection, he granted me the\nprivilege, and proposed the following terms: I was to be allowed all my\ntime, make all contracts with those for whom I worked, and find my own\nemployment; and, in return for this liberty, I was to pay him three\ndollars at the end of each week; find myself in calking tools, and in\nboard and clothing. My board was two dollars and a half per week. This,\nwith the wear and tear of clothing and calking tools, made my regular\nexpenses about six dollars per week. This amount I was compelled to make\nup, or relinquish the privilege of hiring my time. Rain or shine, work\nor no work, at the end of each week the money must be forthcoming, or I\nmust give up my privilege. This arrangement, it will be perceived, was\ndecidedly in my master's favor. It relieved him of all need of\nlooking after me. His money was sure. He received all the benefits\nof slaveholding without its evils; while I endured all the evils of a\nslave, and suffered all the care and anxiety of a freeman. I found it a\nhard bargain. But, hard as it was, I thought it better than the old mode\nof getting along. It was a step towards freedom to be allowed to bear\nthe responsibilities of a freeman, and I was determined to hold on upon\nit. I bent myself to the work of making money. I was ready to work\nat night as well as day, and by the most untiring perseverance and\nindustry, I made enough to meet my expenses, and lay up a little money\nevery week. I went on thus from May till August. Master Hugh then\nrefused to allow me to hire my time longer. The ground for his refusal\nwas a failure on my part, one Saturday night, to pay him for my week's\ntime. This failure was occasioned by my attending a camp meeting\nabout ten miles from Baltimore. During the week, I had entered into an\nengagement with a number of young friends to start from Baltimore to the\ncamp ground early Saturday evening; and being detained by my employer,\nI was unable to get down to Master Hugh's without disappointing the\ncompany. I knew that Master Hugh was in no special need of the money\nthat night. I therefore decided to go to camp meeting, and upon my\nreturn pay him the three dollars. I staid at the camp meeting one day\nlonger than I intended when I left. But as soon as I returned, I called\nupon him to pay him what he considered his due. I found him very angry;\nhe could scarce restrain his wrath. He said he had a great mind to give\nme a severe whipping. He wished to know how I dared go out of the city\nwithout asking his permission. I told him I hired my time and while\nI paid him the price which he asked for it, I did not know that I was\nbound to ask him when and where I should go. This reply troubled him;\nand, after reflecting a few moments, he turned to me, and said I should\nhire my time no longer; that the next thing he should know of, I would\nbe running away. Upon the same plea, he told me to bring my tools and\nclothing home forthwith. I did so; but instead of seeking work, as I had\nbeen accustomed to do previously to hiring my time, I spent the whole\nweek without the performance of a single stroke of work. I did this in\nretaliation. Saturday night, he called upon me as usual for my week's\nwages. I told him I had no wages; I had done no work that week. Here\nwe were upon the point of coming to blows. He raved, and swore his\ndetermination to get hold of me. I did not allow myself a single word;\nbut was resolved, if he laid the weight of his hand upon me, it should\nbe blow for blow. He did not strike me, but told me that he would find\nme in constant employment in future. I thought the matter over during\nthe next day, Sunday, and finally resolved upon the third day of\nSeptember, as the day upon which I would make a second attempt to\nsecure my freedom. I now had three weeks during which to prepare for my\njourney. Early on Monday morning, before Master Hugh had time to make\nany engagement for me, I went out and got employment of Mr. Butler, at\nhis ship-yard near the drawbridge, upon what is called the City Block,\nthus making it unnecessary for him to seek employment for me. At the\nend of the week, I brought him between eight and nine dollars. He seemed\nvery well pleased, and asked why I did not do the same the week before.\nHe little knew what my plans were. My object in working steadily was to\nremove any suspicion he might entertain of my intent to run away; and\nin this I succeeded admirably. I suppose he thought I was never better\nsatisfied with my condition than at the very time during which I was\nplanning my escape. The second week passed, and again I carried him\nmy full wages; and so well pleased was he, that he gave me twenty-five\ncents, (quite a large sum for a slaveholder to give a slave,) and bade\nme to make a good use of it. I told him I would.\n\nThings went on without very smoothly indeed, but within there was\ntrouble. It is impossible for me to describe my feelings as the time of\nmy contemplated start drew near. I had a number of warmhearted friends\nin Baltimore,--friends that I loved almost as I did my life,--and\nthe thought of being separated from them forever was painful beyond\nexpression. It is my opinion that thousands would escape from slavery,\nwho now remain, but for the strong cords of affection that bind them to\ntheir friends. The thought of leaving my friends was decidedly the most\npainful thought with which I had to contend. The love of them was my\ntender point, and shook my decision more than all things else. Besides\nthe pain of separation, the dread and apprehension of a failure exceeded\nwhat I had experienced at my first attempt. The appalling defeat I then\nsustained returned to torment me. I felt assured that, if I failed in\nthis attempt, my case would be a hopeless one--it would seal my fate as a\nslave forever. I could not hope to get off with any thing less than the\nseverest punishment, and being placed beyond the means of escape. It\nrequired no very vivid imagination to depict the most frightful scenes\nthrough which I should have to pass, in case I failed. The wretchedness\nof slavery, and the blessedness of freedom, were perpetually before me.\nIt was life and death with me. But I remained firm, and, according to my\nresolution, on the third day of September, 1838, I left my chains, and\nsucceeded in reaching New York without the slightest interruption of any\nkind. How I did so,--what means I adopted,--what direction I travelled,\nand by what mode of conveyance,--I must leave unexplained, for the\nreasons before mentioned.\n\nI have been frequently asked how I felt when I found myself in a\nfree State. I have never been able to answer the question with any\nsatisfaction to myself. It was a moment of the highest excitement I ever\nexperienced. I suppose I felt as one may imagine the unarmed mariner to\nfeel when he is rescued by a friendly man-of-war from the pursuit of a\npirate. In writing to a dear friend, immediately after my arrival at New\nYork, I said I felt like one who had escaped a den of hungry lions. This\nstate of mind, however, very soon subsided; and I was again seized with\na feeling of great insecurity and loneliness. I was yet liable to be\ntaken back, and subjected to all the tortures of slavery. This in\nitself was enough to damp the ardor of my enthusiasm. But the loneliness\novercame me. There I was in the midst of thousands, and yet a perfect\nstranger; without home and without friends, in the midst of thousands\nof my own brethren--children of a common Father, and yet I dared not to\nunfold to any one of them my sad condition. I was afraid to speak to any\none for fear of speaking to the wrong one, and thereby falling into the\nhands of money-loving kidnappers, whose business it was to lie in wait\nfor the panting fugitive, as the ferocious beasts of the forest lie\nin wait for their prey. The motto which I adopted when I started from\nslavery was this--\"Trust no man!\" I saw in every white man an enemy, and\nin almost every colored man cause for distrust. It was a most painful\nsituation; and, to understand it, one must needs experience it, or\nimagine himself in similar circumstances. Let him be a fugitive slave\nin a strange land--a land given up to be the hunting-ground for\nslaveholders--whose inhabitants are legalized kidnappers--where he is\nevery moment subjected to the terrible liability of being seized upon by\nhis fellowmen, as the hideous crocodile seizes upon his prey!--I say, let\nhim place himself in my situation--without home or friends--without money\nor credit--wanting shelter, and no one to give it--wanting bread, and no\nmoney to buy it,--and at the same time let him feel that he is pursued by\nmerciless men-hunters, and in total darkness as to what to do, where to\ngo, or where to stay,--perfectly helpless both as to the means of defence\nand means of escape,--in the midst of plenty, yet suffering the terrible\ngnawings of hunger,--in the midst of houses, yet having no home,--among\nfellow-men, yet feeling as if in the midst of wild beasts, whose\ngreediness to swallow up the trembling and half-famished fugitive is\nonly equalled by that with which the monsters of the deep swallow up the\nhelpless fish upon which they subsist,--I say, let him be placed in this\nmost trying situation,--the situation in which I was placed,--then, and\nnot till then, will he fully appreciate the hardships of, and know how\nto sympathize with, the toil-worn and whip-scarred fugitive slave.\n\nThank Heaven, I remained but a short time in this distressed situation.\nI was relieved from it by the humane hand of _Mr. David Ruggles_, whose\nvigilance, kindness, and perseverance, I shall never forget. I am\nglad of an opportunity to express, as far as words can, the love and\ngratitude I bear him. Mr. Ruggles is now afflicted with blindness, and\nis himself in need of the same kind offices which he was once so forward\nin the performance of toward others. I had been in New York but a few\ndays, when Mr. Ruggles sought me out, and very kindly took me to his\nboarding-house at the corner of Church and Lespenard Streets. Mr.\nRuggles was then very deeply engaged in the memorable _Darg_ case, as\nwell as attending to a number of other fugitive slaves, devising ways\nand means for their successful escape; and, though watched and hemmed in\non almost every side, he seemed to be more than a match for his enemies.\n\nVery soon after I went to Mr. Ruggles, he wished to know of me where\nI wanted to go; as he deemed it unsafe for me to remain in New York. I\ntold him I was a calker, and should like to go where I could get work.\nI thought of going to Canada; but he decided against it, and in favor of\nmy going to New Bedford, thinking I should be able to get work there at\nmy trade. At this time, Anna,* my intended wife, came on; for I wrote\nto her immediately after my arrival at New York, (notwithstanding\nmy homeless, houseless, and helpless condition,) informing her of my\nsuccessful flight, and wishing her to come on forthwith. In a few days\nafter her arrival, Mr. Ruggles called in the Rev. J. W. C. Pennington,\nwho, in the presence of Mr. Ruggles, Mrs. Michaels, and two or three\nothers, performed the marriage ceremony, and gave us a certificate, of\nwhich the following is an exact copy:--\n\n\n\"This may certify, that I joined together in holy matrimony Frederick\nJohnson** and Anna Murray, as man and wife, in the presence of Mr. David\nRuggles and Mrs. Michaels.\n\n\"JAMES W. C. PENNINGTON \"_New York, Sept. 15, 1838_\"\n\n\n          *She was free.\n\n          **I had changed my name from Frederick _Bailey_ to that of\n          _Johnson_.\n\nUpon receiving this certificate, and a five-dollar bill from Mr.\nRuggles, I shouldered one part of our baggage, and Anna took up\nthe other, and we set out forthwith to take passage on board of the\nsteamboat John W. Richmond for Newport, on our way to New Bedford. Mr.\nRuggles gave me a letter to a Mr. Shaw in Newport, and told me, in case\nmy money did not serve me to New Bedford, to stop in Newport and obtain\nfurther assistance; but upon our arrival at Newport, we were so anxious\nto get to a place of safety, that, notwithstanding we lacked the\nnecessary money to pay our fare, we decided to take seats in the stage,\nand promise to pay when we got to New Bedford. We were encouraged to do\nthis by two excellent gentlemen, residents of New Bedford, whose names I\nafterward ascertained to be Joseph Ricketson and William C. Taber.\nThey seemed at once to understand our circumstances, and gave us\nsuch assurance of their friendliness as put us fully at ease in their\npresence.\n\nIt was good indeed to meet with such friends, at such a time. Upon\nreaching New Bedford, we were directed to the house of Mr. Nathan\nJohnson, by whom we were kindly received, and hospitably provided\nfor. Both Mr. and Mrs. Johnson took a deep and lively interest in\nour welfare. They proved themselves quite worthy of the name of\nabolitionists. When the stage-driver found us unable to pay our fare, he\nheld on upon our baggage as security for the debt. I had but to mention\nthe fact to Mr. Johnson, and he forthwith advanced the money.\n\nWe now began to feel a degree of safety, and to prepare ourselves for\nthe duties and responsibilities of a life of freedom. On the morning\nafter our arrival at New Bedford, while at the breakfast-table, the\nquestion arose as to what name I should be called by. The name given me\nby my mother was, \"Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey.\" I, however,\nhad dispensed with the two middle names long before I left Maryland so\nthat I was generally known by the name of \"Frederick Bailey.\" I started\nfrom Baltimore bearing the name of \"Stanley.\" When I got to New York, I\nagain changed my name to \"Frederick Johnson,\" and thought that would\nbe the last change. But when I got to New Bedford, I found it necessary\nagain to change my name. The reason of this necessity was, that there\nwere so many Johnsons in New Bedford, it was already quite difficult to\ndistinguish between them. I gave Mr. Johnson the privilege of\nchoosing me a name, but told him he must not take from me the name of\n\"Frederick.\" I must hold on to that, to preserve a sense of my identity.\nMr. Johnson had just been reading the \"Lady of the Lake,\" and at once\nsuggested that my name be \"Douglass.\" From that time until now I have\nbeen called \"Frederick Douglass;\" and as I am more widely known by that\nname than by either of the others, I shall continue to use it as my own.\n\nI was quite disappointed at the general appearance of things in New\nBedford. The impression which I had received respecting the character\nand condition of the people of the north, I found to be singularly\nerroneous. I had very strangely supposed, while in slavery, that few of\nthe comforts, and scarcely any of the luxuries, of life were enjoyed at\nthe north, compared with what were enjoyed by the slaveholders of the\nsouth. I probably came to this conclusion from the fact that northern\npeople owned no slaves. I supposed that they were about upon a level\nwith the non-slaveholding population of the south. I knew _they_ were\nexceedingly poor, and I had been accustomed to regard their poverty as\nthe necessary consequence of their being non-slaveholders. I had somehow\nimbibed the opinion that, in the absence of slaves, there could be no\nwealth, and very little refinement. And upon coming to the north, I\nexpected to meet with a rough, hard-handed, and uncultivated population,\nliving in the most Spartan-like simplicity, knowing nothing of the\nease, luxury, pomp, and grandeur of southern slaveholders. Such being my\nconjectures, any one acquainted with the appearance of New Bedford may\nvery readily infer how palpably I must have seen my mistake.\n\nIn the afternoon of the day when I reached New Bedford, I visited the\nwharves, to take a view of the shipping. Here I found myself surrounded\nwith the strongest proofs of wealth. Lying at the wharves, and riding in\nthe stream, I saw many ships of the finest model, in the best order, and\nof the largest size. Upon the right and left, I was walled in by granite\nwarehouses of the widest dimensions, stowed to their utmost capacity\nwith the necessaries and comforts of life. Added to this, almost every\nbody seemed to be at work, but noiselessly so, compared with what I had\nbeen accustomed to in Baltimore. There were no loud songs heard from\nthose engaged in loading and unloading ships. I heard no deep oaths or\nhorrid curses on the laborer. I saw no whipping of men; but all seemed\nto go smoothly on. Every man appeared to understand his work, and went\nat it with a sober, yet cheerful earnestness, which betokened the deep\ninterest which he felt in what he was doing, as well as a sense of his\nown dignity as a man. To me this looked exceedingly strange. From the\nwharves I strolled around and over the town, gazing with wonder\nand admiration at the splendid churches, beautiful dwellings, and\nfinely-cultivated gardens; evincing an amount of wealth, comfort, taste,\nand refinement, such as I had never seen in any part of slaveholding\nMaryland.\n\nEvery thing looked clean, new, and beautiful. I saw few or no\ndilapidated houses, with poverty-stricken inmates; no half-naked\nchildren and barefooted women, such as I had been accustomed to see in\nHillsborough, Easton, St. Michael's, and Baltimore. The people looked\nmore able, stronger, healthier, and happier, than those of Maryland.\nI was for once made glad by a view of extreme wealth, without being\nsaddened by seeing extreme poverty. But the most astonishing as well\nas the most interesting thing to me was the condition of the colored\npeople, a great many of whom, like myself, had escaped thither as a\nrefuge from the hunters of men. I found many, who had not been seven\nyears out of their chains, living in finer houses, and evidently\nenjoying more of the comforts of life, than the average of slaveholders\nin Maryland. I will venture to assert, that my friend Mr. Nathan Johnson\n(of whom I can say with a grateful heart, \"I was hungry, and he gave me\nmeat; I was thirsty, and he gave me drink; I was a stranger, and he took\nme in\") lived in a neater house; dined at a better table; took, paid\nfor, and read, more newspapers; better understood the moral, religious,\nand political character of the nation,--than nine tenths of the\nslaveholders in Talbot county Maryland. Yet Mr. Johnson was a working\nman. His hands were hardened by toil, and not his alone, but those also\nof Mrs. Johnson. I found the colored people much more spirited than\nI had supposed they would be. I found among them a determination to\nprotect each other from the blood-thirsty kidnapper, at all hazards.\nSoon after my arrival, I was told of a circumstance which illustrated\ntheir spirit. A colored man and a fugitive slave were on unfriendly\nterms. The former was heard to threaten the latter with informing his\nmaster of his whereabouts. Straightway a meeting was called among the\ncolored people, under the stereotyped notice, \"Business of importance!\"\nThe betrayer was invited to attend. The people came at the appointed\nhour, and organized the meeting by appointing a very religious old\ngentleman as president, who, I believe, made a prayer, after which he\naddressed the meeting as follows: \"_Friends, we have got him here, and\nI would recommend that you young men just take him outside the door,\nand kill him!_\" With this, a number of them bolted at him; but they were\nintercepted by some more timid than themselves, and the betrayer escaped\ntheir vengeance, and has not been seen in New Bedford since. I believe\nthere have been no more such threats, and should there be hereafter, I\ndoubt not that death would be the consequence.\n\nI found employment, the third day after my arrival, in stowing a sloop\nwith a load of oil. It was new, dirty, and hard work for me; but I went\nat it with a glad heart and a willing hand. I was now my own master. It\nwas a happy moment, the rapture of which can be understood only by those\nwho have been slaves. It was the first work, the reward of which was to\nbe entirely my own. There was no Master Hugh standing ready, the moment\nI earned the money, to rob me of it. I worked that day with a pleasure I\nhad never before experienced. I was at work for myself and newly-married\nwife. It was to me the starting-point of a new existence. When I got\nthrough with that job, I went in pursuit of a job of calking; but such\nwas the strength of prejudice against color, among the white calkers,\nthat they refused to work with me, and of course I could get no\nemployment.*\n\n\n     * I am told that colored persons can now get employment at\n     calking in New Bedford&mdash;a result of anti-slavery effort.\n\nFinding my trade of no immediate benefit, I threw off my calking\nhabiliments, and prepared myself to do any kind of work I could get to\ndo. Mr. Johnson kindly let me have his wood-horse and saw, and I very\nsoon found myself a plenty of work. There was no work too hard--none\ntoo dirty. I was ready to saw wood, shovel coal, carry wood, sweep the\nchimney, or roll oil casks,--all of which I did for nearly three years in\nNew Bedford, before I became known to the anti-slavery world.\n\nIn about four months after I went to New Bedford, there came a young man\nto me, and inquired if I did not wish to take the \"Liberator.\" I told\nhim I did; but, just having made my escape from slavery, I remarked that\nI was unable to pay for it then. I, however, finally became a subscriber\nto it. The paper came, and I read it from week to week with such\nfeelings as it would be quite idle for me to attempt to describe. The\npaper became my meat and my drink. My soul was set all on fire.\nIts sympathy for my brethren in bonds--its scathing denunciations of\nslaveholders--its faithful exposures of slavery--and its powerful attacks\nupon the upholders of the institution--sent a thrill of joy through my\nsoul, such as I had never felt before!\n\nI had not long been a reader of the \"Liberator,\" before I got a pretty\ncorrect idea of the principles, measures and spirit of the anti-slavery\nreform. I took right hold of the cause. I could do but little; but what\nI could, I did with a joyful heart, and never felt happier than when\nin an anti-slavery meeting. I seldom had much to say at the meetings,\nbecause what I wanted to say was said so much better by others. But,\nwhile attending an anti-slavery convention at Nantucket, on the 11th of\nAugust, 1841, I felt strongly moved to speak, and was at the same time\nmuch urged to do so by Mr. William C. Coffin, a gentleman who had heard\nme speak in the colored people's meeting at New Bedford. It was a severe\ncross, and I took it up reluctantly. The truth was, I felt myself a\nslave, and the idea of speaking to white people weighed me down. I spoke\nbut a few moments, when I felt a degree of freedom, and said what I\ndesired with considerable ease. From that time until now, I have been\nengaged in pleading the cause of my brethren--with what success, and with\nwhat devotion, I leave those acquainted with my labors to decide.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX\n\nI find, since reading over the foregoing Narrative, that I have,\nin several instances, spoken in such a tone and manner, respecting\nreligion, as may possibly lead those unacquainted with my religious\nviews to suppose me an opponent of all religion. To remove the liability\nof such misapprehension, I deem it proper to append the following brief\nexplanation. What I have said respecting and against religion, I mean\nstrictly to apply to the _slaveholding religion_ of this land, and\nwith no possible reference to Christianity proper; for, between the\nChristianity of this land, and the Christianity of Christ, I recognize\nthe widest possible difference--so wide, that to receive the one as good,\npure, and holy, is of necessity to reject the other as bad, corrupt, and\nwicked. To be the friend of the one, is of necessity to be the enemy\nof the other. I love the pure, peaceable, and impartial Christianity\nof Christ: I therefore hate the corrupt, slaveholding, women-whipping,\ncradle-plundering, partial and hypocritical Christianity of this land.\nIndeed, I can see no reason, but the most deceitful one, for calling the\nreligion of this land Christianity. I look upon it as the climax of all\nmisnomers, the boldest of all frauds, and the grossest of all libels.\nNever was there a clearer case of \"stealing the livery of the court of\nheaven to serve the devil in.\" I am filled with unutterable loathing\nwhen I contemplate the religious pomp and show, together with the\nhorrible inconsistencies, which every where surround me. We have\nmen-stealers for ministers, women-whippers for missionaries,\nand cradle-plunderers for church members. The man who wields the\nblood-clotted cowskin during the week fills the pulpit on Sunday, and\nclaims to be a minister of the meek and lowly Jesus. The man who robs\nme of my earnings at the end of each week meets me as a class-leader on\nSunday morning, to show me the way of life, and the path of salvation.\nHe who sells my sister, for purposes of prostitution, stands forth as\nthe pious advocate of purity. He who proclaims it a religious duty to\nread the Bible denies me the right of learning to read the name of the\nGod who made me. He who is the religious advocate of marriage robs whole\nmillions of its sacred influence, and leaves them to the ravages of\nwholesale pollution. The warm defender of the sacredness of the family\nrelation is the same that scatters whole families,--sundering husbands\nand wives, parents and children, sisters and brothers,--leaving the hut\nvacant, and the hearth desolate. We see the thief preaching against\ntheft, and the adulterer against adultery. We have men sold to build\nchurches, women sold to support the gospel, and babes sold to purchase\nBibles for the _Poor Heathen! All For The Glory Of God And The Good Of\nSouls!_ The slave auctioneer's bell and the church-going bell chime\nin with each other, and the bitter cries of the heart-broken slave\nare drowned in the religious shouts of his pious master. Revivals of\nreligion and revivals in the slave-trade go hand in hand together.\nThe slave prison and the church stand near each other. The clanking of\nfetters and the rattling of chains in the prison, and the pious psalm\nand solemn prayer in the church, may be heard at the same time. The\ndealers in the bodies and souls of men erect their stand in the presence\nof the pulpit, and they mutually help each other. The dealer gives his\nblood-stained gold to support the pulpit, and the pulpit, in return,\ncovers his infernal business with the garb of Christianity. Here we have\nreligion and robbery the allies of each other--devils dressed in angels'\nrobes, and hell presenting the semblance of paradise.\n\n\n     \"Just God! and these are they,\n     Who minister at thine altar, God of right!\n     Men who their hands, with prayer and blessing, lay\n     On Israel's ark of light.\n\n     \"What! preach, and kidnap men?\n     Give thanks, and rob thy own afflicted poor?\n     Talk of thy glorious liberty, and then\n     Bolt hard the captive's door?\n\n     \"What! servants of thy own\n     Merciful Son, who came to seek and save\n     The homeless and the outcast, fettering down\n     The tasked and plundered slave!\n\n     \"Pilate and Herod friends!\n     Chief priests and rulers, as of old, combine!\n     Just God and holy! is that church which lends\n     Strength to the spoiler thine?\"\n\nThe Christianity of America is a Christianity, of whose votaries it may\nbe as truly said, as it was of the ancient scribes and Pharisees, \"They\nbind heavy burdens, and grievous to be borne, and lay them on men's\nshoulders, but they themselves will not move them with one of their\nfingers. All their works they do for to be seen of men.--They love the\nuppermost rooms at feasts, and the chief seats in the synagogues, . . .\n. . . and to be called of men, Rabbi, Rabbi.--But woe unto you, scribes\nand Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye shut up the kingdom of heaven against\nmen; for ye neither go in yourselves, neither suffer ye them that are\nentering to go in. Ye devour widows' houses, and for a pretence make\nlong prayers; therefore ye shall receive the greater damnation. Ye\ncompass sea and land to make one proselyte, and when he is made, ye\nmake him twofold more the child of hell than yourselves.--Woe unto you,\nscribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye pay tithe of mint, and anise,\nand cumin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment,\nmercy, and faith; these ought ye to have done, and not to leave the\nother undone. Ye blind guides! which strain at a gnat, and swallow a\ncamel. Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye make\nclean the outside of the cup and of the platter; but within, they are\nfull of extortion and excess.--Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees,\nhypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear\nbeautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones, and of all\nuncleanness. Even so ye also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but\nwithin ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity.\"\n\nDark and terrible as is this picture, I hold it to be strictly true of\nthe overwhelming mass of professed Christians in America. They strain\nat a gnat, and swallow a camel. Could any thing be more true of our\nchurches? They would be shocked at the proposition of fellowshipping\na _sheep_-stealer; and at the same time they hug to their communion a\n_man_-stealer, and brand me with being an infidel, if I find fault with\nthem for it. They attend with Pharisaical strictness to the outward\nforms of religion, and at the same time neglect the weightier matters of\nthe law, judgment, mercy, and faith. They are always ready to sacrifice,\nbut seldom to show mercy. They are they who are represented as\nprofessing to love God whom they have not seen, whilst they hate their\nbrother whom they have seen. They love the heathen on the other side of\nthe globe. They can pray for him, pay money to have the Bible put into\nhis hand, and missionaries to instruct him; while they despise and\ntotally neglect the heathen at their own doors.\n\nSuch is, very briefly, my view of the religion of this land; and to\navoid any misunderstanding, growing out of the use of general terms, I\nmean by the religion of this land, that which is revealed in the words,\ndeeds, and actions, of those bodies, north and south, calling themselves\nChristian churches, and yet in union with slaveholders. It is against\nreligion, as presented by these bodies, that I have felt it my duty to\ntestify.\n\nI conclude these remarks by copying the following portrait of the\nreligion of the south, (which is, by communion and fellowship, the\nreligion of the north,) which I soberly affirm is \"true to the life,\"\nand without caricature or the slightest exaggeration. It is said to\nhave been drawn, several years before the present anti-slavery agitation\nbegan, by a northern Methodist preacher, who, while residing at the\nsouth, had an opportunity to see slaveholding morals, manners, and\npiety, with his own eyes. \"Shall I not visit for these things? saith the\nLord. Shall not my soul be avenged on such a nation as this?\"\n\n\n\n\n               <b>A PARODY</b>\n\n     \"Come, saints and sinners, hear me tell\n     How pious priests whip Jack and Nell,\n     And women buy and children sell,\n     And preach all sinners down to hell,\n     And sing of heavenly union.\n\n     \"They'll bleat and baa, dona like goats,\n     Gorge down black sheep, and strain at motes,\n     Array their backs in fine black coats,\n     Then seize their negroes by their throats,\n     And choke, for heavenly union.\n\n     \"They'll church you if you sip a dram,\n     And damn you if you steal a lamb;\n     Yet rob old Tony, Doll, and Sam,\n     Of human rights, and bread and ham;\n     Kidnapper's heavenly union.\n\n     \"They'll loudly talk of Christ's reward,\n     And bind his image with a cord,\n     And scold, and swing the lash abhorred,\n     And sell their brother in the Lord\n     To handcuffed heavenly union.\n\n     \"They'll read and sing a sacred song,\n     And make a prayer both loud and long,\n     And teach the right and do the wrong,\n     Hailing the brother, sister throng,\n     With words of heavenly union.\n\n     \"We wonder how such saints can sing,\n     Or praise the Lord upon the wing,\n     Who roar, and scold, and whip, and sting,\n     And to their slaves and mammon cling,\n     In guilty conscience union.\n\n     \"They'll raise tobacco, corn, and rye,\n     And drive, and thieve, and cheat, and lie,\n     And lay up treasures in the sky,\n     By making switch and cowskin fly,\n     In hope of heavenly union.\n\n     \"They'll crack old Tony on the skull,\n     And preach and roar like Bashan bull,\n     Or braying ass, of mischief full,\n     Then seize old Jacob by the wool,\n     And pull for heavenly union.\n\n     \"A roaring, ranting, sleek man-thief,\n     Who lived on mutton, veal, and beef,\n     Yet never would afford relief\n     To needy, sable sons of grief,\n     Was big with heavenly union.\n\n     \"'Love not the world,' the preacher said,\n     And winked his eye, and shook his head;\n     He seized on Tom, and Dick, and Ned,\n     Cut short their meat, and clothes, and bread,\n     Yet still loved heavenly union.\n\n     \"Another preacher whining spoke\n     Of One whose heart for sinners broke:\n     He tied old Nanny to an oak,\n     And drew the blood at every stroke,\n     And prayed for heavenly union.\n\n     \"Two others oped their iron jaws,\n     And waved their children-stealing paws;\n     There sat their children in gewgaws;\n     By stinting negroes' backs and maws,\n     They kept up heavenly union.\n\n     \"All good from Jack another takes,\n     And entertains their flirts and rakes,\n     Who dress as sleek as glossy snakes,\n     And cram their mouths with sweetened cakes;\n     And this goes down for union.\"\n\nSincerely and earnestly hoping that this little book may do something\ntoward throwing light on the American slave system, and hastening\nthe glad day of deliverance to the millions of my brethren in\nbonds--faithfully relying upon the power of truth, love, and justice, for\nsuccess in my humble efforts--and solemnly pledging my self anew to the\nsacred cause,--I subscribe myself,\n\nFREDERICK DOUGLASS. LYNN, _Mass., April_ 28, 1845.\n\nTHE END"