PREFACE

In the month of August, 1841, I attended an anti-slavery convention
in Nantucket, at which it was my happiness to become acquainted with
_Frederick Douglass_, the writer of the following Narrative. He was a
stranger to nearly every member of that body; but, having recently made
his escape from the southern prison-house of bondage, and feeling
his curiosity excited to ascertain the principles and measures of the
abolitionists,--of whom he had heard a somewhat vague description while
he was a slave,--he was induced to give his attendance, on the occasion
alluded to, though at that time a resident in New Bedford.

Fortunate, most fortunate occurrence!--fortunate for the millions of
his manacled brethren, yet panting for deliverance from their awful
thraldom!--fortunate for the cause of negro emancipation, and of
universal liberty!--fortunate for the land of his birth, which he has
already done so much to save and bless!--fortunate for a large circle of
friends and acquaintances, whose sympathy and affection he has strongly
secured by the many sufferings he has endured, by his virtuous traits of
character, by his ever-abiding remembrance of those who are in bonds, as
being bound with them!--fortunate for the multitudes, in various parts of
our republic, whose minds he has enlightened on the subject of slavery,
and who have been melted to tears by his pathos, or roused to virtuous
indignation by his stirring eloquence against the enslavers of
men!--fortunate for himself, as it at once brought him into the field of
public usefulness, "gave the world assurance of a MAN," quickened the
slumbering energies of his soul, and consecrated him to the great work
of breaking the rod of the oppressor, and letting the oppressed go free!

I shall never forget his first speech at the convention--the
extraordinary emotion it excited in my own mind--the powerful impression
it created upon a crowded auditory, completely taken by surprise--the
applause which followed from the beginning to the end of his felicitous
remarks. I think I never hated slavery so intensely as at that moment;
certainly, my perception of the enormous outrage which is inflicted by
it, on the godlike nature of its victims, was rendered far more
clear than ever. There stood one, in physical proportion and stature
commanding and exact--in intellect richly endowed--in natural eloquence
a prodigy--in soul manifestly "created but a little lower than the
angels"--yet a slave, ay, a fugitive slave,--trembling for his safety,
hardly daring to believe that on the American soil, a single white
person could be found who would befriend him at all hazards, for the
love of God and humanity! Capable of high attainments as an intellectual
and moral being--needing nothing but a comparatively small amount of
cultivation to make him an ornament to society and a blessing to his
race--by the law of the land, by the voice of the people, by the terms
of the slave code, he was only a piece of property, a beast of burden, a
chattel personal, nevertheless!

A beloved friend from New Bedford prevailed on _Mr. Douglass_ to address
the convention: He came forward to the platform with a hesitancy and
embarrassment, necessarily the attendants of a sensitive mind in such a
novel position. After apologizing for his ignorance, and reminding the
audience that slavery was a poor school for the human intellect and
heart, he proceeded to narrate some of the facts in his own history as
a slave, and in the course of his speech gave utterance to many noble
thoughts and thrilling reflections. As soon as he had taken his seat,
filled with hope and admiration, I rose, and declared that _Patrick
Henry_, of revolutionary fame, never made a speech more eloquent in the
cause of liberty, than the one we had just listened to from the lips of
that hunted fugitive. So I believed at that time--such is my belief
now. I reminded the audience of the peril which surrounded this
self-emancipated young man at the North,--even in Massachusetts, on the
soil of the Pilgrim Fathers, among the descendants of revolutionary
sires; and I appealed to them, whether they would ever allow him to
be carried back into slavery,--law or no law, constitution or no
constitution. The response was unanimous and in thunder-tones--"NO!"
"Will you succor and protect him as a brother-man--a resident of the old
Bay State?" "YES!" shouted the whole mass, with an energy so startling,
that the ruthless tyrants south of Mason and Dixon's line might almost
have heard the mighty burst of feeling, and recognized it as the pledge
of an invincible determination, on the part of those who gave it, never
to betray him that wanders, but to hide the outcast, and firmly to abide
the consequences.

It was at once deeply impressed upon my mind, that, if _Mr. Douglass_
could be persuaded to consecrate his time and talents to the promotion
of the anti-slavery enterprise, a powerful impetus would be given to
it, and a stunning blow at the same time inflicted on northern prejudice
against a colored complexion. I therefore endeavored to instil hope
and courage into his mind, in order that he might dare to engage in a
vocation so anomalous and responsible for a person in his situation; and
I was seconded in this effort by warm-hearted friends, especially by the
late General Agent of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society, _Mr. John
A. Collins_, whose judgment in this instance entirely coincided with
my own. At first, he could give no encouragement; with unfeigned
diffidence, he expressed his conviction that he was not adequate to
the performance of so great a task; the path marked out was wholly an
untrodden one; he was sincerely apprehensive that he should do more
harm than good. After much deliberation, however, he consented to make
a trial; and ever since that period, he has acted as a lecturing
agent, under the auspices either of the American or the Massachusetts
Anti-Slavery Society. In labors he has been most abundant; and his
success in combating prejudice, in gaining proselytes, in agitating the
public mind, has far surpassed the most sanguine expectations that were
raised at the commencement of his brilliant career. He has borne himself
with gentleness and meekness, yet with true manliness of character. As
a public speaker, he excels in pathos, wit, comparison, imitation,
strength of reasoning, and fluency of language. There is in him that
union of head and heart, which is indispensable to an enlightenment
of the heads and a winning of the hearts of others. May his strength
continue to be equal to his day! May he continue to "grow in grace, and
in the knowledge of God," that he may be increasingly serviceable in the
cause of bleeding humanity, whether at home or abroad!

It is certainly a very remarkable fact, that one of the most efficient
advocates of the slave population, now before the public, is a fugitive
slave, in the person of _Frederick Douglass_; and that the free colored
population of the United States are as ably represented by one of their
own number, in the person of _Charles Lenox Remond_, whose eloquent
appeals have extorted the highest applause of multitudes on both sides
of the Atlantic. Let the calumniators of the colored race despise
themselves for their baseness and illiberality of spirit, and henceforth
cease to talk of the natural inferiority of those who require nothing
but time and opportunity to attain to the highest point of human
excellence.

It may, perhaps, be fairly questioned, whether any other portion of the
population of the earth could have endured the privations, sufferings
and horrors of slavery, without having become more degraded in the scale
of humanity than the slaves of African descent. Nothing has been left
undone to cripple their intellects, darken their minds, debase their
moral nature, obliterate all traces of their relationship to mankind;
and yet how wonderfully they have sustained the mighty load of a most
frightful bondage, under which they have been groaning for centuries! To
illustrate the effect of slavery on the white man,--to show that he has
no powers of endurance, in such a condition, superior to those of
his black brother,--_Daniel O'connell_, the distinguished advocate of
universal emancipation, and the mightiest champion of prostrate but not
conquered Ireland, relates the following anecdote in a speech delivered
by him in the Conciliation Hall, Dublin, before the Loyal National
Repeal Association, March 31, 1845. "No matter," said _Mr. O'connell_,
"under what specious term it may disguise itself, slavery is still
hideous. _It has a natural, an inevitable tendency to brutalize every
noble faculty of man._ An American sailor, who was cast away on the
shore of Africa, where he was kept in slavery for three years, was, at
the expiration of that period, found to be imbruted and stultified--he
had lost all reasoning power; and having forgotten his native language,
could only utter some savage gibberish between Arabic and English, which
nobody could understand, and which even he himself found difficulty
in pronouncing. So much for the humanizing influence of _The Domestic
Institution_!" Admitting this to have been an extraordinary case of
mental deterioration, it proves at least that the white slave can sink
as low in the scale of humanity as the black one.

_Mr. Douglass_ has very properly chosen to write his own Narrative, in
his own style, and according to the best of his ability, rather than
to employ some one else. It is, therefore, entirely his own production;
and, considering how long and dark was the career he had to run as a
slave,--how few have been his opportunities to improve his mind since he
broke his iron fetters,--it is, in my judgment, highly creditable to his
head and heart. He who can peruse it without a tearful eye, a heaving
breast, an afflicted spirit,--without being filled with an unutterable
abhorrence of slavery and all its abettors, and animated with a
determination to seek the immediate overthrow of that execrable
system,--without trembling for the fate of this country in the hands of
a righteous God, who is ever on the side of the oppressed, and whose arm
is not shortened that it cannot save,--must have a flinty heart, and be
qualified to act the part of a trafficker "in slaves and the souls of
men." I am confident that it is essentially true in all its statements;
that nothing has been set down in malice, nothing exaggerated, nothing
drawn from the imagination; that it comes short of the reality, rather
than overstates a single fact in regard to _slavery as it is_. The
experience of _Frederick Douglass_, as a slave, was not a peculiar one;
his lot was not especially a hard one; his case may be regarded as a
very fair specimen of the treatment of slaves in Maryland, in which
State it is conceded that they are better fed and less cruelly treated
than in Georgia, Alabama, or Louisiana. Many have suffered incomparably
more, while very few on the plantations have suffered less, than
himself. Yet how deplorable was his situation! what terrible
chastisements were inflicted upon his person! what still more shocking
outrages were perpetrated upon his mind! with all his noble powers and
sublime aspirations, how like a brute was he treated, even by those
professing to have the same mind in them that was in Christ Jesus! to
what dreadful liabilities was he continually subjected! how destitute
of friendly counsel and aid, even in his greatest extremities! how heavy
was the midnight of woe which shrouded in blackness the last ray of
hope, and filled the future with terror and gloom! what longings after
freedom took possession of his breast, and how his misery augmented,
in proportion as he grew reflective and intelligent,--thus demonstrating
that a happy slave is an extinct man! how he thought, reasoned, felt,
under the lash of the driver, with the chains upon his limbs! what
perils he encountered in his endeavors to escape from his horrible doom!
and how signal have been his deliverance and preservation in the midst
of a nation of pitiless enemies!

This Narrative contains many affecting incidents, many passages of great
eloquence and power; but I think the most thrilling one of them all
is the description _Douglass_ gives of his feelings, as he stood
soliloquizing respecting his fate, and the chances of his one day being
a freeman, on the banks of the Chesapeake Bay--viewing the receding
vessels as they flew with their white wings before the breeze, and
apostrophizing them as animated by the living spirit of freedom. Who
can read that passage, and be insensible to its pathos and sublimity?
Compressed into it is a whole Alexandrian library of thought, feeling,
and sentiment--all that can, all that need be urged, in the form of
expostulation, entreaty, rebuke, against that crime of crimes,--making
man the property of his fellow-man! O, how accursed is that system,
which entombs the godlike mind of man, defaces the divine image, reduces
those who by creation were crowned with glory and honor to a level with
four-footed beasts, and exalts the dealer in human flesh above all that
is called God! Why should its existence be prolonged one hour? Is it not
evil, only evil, and that continually? What does its presence imply but
the absence of all fear of God, all regard for man, on the part of the
people of the United States? Heaven speed its eternal overthrow!

So profoundly ignorant of the nature of slavery are many persons, that
they are stubbornly incredulous whenever they read or listen to any
recital of the cruelties which are daily inflicted on its victims. They
do not deny that the slaves are held as property; but that terrible
fact seems to convey to their minds no idea of injustice, exposure
to outrage, or savage barbarity. Tell them of cruel scourgings, of
mutilations and brandings, of scenes of pollution and blood, of the
banishment of all light and knowledge, and they affect to be greatly
indignant at such enormous exaggerations, such wholesale misstatements,
such abominable libels on the character of the southern planters! As if
all these direful outrages were not the natural results of slavery!
As if it were less cruel to reduce a human being to the condition of
a thing, than to give him a severe flagellation, or to deprive him of
necessary food and clothing! As if whips, chains, thumb-screws, paddles,
blood-hounds, overseers, drivers, patrols, were not all indispensable
to keep the slaves down, and to give protection to their ruthless
oppressors! As if, when the marriage institution is abolished,
concubinage, adultery, and incest, must not necessarily abound; when all
the rights of humanity are annihilated, any barrier remains to protect
the victim from the fury of the spoiler; when absolute power is assumed
over life and liberty, it will not be wielded with destructive sway!
Skeptics of this character abound in society. In some few instances,
their incredulity arises from a want of reflection; but, generally, it
indicates a hatred of the light, a desire to shield slavery from the
assaults of its foes, a contempt of the colored race, whether bond or
free. Such will try to discredit the shocking tales of slaveholding
cruelty which are recorded in this truthful Narrative; but they will
labor in vain. _Mr. Douglass_ has frankly disclosed the place of his
birth, the names of those who claimed ownership in his body and soul,
and the names also of those who committed the crimes which he has
alleged against them. His statements, therefore, may easily be
disproved, if they are untrue.

In the course of his Narrative, he relates two instances of murderous
cruelty,--in one of which a planter deliberately shot a slave belonging
to a neighboring plantation, who had unintentionally gotten within his
lordly domain in quest of fish; and in the other, an overseer blew out
the brains of a slave who had fled to a stream of water to escape
a bloody scourging. _Mr. Douglass_ states that in neither of these
instances was any thing done by way of legal arrest or judicial
investigation. The Baltimore American, of March 17, 1845, relates
a similar case of atrocity, perpetrated with similar impunity--as
follows:--"_Shooting a slave._--We learn, upon the authority of a letter
from Charles county, Maryland, received by a gentleman of this city,
that a young man, named Matthews, a nephew of General Matthews, and
whose father, it is believed, holds an office at Washington, killed one
of the slaves upon his father's farm by shooting him. The letter states
that young Matthews had been left in charge of the farm; that he gave
an order to the servant, which was disobeyed, when he proceeded to
the house, _obtained a gun, and, returning, shot the servant._ He
immediately, the letter continues, fled to his father's residence,
where he still remains unmolested."--Let it never be forgotten, that no
slaveholder or overseer can be convicted of any outrage perpetrated on
the person of a slave, however diabolical it may be, on the testimony
of colored witnesses, whether bond or free. By the slave code, they are
adjudged to be as incompetent to testify against a white man, as though
they were indeed a part of the brute creation. Hence, there is no
legal protection in fact, whatever there may be in form, for the slave
population; and any amount of cruelty may be inflicted on them with
impunity. Is it possible for the human mind to conceive of a more
horrible state of society?

The effect of a religious profession on the conduct of southern masters
is vividly described in the following Narrative, and shown to be any
thing but salutary. In the nature of the case, it must be in the highest
degree pernicious. The testimony of _Mr. Douglass_, on this point, is
sustained by a cloud of witnesses, whose veracity is unimpeachable. "A
slaveholder's profession of Christianity is a palpable imposture. He
is a felon of the highest grade. He is a man-stealer. It is of no
importance what you put in the other scale."

Reader! are you with the man-stealers in sympathy and purpose, or on the
side of their down-trodden victims? If with the former, then are you the
foe of God and man. If with the latter, what are you prepared to do
and dare in their behalf? Be faithful, be vigilant, be untiring in your
efforts to break every yoke, and let the oppressed go free. Come what
may--cost what it may--inscribe on the banner which you unfurl to the
breeze, as your religious and political motto--"NO COMPROMISE WITH
SLAVERY! NO UNION WITH SLAVEHOLDERS!"

WM. LLOYD GARRISON BOSTON, _May_ 1, 1845.






LETTER FROM WENDELL PHILLIPS, ESQ.

BOSTON, APRIL 22, 1845.

My Dear Friend:

You remember the old fable of "The Man and the Lion," where the lion
complained that he should not be so misrepresented "when the lions wrote
history."

I am glad the time has come when the "lions write history." We have been
left long enough to gather the character of slavery from the involuntary
evidence of the masters. One might, indeed, rest sufficiently satisfied
with what, it is evident, must be, in general, the results of such a
relation, without seeking farther to find whether they have followed in
every instance. Indeed, those who stare at the half-peck of corn a week,
and love to count the lashes on the slave's back, are seldom the "stuff"
out of which reformers and abolitionists are to be made. I remember
that, in 1838, many were waiting for the results of the West India
experiment, before they could come into our ranks. Those "results" have
come long ago; but, alas! few of that number have come with them, as
converts. A man must be disposed to judge of emancipation by other tests
than whether it has increased the produce of sugar,--and to hate slavery
for other reasons than because it starves men and whips women,--before he
is ready to lay the first stone of his anti-slavery life.

I was glad to learn, in your story, how early the most neglected of
God's children waken to a sense of their rights, and of the injustice
done them. Experience is a keen teacher; and long before you had
mastered your A B C, or knew where the "white sails" of the Chesapeake
were bound, you began, I see, to gauge the wretchedness of the slave,
not by his hunger and want, not by his lashes and toil, but by the cruel
and blighting death which gathers over his soul.

In connection with this, there is one circumstance which makes your
recollections peculiarly valuable, and renders your early insight the
more remarkable. You come from that part of the country where we are
told slavery appears with its fairest features. Let us hear, then, what
it is at its best estate--gaze on its bright side, if it has one; and
then imagination may task her powers to add dark lines to the picture,
as she travels southward to that (for the colored man) Valley of the
Shadow of Death, where the Mississippi sweeps along.

Again, we have known you long, and can put the most entire confidence in
your truth, candor, and sincerity. Every one who has heard you speak
has felt, and, I am confident, every one who reads your book will feel,
persuaded that you give them a fair specimen of the whole truth. No
one-sided portrait,--no wholesale complaints,--but strict justice done,
whenever individual kindliness has neutralized, for a moment, the deadly
system with which it was strangely allied. You have been with us, too,
some years, and can fairly compare the twilight of rights, which your
race enjoy at the North, with that "noon of night" under which they
labor south of Mason and Dixon's line. Tell us whether, after all, the
half-free colored man of Massachusetts is worse off than the pampered
slave of the rice swamps!

In reading your life, no one can say that we have unfairly picked out
some rare specimens of cruelty. We know that the bitter drops, which
even you have drained from the cup, are no incidental aggravations, no
individual ills, but such as must mingle always and necessarily in
the lot of every slave. They are the essential ingredients, not the
occasional results, of the system.

After all, I shall read your book with trembling for you. Some years
ago, when you were beginning to tell me your real name and birthplace,
you may remember I stopped you, and preferred to remain ignorant of
all. With the exception of a vague description, so I continued, till the
other day, when you read me your memoirs. I hardly knew, at the time,
whether to thank you or not for the sight of them, when I reflected that
it was still dangerous, in Massachusetts, for honest men to tell
their names! They say the fathers, in 1776, signed the Declaration of
Independence with the halter about their necks. You, too, publish your
declaration of freedom with danger compassing you around. In all the
broad lands which the Constitution of the United States overshadows,
there is no single spot,--however narrow or desolate,--where a fugitive
slave can plant himself and say, "I am safe." The whole armory of
Northern Law has no shield for you. I am free to say that, in your
place, I should throw the MS. into the fire.

You, perhaps, may tell your story in safety, endeared as you are to so
many warm hearts by rare gifts, and a still rarer devotion of them to
the service of others. But it will be owing only to your labors, and the
fearless efforts of those who, trampling the laws and Constitution of
the country under their feet, are determined that they will "hide the
outcast," and that their hearths shall be, spite of the law, an asylum
for the oppressed, if, some time or other, the humblest may stand in our
streets, and bear witness in safety against the cruelties of which he
has been the victim.

Yet it is sad to think, that these very throbbing hearts which welcome
your story, and form your best safeguard in telling it, are all beating
contrary to the "statute in such case made and provided." Go on, my dear
friend, till you, and those who, like you, have been saved, so as by
fire, from the dark prison-house, shall stereotype these free,
illegal pulses into statutes; and New England, cutting loose from a
blood-stained Union, shall glory in being the house of refuge for the
oppressed,--till we no longer merely "_hide_ the outcast," or make
a merit of standing idly by while he is hunted in our midst; but,
consecrating anew the soil of the Pilgrims as an asylum for the
oppressed, proclaim our _welcome_ to the slave so loudly, that the tones
shall reach every hut in the Carolinas, and make the broken-hearted
bondman leap up at the thought of old Massachusetts.

God speed the day!

_Till then, and ever,_ Yours truly, WENDELL PHILLIPS






FREDERICK DOUGLASS.

Frederick Douglass was born in slavery as Frederick Augustus Washington
Bailey near Easton in Talbot County, Maryland. He was not sure of the
exact year of his birth, but he knew that it was 1817 or 1818. As a
young boy he was sent to Baltimore, to be a house servant, where he
learned to read and write, with the assistance of his master's wife. In
1838 he escaped from slavery and went to New York City, where he married
Anna Murray, a free colored woman whom he had met in Baltimore. Soon
thereafter he changed his name to Frederick Douglass. In 1841 he
addressed a convention of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society in
Nantucket and so greatly impressed the group that they immediately
employed him as an agent. He was such an impressive orator that numerous
persons doubted if he had ever been a slave, so he wrote _Narrative Of
The Life Of Frederick Douglass_. During the Civil War he assisted in the
recruiting of colored men for the 54th and 55th Massachusetts Regiments
and consistently argued for the emancipation of slaves. After the war he
was active in securing and protecting the rights of the freemen. In his
later years, at different times, he was secretary of the Santo Domingo
Commission, marshall and recorder of deeds of the District of Columbia,
and United States Minister to Haiti. His other autobiographical works
are _My Bondage And My Freedom_ and _Life And Times Of Frederick
Douglass_, published in 1855 and 1881 respectively. He died in 1895.






CHAPTER I

I was born in Tuckahoe, near Hillsborough, and about twelve miles from
Easton, in Talbot county, Maryland. I have no accurate knowledge of my
age, never having seen any authentic record containing it. By far the
larger part of the slaves know as little of their ages as horses know of
theirs, and it is the wish of most masters within my knowledge to keep
their slaves thus ignorant. I do not remember to have ever met a slave
who could tell of his birthday. They seldom come nearer to it than
planting-time, harvest-time, cherry-time, spring-time, or fall-time. A
want of information concerning my own was a source of unhappiness to me
even during childhood. The white children could tell their ages. I could
not tell why I ought to be deprived of the same privilege. I was not
allowed to make any inquiries of my master concerning it. He deemed
all such inquiries on the part of a slave improper and impertinent, and
evidence of a restless spirit. The nearest estimate I can give makes me
now between twenty-seven and twenty-eight years of age. I come to this,
from hearing my master say, some time during 1835, I was about seventeen
years old.

My mother was named Harriet Bailey. She was the daughter of Isaac and
Betsey Bailey, both colored, and quite dark. My mother was of a darker
complexion than either my grandmother or grandfather.

My father was a white man. He was admitted to be such by all I ever
heard speak of my parentage. The opinion was also whispered that my
master was my father; but of the correctness of this opinion, I know
nothing; the means of knowing was withheld from me. My mother and I were
separated when I was but an infant--before I knew her as my mother. It is
a common custom, in the part of Maryland from which I ran away, to part
children from their mothers at a very early age. Frequently, before the
child has reached its twelfth month, its mother is taken from it, and
hired out on some farm a considerable distance off, and the child is
placed under the care of an old woman, too old for field labor. For
what this separation is done, I do not know, unless it be to hinder the
development of the child's affection toward its mother, and to blunt and
destroy the natural affection of the mother for the child. This is the
inevitable result.

I never saw my mother, to know her as such, more than four or five times
in my life; and each of these times was very short in duration, and at
night. She was hired by a Mr. Stewart, who lived about twelve miles from
my home. She made her journeys to see me in the night, travelling the
whole distance on foot, after the performance of her day's work. She was
a field hand, and a whipping is the penalty of not being in the field at
sunrise, unless a slave has special permission from his or her master to
the contrary--a permission which they seldom get, and one that gives
to him that gives it the proud name of being a kind master. I do not
recollect of ever seeing my mother by the light of day. She was with me
in the night. She would lie down with me, and get me to sleep, but long
before I waked she was gone. Very little communication ever took place
between us. Death soon ended what little we could have while she lived,
and with it her hardships and suffering. She died when I was about
seven years old, on one of my master's farms, near Lee's Mill. I was not
allowed to be present during her illness, at her death, or burial. She
was gone long before I knew any thing about it. Never having enjoyed, to
any considerable extent, her soothing presence, her tender and watchful
care, I received the tidings of her death with much the same emotions I
should have probably felt at the death of a stranger.

Called thus suddenly away, she left me without the slightest intimation
of who my father was. The whisper that my master was my father, may or
may not be true; and, true or false, it is of but little consequence to
my purpose whilst the fact remains, in all its glaring odiousness, that
slaveholders have ordained, and by law established, that the children
of slave women shall in all cases follow the condition of their mothers;
and this is done too obviously to administer to their own lusts, and
make a gratification of their wicked desires profitable as well as
pleasurable; for by this cunning arrangement, the slaveholder, in cases
not a few, sustains to his slaves the double relation of master and
father.

I know of such cases; and it is worthy of remark that such slaves
invariably suffer greater hardships, and have more to contend with,
than others. They are, in the first place, a constant offence to their
mistress. She is ever disposed to find fault with them; they can seldom
do any thing to please her; she is never better pleased than when she
sees them under the lash, especially when she suspects her husband of
showing to his mulatto children favors which he withholds from his black
slaves. The master is frequently compelled to sell this class of his
slaves, out of deference to the feelings of his white wife; and, cruel
as the deed may strike any one to be, for a man to sell his own children
to human flesh-mongers, it is often the dictate of humanity for him to
do so; for, unless he does this, he must not only whip them himself,
but must stand by and see one white son tie up his brother, of but few
shades darker complexion than himself, and ply the gory lash to his
naked back; and if he lisp one word of disapproval, it is set down to
his parental partiality, and only makes a bad matter worse, both for
himself and the slave whom he would protect and defend.

Every year brings with it multitudes of this class of slaves. It was
doubtless in consequence of a knowledge of this fact, that one great
statesman of the south predicted the downfall of slavery by the
inevitable laws of population. Whether this prophecy is ever fulfilled
or not, it is nevertheless plain that a very different-looking class of
people are springing up at the south, and are now held in slavery,
from those originally brought to this country from Africa; and if their
increase do no other good, it will do away the force of the argument,
that God cursed Ham, and therefore American slavery is right. If the
lineal descendants of Ham are alone to be scripturally enslaved, it is
certain that slavery at the south must soon become unscriptural; for
thousands are ushered into the world, annually, who, like myself, owe
their existence to white fathers, and those fathers most frequently
their own masters.

I have had two masters. My first master's name was Anthony. I do not
remember his first name. He was generally called Captain Anthony--a title
which, I presume, he acquired by sailing a craft on the Chesapeake Bay.
He was not considered a rich slaveholder. He owned two or three farms,
and about thirty slaves. His farms and slaves were under the care of an
overseer. The overseer's name was Plummer. Mr. Plummer was a miserable
drunkard, a profane swearer, and a savage monster. He always went armed
with a cowskin and a heavy cudgel. I have known him to cut and slash
the women's heads so horribly, that even master would be enraged at
his cruelty, and would threaten to whip him if he did not mind himself.
Master, however, was not a humane slaveholder. It required extraordinary
barbarity on the part of an overseer to affect him. He was a cruel man,
hardened by a long life of slaveholding. He would at times seem to take
great pleasure in whipping a slave. I have often been awakened at the
dawn of day by the most heart-rending shrieks of an own aunt of mine,
whom he used to tie up to a joist, and whip upon her naked back till she
was literally covered with blood. No words, no tears, no prayers, from
his gory victim, seemed to move his iron heart from its bloody purpose.
The louder she screamed, the harder he whipped; and where the blood ran
fastest, there he whipped longest. He would whip her to make her scream,
and whip her to make her hush; and not until overcome by fatigue, would
he cease to swing the blood-clotted cowskin. I remember the first time I
ever witnessed this horrible exhibition. I was quite a child, but I well
remember it. I never shall forget it whilst I remember any thing. It was
the first of a long series of such outrages, of which I was doomed to be
a witness and a participant. It struck me with awful force. It was the
blood-stained gate, the entrance to the hell of slavery, through which
I was about to pass. It was a most terrible spectacle. I wish I could
commit to paper the feelings with which I beheld it.

This occurrence took place very soon after I went to live with my old
master, and under the following circumstances. Aunt Hester went out one
night,--where or for what I do not know,--and happened to be absent
when my master desired her presence. He had ordered her not to go
out evenings, and warned her that she must never let him catch her in
company with a young man, who was paying attention to her belonging to
Colonel Lloyd. The young man's name was Ned Roberts, generally called
Lloyd's Ned. Why master was so careful of her, may be safely left to
conjecture. She was a woman of noble form, and of graceful proportions,
having very few equals, and fewer superiors, in personal appearance,
among the colored or white women of our neighborhood.

Aunt Hester had not only disobeyed his orders in going out, but had been
found in company with Lloyd's Ned; which circumstance, I found, from
what he said while whipping her, was the chief offence. Had he been a
man of pure morals himself, he might have been thought interested in
protecting the innocence of my aunt; but those who knew him will not
suspect him of any such virtue. Before he commenced whipping Aunt
Hester, he took her into the kitchen, and stripped her from neck to
waist, leaving her neck, shoulders, and back, entirely naked. He then
told her to cross her hands, calling her at the same time a d----d b---h.
After crossing her hands, he tied them with a strong rope, and led her
to a stool under a large hook in the joist, put in for the purpose. He
made her get upon the stool, and tied her hands to the hook. She now
stood fair for his infernal purpose. Her arms were stretched up at their
full length, so that she stood upon the ends of her toes. He then said
to her, "Now, you d----d b---h, I'll learn you how to disobey my orders!"
and after rolling up his sleeves, he commenced to lay on the heavy
cowskin, and soon the warm, red blood (amid heart-rending shrieks from
her, and horrid oaths from him) came dripping to the floor. I was so
terrified and horror-stricken at the sight, that I hid myself in a
closet, and dared not venture out till long after the bloody transaction
was over. I expected it would be my turn next. It was all new to me.
I had never seen any thing like it before. I had always lived with my
grandmother on the outskirts of the plantation, where she was put to
raise the children of the younger women. I had therefore been, until
now, out of the way of the bloody scenes that often occurred on the
plantation.






CHAPTER II

My master's family consisted of two sons, Andrew and Richard; one
daughter, Lucretia, and her husband, Captain Thomas Auld. They lived in
one house, upon the home plantation of Colonel Edward Lloyd. My master
was Colonel Lloyd's clerk and superintendent. He was what might be
called the overseer of the overseers. I spent two years of childhood on
this plantation in my old master's family. It was here that I witnessed
the bloody transaction recorded in the first chapter; and as I received
my first impressions of slavery on this plantation, I will give some
description of it, and of slavery as it there existed. The plantation is
about twelve miles north of Easton, in Talbot county, and is situated
on the border of Miles River. The principal products raised upon it were
tobacco, corn, and wheat. These were raised in great abundance; so that,
with the products of this and the other farms belonging to him, he was
able to keep in almost constant employment a large sloop, in carrying
them to market at Baltimore. This sloop was named Sally Lloyd, in honor
of one of the colonel's daughters. My master's son-in-law, Captain Auld,
was master of the vessel; she was otherwise manned by the colonel's
own slaves. Their names were Peter, Isaac, Rich, and Jake. These
were esteemed very highly by the other slaves, and looked upon as the
privileged ones of the plantation; for it was no small affair, in the
eyes of the slaves, to be allowed to see Baltimore.

Colonel Lloyd kept from three to four hundred slaves on his home
plantation, and owned a large number more on the neighboring farms
belonging to him. The names of the farms nearest to the home plantation
were Wye Town and New Design. "Wye Town" was under the overseership of
a man named Noah Willis. New Design was under the overseership of a
Mr. Townsend. The overseers of these, and all the rest of the farms,
numbering over twenty, received advice and direction from the managers
of the home plantation. This was the great business place. It was the
seat of government for the whole twenty farms. All disputes among
the overseers were settled here. If a slave was convicted of any high
misdemeanor, became unmanageable, or evinced a determination to run
away, he was brought immediately here, severely whipped, put on board
the sloop, carried to Baltimore, and sold to Austin Woolfolk, or some
other slave-trader, as a warning to the slaves remaining.

Here, too, the slaves of all the other farms received their monthly
allowance of food, and their yearly clothing. The men and women slaves
received, as their monthly allowance of food, eight pounds of pork,
or its equivalent in fish, and one bushel of corn meal. Their yearly
clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts, one pair of linen
trousers, like the shirts, one jacket, one pair of trousers for winter,
made of coarse negro cloth, one pair of stockings, and one pair of
shoes; the whole of which could not have cost more than seven dollars.
The allowance of the slave children was given to their mothers, or the
old women having the care of them. The children unable to work in the
field had neither shoes, stockings, jackets, nor trousers, given to
them; their clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts per year.
When these failed them, they went naked until the next allowance-day.
Children from seven to ten years old, of both sexes, almost naked, might
be seen at all seasons of the year.

There were no beds given the slaves, unless one coarse blanket be
considered such, and none but the men and women had these. This,
however, is not considered a very great privation. They find less
difficulty from the want of beds, than from the want of time to sleep;
for when their day's work in the field is done, the most of them having
their washing, mending, and cooking to do, and having few or none of
the ordinary facilities for doing either of these, very many of their
sleeping hours are consumed in preparing for the field the coming day;
and when this is done, old and young, male and female, married and
single, drop down side by side, on one common bed,--the cold, damp
floor,--each covering himself or herself with their miserable blankets;
and here they sleep till they are summoned to the field by the driver's
horn. At the sound of this, all must rise, and be off to the field.
There must be no halting; every one must be at his or her post; and woe
betides them who hear not this morning summons to the field; for if
they are not awakened by the sense of hearing, they are by the sense of
feeling: no age nor sex finds any favor. Mr. Severe, the overseer, used
to stand by the door of the quarter, armed with a large hickory stick
and heavy cowskin, ready to whip any one who was so unfortunate as not
to hear, or, from any other cause, was prevented from being ready to
start for the field at the sound of the horn.

Mr. Severe was rightly named: he was a cruel man. I have seen him whip a
woman, causing the blood to run half an hour at the time; and this,
too, in the midst of her crying children, pleading for their mother's
release. He seemed to take pleasure in manifesting his fiendish
barbarity. Added to his cruelty, he was a profane swearer. It was enough
to chill the blood and stiffen the hair of an ordinary man to hear him
talk. Scarce a sentence escaped him but that was commenced or concluded
by some horrid oath. The field was the place to witness his cruelty
and profanity. His presence made it both the field of blood and of
blasphemy. From the rising till the going down of the sun, he was
cursing, raving, cutting, and slashing among the slaves of the field, in
the most frightful manner. His career was short. He died very soon after
I went to Colonel Lloyd's; and he died as he lived, uttering, with his
dying groans, bitter curses and horrid oaths. His death was regarded by
the slaves as the result of a merciful providence.

Mr. Severe's place was filled by a Mr. Hopkins. He was a very different
man. He was less cruel, less profane, and made less noise, than Mr.
Severe. His course was characterized by no extraordinary demonstrations
of cruelty. He whipped, but seemed to take no pleasure in it. He was
called by the slaves a good overseer.

The home plantation of Colonel Lloyd wore the appearance of a country
village. All the mechanical operations for all the farms were performed
here. The shoemaking and mending, the blacksmithing, cartwrighting,
coopering, weaving, and grain-grinding, were all performed by the slaves
on the home plantation. The whole place wore a business-like aspect very
unlike the neighboring farms. The number of houses, too, conspired
to give it advantage over the neighboring farms. It was called by the
slaves the _Great House Farm._ Few privileges were esteemed higher, by
the slaves of the out-farms, than that of being selected to do
errands at the Great House Farm. It was associated in their minds with
greatness. A representative could not be prouder of his election to
a seat in the American Congress, than a slave on one of the out-farms
would be of his election to do errands at the Great House Farm. They
regarded it as evidence of great confidence reposed in them by their
overseers; and it was on this account, as well as a constant desire to
be out of the field from under the driver's lash, that they esteemed
it a high privilege, one worth careful living for. He was called the
smartest and most trusty fellow, who had this honor conferred upon
him the most frequently. The competitors for this office sought as
diligently to please their overseers, as the office-seekers in the
political parties seek to please and deceive the people. The same traits
of character might be seen in Colonel Lloyd's slaves, as are seen in the
slaves of the political parties.

The slaves selected to go to the Great House Farm, for the monthly
allowance for themselves and their fellow-slaves, were peculiarly
enthusiastic. While on their way, they would make the dense old woods,
for miles around, reverberate with their wild songs, revealing at once
the highest joy and the deepest sadness. They would compose and sing as
they went along, consulting neither time nor tune. The thought that came
up, came out--if not in the word, in the sound;--and as frequently in
the one as in the other. They would sometimes sing the most pathetic
sentiment in the most rapturous tone, and the most rapturous sentiment
in the most pathetic tone. Into all of their songs they would manage to
weave something of the Great House Farm. Especially would they do this,
when leaving home. They would then sing most exultingly the following
words:--


     "I am going away to the Great House Farm!
     O, yea! O, yea! O!"

This they would sing, as a chorus, to words which to many would seem
unmeaning jargon, but which, nevertheless, were full of meaning to
themselves. I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those
songs would do more to impress some minds with the horrible character of
slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject
could do.

I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and
apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I
neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a
tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension;
they were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed the prayer and
complaint of souls boiling over with the bitterest anguish. Every tone
was a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance
from chains. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit,
and filled me with ineffable sadness. I have frequently found myself in
tears while hearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs, even
now, afflicts me; and while I am writing these lines, an expression of
feeling has already found its way down my cheek. To those songs I trace
my first glimmering conception of the dehumanizing character of slavery.
I can never get rid of that conception. Those songs still follow me, to
deepen my hatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies for my brethren
in bonds. If any one wishes to be impressed with the soul-killing
effects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd's plantation, and, on
allowance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, and there let him,
in silence, analyze the sounds that shall pass through the chambers
of his soul,--and if he is not thus impressed, it will only be because
"there is no flesh in his obdurate heart."

I have often been utterly astonished, since I came to the north, to find
persons who could speak of the singing, among slaves, as evidence of
their contentment and happiness. It is impossible to conceive of a
greater mistake. Slaves sing most when they are most unhappy. The songs
of the slave represent the sorrows of his heart; and he is relieved by
them, only as an aching heart is relieved by its tears. At least, such
is my experience. I have often sung to drown my sorrow, but seldom to
express my happiness. Crying for joy, and singing for joy, were alike
uncommon to me while in the jaws of slavery. The singing of a man cast
away upon a desolate island might be as appropriately considered as
evidence of contentment and happiness, as the singing of a slave; the
songs of the one and of the other are prompted by the same emotion.






CHAPTER III

Colonel Lloyd kept a large and finely cultivated garden, which afforded
almost constant employment for four men, besides the chief gardener,
(Mr. M'Durmond.) This garden was probably the greatest attraction of
the place. During the summer months, people came from far and near--from
Baltimore, Easton, and Annapolis--to see it. It abounded in fruits of
almost every description, from the hardy apple of the north to the
delicate orange of the south. This garden was not the least source of
trouble on the plantation. Its excellent fruit was quite a temptation to
the hungry swarms of boys, as well as the older slaves, belonging to the
colonel, few of whom had the virtue or the vice to resist it. Scarcely a
day passed, during the summer, but that some slave had to take the lash
for stealing fruit. The colonel had to resort to all kinds of stratagems
to keep his slaves out of the garden. The last and most successful one
was that of tarring his fence all around; after which, if a slave was
caught with any tar upon his person, it was deemed sufficient proof that
he had either been into the garden, or had tried to get in. In either
case, he was severely whipped by the chief gardener. This plan worked
well; the slaves became as fearful of tar as of the lash. They seemed to
realize the impossibility of touching _tar_ without being defiled.

The colonel also kept a splendid riding equipage. His stable and
carriage-house presented the appearance of some of our large city livery
establishments. His horses were of the finest form and noblest blood.
His carriage-house contained three splendid coaches, three or four gigs,
besides dearborns and barouches of the most fashionable style.

This establishment was under the care of two slaves--old Barney and young
Barney--father and son. To attend to this establishment was their sole
work. But it was by no means an easy employment; for in nothing was
Colonel Lloyd more particular than in the management of his horses. The
slightest inattention to these was unpardonable, and was visited upon
those, under whose care they were placed, with the severest punishment;
no excuse could shield them, if the colonel only suspected any want of
attention to his horses--a supposition which he frequently indulged, and
one which, of course, made the office of old and young Barney a very
trying one. They never knew when they were safe from punishment. They
were frequently whipped when least deserving, and escaped whipping when
most deserving it. Every thing depended upon the looks of the horses,
and the state of Colonel Lloyd's own mind when his horses were brought
to him for use. If a horse did not move fast enough, or hold his head
high enough, it was owing to some fault of his keepers. It was painful
to stand near the stable-door, and hear the various complaints against
the keepers when a horse was taken out for use. "This horse has not had
proper attention. He has not been sufficiently rubbed and curried, or
he has not been properly fed; his food was too wet or too dry; he got it
too soon or too late; he was too hot or too cold; he had too much hay,
and not enough of grain; or he had too much grain, and not enough
of hay; instead of old Barney's attending to the horse, he had very
improperly left it to his son." To all these complaints, no matter how
unjust, the slave must answer never a word. Colonel Lloyd could not
brook any contradiction from a slave. When he spoke, a slave must
stand, listen, and tremble; and such was literally the case. I have seen
Colonel Lloyd make old Barney, a man between fifty and sixty years of
age, uncover his bald head, kneel down upon the cold, damp ground, and
receive upon his naked and toil-worn shoulders more than thirty
lashes at the time. Colonel Lloyd had three sons--Edward, Murray, and
Daniel,--and three sons-in-law, Mr. Winder, Mr. Nicholson, and Mr.
Lowndes. All of these lived at the Great House Farm, and enjoyed the
luxury of whipping the servants when they pleased, from old Barney down
to William Wilkes, the coach-driver. I have seen Winder make one of the
house-servants stand off from him a suitable distance to be touched with
the end of his whip, and at every stroke raise great ridges upon his
back.

To describe the wealth of Colonel Lloyd would be almost equal
to describing the riches of Job. He kept from ten to fifteen
house-servants. He was said to own a thousand slaves, and I think this
estimate quite within the truth. Colonel Lloyd owned so many that he did
not know them when he saw them; nor did all the slaves of the out-farms
know him. It is reported of him, that, while riding along the road one
day, he met a colored man, and addressed him in the usual manner of
speaking to colored people on the public highways of the south: "Well,
boy, whom do you belong to?" "To Colonel Lloyd," replied the slave.
"Well, does the colonel treat you well?" "No, sir," was the ready reply.
"What, does he work you too hard?" "Yes, sir." "Well, don't he give you
enough to eat?" "Yes, sir, he gives me enough, such as it is."

The colonel, after ascertaining where the slave belonged, rode on;
the man also went on about his business, not dreaming that he had been
conversing with his master. He thought, said, and heard nothing more of
the matter, until two or three weeks afterwards. The poor man was then
informed by his overseer that, for having found fault with his master,
he was now to be sold to a Georgia trader. He was immediately chained
and handcuffed; and thus, without a moment's warning, he was snatched
away, and forever sundered, from his family and friends, by a hand more
unrelenting than death. This is the penalty of telling the truth, of
telling the simple truth, in answer to a series of plain questions.

It is partly in consequence of such facts, that slaves, when inquired
of as to their condition and the character of their masters, almost
universally say they are contented, and that their masters are kind.
The slaveholders have been known to send in spies among their slaves,
to ascertain their views and feelings in regard to their condition. The
frequency of this has had the effect to establish among the slaves the
maxim, that a still tongue makes a wise head. They suppress the truth
rather than take the consequences of telling it, and in so doing prove
themselves a part of the human family. If they have any thing to say of
their masters, it is generally in their masters' favor, especially when
speaking to an untried man. I have been frequently asked, when a
slave, if I had a kind master, and do not remember ever to have given a
negative answer; nor did I, in pursuing this course, consider myself as
uttering what was absolutely false; for I always measured the kindness
of my master by the standard of kindness set up among slaveholders
around us. Moreover, slaves are like other people, and imbibe prejudices
quite common to others. They think their own better than that of others.
Many, under the influence of this prejudice, think their own masters are
better than the masters of other slaves; and this, too, in some cases,
when the very reverse is true. Indeed, it is not uncommon for slaves
even to fall out and quarrel among themselves about the relative
goodness of their masters, each contending for the superior goodness of
his own over that of the others. At the very same time, they mutually
execrate their masters when viewed separately. It was so on our
plantation. When Colonel Lloyd's slaves met the slaves of Jacob Jepson,
they seldom parted without a quarrel about their masters; Colonel
Lloyd's slaves contending that he was the richest, and Mr. Jepson's
slaves that he was the smartest, and most of a man. Colonel Lloyd's
slaves would boast his ability to buy and sell Jacob Jepson. Mr.
Jepson's slaves would boast his ability to whip Colonel Lloyd. These
quarrels would almost always end in a fight between the parties, and
those that whipped were supposed to have gained the point at issue. They
seemed to think that the greatness of their masters was transferable to
themselves. It was considered as being bad enough to be a slave; but to
be a poor man's slave was deemed a disgrace indeed!






CHAPTER IV

Mr. Hopkins remained but a short time in the office of overseer. Why his
career was so short, I do not know, but suppose he lacked the necessary
severity to suit Colonel Lloyd. Mr. Hopkins was succeeded by Mr. Austin
Gore, a man possessing, in an eminent degree, all those traits of
character indispensable to what is called a first-rate overseer. Mr.
Gore had served Colonel Lloyd, in the capacity of overseer, upon one
of the out-farms, and had shown himself worthy of the high station of
overseer upon the home or Great House Farm.

Mr. Gore was proud, ambitious, and persevering. He was artful, cruel,
and obdurate. He was just the man for such a place, and it was just the
place for such a man. It afforded scope for the full exercise of all his
powers, and he seemed to be perfectly at home in it. He was one of those
who could torture the slightest look, word, or gesture, on the part of
the slave, into impudence, and would treat it accordingly. There must
be no answering back to him; no explanation was allowed a slave, showing
himself to have been wrongfully accused. Mr. Gore acted fully up to
the maxim laid down by slaveholders,--"It is better that a dozen
slaves should suffer under the lash, than that the overseer should be
convicted, in the presence of the slaves, of having been at fault."
No matter how innocent a slave might be--it availed him nothing,
when accused by Mr. Gore of any misdemeanor. To be accused was to
be convicted, and to be convicted was to be punished; the one always
following the other with immutable certainty. To escape punishment was
to escape accusation; and few slaves had the fortune to do either, under
the overseership of Mr. Gore. He was just proud enough to demand the
most debasing homage of the slave, and quite servile enough to crouch,
himself, at the feet of the master. He was ambitious enough to be
contented with nothing short of the highest rank of overseers, and
persevering enough to reach the height of his ambition. He was cruel
enough to inflict the severest punishment, artful enough to descend to
the lowest trickery, and obdurate enough to be insensible to the voice
of a reproving conscience. He was, of all the overseers, the most
dreaded by the slaves. His presence was painful; his eye flashed
confusion; and seldom was his sharp, shrill voice heard, without
producing horror and trembling in their ranks.

Mr. Gore was a grave man, and, though a young man, he indulged in no
jokes, said no funny words, seldom smiled. His words were in perfect
keeping with his looks, and his looks were in perfect keeping with his
words. Overseers will sometimes indulge in a witty word, even with the
slaves; not so with Mr. Gore. He spoke but to command, and commanded but
to be obeyed; he dealt sparingly with his words, and bountifully with
his whip, never using the former where the latter would answer as well.
When he whipped, he seemed to do so from a sense of duty, and feared no
consequences. He did nothing reluctantly, no matter how disagreeable;
always at his post, never inconsistent. He never promised but to fulfil.
He was, in a word, a man of the most inflexible firmness and stone-like
coolness.

His savage barbarity was equalled only by the consummate coolness with
which he committed the grossest and most savage deeds upon the slaves
under his charge. Mr. Gore once undertook to whip one of Colonel Lloyd's
slaves, by the name of Demby. He had given Demby but few stripes, when,
to get rid of the scourging, he ran and plunged himself into a creek,
and stood there at the depth of his shoulders, refusing to come out. Mr.
Gore told him that he would give him three calls, and that, if he did
not come out at the third call, he would shoot him. The first call was
given. Demby made no response, but stood his ground. The second and
third calls were given with the same result. Mr. Gore then, without
consultation or deliberation with any one, not even giving Demby an
additional call, raised his musket to his face, taking deadly aim at his
standing victim, and in an instant poor Demby was no more. His mangled
body sank out of sight, and blood and brains marked the water where he
had stood.

A thrill of horror flashed through every soul upon the plantation,
excepting Mr. Gore. He alone seemed cool and collected. He was asked by
Colonel Lloyd and my old master, why he resorted to this extraordinary
expedient. His reply was, (as well as I can remember,) that Demby had
become unmanageable. He was setting a dangerous example to the other
slaves,--one which, if suffered to pass without some such demonstration
on his part, would finally lead to the total subversion of all rule and
order upon the plantation. He argued that if one slave refused to be
corrected, and escaped with his life, the other slaves would soon copy
the example; the result of which would be, the freedom of the slaves,
and the enslavement of the whites. Mr. Gore's defence was satisfactory.
He was continued in his station as overseer upon the home plantation.
His fame as an overseer went abroad. His horrid crime was not even
submitted to judicial investigation. It was committed in the presence of
slaves, and they of course could neither institute a suit, nor testify
against him; and thus the guilty perpetrator of one of the bloodiest
and most foul murders goes unwhipped of justice, and uncensured by the
community in which he lives. Mr. Gore lived in St. Michael's, Talbot
county, Maryland, when I left there; and if he is still alive, he very
probably lives there now; and if so, he is now, as he was then, as
highly esteemed and as much respected as though his guilty soul had not
been stained with his brother's blood.

I speak advisedly when I say this,--that killing a slave, or any colored
person, in Talbot county, Maryland, is not treated as a crime, either by
the courts or the community. Mr. Thomas Lanman, of St. Michael's, killed
two slaves, one of whom he killed with a hatchet, by knocking his brains
out. He used to boast of the commission of the awful and bloody deed. I
have heard him do so laughingly, saying, among other things, that he was
the only benefactor of his country in the company, and that when others
would do as much as he had done, we should be relieved of "the d----d
niggers."

The wife of Mr. Giles Hicks, living but a short distance from where I
used to live, murdered my wife's cousin, a young girl between fifteen
and sixteen years of age, mangling her person in the most horrible
manner, breaking her nose and breastbone with a stick, so that the poor
girl expired in a few hours afterward. She was immediately buried, but
had not been in her untimely grave but a few hours before she was taken
up and examined by the coroner, who decided that she had come to her
death by severe beating. The offence for which this girl was thus
murdered was this:--She had been set that night to mind Mrs. Hicks's
baby, and during the night she fell asleep, and the baby cried. She,
having lost her rest for several nights previous, did not hear the
crying. They were both in the room with Mrs. Hicks. Mrs. Hicks, finding
the girl slow to move, jumped from her bed, seized an oak stick of wood
by the fireplace, and with it broke the girl's nose and breastbone,
and thus ended her life. I will not say that this most horrid murder
produced no sensation in the community. It did produce sensation, but
not enough to bring the murderess to punishment. There was a warrant
issued for her arrest, but it was never served. Thus she escaped not
only punishment, but even the pain of being arraigned before a court for
her horrid crime.

Whilst I am detailing bloody deeds which took place during my stay
on Colonel Lloyd's plantation, I will briefly narrate another, which
occurred about the same time as the murder of Demby by Mr. Gore.

Colonel Lloyd's slaves were in the habit of spending a part of their
nights and Sundays in fishing for oysters, and in this way made up the
deficiency of their scanty allowance. An old man belonging to Colonel
Lloyd, while thus engaged, happened to get beyond the limits of Colonel
Lloyd's, and on the premises of Mr. Beal Bondly. At this trespass, Mr.
Bondly took offence, and with his musket came down to the shore, and
blew its deadly contents into the poor old man.

Mr. Bondly came over to see Colonel Lloyd the next day, whether to pay
him for his property, or to justify himself in what he had done, I know
not. At any rate, this whole fiendish transaction was soon hushed up.
There was very little said about it at all, and nothing done. It was
a common saying, even among little white boys, that it was worth a
half-cent to kill a "nigger," and a half-cent to bury one.






CHAPTER V

As to my own treatment while I lived on Colonel Lloyd's plantation,
it was very similar to that of the other slave children. I was not old
enough to work in the field, and there being little else than field work
to do, I had a great deal of leisure time. The most I had to do was to
drive up the cows at evening, keep the fowls out of the garden, keep the
front yard clean, and run of errands for my old master's daughter, Mrs.
Lucretia Auld. The most of my leisure time I spent in helping Master
Daniel Lloyd in finding his birds, after he had shot them. My connection
with Master Daniel was of some advantage to me. He became quite attached
to me, and was a sort of protector of me. He would not allow the older
boys to impose upon me, and would divide his cakes with me.

I was seldom whipped by my old master, and suffered little from any
thing else than hunger and cold. I suffered much from hunger, but much
more from cold. In hottest summer and coldest winter, I was kept almost
naked--no shoes, no stockings, no jacket, no trousers, nothing on but a
coarse tow linen shirt, reaching only to my knees. I had no bed. I must
have perished with cold, but that, the coldest nights, I used to steal
a bag which was used for carrying corn to the mill. I would crawl into
this bag, and there sleep on the cold, damp, clay floor, with my head in
and feet out. My feet have been so cracked with the frost, that the pen
with which I am writing might be laid in the gashes.

We were not regularly allowanced. Our food was coarse corn meal boiled.
This was called _mush_. It was put into a large wooden tray or trough,
and set down upon the ground. The children were then called, like so
many pigs, and like so many pigs they would come and devour the mush;
some with oyster-shells, others with pieces of shingle, some with naked
hands, and none with spoons. He that ate fastest got most; he that was
strongest secured the best place; and few left the trough satisfied.

I was probably between seven and eight years old when I left Colonel
Lloyd's plantation. I left it with joy. I shall never forget the ecstasy
with which I received the intelligence that my old master (Anthony)
had determined to let me go to Baltimore, to live with Mr. Hugh Auld,
brother to my old master's son-in-law, Captain Thomas Auld. I received
this information about three days before my departure. They were three
of the happiest days I ever enjoyed. I spent the most part of all these
three days in the creek, washing off the plantation scurf, and preparing
myself for my departure.

The pride of appearance which this would indicate was not my own. I
spent the time in washing, not so much because I wished to, but because
Mrs. Lucretia had told me I must get all the dead skin off my feet and
knees before I could go to Baltimore; for the people in Baltimore were
very cleanly, and would laugh at me if I looked dirty. Besides, she was
going to give me a pair of trousers, which I should not put on unless
I got all the dirt off me. The thought of owning a pair of trousers was
great indeed! It was almost a sufficient motive, not only to make me
take off what would be called by pig-drovers the mange, but the skin
itself. I went at it in good earnest, working for the first time with
the hope of reward.

The ties that ordinarily bind children to their homes were all suspended
in my case. I found no severe trial in my departure. My home was
charmless; it was not home to me; on parting from it, I could not feel
that I was leaving any thing which I could have enjoyed by staying. My
mother was dead, my grandmother lived far off, so that I seldom saw her.
I had two sisters and one brother, that lived in the same house with me;
but the early separation of us from our mother had well nigh blotted the
fact of our relationship from our memories. I looked for home elsewhere,
and was confident of finding none which I should relish less than the
one which I was leaving. If, however, I found in my new home hardship,
hunger, whipping, and nakedness, I had the consolation that I should not
have escaped any one of them by staying. Having already had more than
a taste of them in the house of my old master, and having endured them
there, I very naturally inferred my ability to endure them elsewhere,
and especially at Baltimore; for I had something of the feeling about
Baltimore that is expressed in the proverb, that "being hanged in
England is preferable to dying a natural death in Ireland." I had the
strongest desire to see Baltimore. Cousin Tom, though not fluent in
speech, had inspired me with that desire by his eloquent description
of the place. I could never point out any thing at the Great House,
no matter how beautiful or powerful, but that he had seen something at
Baltimore far exceeding, both in beauty and strength, the object which I
pointed out to him. Even the Great House itself, with all its pictures,
was far inferior to many buildings in Baltimore. So strong was my
desire, that I thought a gratification of it would fully compensate
for whatever loss of comforts I should sustain by the exchange. I left
without a regret, and with the highest hopes of future happiness.

We sailed out of Miles River for Baltimore on a Saturday morning. I
remember only the day of the week, for at that time I had no knowledge
of the days of the month, nor the months of the year. On setting sail, I
walked aft, and gave to Colonel Lloyd's plantation what I hoped would be
the last look. I then placed myself in the bows of the sloop, and there
spent the remainder of the day in looking ahead, interesting myself in
what was in the distance rather than in things near by or behind.

In the afternoon of that day, we reached Annapolis, the capital of the
State. We stopped but a few moments, so that I had no time to go on
shore. It was the first large town that I had ever seen, and though it
would look small compared with some of our New England factory villages,
I thought it a wonderful place for its size--more imposing even than the
Great House Farm!

We arrived at Baltimore early on Sunday morning, landing at Smith's
Wharf, not far from Bowley's Wharf. We had on board the sloop a large
flock of sheep; and after aiding in driving them to the slaughterhouse
of Mr. Curtis on Louden Slater's Hill, I was conducted by Rich, one of
the hands belonging on board of the sloop, to my new home in Alliciana
Street, near Mr. Gardner's ship-yard, on Fells Point.

Mr. and Mrs. Auld were both at home, and met me at the door with their
little son Thomas, to take care of whom I had been given. And here I saw
what I had never seen before; it was a white face beaming with the most
kindly emotions; it was the face of my new mistress, Sophia Auld. I wish
I could describe the rapture that flashed through my soul as I beheld
it. It was a new and strange sight to me, brightening up my pathway
with the light of happiness. Little Thomas was told, there was his
Freddy,--and I was told to take care of little Thomas; and thus I entered
upon the duties of my new home with the most cheering prospect ahead.

I look upon my departure from Colonel Lloyd's plantation as one of
the most interesting events of my life. It is possible, and even quite
probable, that but for the mere circumstance of being removed from that
plantation to Baltimore, I should have to-day, instead of being here
seated by my own table, in the enjoyment of freedom and the happiness
of home, writing this Narrative, been confined in the galling chains of
slavery. Going to live at Baltimore laid the foundation, and opened the
gateway, to all my subsequent prosperity. I have ever regarded it as the
first plain manifestation of that kind providence which has ever since
attended me, and marked my life with so many favors. I regarded the
selection of myself as being somewhat remarkable. There were a number
of slave children that might have been sent from the plantation to
Baltimore. There were those younger, those older, and those of the same
age. I was chosen from among them all, and was the first, last, and only
choice.

I may be deemed superstitious, and even egotistical, in regarding this
event as a special interposition of divine Providence in my favor. But
I should be false to the earliest sentiments of my soul, if I suppressed
the opinion. I prefer to be true to myself, even at the hazard of
incurring the ridicule of others, rather than to be false, and incur my
own abhorrence. From my earliest recollection, I date the entertainment
of a deep conviction that slavery would not always be able to hold
me within its foul embrace; and in the darkest hours of my career in
slavery, this living word of faith and spirit of hope departed not from
me, but remained like ministering angels to cheer me through the gloom.
This good spirit was from God, and to him I offer thanksgiving and
praise.






CHAPTER VI

My new mistress proved to be all she appeared when I first met her at
the door,--a woman of the kindest heart and finest feelings. She had
never had a slave under her control previously to myself, and prior to
her marriage she had been dependent upon her own industry for a living.
She was by trade a weaver; and by constant application to her business,
she had been in a good degree preserved from the blighting and
dehumanizing effects of slavery. I was utterly astonished at her
goodness. I scarcely knew how to behave towards her. She was entirely
unlike any other white woman I had ever seen. I could not approach her
as I was accustomed to approach other white ladies. My early instruction
was all out of place. The crouching servility, usually so acceptable a
quality in a slave, did not answer when manifested toward her. Her favor
was not gained by it; she seemed to be disturbed by it. She did not
deem it impudent or unmannerly for a slave to look her in the face.
The meanest slave was put fully at ease in her presence, and none
left without feeling better for having seen her. Her face was made of
heavenly smiles, and her voice of tranquil music.

But, alas! this kind heart had but a short time to remain such. The
fatal poison of irresponsible power was already in her hands, and soon
commenced its infernal work. That cheerful eye, under the influence
of slavery, soon became red with rage; that voice, made all of sweet
accord, changed to one of harsh and horrid discord; and that angelic
face gave place to that of a demon.

Very soon after I went to live with Mr. and Mrs. Auld, she very kindly
commenced to teach me the A, B, C. After I had learned this, she
assisted me in learning to spell words of three or four letters. Just at
this point of my progress, Mr. Auld found out what was going on, and at
once forbade Mrs. Auld to instruct me further, telling her, among other
things, that it was unlawful, as well as unsafe, to teach a slave to
read. To use his own words, further, he said, "If you give a nigger an
inch, he will take an ell. A nigger should know nothing but to obey his
master--to do as he is told to do. Learning would _spoil_ the best nigger
in the world. Now," said he, "if you teach that nigger (speaking of
myself) how to read, there would be no keeping him. It would forever
unfit him to be a slave. He would at once become unmanageable, and of no
value to his master. As to himself, it could do him no good, but a great
deal of harm. It would make him discontented and unhappy." These
words sank deep into my heart, stirred up sentiments within that lay
slumbering, and called into existence an entirely new train of thought.
It was a new and special revelation, explaining dark and mysterious
things, with which my youthful understanding had struggled, but
struggled in vain. I now understood what had been to me a most
perplexing difficulty--to wit, the white man's power to enslave the
black man. It was a grand achievement, and I prized it highly. From that
moment, I understood the pathway from slavery to freedom. It was just
what I wanted, and I got it at a time when I the least expected it.
Whilst I was saddened by the thought of losing the aid of my kind
mistress, I was gladdened by the invaluable instruction which, by the
merest accident, I had gained from my master. Though conscious of the
difficulty of learning without a teacher, I set out with high hope, and
a fixed purpose, at whatever cost of trouble, to learn how to read. The
very decided manner with which he spoke, and strove to impress his wife
with the evil consequences of giving me instruction, served to convince
me that he was deeply sensible of the truths he was uttering. It gave me
the best assurance that I might rely with the utmost confidence on the
results which, he said, would flow from teaching me to read. What he
most dreaded, that I most desired. What he most loved, that I most
hated. That which to him was a great evil, to be carefully shunned, was
to me a great good, to be diligently sought; and the argument which he
so warmly urged, against my learning to read, only served to inspire
me with a desire and determination to learn. In learning to read, I owe
almost as much to the bitter opposition of my master, as to the kindly
aid of my mistress. I acknowledge the benefit of both.

I had resided but a short time in Baltimore before I observed a marked
difference, in the treatment of slaves, from that which I had witnessed
in the country. A city slave is almost a freeman, compared with a
slave on the plantation. He is much better fed and clothed, and enjoys
privileges altogether unknown to the slave on the plantation. There is
a vestige of decency, a sense of shame, that does much to curb and
check those outbreaks of atrocious cruelty so commonly enacted upon the
plantation. He is a desperate slaveholder, who will shock the humanity
of his non-slaveholding neighbors with the cries of his lacerated slave.
Few are willing to incur the odium attaching to the reputation of being
a cruel master; and above all things, they would not be known as not
giving a slave enough to eat. Every city slaveholder is anxious to have
it known of him, that he feeds his slaves well; and it is due to them
to say, that most of them do give their slaves enough to eat. There are,
however, some painful exceptions to this rule. Directly opposite to us,
on Philpot Street, lived Mr. Thomas Hamilton. He owned two slaves. Their
names were Henrietta and Mary. Henrietta was about twenty-two years
of age, Mary was about fourteen; and of all the mangled and emaciated
creatures I ever looked upon, these two were the most so. His heart
must be harder than stone, that could look upon these unmoved. The
head, neck, and shoulders of Mary were literally cut to pieces. I have
frequently felt her head, and found it nearly covered with festering
sores, caused by the lash of her cruel mistress. I do not know that her
master ever whipped her, but I have been an eye-witness to the cruelty
of Mrs. Hamilton. I used to be in Mr. Hamilton's house nearly every day.
Mrs. Hamilton used to sit in a large chair in the middle of the room,
with a heavy cowskin always by her side, and scarce an hour passed
during the day but was marked by the blood of one of these slaves. The
girls seldom passed her without her saying, "Move faster, you _black
gip!_" at the same time giving them a blow with the cowskin over the
head or shoulders, often drawing the blood. She would then say, "Take
that, you _black gip!_" continuing, "If you don't move faster, I'll move
you!" Added to the cruel lashings to which these slaves were subjected,
they were kept nearly half-starved. They seldom knew what it was to eat
a full meal. I have seen Mary contending with the pigs for the offal
thrown into the street. So much was Mary kicked and cut to pieces, that
she was oftener called "_pecked_" than by her name.






CHAPTER VII

I lived in Master Hugh's family about seven years. During this time, I
succeeded in learning to read and write. In accomplishing this, I was
compelled to resort to various stratagems. I had no regular teacher. My
mistress, who had kindly commenced to instruct me, had, in compliance
with the advice and direction of her husband, not only ceased to
instruct, but had set her face against my being instructed by any one
else. It is due, however, to my mistress to say of her, that she did
not adopt this course of treatment immediately. She at first lacked the
depravity indispensable to shutting me up in mental darkness. It was
at least necessary for her to have some training in the exercise of
irresponsible power, to make her equal to the task of treating me as
though I were a brute.

My mistress was, as I have said, a kind and tender-hearted woman; and in
the simplicity of her soul she commenced, when I first went to live with
her, to treat me as she supposed one human being ought to treat another.
In entering upon the duties of a slaveholder, she did not seem to
perceive that I sustained to her the relation of a mere chattel, and
that for her to treat me as a human being was not only wrong, but
dangerously so. Slavery proved as injurious to her as it did to me. When
I went there, she was a pious, warm, and tender-hearted woman. There was
no sorrow or suffering for which she had not a tear. She had bread for
the hungry, clothes for the naked, and comfort for every mourner that
came within her reach. Slavery soon proved its ability to divest her of
these heavenly qualities. Under its influence, the tender heart became
stone, and the lamblike disposition gave way to one of tiger-like
fierceness. The first step in her downward course was in her ceasing to
instruct me. She now commenced to practise her husband's precepts. She
finally became even more violent in her opposition than her husband
himself. She was not satisfied with simply doing as well as he had
commanded; she seemed anxious to do better. Nothing seemed to make her
more angry than to see me with a newspaper. She seemed to think that
here lay the danger. I have had her rush at me with a face made all up
of fury, and snatch from me a newspaper, in a manner that fully revealed
her apprehension. She was an apt woman; and a little experience soon
demonstrated, to her satisfaction, that education and slavery were
incompatible with each other.

From this time I was most narrowly watched. If I was in a separate room
any considerable length of time, I was sure to be suspected of having
a book, and was at once called to give an account of myself. All this,
however, was too late. The first step had been taken. Mistress, in
teaching me the alphabet, had given me the _inch,_ and no precaution
could prevent me from taking the _ell._

The plan which I adopted, and the one by which I was most successful,
was that of making friends of all the little white boys whom I met in
the street. As many of these as I could, I converted into teachers. With
their kindly aid, obtained at different times and in different places,
I finally succeeded in learning to read. When I was sent of errands, I
always took my book with me, and by going one part of my errand quickly,
I found time to get a lesson before my return. I used also to carry
bread with me, enough of which was always in the house, and to which I
was always welcome; for I was much better off in this regard than many
of the poor white children in our neighborhood. This bread I used to
bestow upon the hungry little urchins, who, in return, would give me
that more valuable bread of knowledge. I am strongly tempted to give
the names of two or three of those little boys, as a testimonial of the
gratitude and affection I bear them; but prudence forbids;--not that
it would injure me, but it might embarrass them; for it is almost an
unpardonable offence to teach slaves to read in this Christian country.
It is enough to say of the dear little fellows, that they lived on
Philpot Street, very near Durgin and Bailey's ship-yard. I used to talk
this matter of slavery over with them. I would sometimes say to them, I
wished I could be as free as they would be when they got to be men. "You
will be free as soon as you are twenty-one, _but I am a slave for life!_
Have not I as good a right to be free as you have?" These words used
to trouble them; they would express for me the liveliest sympathy, and
console me with the hope that something would occur by which I might be
free.

I was now about twelve years old, and the thought of being _a slave for
life_ began to bear heavily upon my heart. Just about this time, I got
hold of a book entitled "The Columbian Orator." Every opportunity I
got, I used to read this book. Among much of other interesting matter,
I found in it a dialogue between a master and his slave. The slave was
represented as having run away from his master three times. The dialogue
represented the conversation which took place between them, when the
slave was retaken the third time. In this dialogue, the whole argument
in behalf of slavery was brought forward by the master, all of which was
disposed of by the slave. The slave was made to say some very smart as
well as impressive things in reply to his master--things which had the
desired though unexpected effect; for the conversation resulted in the
voluntary emancipation of the slave on the part of the master.

In the same book, I met with one of Sheridan's mighty speeches on and
in behalf of Catholic emancipation. These were choice documents to me.
I read them over and over again with unabated interest. They gave tongue
to interesting thoughts of my own soul, which had frequently flashed
through my mind, and died away for want of utterance. The moral which I
gained from the dialogue was the power of truth over the conscience of
even a slaveholder. What I got from Sheridan was a bold denunciation
of slavery, and a powerful vindication of human rights. The reading
of these documents enabled me to utter my thoughts, and to meet the
arguments brought forward to sustain slavery; but while they relieved
me of one difficulty, they brought on another even more painful than
the one of which I was relieved. The more I read, the more I was led
to abhor and detest my enslavers. I could regard them in no other light
than a band of successful robbers, who had left their homes, and gone to
Africa, and stolen us from our homes, and in a strange land reduced
us to slavery. I loathed them as being the meanest as well as the most
wicked of men. As I read and contemplated the subject, behold! that very
discontentment which Master Hugh had predicted would follow my learning
to read had already come, to torment and sting my soul to unutterable
anguish. As I writhed under it, I would at times feel that learning to
read had been a curse rather than a blessing. It had given me a view
of my wretched condition, without the remedy. It opened my eyes to the
horrible pit, but to no ladder upon which to get out. In moments of
agony, I envied my fellow-slaves for their stupidity. I have often
wished myself a beast. I preferred the condition of the meanest reptile
to my own. Any thing, no matter what, to get rid of thinking! It was
this everlasting thinking of my condition that tormented me. There was
no getting rid of it. It was pressed upon me by every object within
sight or hearing, animate or inanimate. The silver trump of freedom
had roused my soul to eternal wakefulness. Freedom now appeared, to
disappear no more forever. It was heard in every sound, and seen in
every thing. It was ever present to torment me with a sense of my
wretched condition. I saw nothing without seeing it, I heard nothing
without hearing it, and felt nothing without feeling it. It looked from
every star, it smiled in every calm, breathed in every wind, and moved
in every storm.

I often found myself regretting my own existence, and wishing myself
dead; and but for the hope of being free, I have no doubt but that I
should have killed myself, or done something for which I should have
been killed. While in this state of mind, I was eager to hear any one
speak of slavery. I was a ready listener. Every little while, I could
hear something about the abolitionists. It was some time before I found
what the word meant. It was always used in such connections as to make
it an interesting word to me. If a slave ran away and succeeded in
getting clear, or if a slave killed his master, set fire to a barn, or
did any thing very wrong in the mind of a slaveholder, it was spoken of
as the fruit of _abolition._ Hearing the word in this connection very
often, I set about learning what it meant. The dictionary afforded me
little or no help. I found it was "the act of abolishing;" but then I
did not know what was to be abolished. Here I was perplexed. I did not
dare to ask any one about its meaning, for I was satisfied that it was
something they wanted me to know very little about. After a patient
waiting, I got one of our city papers, containing an account of the
number of petitions from the north, praying for the abolition of slavery
in the District of Columbia, and of the slave trade between the States.
From this time I understood the words _abolition_ and _abolitionist,_
and always drew near when that word was spoken, expecting to hear
something of importance to myself and fellow-slaves. The light broke in
upon me by degrees. I went one day down on the wharf of Mr. Waters;
and seeing two Irishmen unloading a scow of stone, I went, unasked, and
helped them. When we had finished, one of them came to me and asked
me if I were a slave. I told him I was. He asked, "Are ye a slave for
life?" I told him that I was. The good Irishman seemed to be deeply
affected by the statement. He said to the other that it was a pity so
fine a little fellow as myself should be a slave for life. He said it
was a shame to hold me. They both advised me to run away to the north;
that I should find friends there, and that I should be free. I pretended
not to be interested in what they said, and treated them as if I did not
understand them; for I feared they might be treacherous. White men have
been known to encourage slaves to escape, and then, to get the reward,
catch them and return them to their masters. I was afraid that these
seemingly good men might use me so; but I nevertheless remembered their
advice, and from that time I resolved to run away. I looked forward to
a time at which it would be safe for me to escape. I was too young to
think of doing so immediately; besides, I wished to learn how to write,
as I might have occasion to write my own pass. I consoled myself with
the hope that I should one day find a good chance. Meanwhile, I would
learn to write.

The idea as to how I might learn to write was suggested to me by
being in Durgin and Bailey's ship-yard, and frequently seeing the ship
carpenters, after hewing, and getting a piece of timber ready for use,
write on the timber the name of that part of the ship for which it was
intended. When a piece of timber was intended for the larboard side, it
would be marked thus--"L." When a piece was for the starboard side, it
would be marked thus--"S." A piece for the larboard side forward, would
be marked thus--"L. F." When a piece was for starboard side forward,
it would be marked thus--"S. F." For larboard aft, it would be marked
thus--"L. A." For starboard aft, it would be marked thus--"S. A." I soon
learned the names of these letters, and for what they were intended when
placed upon a piece of timber in the ship-yard. I immediately commenced
copying them, and in a short time was able to make the four letters
named. After that, when I met with any boy who I knew could write, I
would tell him I could write as well as he. The next word would be, "I
don't believe you. Let me see you try it." I would then make the letters
which I had been so fortunate as to learn, and ask him to beat that.
In this way I got a good many lessons in writing, which it is quite
possible I should never have gotten in any other way. During this time,
my copy-book was the board fence, brick wall, and pavement; my pen and
ink was a lump of chalk. With these, I learned mainly how to write. I
then commenced and continued copying the Italics in Webster's Spelling
Book, until I could make them all without looking on the book. By this
time, my little Master Thomas had gone to school, and learned how to
write, and had written over a number of copy-books. These had been
brought home, and shown to some of our near neighbors, and then laid
aside. My mistress used to go to class meeting at the Wilk Street
meetinghouse every Monday afternoon, and leave me to take care of the
house. When left thus, I used to spend the time in writing in the
spaces left in Master Thomas's copy-book, copying what he had written. I
continued to do this until I could write a hand very similar to that of
Master Thomas. Thus, after a long, tedious effort for years, I finally
succeeded in learning how to write.






CHAPTER VIII

In a very short time after I went to live at Baltimore, my old master's
youngest son Richard died; and in about three years and six months after
his death, my old master, Captain Anthony, died, leaving only his son,
Andrew, and daughter, Lucretia, to share his estate. He died while on a
visit to see his daughter at Hillsborough. Cut off thus unexpectedly,
he left no will as to the disposal of his property. It was therefore
necessary to have a valuation of the property, that it might be equally
divided between Mrs. Lucretia and Master Andrew. I was immediately sent
for, to be valued with the other property. Here again my feelings rose
up in detestation of slavery. I had now a new conception of my degraded
condition. Prior to this, I had become, if not insensible to my lot,
at least partly so. I left Baltimore with a young heart overborne with
sadness, and a soul full of apprehension. I took passage with Captain
Rowe, in the schooner Wild Cat, and, after a sail of about twenty-four
hours, I found myself near the place of my birth. I had now been absent
from it almost, if not quite, five years. I, however, remembered the
place very well. I was only about five years old when I left it, to go
and live with my old master on Colonel Lloyd's plantation; so that I was
now between ten and eleven years old.

We were all ranked together at the valuation. Men and women, old and
young, married and single, were ranked with horses, sheep, and swine.
There were horses and men, cattle and women, pigs and children, all
holding the same rank in the scale of being, and were all subjected to
the same narrow examination. Silvery-headed age and sprightly youth,
maids and matrons, had to undergo the same indelicate inspection. At
this moment, I saw more clearly than ever the brutalizing effects of
slavery upon both slave and slaveholder.

After the valuation, then came the division. I have no language to
express the high excitement and deep anxiety which were felt among us
poor slaves during this time. Our fate for life was now to be decided.
we had no more voice in that decision than the brutes among whom we
were ranked. A single word from the white men was enough--against all our
wishes, prayers, and entreaties--to sunder forever the dearest friends,
dearest kindred, and strongest ties known to human beings. In addition
to the pain of separation, there was the horrid dread of falling into
the hands of Master Andrew. He was known to us all as being a most cruel
wretch,--a common drunkard, who had, by his reckless mismanagement and
profligate dissipation, already wasted a large portion of his father's
property. We all felt that we might as well be sold at once to the
Georgia traders, as to pass into his hands; for we knew that that would
be our inevitable condition,--a condition held by us all in the utmost
horror and dread.

I suffered more anxiety than most of my fellow-slaves. I had known what
it was to be kindly treated; they had known nothing of the kind. They
had seen little or nothing of the world. They were in very deed men and
women of sorrow, and acquainted with grief. Their backs had been made
familiar with the bloody lash, so that they had become callous; mine was
yet tender; for while at Baltimore I got few whippings, and few slaves
could boast of a kinder master and mistress than myself; and the thought
of passing out of their hands into those of Master Andrew--a man who, but
a few days before, to give me a sample of his bloody disposition, took
my little brother by the throat, threw him on the ground, and with the
heel of his boot stamped upon his head till the blood gushed from his
nose and ears--was well calculated to make me anxious as to my fate.
After he had committed this savage outrage upon my brother, he turned
to me, and said that was the way he meant to serve me one of these
days,--meaning, I suppose, when I came into his possession.

Thanks to a kind Providence, I fell to the portion of Mrs. Lucretia, and
was sent immediately back to Baltimore, to live again in the family
of Master Hugh. Their joy at my return equalled their sorrow at my
departure. It was a glad day to me. I had escaped a worse than lion's
jaws. I was absent from Baltimore, for the purpose of valuation and
division, just about one month, and it seemed to have been six.

Very soon after my return to Baltimore, my mistress, Lucretia, died,
leaving her husband and one child, Amanda; and in a very short time
after her death, Master Andrew died. Now all the property of my old
master, slaves included, was in the hands of strangers,--strangers who
had had nothing to do with accumulating it. Not a slave was left free.
All remained slaves, from the youngest to the oldest. If any one thing
in my experience, more than another, served to deepen my conviction
of the infernal character of slavery, and to fill me with unutterable
loathing of slaveholders, it was their base ingratitude to my poor old
grandmother. She had served my old master faithfully from youth to old
age. She had been the source of all his wealth; she had peopled his
plantation with slaves; she had become a great grandmother in his
service. She had rocked him in infancy, attended him in childhood,
served him through life, and at his death wiped from his icy brow the
cold death-sweat, and closed his eyes forever. She was nevertheless left
a slave--a slave for life--a slave in the hands of strangers; and in
their hands she saw her children, her grandchildren, and her
great-grandchildren, divided, like so many sheep, without being
gratified with the small privilege of a single word, as to their or
her own destiny. And, to cap the climax of their base ingratitude
and fiendish barbarity, my grandmother, who was now very old, having
outlived my old master and all his children, having seen the beginning
and end of all of them, and her present owners finding she was of but
little value, her frame already racked with the pains of old age, and
complete helplessness fast stealing over her once active limbs,
they took her to the woods, built her a little hut, put up a little
mud-chimney, and then made her welcome to the privilege of supporting
herself there in perfect loneliness; thus virtually turning her out to
die! If my poor old grandmother now lives, she lives to suffer in utter
loneliness; she lives to remember and mourn over the loss of children,
the loss of grandchildren, and the loss of great-grandchildren. They
are, in the language of the slave's poet, Whittier,--


     "Gone, gone, sold and gone
     To the rice swamp dank and lone,
     Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings,
     Where the noisome insect stings,
     Where the fever-demon strews
     Poison with the falling dews,
     Where the sickly sunbeams glare
     Through the hot and misty air:&mdash;
     Gone, gone, sold and gone
     To the rice swamp dank and lone,
     From Virginia hills and waters&mdash;
     Woe is me, my stolen daughters!"

The hearth is desolate. The children, the unconscious children, who once
sang and danced in her presence, are gone. She gropes her way, in the
darkness of age, for a drink of water. Instead of the voices of her
children, she hears by day the moans of the dove, and by night the
screams of the hideous owl. All is gloom. The grave is at the door. And
now, when weighed down by the pains and aches of old age, when the head
inclines to the feet, when the beginning and ending of human existence
meet, and helpless infancy and painful old age combine together--at
this time, this most needful time, the time for the exercise of that
tenderness and affection which children only can exercise towards a
declining parent--my poor old grandmother, the devoted mother of twelve
children, is left all alone, in yonder little hut, before a few dim
embers. She stands--she sits--she staggers--she falls--she groans--she
dies--and there are none of her children or grandchildren present, to
wipe from her wrinkled brow the cold sweat of death, or to place beneath
the sod her fallen remains. Will not a righteous God visit for these
things?

In about two years after the death of Mrs. Lucretia, Master Thomas
married his second wife. Her name was Rowena Hamilton. She was the
eldest daughter of Mr. William Hamilton. Master now lived in St.
Michael's. Not long after his marriage, a misunderstanding took place
between himself and Master Hugh; and as a means of punishing his
brother, he took me from him to live with himself at St. Michael's. Here
I underwent another most painful separation. It, however, was not so
severe as the one I dreaded at the division of property; for, during
this interval, a great change had taken place in Master Hugh and his
once kind and affectionate wife. The influence of brandy upon him, and
of slavery upon her, had effected a disastrous change in the characters
of both; so that, as far as they were concerned, I thought I had little
to lose by the change. But it was not to them that I was attached. It
was to those little Baltimore boys that I felt the strongest attachment.
I had received many good lessons from them, and was still receiving
them, and the thought of leaving them was painful indeed. I was leaving,
too, without the hope of ever being allowed to return. Master Thomas had
said he would never let me return again. The barrier betwixt himself and
brother he considered impassable.

I then had to regret that I did not at least make the attempt to carry
out my resolution to run away; for the chances of success are tenfold
greater from the city than from the country.

I sailed from Baltimore for St. Michael's in the sloop Amanda, Captain
Edward Dodson. On my passage, I paid particular attention to the
direction which the steamboats took to go to Philadelphia. I found,
instead of going down, on reaching North Point they went up the bay,
in a north-easterly direction. I deemed this knowledge of the utmost
importance. My determination to run away was again revived. I resolved
to wait only so long as the offering of a favorable opportunity. When
that came, I was determined to be off.






CHAPTER IX

I have now reached a period of my life when I can give dates. I left
Baltimore, and went to live with Master Thomas Auld, at St. Michael's,
in March, 1832. It was now more than seven years since I lived with him
in the family of my old master, on Colonel Lloyd's plantation. We of
course were now almost entire strangers to each other. He was to me a
new master, and I to him a new slave. I was ignorant of his temper and
disposition; he was equally so of mine. A very short time, however,
brought us into full acquaintance with each other. I was made acquainted
with his wife not less than with himself. They were well matched, being
equally mean and cruel. I was now, for the first time during a space
of more than seven years, made to feel the painful gnawings of hunger--a
something which I had not experienced before since I left Colonel
Lloyd's plantation. It went hard enough with me then, when I could look
back to no period at which I had enjoyed a sufficiency. It was tenfold
harder after living in Master Hugh's family, where I had always had
enough to eat, and of that which was good. I have said Master Thomas was
a mean man. He was so. Not to give a slave enough to eat, is regarded as
the most aggravated development of meanness even among slaveholders. The
rule is, no matter how coarse the food, only let there be enough of it.
This is the theory; and in the part of Maryland from which I came, it
is the general practice,--though there are many exceptions. Master Thomas
gave us enough of neither coarse nor fine food. There were four slaves
of us in the kitchen--my sister Eliza, my aunt Priscilla, Henny, and
myself; and we were allowed less than a half of a bushel of corn-meal
per week, and very little else, either in the shape of meat or
vegetables. It was not enough for us to subsist upon. We were therefore
reduced to the wretched necessity of living at the expense of our
neighbors. This we did by begging and stealing, whichever came handy in
the time of need, the one being considered as legitimate as the other.
A great many times have we poor creatures been nearly perishing
with hunger, when food in abundance lay mouldering in the safe and
smoke-house, and our pious mistress was aware of the fact; and yet that
mistress and her husband would kneel every morning, and pray that God
would bless them in basket and store!

Bad as all slaveholders are, we seldom meet one destitute of every
element of character commanding respect. My master was one of this rare
sort. I do not know of one single noble act ever performed by him. The
leading trait in his character was meanness; and if there were any other
element in his nature, it was made subject to this. He was mean; and,
like most other mean men, he lacked the ability to conceal his meanness.
Captain Auld was not born a slaveholder. He had been a poor man, master
only of a Bay craft. He came into possession of all his slaves by
marriage; and of all men, adopted slaveholders are the worst. He was
cruel, but cowardly. He commanded without firmness. In the enforcement
of his rules, he was at times rigid, and at times lax. At times, he
spoke to his slaves with the firmness of Napoleon and the fury of a
demon; at other times, he might well be mistaken for an inquirer who
had lost his way. He did nothing of himself. He might have passed for a
lion, but for his ears. In all things noble which he attempted, his own
meanness shone most conspicuous. His airs, words, and actions, were the
airs, words, and actions of born slaveholders, and, being assumed, were
awkward enough. He was not even a good imitator. He possessed all the
disposition to deceive, but wanted the power. Having no resources within
himself, he was compelled to be the copyist of many, and being such, he
was forever the victim of inconsistency; and of consequence he was an
object of contempt, and was held as such even by his slaves. The luxury
of having slaves of his own to wait upon him was something new and
unprepared for. He was a slaveholder without the ability to hold slaves.
He found himself incapable of managing his slaves either by force,
fear, or fraud. We seldom called him "master;" we generally called him
"Captain Auld," and were hardly disposed to title him at all. I doubt
not that our conduct had much to do with making him appear awkward,
and of consequence fretful. Our want of reverence for him must have
perplexed him greatly. He wished to have us call him master, but lacked
the firmness necessary to command us to do so. His wife used to insist
upon our calling him so, but to no purpose. In August, 1832, my master
attended a Methodist camp-meeting held in the Bay-side, Talbot county,
and there experienced religion. I indulged a faint hope that his
conversion would lead him to emancipate his slaves, and that, if he did
not do this, it would, at any rate, make him more kind and humane. I was
disappointed in both these respects. It neither made him to be humane
to his slaves, nor to emancipate them. If it had any effect on his
character, it made him more cruel and hateful in all his ways; for I
believe him to have been a much worse man after his conversion than
before. Prior to his conversion, he relied upon his own depravity
to shield and sustain him in his savage barbarity; but after his
conversion, he found religious sanction and support for his slaveholding
cruelty. He made the greatest pretensions to piety. His house was
the house of prayer. He prayed morning, noon, and night. He very
soon distinguished himself among his brethren, and was soon made a
class-leader and exhorter. His activity in revivals was great, and he
proved himself an instrument in the hands of the church in converting
many souls. His house was the preachers' home. They used to take great
pleasure in coming there to put up; for while he starved us, he stuffed
them. We have had three or four preachers there at a time. The names
of those who used to come most frequently while I lived there, were Mr.
Storks, Mr. Ewery, Mr. Humphry, and Mr. Hickey. I have also seen Mr.
George Cookman at our house. We slaves loved Mr. Cookman. We believed
him to be a good man. We thought him instrumental in getting Mr. Samuel
Harrison, a very rich slaveholder, to emancipate his slaves; and by some
means got the impression that he was laboring to effect the emancipation
of all the slaves. When he was at our house, we were sure to be called
in to prayers. When the others were there, we were sometimes called in
and sometimes not. Mr. Cookman took more notice of us than either of
the other ministers. He could not come among us without betraying his
sympathy for us, and, stupid as we were, we had the sagacity to see it.

While I lived with my master in St. Michael's, there was a white
young man, a Mr. Wilson, who proposed to keep a Sabbath school for the
instruction of such slaves as might be disposed to learn to read the New
Testament. We met but three times, when Mr. West and Mr. Fairbanks,
both class-leaders, with many others, came upon us with sticks and other
missiles, drove us off, and forbade us to meet again. Thus ended our
little Sabbath school in the pious town of St. Michael's.

I have said my master found religious sanction for his cruelty. As an
example, I will state one of many facts going to prove the charge.
I have seen him tie up a lame young woman, and whip her with a heavy
cowskin upon her naked shoulders, causing the warm red blood to drip;
and, in justification of the bloody deed, he would quote this passage of
Scripture--"He that knoweth his master's will, and doeth it not, shall be
beaten with many stripes."

Master would keep this lacerated young woman tied up in this horrid
situation four or five hours at a time. I have known him to tie her up
early in the morning, and whip her before breakfast; leave her, go to
his store, return at dinner, and whip her again, cutting her in the
places already made raw with his cruel lash. The secret of master's
cruelty toward "Henny" is found in the fact of her being almost
helpless. When quite a child, she fell into the fire, and burned herself
horribly. Her hands were so burnt that she never got the use of them.
She could do very little but bear heavy burdens. She was to master a
bill of expense; and as he was a mean man, she was a constant offence
to him. He seemed desirous of getting the poor girl out of existence.
He gave her away once to his sister; but, being a poor gift, she was
not disposed to keep her. Finally, my benevolent master, to use his
own words, "set her adrift to take care of herself." Here was a
recently-converted man, holding on upon the mother, and at the same time
turning out her helpless child, to starve and die! Master Thomas was one
of the many pious slaveholders who hold slaves for the very charitable
purpose of taking care of them.

My master and myself had quite a number of differences. He found
me unsuitable to his purpose. My city life, he said, had had a very
pernicious effect upon me. It had almost ruined me for every good
purpose, and fitted me for every thing which was bad. One of my greatest
faults was that of letting his horse run away, and go down to his
father-inlaw's farm, which was about five miles from St. Michael's. I
would then have to go after it. My reason for this kind of carelessness,
or carefulness, was, that I could always get something to eat when I
went there. Master William Hamilton, my master's father-in-law, always
gave his slaves enough to eat. I never left there hungry, no matter
how great the need of my speedy return. Master Thomas at length said he
would stand it no longer. I had lived with him nine months, during
which time he had given me a number of severe whippings, all to no good
purpose. He resolved to put me out, as he said, to be broken; and, for
this purpose, he let me for one year to a man named Edward Covey. Mr.
Covey was a poor man, a farm-renter. He rented the place upon which he
lived, as also the hands with which he tilled it. Mr. Covey had acquired
a very high reputation for breaking young slaves, and this reputation
was of immense value to him. It enabled him to get his farm tilled with
much less expense to himself than he could have had it done without such
a reputation. Some slaveholders thought it not much loss to allow Mr.
Covey to have their slaves one year, for the sake of the training to
which they were subjected, without any other compensation. He could hire
young help with great ease, in consequence of this reputation. Added
to the natural good qualities of Mr. Covey, he was a professor of
religion--a pious soul--a member and a class-leader in the
Methodist church. All of this added weight to his reputation as a
"nigger-breaker." I was aware of all the facts, having been made
acquainted with them by a young man who had lived there. I nevertheless
made the change gladly; for I was sure of getting enough to eat, which
is not the smallest consideration to a hungry man.






CHAPTER X

I had left Master Thomas's house, and went to live with Mr. Covey, on
the 1st of January, 1833. I was now, for the first time in my life, a
field hand. In my new employment, I found myself even more awkward than
a country boy appeared to be in a large city. I had been at my new home
but one week before Mr. Covey gave me a very severe whipping, cutting my
back, causing the blood to run, and raising ridges on my flesh as large
as my little finger. The details of this affair are as follows: Mr.
Covey sent me, very early in the morning of one of our coldest days in
the month of January, to the woods, to get a load of wood. He gave me
a team of unbroken oxen. He told me which was the in-hand ox, and which
the off-hand one. He then tied the end of a large rope around the horns
of the in-hand ox, and gave me the other end of it, and told me, if
the oxen started to run, that I must hold on upon the rope. I had
never driven oxen before, and of course I was very awkward. I, however,
succeeded in getting to the edge of the woods with little difficulty;
but I had got a very few rods into the woods, when the oxen took fright,
and started full tilt, carrying the cart against trees, and over stumps,
in the most frightful manner. I expected every moment that my brains
would be dashed out against the trees. After running thus for a
considerable distance, they finally upset the cart, dashing it with
great force against a tree, and threw themselves into a dense thicket.
How I escaped death, I do not know. There I was, entirely alone, in a
thick wood, in a place new to me. My cart was upset and shattered, my
oxen were entangled among the young trees, and there was none to
help me. After a long spell of effort, I succeeded in getting my cart
righted, my oxen disentangled, and again yoked to the cart. I now
proceeded with my team to the place where I had, the day before, been
chopping wood, and loaded my cart pretty heavily, thinking in this way
to tame my oxen. I then proceeded on my way home. I had now consumed
one half of the day. I got out of the woods safely, and now felt out of
danger. I stopped my oxen to open the woods gate; and just as I did so,
before I could get hold of my ox-rope, the oxen again started, rushed
through the gate, catching it between the wheel and the body of the
cart, tearing it to pieces, and coming within a few inches of crushing
me against the gate-post. Thus twice, in one short day, I escaped death
by the merest chance. On my return, I told Mr. Covey what had happened,
and how it happened. He ordered me to return to the woods again
immediately. I did so, and he followed on after me. Just as I got into
the woods, he came up and told me to stop my cart, and that he would
teach me how to trifle away my time, and break gates. He then went to
a large gum-tree, and with his axe cut three large switches, and, after
trimming them up neatly with his pocketknife, he ordered me to take
off my clothes. I made him no answer, but stood with my clothes on. He
repeated his order. I still made him no answer, nor did I move to strip
myself. Upon this he rushed at me with the fierceness of a tiger, tore
off my clothes, and lashed me till he had worn out his switches, cutting
me so savagely as to leave the marks visible for a long time after.
This whipping was the first of a number just like it, and for similar
offences.

I lived with Mr. Covey one year. During the first six months, of that
year, scarce a week passed without his whipping me. I was seldom free
from a sore back. My awkwardness was almost always his excuse for
whipping me. We were worked fully up to the point of endurance. Long
before day we were up, our horses fed, and by the first approach of day
we were off to the field with our hoes and ploughing teams. Mr. Covey
gave us enough to eat, but scarce time to eat it. We were often less
than five minutes taking our meals. We were often in the field from the
first approach of day till its last lingering ray had left us; and
at saving-fodder time, midnight often caught us in the field binding
blades.

Covey would be out with us. The way he used to stand it, was this. He
would spend the most of his afternoons in bed. He would then come out
fresh in the evening, ready to urge us on with his words, example, and
frequently with the whip. Mr. Covey was one of the few slaveholders who
could and did work with his hands. He was a hard-working man. He knew by
himself just what a man or a boy could do. There was no deceiving him.
His work went on in his absence almost as well as in his presence; and
he had the faculty of making us feel that he was ever present with us.
This he did by surprising us. He seldom approached the spot where we
were at work openly, if he could do it secretly. He always aimed at
taking us by surprise. Such was his cunning, that we used to call him,
among ourselves, "the snake." When we were at work in the cornfield, he
would sometimes crawl on his hands and knees to avoid detection, and
all at once he would rise nearly in our midst, and scream out, "Ha, ha!
Come, come! Dash on, dash on!" This being his mode of attack, it was
never safe to stop a single minute. His comings were like a thief in the
night. He appeared to us as being ever at hand. He was under every
tree, behind every stump, in every bush, and at every window, on the
plantation. He would sometimes mount his horse, as if bound to St.
Michael's, a distance of seven miles, and in half an hour afterwards you
would see him coiled up in the corner of the wood-fence, watching every
motion of the slaves. He would, for this purpose, leave his horse tied
up in the woods. Again, he would sometimes walk up to us, and give us
orders as though he was upon the point of starting on a long journey,
turn his back upon us, and make as though he was going to the house
to get ready; and, before he would get half way thither, he would turn
short and crawl into a fence-corner, or behind some tree, and there
watch us till the going down of the sun.

Mr. Covey's _forte_ consisted in his power to deceive. His life was
devoted to planning and perpetrating the grossest deceptions. Every
thing he possessed in the shape of learning or religion, he made conform
to his disposition to deceive. He seemed to think himself equal to
deceiving the Almighty. He would make a short prayer in the morning, and
a long prayer at night; and, strange as it may seem, few men would
at times appear more devotional than he. The exercises of his family
devotions were always commenced with singing; and, as he was a very poor
singer himself, the duty of raising the hymn generally came upon me. He
would read his hymn, and nod at me to commence. I would at times do so;
at others, I would not. My non-compliance would almost always produce
much confusion. To show himself independent of me, he would start and
stagger through with his hymn in the most discordant manner. In this
state of mind, he prayed with more than ordinary spirit. Poor man! such
was his disposition, and success at deceiving, I do verily believe that
he sometimes deceived himself into the solemn belief, that he was a
sincere worshipper of the most high God; and this, too, at a time when
he may be said to have been guilty of compelling his woman slave to
commit the sin of adultery. The facts in the case are these: Mr. Covey
was a poor man; he was just commencing in life; he was only able to buy
one slave; and, shocking as is the fact, he bought her, as he said, for
_a breeder_. This woman was named Caroline. Mr. Covey bought her from
Mr. Thomas Lowe, about six miles from St. Michael's. She was a large,
able-bodied woman, about twenty years old. She had already given birth
to one child, which proved her to be just what he wanted. After buying
her, he hired a married man of Mr. Samuel Harrison, to live with him one
year; and him he used to fasten up with her every night! The result was,
that, at the end of the year, the miserable woman gave birth to twins.
At this result Mr. Covey seemed to be highly pleased, both with the man
and the wretched woman. Such was his joy, and that of his wife, that
nothing they could do for Caroline during her confinement was too good,
or too hard, to be done. The children were regarded as being quite an
addition to his wealth.

If at any one time of my life more than another, I was made to drink the
bitterest dregs of slavery, that time was during the first six months of
my stay with Mr. Covey. We were worked in all weathers. It was never too
hot or too cold; it could never rain, blow, hail, or snow, too hard for
us to work in the field. Work, work, work, was scarcely more the order
of the day than of the night. The longest days were too short for him,
and the shortest nights too long for him. I was somewhat unmanageable
when I first went there, but a few months of this discipline tamed me.
Mr. Covey succeeded in breaking me. I was broken in body, soul, and
spirit. My natural elasticity was crushed, my intellect languished, the
disposition to read departed, the cheerful spark that lingered about my
eye died; the dark night of slavery closed in upon me; and behold a man
transformed into a brute!

Sunday was my only leisure time. I spent this in a sort of beast-like
stupor, between sleep and wake, under some large tree. At times I
would rise up, a flash of energetic freedom would dart through my soul,
accompanied with a faint beam of hope, that flickered for a moment, and
then vanished. I sank down again, mourning over my wretched condition.
I was sometimes prompted to take my life, and that of Covey, but was
prevented by a combination of hope and fear. My sufferings on this
plantation seem now like a dream rather than a stern reality.

Our house stood within a few rods of the Chesapeake Bay, whose broad
bosom was ever white with sails from every quarter of the habitable
globe. Those beautiful vessels, robed in purest white, so delightful to
the eye of freemen, were to me so many shrouded ghosts, to terrify and
torment me with thoughts of my wretched condition. I have often, in the
deep stillness of a summer's Sabbath, stood all alone upon the lofty
banks of that noble bay, and traced, with saddened heart and tearful
eye, the countless number of sails moving off to the mighty ocean. The
sight of these always affected me powerfully. My thoughts would compel
utterance; and there, with no audience but the Almighty, I would pour
out my soul's complaint, in my rude way, with an apostrophe to the
moving multitude of ships:--

"You are loosed from your moorings, and are free; I am fast in my
chains, and am a slave! You move merrily before the gentle gale, and
I sadly before the bloody whip! You are freedom's swift-winged angels,
that fly round the world; I am confined in bands of iron! O that I
were free! O, that I were on one of your gallant decks, and under your
protecting wing! Alas! betwixt me and you, the turbid waters roll. Go
on, go on. O that I could also go! Could I but swim! If I could fly! O,
why was I born a man, of whom to make a brute! The glad ship is gone;
she hides in the dim distance. I am left in the hottest hell of unending
slavery. O God, save me! God, deliver me! Let me be free! Is there any
God? Why am I a slave? I will run away. I will not stand it. Get caught,
or get clear, I'll try it. I had as well die with ague as the fever.
I have only one life to lose. I had as well be killed running as die
standing. Only think of it; one hundred miles straight north, and I am
free! Try it? Yes! God helping me, I will. It cannot be that I shall
live and die a slave. I will take to the water. This very bay shall yet
bear me into freedom. The steamboats steered in a north-east course from
North Point. I will do the same; and when I get to the head of the bay,
I will turn my canoe adrift, and walk straight through Delaware into
Pennsylvania. When I get there, I shall not be required to have a pass;
I can travel without being disturbed. Let but the first opportunity
offer, and, come what will, I am off. Meanwhile, I will try to bear up
under the yoke. I am not the only slave in the world. Why should I fret?
I can bear as much as any of them. Besides, I am but a boy, and all boys
are bound to some one. It may be that my misery in slavery will only
increase my happiness when I get free. There is a better day coming."

Thus I used to think, and thus I used to speak to myself; goaded almost
to madness at one moment, and at the next reconciling myself to my
wretched lot.

I have already intimated that my condition was much worse, during the
first six months of my stay at Mr. Covey's, than in the last six. The
circumstances leading to the change in Mr. Covey's course toward me form
an epoch in my humble history. You have seen how a man was made a slave;
you shall see how a slave was made a man. On one of the hottest days
of the month of August, 1833, Bill Smith, William Hughes, a slave named
Eli, and myself, were engaged in fanning wheat. Hughes was clearing the
fanned wheat from before the fan. Eli was turning, Smith was feeding,
and I was carrying wheat to the fan. The work was simple, requiring
strength rather than intellect; yet, to one entirely unused to such
work, it came very hard. About three o'clock of that day, I broke down;
my strength failed me; I was seized with a violent aching of the head,
attended with extreme dizziness; I trembled in every limb. Finding what
was coming, I nerved myself up, feeling it would never do to stop work.
I stood as long as I could stagger to the hopper with grain. When I
could stand no longer, I fell, and felt as if held down by an immense
weight. The fan of course stopped; every one had his own work to do;
and no one could do the work of the other, and have his own go on at the
same time.

Mr. Covey was at the house, about one hundred yards from the
treading-yard where we were fanning. On hearing the fan stop, he left
immediately, and came to the spot where we were. He hastily inquired
what the matter was. Bill answered that I was sick, and there was no
one to bring wheat to the fan. I had by this time crawled away under the
side of the post and rail-fence by which the yard was enclosed, hoping
to find relief by getting out of the sun. He then asked where I was. He
was told by one of the hands. He came to the spot, and, after looking at
me awhile, asked me what was the matter. I told him as well as I could,
for I scarce had strength to speak. He then gave me a savage kick in
the side, and told me to get up. I tried to do so, but fell back in the
attempt. He gave me another kick, and again told me to rise. I again
tried, and succeeded in gaining my feet; but, stooping to get the tub
with which I was feeding the fan, I again staggered and fell. While down
in this situation, Mr. Covey took up the hickory slat with which Hughes
had been striking off the half-bushel measure, and with it gave me
a heavy blow upon the head, making a large wound, and the blood ran
freely; and with this again told me to get up. I made no effort to
comply, having now made up my mind to let him do his worst. In a short
time after receiving this blow, my head grew better. Mr. Covey had now
left me to my fate. At this moment I resolved, for the first time, to go
to my master, enter a complaint, and ask his protection. In order to
do this, I must that afternoon walk seven miles; and this, under the
circumstances, was truly a severe undertaking. I was exceedingly feeble;
made so as much by the kicks and blows which I received, as by the
severe fit of sickness to which I had been subjected. I, however,
watched my chance, while Covey was looking in an opposite direction,
and started for St. Michael's. I succeeded in getting a considerable
distance on my way to the woods, when Covey discovered me, and called
after me to come back, threatening what he would do if I did not come. I
disregarded both his calls and his threats, and made my way to the
woods as fast as my feeble state would allow; and thinking I might
be overhauled by him if I kept the road, I walked through the woods,
keeping far enough from the road to avoid detection, and near enough
to prevent losing my way. I had not gone far before my little strength
again failed me. I could go no farther. I fell down, and lay for a
considerable time. The blood was yet oozing from the wound on my head.
For a time I thought I should bleed to death; and think now that I
should have done so, but that the blood so matted my hair as to stop
the wound. After lying there about three quarters of an hour, I nerved
myself up again, and started on my way, through bogs and briers,
barefooted and bareheaded, tearing my feet sometimes at nearly every
step; and after a journey of about seven miles, occupying some five
hours to perform it, I arrived at master's store. I then presented an
appearance enough to affect any but a heart of iron. From the crown of
my head to my feet, I was covered with blood. My hair was all clotted
with dust and blood; my shirt was stiff with blood. I suppose I looked
like a man who had escaped a den of wild beasts, and barely escaped
them. In this state I appeared before my master, humbly entreating
him to interpose his authority for my protection. I told him all the
circumstances as well as I could, and it seemed, as I spoke, at times to
affect him. He would then walk the floor, and seek to justify Covey by
saying he expected I deserved it. He asked me what I wanted. I told him,
to let me get a new home; that as sure as I lived with Mr. Covey again,
I should live with but to die with him; that Covey would surely kill me;
he was in a fair way for it. Master Thomas ridiculed the idea that there
was any danger of Mr. Covey's killing me, and said that he knew Mr.
Covey; that he was a good man, and that he could not think of taking me
from him; that, should he do so, he would lose the whole year's wages;
that I belonged to Mr. Covey for one year, and that I must go back to
him, come what might; and that I must not trouble him with any more
stories, or that he would himself _get hold of me_. After threatening
me thus, he gave me a very large dose of salts, telling me that I might
remain in St. Michael's that night, (it being quite late,) but that I
must be off back to Mr. Covey's early in the morning; and that if I did
not, he would _get hold of me,_ which meant that he would whip me.
I remained all night, and, according to his orders, I started off to
Covey's in the morning, (Saturday morning,) wearied in body and broken
in spirit. I got no supper that night, or breakfast that morning. I
reached Covey's about nine o'clock; and just as I was getting over the
fence that divided Mrs. Kemp's fields from ours, out ran Covey with
his cowskin, to give me another whipping. Before he could reach me, I
succeeded in getting to the cornfield; and as the corn was very high, it
afforded me the means of hiding. He seemed very angry, and searched for
me a long time. My behavior was altogether unaccountable. He finally
gave up the chase, thinking, I suppose, that I must come home for
something to eat; he would give himself no further trouble in looking
for me. I spent that day mostly in the woods, having the alternative
before me,--to go home and be whipped to death, or stay in the woods and
be starved to death. That night, I fell in with Sandy Jenkins, a slave
with whom I was somewhat acquainted. Sandy had a free wife who lived
about four miles from Mr. Covey's; and it being Saturday, he was on his
way to see her. I told him my circumstances, and he very kindly invited
me to go home with him. I went home with him, and talked this whole
matter over, and got his advice as to what course it was best for me to
pursue. I found Sandy an old adviser. He told me, with great solemnity,
I must go back to Covey; but that before I went, I must go with him into
another part of the woods, where there was a certain _root,_ which, if
I would take some of it with me, carrying it _always on my right side,_
would render it impossible for Mr. Covey, or any other white man, to
whip me. He said he had carried it for years; and since he had done so,
he had never received a blow, and never expected to while he carried it.
I at first rejected the idea, that the simple carrying of a root in my
pocket would have any such effect as he had said, and was not disposed
to take it; but Sandy impressed the necessity with much earnestness,
telling me it could do no harm, if it did no good. To please him, I at
length took the root, and, according to his direction, carried it upon
my right side. This was Sunday morning. I immediately started for
home; and upon entering the yard gate, out came Mr. Covey on his way to
meeting. He spoke to me very kindly, bade me drive the pigs from a lot
near by, and passed on towards the church. Now, this singular conduct of
Mr. Covey really made me begin to think that there was something in the
_root_ which Sandy had given me; and had it been on any other day than
Sunday, I could have attributed the conduct to no other cause than the
influence of that root; and as it was, I was half inclined to think the
_root_ to be something more than I at first had taken it to be. All went
well till Monday morning. On this morning, the virtue of the _root_ was
fully tested. Long before daylight, I was called to go and rub, curry,
and feed, the horses. I obeyed, and was glad to obey. But whilst thus
engaged, whilst in the act of throwing down some blades from the loft,
Mr. Covey entered the stable with a long rope; and just as I was half
out of the loft, he caught hold of my legs, and was about tying me. As
soon as I found what he was up to, I gave a sudden spring, and as I did
so, he holding to my legs, I was brought sprawling on the stable floor.
Mr. Covey seemed now to think he had me, and could do what he pleased;
but at this moment--from whence came the spirit I don't know--I resolved
to fight; and, suiting my action to the resolution, I seized Covey hard
by the throat; and as I did so, I rose. He held on to me, and I to him.
My resistance was so entirely unexpected that Covey seemed taken all
aback. He trembled like a leaf. This gave me assurance, and I held him
uneasy, causing the blood to run where I touched him with the ends of my
fingers. Mr. Covey soon called out to Hughes for help. Hughes came, and,
while Covey held me, attempted to tie my right hand. While he was in the
act of doing so, I watched my chance, and gave him a heavy kick close
under the ribs. This kick fairly sickened Hughes, so that he left me in
the hands of Mr. Covey. This kick had the effect of not only weakening
Hughes, but Covey also. When he saw Hughes bending over with pain, his
courage quailed. He asked me if I meant to persist in my resistance. I
told him I did, come what might; that he had used me like a brute for
six months, and that I was determined to be used so no longer. With
that, he strove to drag me to a stick that was lying just out of the
stable door. He meant to knock me down. But just as he was leaning
over to get the stick, I seized him with both hands by his collar, and
brought him by a sudden snatch to the ground. By this time, Bill came.
Covey called upon him for assistance. Bill wanted to know what he could
do. Covey said, "Take hold of him, take hold of him!" Bill said his
master hired him out to work, and not to help to whip me; so he left
Covey and myself to fight our own battle out. We were at it for nearly
two hours. Covey at length let me go, puffing and blowing at a great
rate, saying that if I had not resisted, he would not have whipped
me half so much. The truth was, that he had not whipped me at all. I
considered him as getting entirely the worst end of the bargain; for
he had drawn no blood from me, but I had from him. The whole six months
afterwards, that I spent with Mr. Covey, he never laid the weight of his
finger upon me in anger. He would occasionally say, he didn't want to
get hold of me again. "No," thought I, "you need not; for you will come
off worse than you did before."

This battle with Mr. Covey was the turning-point in my career as a
slave. It rekindled the few expiring embers of freedom, and revived
within me a sense of my own manhood. It recalled the departed
self-confidence, and inspired me again with a determination to be free.
The gratification afforded by the triumph was a full compensation for
whatever else might follow, even death itself. He only can understand
the deep satisfaction which I experienced, who has himself repelled by
force the bloody arm of slavery. I felt as I never felt before. It was
a glorious resurrection, from the tomb of slavery, to the heaven of
freedom. My long-crushed spirit rose, cowardice departed, bold defiance
took its place; and I now resolved that, however long I might remain
a slave in form, the day had passed forever when I could be a slave in
fact. I did not hesitate to let it be known of me, that the white man
who expected to succeed in whipping, must also succeed in killing me.

From this time I was never again what might be called fairly whipped,
though I remained a slave four years afterwards. I had several fights,
but was never whipped.

It was for a long time a matter of surprise to me why Mr. Covey did not
immediately have me taken by the constable to the whipping-post, and
there regularly whipped for the crime of raising my hand against a white
man in defence of myself. And the only explanation I can now think of
does not entirely satisfy me; but such as it is, I will give it. Mr.
Covey enjoyed the most unbounded reputation for being a first-rate
overseer and negro-breaker. It was of considerable importance to him.
That reputation was at stake; and had he sent me--a boy about sixteen
years old--to the public whipping-post, his reputation would have been
lost; so, to save his reputation, he suffered me to go unpunished.

My term of actual service to Mr. Edward Covey ended on Christmas day,
1833. The days between Christmas and New Year's day are allowed as
holidays; and, accordingly, we were not required to perform any labor,
more than to feed and take care of the stock. This time we regarded as
our own, by the grace of our masters; and we therefore used or abused it
nearly as we pleased. Those of us who had families at a distance, were
generally allowed to spend the whole six days in their society. This
time, however, was spent in various ways. The staid, sober, thinking
and industrious ones of our number would employ themselves in making
corn-brooms, mats, horse-collars, and baskets; and another class of us
would spend the time in hunting opossums, hares, and coons. But by far
the larger part engaged in such sports and merriments as playing ball,
wrestling, running foot-races, fiddling, dancing, and drinking whisky;
and this latter mode of spending the time was by far the most agreeable
to the feelings of our masters. A slave who would work during the
holidays was considered by our masters as scarcely deserving them. He
was regarded as one who rejected the favor of his master. It was deemed
a disgrace not to get drunk at Christmas; and he was regarded as lazy
indeed, who had not provided himself with the necessary means, during
the year, to get whisky enough to last him through Christmas.

From what I know of the effect of these holidays upon the slave, I
believe them to be among the most effective means in the hands of
the slaveholder in keeping down the spirit of insurrection. Were the
slaveholders at once to abandon this practice, I have not the slightest
doubt it would lead to an immediate insurrection among the slaves.
These holidays serve as conductors, or safety-valves, to carry off the
rebellious spirit of enslaved humanity. But for these, the slave would
be forced up to the wildest desperation; and woe betide the slaveholder,
the day he ventures to remove or hinder the operation of those
conductors! I warn him that, in such an event, a spirit will go forth in
their midst, more to be dreaded than the most appalling earthquake.

The holidays are part and parcel of the gross fraud, wrong, and
inhumanity of slavery. They are professedly a custom established by
the benevolence of the slaveholders; but I undertake to say, it is the
result of selfishness, and one of the grossest frauds committed upon the
down-trodden slave. They do not give the slaves this time because they
would not like to have their work during its continuance, but because
they know it would be unsafe to deprive them of it. This will be seen
by the fact, that the slaveholders like to have their slaves spend those
days just in such a manner as to make them as glad of their ending as of
their beginning. Their object seems to be, to disgust their slaves with
freedom, by plunging them into the lowest depths of dissipation. For
instance, the slaveholders not only like to see the slave drink of his
own accord, but will adopt various plans to make him drunk. One plan
is, to make bets on their slaves, as to who can drink the most whisky
without getting drunk; and in this way they succeed in getting whole
multitudes to drink to excess. Thus, when the slave asks for virtuous
freedom, the cunning slaveholder, knowing his ignorance, cheats him
with a dose of vicious dissipation, artfully labelled with the name of
liberty. The most of us used to drink it down, and the result was just
what might be supposed; many of us were led to think that there was
little to choose between liberty and slavery. We felt, and very properly
too, that we had almost as well be slaves to man as to rum. So, when the
holidays ended, we staggered up from the filth of our wallowing, took a
long breath, and marched to the field,--feeling, upon the whole, rather
glad to go, from what our master had deceived us into a belief was
freedom, back to the arms of slavery.

I have said that this mode of treatment is a part of the whole system
of fraud and inhumanity of slavery. It is so. The mode here adopted to
disgust the slave with freedom, by allowing him to see only the abuse
of it, is carried out in other things. For instance, a slave loves
molasses; he steals some. His master, in many cases, goes off to town,
and buys a large quantity; he returns, takes his whip, and commands the
slave to eat the molasses, until the poor fellow is made sick at the
very mention of it. The same mode is sometimes adopted to make the
slaves refrain from asking for more food than their regular allowance.
A slave runs through his allowance, and applies for more. His master is
enraged at him; but, not willing to send him off without food, gives him
more than is necessary, and compels him to eat it within a given time.
Then, if he complains that he cannot eat it, he is said to be satisfied
neither full nor fasting, and is whipped for being hard to please! I
have an abundance of such illustrations of the same principle, drawn
from my own observation, but think the cases I have cited sufficient.
The practice is a very common one.

On the first of January, 1834, I left Mr. Covey, and went to live with
Mr. William Freeland, who lived about three miles from St. Michael's. I
soon found Mr. Freeland a very different man from Mr. Covey. Though not
rich, he was what would be called an educated southern gentleman.
Mr. Covey, as I have shown, was a well-trained negro-breaker and
slave-driver. The former (slaveholder though he was) seemed to possess
some regard for honor, some reverence for justice, and some respect for
humanity. The latter seemed totally insensible to all such sentiments.
Mr. Freeland had many of the faults peculiar to slaveholders, such as
being very passionate and fretful; but I must do him the justice to say,
that he was exceedingly free from those degrading vices to which Mr.
Covey was constantly addicted. The one was open and frank, and we always
knew where to find him. The other was a most artful deceiver, and
could be understood only by such as were skilful enough to detect his
cunningly-devised frauds. Another advantage I gained in my new master
was, he made no pretensions to, or profession of, religion; and this, in
my opinion, was truly a great advantage. I assert most unhesitatingly,
that the religion of the south is a mere covering for the most horrid
crimes,--a justifier of the most appalling barbarity,--a sanctifier of
the most hateful frauds,--and a dark shelter under, which the darkest,
foulest, grossest, and most infernal deeds of slaveholders find the
strongest protection. Were I to be again reduced to the chains of
slavery, next to that enslavement, I should regard being the slave of a
religious master the greatest calamity that could befall me. For of all
slaveholders with whom I have ever met, religious slaveholders are the
worst. I have ever found them the meanest and basest, the most cruel and
cowardly, of all others. It was my unhappy lot not only to belong to a
religious slaveholder, but to live in a community of such religionists.
Very near Mr. Freeland lived the Rev. Daniel Weeden, and in the same
neighborhood lived the Rev. Rigby Hopkins. These were members and
ministers in the Reformed Methodist Church. Mr. Weeden owned, among
others, a woman slave, whose name I have forgotten. This woman's
back, for weeks, was kept literally raw, made so by the lash of this
merciless, _religious_ wretch. He used to hire hands. His maxim was,
Behave well or behave ill, it is the duty of a master occasionally to
whip a slave, to remind him of his master's authority. Such was his
theory, and such his practice.

Mr. Hopkins was even worse than Mr. Weeden. His chief boast was his
ability to manage slaves. The peculiar feature of his government was
that of whipping slaves in advance of deserving it. He always managed to
have one or more of his slaves to whip every Monday morning. He did this
to alarm their fears, and strike terror into those who escaped. His
plan was to whip for the smallest offences, to prevent the commission
of large ones. Mr. Hopkins could always find some excuse for whipping
a slave. It would astonish one, unaccustomed to a slaveholding life, to
see with what wonderful ease a slaveholder can find things, of which to
make occasion to whip a slave. A mere look, word, or motion,--a mistake,
accident, or want of power,--are all matters for which a slave may be
whipped at any time. Does a slave look dissatisfied? It is said, he has
the devil in him, and it must be whipped out. Does he speak loudly when
spoken to by his master? Then he is getting high-minded, and should be
taken down a button-hole lower. Does he forget to pull off his hat at
the approach of a white person? Then he is wanting in reverence, and
should be whipped for it. Does he ever venture to vindicate his conduct,
when censured for it? Then he is guilty of impudence,--one of the
greatest crimes of which a slave can be guilty. Does he ever venture to
suggest a different mode of doing things from that pointed out by
his master? He is indeed presumptuous, and getting above himself; and
nothing less than a flogging will do for him. Does he, while ploughing,
break a plough,--or, while hoeing, break a hoe? It is owing to his
carelessness, and for it a slave must always be whipped. Mr. Hopkins
could always find something of this sort to justify the use of the lash,
and he seldom failed to embrace such opportunities. There was not a man
in the whole county, with whom the slaves who had the getting their own
home, would not prefer to live, rather than with this Rev. Mr. Hopkins.
And yet there was not a man any where round, who made higher professions
of religion, or was more active in revivals,--more attentive to the
class, love-feast, prayer and preaching meetings, or more devotional in
his family,--that prayed earlier, later, louder, and longer,--than this
same reverend slave-driver, Rigby Hopkins.

But to return to Mr. Freeland, and to my experience while in his
employment. He, like Mr. Covey, gave us enough to eat; but, unlike Mr.
Covey, he also gave us sufficient time to take our meals. He worked us
hard, but always between sunrise and sunset. He required a good deal of
work to be done, but gave us good tools with which to work. His farm was
large, but he employed hands enough to work it, and with ease, compared
with many of his neighbors. My treatment, while in his employment, was
heavenly, compared with what I experienced at the hands of Mr. Edward
Covey.

Mr. Freeland was himself the owner of but two slaves. Their names were
Henry Harris and John Harris. The rest of his hands he hired. These
consisted of myself, Sandy Jenkins,* and Handy Caldwell.


     *This is the same man who gave me the roots to prevent my
     being whipped by Mr. Covey. He was "a clever soul." We used
     frequently to talk about the fight with Covey, and as often
     as we did so, he would claim my success as the result of the
     roots which he gave me. This superstition is very common
     among the more ignorant slaves. A slave seldom dies but that
     his death is attributed to trickery.

Henry and John were quite intelligent, and in a very little while after
I went there, I succeeded in creating in them a strong desire to learn
how to read. This desire soon sprang up in the others also. They very
soon mustered up some old spelling-books, and nothing would do but that
I must keep a Sabbath school. I agreed to do so, and accordingly devoted
my Sundays to teaching these my loved fellow-slaves how to read. Neither
of them knew his letters when I went there. Some of the slaves of the
neighboring farms found what was going on, and also availed themselves
of this little opportunity to learn to read. It was understood, among
all who came, that there must be as little display about it as possible.
It was necessary to keep our religious masters at St. Michael's
unacquainted with the fact, that, instead of spending the Sabbath in
wrestling, boxing, and drinking whisky, we were trying to learn how to
read the will of God; for they had much rather see us engaged in those
degrading sports, than to see us behaving like intellectual, moral, and
accountable beings. My blood boils as I think of the bloody manner in
which Messrs. Wright Fairbanks and Garrison West, both class-leaders, in
connection with many others, rushed in upon us with sticks and stones,
and broke up our virtuous little Sabbath school, at St. Michael's--all
calling themselves Christians! humble followers of the Lord Jesus
Christ! But I am again digressing.

I held my Sabbath school at the house of a free colored man, whose
name I deem it imprudent to mention; for should it be known, it might
embarrass him greatly, though the crime of holding the school was
committed ten years ago. I had at one time over forty scholars, and
those of the right sort, ardently desiring to learn. They were of all
ages, though mostly men and women. I look back to those Sundays with an
amount of pleasure not to be expressed. They were great days to my
soul. The work of instructing my dear fellow-slaves was the sweetest
engagement with which I was ever blessed. We loved each other, and to
leave them at the close of the Sabbath was a severe cross indeed. When
I think that these precious souls are to-day shut up in the prison-house
of slavery, my feelings overcome me, and I am almost ready to ask,
"Does a righteous God govern the universe? and for what does he hold the
thunders in his right hand, if not to smite the oppressor, and deliver
the spoiled out of the hand of the spoiler?" These dear souls came not
to Sabbath school because it was popular to do so, nor did I teach them
because it was reputable to be thus engaged. Every moment they spent
in that school, they were liable to be taken up, and given thirty-nine
lashes. They came because they wished to learn. Their minds had
been starved by their cruel masters. They had been shut up in mental
darkness. I taught them, because it was the delight of my soul to be
doing something that looked like bettering the condition of my race. I
kept up my school nearly the whole year I lived with Mr. Freeland; and,
beside my Sabbath school, I devoted three evenings in the week, during
the winter, to teaching the slaves at home. And I have the happiness to
know, that several of those who came to Sabbath school learned how to
read; and that one, at least, is now free through my agency.

The year passed off smoothly. It seemed only about half as long as the
year which preceded it. I went through it without receiving a single
blow. I will give Mr. Freeland the credit of being the best master
I ever had, _till I became my own master._ For the ease with which I
passed the year, I was, however, somewhat indebted to the society of
my fellow-slaves. They were noble souls; they not only possessed loving
hearts, but brave ones. We were linked and interlinked with each other.
I loved them with a love stronger than any thing I have experienced
since. It is sometimes said that we slaves do not love and confide in
each other. In answer to this assertion, I can say, I never loved any or
confided in any people more than my fellow-slaves, and especially those
with whom I lived at Mr. Freeland's. I believe we would have died for
each other. We never undertook to do any thing, of any importance,
without a mutual consultation. We never moved separately. We were
one; and as much so by our tempers and dispositions, as by the mutual
hardships to which we were necessarily subjected by our condition as
slaves.

At the close of the year 1834, Mr. Freeland again hired me of my master,
for the year 1835. But, by this time, I began to want to live _upon
free land_ as well as _with Freeland;_ and I was no longer content,
therefore, to live with him or any other slaveholder. I began, with the
commencement of the year, to prepare myself for a final struggle, which
should decide my fate one way or the other. My tendency was upward. I
was fast approaching manhood, and year after year had passed, and I was
still a slave. These thoughts roused me--I must do something. I therefore
resolved that 1835 should not pass without witnessing an attempt, on
my part, to secure my liberty. But I was not willing to cherish this
determination alone. My fellow-slaves were dear to me. I was anxious to
have them participate with me in this, my life-giving determination.
I therefore, though with great prudence, commenced early to ascertain
their views and feelings in regard to their condition, and to imbue
their minds with thoughts of freedom. I bent myself to devising ways and
means for our escape, and meanwhile strove, on all fitting occasions,
to impress them with the gross fraud and inhumanity of slavery. I went
first to Henry, next to John, then to the others. I found, in them all,
warm hearts and noble spirits. They were ready to hear, and ready to
act when a feasible plan should be proposed. This was what I wanted.
I talked to them of our want of manhood, if we submitted to our
enslavement without at least one noble effort to be free. We met often,
and consulted frequently, and told our hopes and fears, recounted the
difficulties, real and imagined, which we should be called on to
meet. At times we were almost disposed to give up, and try to content
ourselves with our wretched lot; at others, we were firm and unbending
in our determination to go. Whenever we suggested any plan, there was
shrinking--the odds were fearful. Our path was beset with the greatest
obstacles; and if we succeeded in gaining the end of it, our right to be
free was yet questionable--we were yet liable to be returned to bondage.
We could see no spot, this side of the ocean, where we could be free.
We knew nothing about Canada. Our knowledge of the north did not extend
farther than New York; and to go there, and be forever harassed with the
frightful liability of being returned to slavery--with the certainty of
being treated tenfold worse than before--the thought was truly a horrible
one, and one which it was not easy to overcome. The case sometimes stood
thus: At every gate through which we were to pass, we saw a watchman--at
every ferry a guard--on every bridge a sentinel--and in every wood a
patrol. We were hemmed in upon every side. Here were the difficulties,
real or imagined--the good to be sought, and the evil to be shunned. On
the one hand, there stood slavery, a stern reality, glaring frightfully
upon us,--its robes already crimsoned with the blood of millions, and
even now feasting itself greedily upon our own flesh. On the other hand,
away back in the dim distance, under the flickering light of the north
star, behind some craggy hill or snow-covered mountain, stood a doubtful
freedom--half frozen--beckoning us to come and share its hospitality.
This in itself was sometimes enough to stagger us; but when we permitted
ourselves to survey the road, we were frequently appalled. Upon either
side we saw grim death, assuming the most horrid shapes. Now it was
starvation, causing us to eat our own flesh;--now we were contending with
the waves, and were drowned;--now we were overtaken, and torn to pieces
by the fangs of the terrible bloodhound. We were stung by scorpions,
chased by wild beasts, bitten by snakes, and finally, after having
nearly reached the desired spot,--after swimming rivers, encountering
wild beasts, sleeping in the woods, suffering hunger and nakedness,--we
were overtaken by our pursuers, and, in our resistance, we were shot
dead upon the spot! I say, this picture sometimes appalled us, and made
us


     "rather bear those ills we had,
     Than fly to others, that we knew not of."

In coming to a fixed determination to run away, we did more than Patrick
Henry, when he resolved upon liberty or death. With us it was a doubtful
liberty at most, and almost certain death if we failed. For my part, I
should prefer death to hopeless bondage.

Sandy, one of our number, gave up the notion, but still encouraged us.
Our company then consisted of Henry Harris, John Harris, Henry Bailey,
Charles Roberts, and myself. Henry Bailey was my uncle, and belonged
to my master. Charles married my aunt: he belonged to my master's
father-in-law, Mr. William Hamilton.

The plan we finally concluded upon was, to get a large canoe belonging
to Mr. Hamilton, and upon the Saturday night previous to Easter
holidays, paddle directly up the Chesapeake Bay. On our arrival at the
head of the bay, a distance of seventy or eighty miles from where we
lived, it was our purpose to turn our canoe adrift, and follow the
guidance of the north star till we got beyond the limits of Maryland.
Our reason for taking the water route was, that we were less liable to
be suspected as runaways; we hoped to be regarded as fishermen;
whereas, if we should take the land route, we should be subjected to
interruptions of almost every kind. Any one having a white face, and
being so disposed, could stop us, and subject us to examination.

The week before our intended start, I wrote several protections, one for
each of us. As well as I can remember, they were in the following words,
to wit:--


     "This is to certify that I, the undersigned, have given the bearer, my
     servant, full liberty to go to Baltimore, and spend the Easter holidays.
     Written with mine own hand, &amp;c., 1835.

     "WILLIAM HAMILTON,


"Near St. Michael's, in Talbot county, Maryland."

We were not going to Baltimore; but, in going up the bay, we went toward
Baltimore, and these protections were only intended to protect us while
on the bay.

As the time drew near for our departure, our anxiety became more and
more intense. It was truly a matter of life and death with us. The
strength of our determination was about to be fully tested. At this
time, I was very active in explaining every difficulty, removing every
doubt, dispelling every fear, and inspiring all with the firmness
indispensable to success in our undertaking; assuring them that half was
gained the instant we made the move; we had talked long enough; we were
now ready to move; if not now, we never should be; and if we did
not intend to move now, we had as well fold our arms, sit down, and
acknowledge ourselves fit only to be slaves. This, none of us were
prepared to acknowledge. Every man stood firm; and at our last meeting,
we pledged ourselves afresh, in the most solemn manner, that, at the
time appointed, we would certainly start in pursuit of freedom. This
was in the middle of the week, at the end of which we were to be off. We
went, as usual, to our several fields of labor, but with bosoms highly
agitated with thoughts of our truly hazardous undertaking. We tried to
conceal our feelings as much as possible; and I think we succeeded very
well.

After a painful waiting, the Saturday morning, whose night was to
witness our departure, came. I hailed it with joy, bring what of sadness
it might. Friday night was a sleepless one for me. I probably felt more
anxious than the rest, because I was, by common consent, at the head of
the whole affair. The responsibility of success or failure lay heavily
upon me. The glory of the one, and the confusion of the other, were
alike mine. The first two hours of that morning were such as I never
experienced before, and hope never to again. Early in the morning, we
went, as usual, to the field. We were spreading manure; and all at once,
while thus engaged, I was overwhelmed with an indescribable feeling, in
the fulness of which I turned to Sandy, who was near by, and said, "We
are betrayed!" "Well," said he, "that thought has this moment struck
me." We said no more. I was never more certain of any thing.

The horn was blown as usual, and we went up from the field to the house
for breakfast. I went for the form, more than for want of any thing to
eat that morning. Just as I got to the house, in looking out at the lane
gate, I saw four white men, with two colored men. The white men were
on horseback, and the colored ones were walking behind, as if tied. I
watched them a few moments till they got up to our lane gate. Here they
halted, and tied the colored men to the gate-post. I was not yet certain
as to what the matter was. In a few moments, in rode Mr. Hamilton, with
a speed betokening great excitement. He came to the door, and inquired
if Master William was in. He was told he was at the barn. Mr. Hamilton,
without dismounting, rode up to the barn with extraordinary speed. In
a few moments, he and Mr. Freeland returned to the house. By this time,
the three constables rode up, and in great haste dismounted, tied their
horses, and met Master William and Mr. Hamilton returning from the barn;
and after talking awhile, they all walked up to the kitchen door. There
was no one in the kitchen but myself and John. Henry and Sandy were up
at the barn. Mr. Freeland put his head in at the door, and called me by
name, saying, there were some gentlemen at the door who wished to see
me. I stepped to the door, and inquired what they wanted. They at once
seized me, and, without giving me any satisfaction, tied me--lashing my
hands closely together. I insisted upon knowing what the matter was.
They at length said, that they had learned I had been in a "scrape,"
and that I was to be examined before my master; and if their information
proved false, I should not be hurt.

In a few moments, they succeeded in tying John. They then turned to
Henry, who had by this time returned, and commanded him to cross his
hands. "I won't!" said Henry, in a firm tone, indicating his readiness
to meet the consequences of his refusal. "Won't you?" said Tom Graham,
the constable. "No, I won't!" said Henry, in a still stronger tone. With
this, two of the constables pulled out their shining pistols, and swore,
by their Creator, that they would make him cross his hands or kill him.
Each cocked his pistol, and, with fingers on the trigger, walked up to
Henry, saying, at the same time, if he did not cross his hands, they
would blow his damned heart out. "Shoot me, shoot me!" said Henry; "you
can't kill me but once. Shoot, shoot,--and be damned! _I won't be tied!_"
This he said in a tone of loud defiance; and at the same time, with
a motion as quick as lightning, he with one single stroke dashed the
pistols from the hand of each constable. As he did this, all hands fell
upon him, and, after beating him some time, they finally overpowered
him, and got him tied.

During the scuffle, I managed, I know not how, to get my pass out, and,
without being discovered, put it into the fire. We were all now tied;
and just as we were to leave for Easton jail, Betsy Freeland, mother of
William Freeland, came to the door with her hands full of biscuits, and
divided them between Henry and John. She then delivered herself of a
speech, to the following effect:--addressing herself to me, she said,
"_You devil! You yellow devil!_ it was you that put it into the heads of
Henry and John to run away. But for you, you long-legged mulatto devil!
Henry nor John would never have thought of such a thing." I made no
reply, and was immediately hurried off towards St. Michael's. Just a
moment previous to the scuffle with Henry, Mr. Hamilton suggested the
propriety of making a search for the protections which he had understood
Frederick had written for himself and the rest. But, just at the moment
he was about carrying his proposal into effect, his aid was needed in
helping to tie Henry; and the excitement attending the scuffle caused
them either to forget, or to deem it unsafe, under the circumstances, to
search. So we were not yet convicted of the intention to run away.

When we got about half way to St. Michael's, while the constables having
us in charge were looking ahead, Henry inquired of me what he should do
with his pass. I told him to eat it with his biscuit, and own nothing;
and we passed the word around, "_Own nothing;_" and "_Own nothing!_"
said we all. Our confidence in each other was unshaken. We were resolved
to succeed or fail together, after the calamity had befallen us as much
as before. We were now prepared for any thing. We were to be dragged
that morning fifteen miles behind horses, and then to be placed in
the Easton jail. When we reached St. Michael's, we underwent a sort of
examination. We all denied that we ever intended to run away. We did
this more to bring out the evidence against us, than from any hope of
getting clear of being sold; for, as I have said, we were ready for
that. The fact was, we cared but little where we went, so we went
together. Our greatest concern was about separation. We dreaded that
more than any thing this side of death. We found the evidence against us
to be the testimony of one person; our master would not tell who it
was; but we came to a unanimous decision among ourselves as to who
their informant was. We were sent off to the jail at Easton. When we got
there, we were delivered up to the sheriff, Mr. Joseph Graham, and by
him placed in jail. Henry, John, and myself, were placed in one
room together--Charles, and Henry Bailey, in another. Their object in
separating us was to hinder concert.

We had been in jail scarcely twenty minutes, when a swarm of slave
traders, and agents for slave traders, flocked into jail to look at us,
and to ascertain if we were for sale. Such a set of beings I never saw
before! I felt myself surrounded by so many fiends from perdition. A
band of pirates never looked more like their father, the devil. They
laughed and grinned over us, saying, "Ah, my boys! we have got you,
haven't we?" And after taunting us in various ways, they one by one
went into an examination of us, with intent to ascertain our value.
They would impudently ask us if we would not like to have them for our
masters. We would make them no answer, and leave them to find out as
best they could. Then they would curse and swear at us, telling us that
they could take the devil out of us in a very little while, if we were
only in their hands.

While in jail, we found ourselves in much more comfortable quarters than
we expected when we went there. We did not get much to eat, nor that
which was very good; but we had a good clean room, from the windows of
which we could see what was going on in the street, which was very much
better than though we had been placed in one of the dark, damp cells.
Upon the whole, we got along very well, so far as the jail and its
keeper were concerned. Immediately after the holidays were over,
contrary to all our expectations, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Freeland came up
to Easton, and took Charles, the two Henrys, and John, out of jail, and
carried them home, leaving me alone. I regarded this separation as
a final one. It caused me more pain than any thing else in the whole
transaction. I was ready for any thing rather than separation. I
supposed that they had consulted together, and had decided that, as I
was the whole cause of the intention of the others to run away, it was
hard to make the innocent suffer with the guilty; and that they had,
therefore, concluded to take the others home, and sell me, as a warning
to the others that remained. It is due to the noble Henry to say, he
seemed almost as reluctant at leaving the prison as at leaving home
to come to the prison. But we knew we should, in all probability,
be separated, if we were sold; and since he was in their hands, he
concluded to go peaceably home.

I was now left to my fate. I was all alone, and within the walls of a
stone prison. But a few days before, and I was full of hope. I expected
to have been safe in a land of freedom; but now I was covered with
gloom, sunk down to the utmost despair. I thought the possibility of
freedom was gone. I was kept in this way about one week, at the end of
which, Captain Auld, my master, to my surprise and utter astonishment,
came up, and took me out, with the intention of sending me, with a
gentleman of his acquaintance, into Alabama. But, from some cause or
other, he did not send me to Alabama, but concluded to send me back to
Baltimore, to live again with his brother Hugh, and to learn a trade.

Thus, after an absence of three years and one month, I was once more
permitted to return to my old home at Baltimore. My master sent me
away, because there existed against me a very great prejudice in the
community, and he feared I might be killed.

In a few weeks after I went to Baltimore, Master Hugh hired me to Mr.
William Gardner, an extensive ship-builder, on Fell's Point. I was put
there to learn how to calk. It, however, proved a very unfavorable place
for the accomplishment of this object. Mr. Gardner was engaged that
spring in building two large man-of-war brigs, professedly for the
Mexican government. The vessels were to be launched in the July of that
year, and in failure thereof, Mr. Gardner was to lose a considerable
sum; so that when I entered, all was hurry. There was no time to learn
any thing. Every man had to do that which he knew how to do. In entering
the shipyard, my orders from Mr. Gardner were, to do whatever the
carpenters commanded me to do. This was placing me at the beck and call
of about seventy-five men. I was to regard all these as masters. Their
word was to be my law. My situation was a most trying one. At times I
needed a dozen pair of hands. I was called a dozen ways in the space of
a single minute. Three or four voices would strike my ear at the same
moment. It was--"Fred., come help me to cant this timber here."--"Fred.,
come carry this timber yonder."--"Fred., bring that roller here."--"Fred.,
go get a fresh can of water."--"Fred., come help saw off the end of this
timber."--"Fred., go quick, and get the crowbar."--"Fred., hold on the
end of this fall."--"Fred., go to the blacksmith's shop, and get a new
punch."--"Hurra, Fred! run and bring me a cold chisel."--"I say, Fred.,
bear a hand, and get up a fire as quick as lightning under that
steam-box."--"Halloo, nigger! come, turn this grindstone."--"Come, come!
move, move! and _bowse_ this timber forward."--"I say, darky, blast
your eyes, why don't you heat up some pitch?"--"Halloo! halloo! halloo!"
(Three voices at the same time.) "Come here!--Go there!--Hold on where you
are! Damn you, if you move, I'll knock your brains out!"

This was my school for eight months; and I might have remained there
longer, but for a most horrid fight I had with four of the white
apprentices, in which my left eye was nearly knocked out, and I was
horribly mangled in other respects. The facts in the case were
these: Until a very little while after I went there, white and black
ship-carpenters worked side by side, and no one seemed to see any
impropriety in it. All hands seemed to be very well satisfied. Many of
the black carpenters were freemen. Things seemed to be going on very
well. All at once, the white carpenters knocked off, and said they would
not work with free colored workmen. Their reason for this, as alleged,
was, that if free colored carpenters were encouraged, they would soon
take the trade into their own hands, and poor white men would be thrown
out of employment. They therefore felt called upon at once to put a stop
to it. And, taking advantage of Mr. Gardner's necessities, they broke
off, swearing they would work no longer, unless he would discharge his
black carpenters. Now, though this did not extend to me in form, it
did reach me in fact. My fellow-apprentices very soon began to feel it
degrading to them to work with me. They began to put on airs, and
talk about the "niggers" taking the country, saying we all ought to be
killed; and, being encouraged by the journeymen, they commenced
making my condition as hard as they could, by hectoring me around, and
sometimes striking me. I, of course, kept the vow I made after the fight
with Mr. Covey, and struck back again, regardless of consequences; and
while I kept them from combining, I succeeded very well; for I could
whip the whole of them, taking them separately. They, however, at
length combined, and came upon me, armed with sticks, stones, and heavy
handspikes. One came in front with a half brick. There was one at each
side of me, and one behind me. While I was attending to those in front,
and on either side, the one behind ran up with the handspike, and struck
me a heavy blow upon the head. It stunned me. I fell, and with this they
all ran upon me, and fell to beating me with their fists. I let them
lay on for a while, gathering strength. In an instant, I gave a sudden
surge, and rose to my hands and knees. Just as I did that, one of their
number gave me, with his heavy boot, a powerful kick in the left eye.
My eyeball seemed to have burst. When they saw my eye closed, and badly
swollen, they left me. With this I seized the handspike, and for a time
pursued them. But here the carpenters interfered, and I thought I might
as well give it up. It was impossible to stand my hand against so
many. All this took place in sight of not less than fifty white
ship-carpenters, and not one interposed a friendly word; but some cried,
"Kill the damned nigger! Kill him! kill him! He struck a white person."
I found my only chance for life was in flight. I succeeded in getting
away without an additional blow, and barely so; for to strike a white
man is death by Lynch law,--and that was the law in Mr. Gardner's
ship-yard; nor is there much of any other out of Mr. Gardner's
ship-yard.

I went directly home, and told the story of my wrongs to Master Hugh;
and I am happy to say of him, irreligious as he was, his conduct
was heavenly, compared with that of his brother Thomas under similar
circumstances. He listened attentively to my narration of the
circumstances leading to the savage outrage, and gave many proofs of
his strong indignation at it. The heart of my once overkind mistress was
again melted into pity. My puffed-out eye and blood-covered face moved
her to tears. She took a chair by me, washed the blood from my face,
and, with a mother's tenderness, bound up my head, covering the wounded
eye with a lean piece of fresh beef. It was almost compensation for my
suffering to witness, once more, a manifestation of kindness from this,
my once affectionate old mistress. Master Hugh was very much enraged. He
gave expression to his feelings by pouring out curses upon the heads
of those who did the deed. As soon as I got a little the better of my
bruises, he took me with him to Esquire Watson's, on Bond Street, to
see what could be done about the matter. Mr. Watson inquired who saw
the assault committed. Master Hugh told him it was done in Mr. Gardner's
ship-yard at midday, where there were a large company of men at work.
"As to that," he said, "the deed was done, and there was no question as
to who did it." His answer was, he could do nothing in the case, unless
some white man would come forward and testify. He could issue no warrant
on my word. If I had been killed in the presence of a thousand colored
people, their testimony combined would have been insufficient to have
arrested one of the murderers. Master Hugh, for once, was compelled to
say this state of things was too bad. Of course, it was impossible to
get any white man to volunteer his testimony in my behalf, and against
the white young men. Even those who may have sympathized with me were
not prepared to do this. It required a degree of courage unknown to them
to do so; for just at that time, the slightest manifestation of humanity
toward a colored person was denounced as abolitionism, and that name
subjected its bearer to frightful liabilities. The watchwords of
the bloody-minded in that region, and in those days, were, "Damn the
abolitionists!" and "Damn the niggers!" There was nothing done, and
probably nothing would have been done if I had been killed. Such
was, and such remains, the state of things in the Christian city of
Baltimore.

Master Hugh, finding he could get no redress, refused to let me go back
again to Mr. Gardner. He kept me himself, and his wife dressed my wound
till I was again restored to health. He then took me into the ship-yard
of which he was foreman, in the employment of Mr. Walter Price. There I
was immediately set to calking, and very soon learned the art of using
my mallet and irons. In the course of one year from the time I left Mr.
Gardner's, I was able to command the highest wages given to the most
experienced calkers. I was now of some importance to my master. I was
bringing him from six to seven dollars per week. I sometimes brought him
nine dollars per week: my wages were a dollar and a half a day. After
learning how to calk, I sought my own employment, made my own contracts,
and collected the money which I earned. My pathway became much more
smooth than before; my condition was now much more comfortable. When I
could get no calking to do, I did nothing. During these leisure times,
those old notions about freedom would steal over me again. When in
Mr. Gardner's employment, I was kept in such a perpetual whirl of
excitement, I could think of nothing, scarcely, but my life; and in
thinking of my life, I almost forgot my liberty. I have observed this
in my experience of slavery,--that whenever my condition was improved,
instead of its increasing my contentment, it only increased my desire
to be free, and set me to thinking of plans to gain my freedom. I
have found that, to make a contented slave, it is necessary to make a
thoughtless one. It is necessary to darken his moral and mental vision,
and, as far as possible, to annihilate the power of reason. He must be
able to detect no inconsistencies in slavery; he must be made to feel
that slavery is right; and he can be brought to that only when he ceases
to be a man.

I was now getting, as I have said, one dollar and fifty cents per day. I
contracted for it; I earned it; it was paid to me; it was rightfully my
own; yet, upon each returning Saturday night, I was compelled to deliver
every cent of that money to Master Hugh. And why? Not because he earned
it,--not because he had any hand in earning it,--not because I owed it to
him,--nor because he possessed the slightest shadow of a right to it; but
solely because he had the power to compel me to give it up. The right of
the grim-visaged pirate upon the high seas is exactly the same.






CHAPTER XI

I now come to that part of my life during which I planned, and finally
succeeded in making, my escape from slavery. But before narrating any of
the peculiar circumstances, I deem it proper to make known my intention
not to state all the facts connected with the transaction. My reasons
for pursuing this course may be understood from the following: First,
were I to give a minute statement of all the facts, it is not only
possible, but quite probable, that others would thereby be involved in
the most embarrassing difficulties. Secondly, such a statement would
most undoubtedly induce greater vigilance on the part of slaveholders
than has existed heretofore among them; which would, of course, be the
means of guarding a door whereby some dear brother bondman might escape
his galling chains. I deeply regret the necessity that impels me
to suppress any thing of importance connected with my experience in
slavery. It would afford me great pleasure indeed, as well as materially
add to the interest of my narrative, were I at liberty to gratify a
curiosity, which I know exists in the minds of many, by an accurate
statement of all the facts pertaining to my most fortunate escape. But
I must deprive myself of this pleasure, and the curious of the
gratification which such a statement would afford. I would allow myself
to suffer under the greatest imputations which evil-minded men might
suggest, rather than exculpate myself, and thereby run the hazard
of closing the slightest avenue by which a brother slave might clear
himself of the chains and fetters of slavery.

I have never approved of the very public manner in which some of
our western friends have conducted what they call the _underground
railroad,_ but which I think, by their open declarations, has been made
most emphatically the _upper-ground railroad._ I honor those good
men and women for their noble daring, and applaud them for willingly
subjecting themselves to bloody persecution, by openly avowing their
participation in the escape of slaves. I, however, can see very little
good resulting from such a course, either to themselves or the slaves
escaping; while, upon the other hand, I see and feel assured that those
open declarations are a positive evil to the slaves remaining, who
are seeking to escape. They do nothing towards enlightening the slave,
whilst they do much towards enlightening the master. They stimulate him
to greater watchfulness, and enhance his power to capture his slave. We
owe something to the slave south of the line as well as to those north
of it; and in aiding the latter on their way to freedom, we should be
careful to do nothing which would be likely to hinder the former from
escaping from slavery. I would keep the merciless slaveholder profoundly
ignorant of the means of flight adopted by the slave. I would leave him
to imagine himself surrounded by myriads of invisible tormentors, ever
ready to snatch from his infernal grasp his trembling prey. Let him be
left to feel his way in the dark; let darkness commensurate with his
crime hover over him; and let him feel that at every step he takes,
in pursuit of the flying bondman, he is running the frightful risk of
having his hot brains dashed out by an invisible agency. Let us render
the tyrant no aid; let us not hold the light by which he can trace the
footprints of our flying brother. But enough of this. I will now proceed
to the statement of those facts, connected with my escape, for which
I am alone responsible, and for which no one can be made to suffer but
myself.

In the early part of the year 1838, I became quite restless. I could see
no reason why I should, at the end of each week, pour the reward of my
toil into the purse of my master. When I carried to him my weekly
wages, he would, after counting the money, look me in the face with a
robber-like fierceness, and ask, "Is this all?" He was satisfied with
nothing less than the last cent. He would, however, when I made him
six dollars, sometimes give me six cents, to encourage me. It had the
opposite effect. I regarded it as a sort of admission of my right to the
whole. The fact that he gave me any part of my wages was proof, to my
mind, that he believed me entitled to the whole of them. I always felt
worse for having received any thing; for I feared that the giving me a
few cents would ease his conscience, and make him feel himself to be a
pretty honorable sort of robber. My discontent grew upon me. I was ever
on the look-out for means of escape; and, finding no direct means, I
determined to try to hire my time, with a view of getting money with
which to make my escape. In the spring of 1838, when Master Thomas came
to Baltimore to purchase his spring goods, I got an opportunity, and
applied to him to allow me to hire my time. He unhesitatingly refused my
request, and told me this was another stratagem by which to escape. He
told me I could go nowhere but that he could get me; and that, in the
event of my running away, he should spare no pains in his efforts to
catch me. He exhorted me to content myself, and be obedient. He told me,
if I would be happy, I must lay out no plans for the future. He said, if
I behaved myself properly, he would take care of me. Indeed, he advised
me to complete thoughtlessness of the future, and taught me to depend
solely upon him for happiness. He seemed to see fully the pressing
necessity of setting aside my intellectual nature, in order to
contentment in slavery. But in spite of him, and even in spite of
myself, I continued to think, and to think about the injustice of my
enslavement, and the means of escape.

About two months after this, I applied to Master Hugh for the privilege
of hiring my time. He was not acquainted with the fact that I had
applied to Master Thomas, and had been refused. He too, at first,
seemed disposed to refuse; but, after some reflection, he granted me the
privilege, and proposed the following terms: I was to be allowed all my
time, make all contracts with those for whom I worked, and find my own
employment; and, in return for this liberty, I was to pay him three
dollars at the end of each week; find myself in calking tools, and in
board and clothing. My board was two dollars and a half per week. This,
with the wear and tear of clothing and calking tools, made my regular
expenses about six dollars per week. This amount I was compelled to make
up, or relinquish the privilege of hiring my time. Rain or shine, work
or no work, at the end of each week the money must be forthcoming, or I
must give up my privilege. This arrangement, it will be perceived, was
decidedly in my master's favor. It relieved him of all need of
looking after me. His money was sure. He received all the benefits
of slaveholding without its evils; while I endured all the evils of a
slave, and suffered all the care and anxiety of a freeman. I found it a
hard bargain. But, hard as it was, I thought it better than the old mode
of getting along. It was a step towards freedom to be allowed to bear
the responsibilities of a freeman, and I was determined to hold on upon
it. I bent myself to the work of making money. I was ready to work
at night as well as day, and by the most untiring perseverance and
industry, I made enough to meet my expenses, and lay up a little money
every week. I went on thus from May till August. Master Hugh then
refused to allow me to hire my time longer. The ground for his refusal
was a failure on my part, one Saturday night, to pay him for my week's
time. This failure was occasioned by my attending a camp meeting
about ten miles from Baltimore. During the week, I had entered into an
engagement with a number of young friends to start from Baltimore to the
camp ground early Saturday evening; and being detained by my employer,
I was unable to get down to Master Hugh's without disappointing the
company. I knew that Master Hugh was in no special need of the money
that night. I therefore decided to go to camp meeting, and upon my
return pay him the three dollars. I staid at the camp meeting one day
longer than I intended when I left. But as soon as I returned, I called
upon him to pay him what he considered his due. I found him very angry;
he could scarce restrain his wrath. He said he had a great mind to give
me a severe whipping. He wished to know how I dared go out of the city
without asking his permission. I told him I hired my time and while
I paid him the price which he asked for it, I did not know that I was
bound to ask him when and where I should go. This reply troubled him;
and, after reflecting a few moments, he turned to me, and said I should
hire my time no longer; that the next thing he should know of, I would
be running away. Upon the same plea, he told me to bring my tools and
clothing home forthwith. I did so; but instead of seeking work, as I had
been accustomed to do previously to hiring my time, I spent the whole
week without the performance of a single stroke of work. I did this in
retaliation. Saturday night, he called upon me as usual for my week's
wages. I told him I had no wages; I had done no work that week. Here
we were upon the point of coming to blows. He raved, and swore his
determination to get hold of me. I did not allow myself a single word;
but was resolved, if he laid the weight of his hand upon me, it should
be blow for blow. He did not strike me, but told me that he would find
me in constant employment in future. I thought the matter over during
the next day, Sunday, and finally resolved upon the third day of
September, as the day upon which I would make a second attempt to
secure my freedom. I now had three weeks during which to prepare for my
journey. Early on Monday morning, before Master Hugh had time to make
any engagement for me, I went out and got employment of Mr. Butler, at
his ship-yard near the drawbridge, upon what is called the City Block,
thus making it unnecessary for him to seek employment for me. At the
end of the week, I brought him between eight and nine dollars. He seemed
very well pleased, and asked why I did not do the same the week before.
He little knew what my plans were. My object in working steadily was to
remove any suspicion he might entertain of my intent to run away; and
in this I succeeded admirably. I suppose he thought I was never better
satisfied with my condition than at the very time during which I was
planning my escape. The second week passed, and again I carried him
my full wages; and so well pleased was he, that he gave me twenty-five
cents, (quite a large sum for a slaveholder to give a slave,) and bade
me to make a good use of it. I told him I would.

Things went on without very smoothly indeed, but within there was
trouble. It is impossible for me to describe my feelings as the time of
my contemplated start drew near. I had a number of warmhearted friends
in Baltimore,--friends that I loved almost as I did my life,--and
the thought of being separated from them forever was painful beyond
expression. It is my opinion that thousands would escape from slavery,
who now remain, but for the strong cords of affection that bind them to
their friends. The thought of leaving my friends was decidedly the most
painful thought with which I had to contend. The love of them was my
tender point, and shook my decision more than all things else. Besides
the pain of separation, the dread and apprehension of a failure exceeded
what I had experienced at my first attempt. The appalling defeat I then
sustained returned to torment me. I felt assured that, if I failed in
this attempt, my case would be a hopeless one--it would seal my fate as a
slave forever. I could not hope to get off with any thing less than the
severest punishment, and being placed beyond the means of escape. It
required no very vivid imagination to depict the most frightful scenes
through which I should have to pass, in case I failed. The wretchedness
of slavery, and the blessedness of freedom, were perpetually before me.
It was life and death with me. But I remained firm, and, according to my
resolution, on the third day of September, 1838, I left my chains, and
succeeded in reaching New York without the slightest interruption of any
kind. How I did so,--what means I adopted,--what direction I travelled,
and by what mode of conveyance,--I must leave unexplained, for the
reasons before mentioned.

I have been frequently asked how I felt when I found myself in a
free State. I have never been able to answer the question with any
satisfaction to myself. It was a moment of the highest excitement I ever
experienced. I suppose I felt as one may imagine the unarmed mariner to
feel when he is rescued by a friendly man-of-war from the pursuit of a
pirate. In writing to a dear friend, immediately after my arrival at New
York, I said I felt like one who had escaped a den of hungry lions. This
state of mind, however, very soon subsided; and I was again seized with
a feeling of great insecurity and loneliness. I was yet liable to be
taken back, and subjected to all the tortures of slavery. This in
itself was enough to damp the ardor of my enthusiasm. But the loneliness
overcame me. There I was in the midst of thousands, and yet a perfect
stranger; without home and without friends, in the midst of thousands
of my own brethren--children of a common Father, and yet I dared not to
unfold to any one of them my sad condition. I was afraid to speak to any
one for fear of speaking to the wrong one, and thereby falling into the
hands of money-loving kidnappers, whose business it was to lie in wait
for the panting fugitive, as the ferocious beasts of the forest lie
in wait for their prey. The motto which I adopted when I started from
slavery was this--"Trust no man!" I saw in every white man an enemy, and
in almost every colored man cause for distrust. It was a most painful
situation; and, to understand it, one must needs experience it, or
imagine himself in similar circumstances. Let him be a fugitive slave
in a strange land--a land given up to be the hunting-ground for
slaveholders--whose inhabitants are legalized kidnappers--where he is
every moment subjected to the terrible liability of being seized upon by
his fellowmen, as the hideous crocodile seizes upon his prey!--I say, let
him place himself in my situation--without home or friends--without money
or credit--wanting shelter, and no one to give it--wanting bread, and no
money to buy it,--and at the same time let him feel that he is pursued by
merciless men-hunters, and in total darkness as to what to do, where to
go, or where to stay,--perfectly helpless both as to the means of defence
and means of escape,--in the midst of plenty, yet suffering the terrible
gnawings of hunger,--in the midst of houses, yet having no home,--among
fellow-men, yet feeling as if in the midst of wild beasts, whose
greediness to swallow up the trembling and half-famished fugitive is
only equalled by that with which the monsters of the deep swallow up the
helpless fish upon which they subsist,--I say, let him be placed in this
most trying situation,--the situation in which I was placed,--then, and
not till then, will he fully appreciate the hardships of, and know how
to sympathize with, the toil-worn and whip-scarred fugitive slave.

Thank Heaven, I remained but a short time in this distressed situation.
I was relieved from it by the humane hand of _Mr. David Ruggles_, whose
vigilance, kindness, and perseverance, I shall never forget. I am
glad of an opportunity to express, as far as words can, the love and
gratitude I bear him. Mr. Ruggles is now afflicted with blindness, and
is himself in need of the same kind offices which he was once so forward
in the performance of toward others. I had been in New York but a few
days, when Mr. Ruggles sought me out, and very kindly took me to his
boarding-house at the corner of Church and Lespenard Streets. Mr.
Ruggles was then very deeply engaged in the memorable _Darg_ case, as
well as attending to a number of other fugitive slaves, devising ways
and means for their successful escape; and, though watched and hemmed in
on almost every side, he seemed to be more than a match for his enemies.

Very soon after I went to Mr. Ruggles, he wished to know of me where
I wanted to go; as he deemed it unsafe for me to remain in New York. I
told him I was a calker, and should like to go where I could get work.
I thought of going to Canada; but he decided against it, and in favor of
my going to New Bedford, thinking I should be able to get work there at
my trade. At this time, Anna,* my intended wife, came on; for I wrote
to her immediately after my arrival at New York, (notwithstanding
my homeless, houseless, and helpless condition,) informing her of my
successful flight, and wishing her to come on forthwith. In a few days
after her arrival, Mr. Ruggles called in the Rev. J. W. C. Pennington,
who, in the presence of Mr. Ruggles, Mrs. Michaels, and two or three
others, performed the marriage ceremony, and gave us a certificate, of
which the following is an exact copy:--


"This may certify, that I joined together in holy matrimony Frederick
Johnson** and Anna Murray, as man and wife, in the presence of Mr. David
Ruggles and Mrs. Michaels.

"JAMES W. C. PENNINGTON "_New York, Sept. 15, 1838_"


          *She was free.

          **I had changed my name from Frederick _Bailey_ to that of
          _Johnson_.

Upon receiving this certificate, and a five-dollar bill from Mr.
Ruggles, I shouldered one part of our baggage, and Anna took up
the other, and we set out forthwith to take passage on board of the
steamboat John W. Richmond for Newport, on our way to New Bedford. Mr.
Ruggles gave me a letter to a Mr. Shaw in Newport, and told me, in case
my money did not serve me to New Bedford, to stop in Newport and obtain
further assistance; but upon our arrival at Newport, we were so anxious
to get to a place of safety, that, notwithstanding we lacked the
necessary money to pay our fare, we decided to take seats in the stage,
and promise to pay when we got to New Bedford. We were encouraged to do
this by two excellent gentlemen, residents of New Bedford, whose names I
afterward ascertained to be Joseph Ricketson and William C. Taber.
They seemed at once to understand our circumstances, and gave us
such assurance of their friendliness as put us fully at ease in their
presence.

It was good indeed to meet with such friends, at such a time. Upon
reaching New Bedford, we were directed to the house of Mr. Nathan
Johnson, by whom we were kindly received, and hospitably provided
for. Both Mr. and Mrs. Johnson took a deep and lively interest in
our welfare. They proved themselves quite worthy of the name of
abolitionists. When the stage-driver found us unable to pay our fare, he
held on upon our baggage as security for the debt. I had but to mention
the fact to Mr. Johnson, and he forthwith advanced the money.

We now began to feel a degree of safety, and to prepare ourselves for
the duties and responsibilities of a life of freedom. On the morning
after our arrival at New Bedford, while at the breakfast-table, the
question arose as to what name I should be called by. The name given me
by my mother was, "Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey." I, however,
had dispensed with the two middle names long before I left Maryland so
that I was generally known by the name of "Frederick Bailey." I started
from Baltimore bearing the name of "Stanley." When I got to New York, I
again changed my name to "Frederick Johnson," and thought that would
be the last change. But when I got to New Bedford, I found it necessary
again to change my name. The reason of this necessity was, that there
were so many Johnsons in New Bedford, it was already quite difficult to
distinguish between them. I gave Mr. Johnson the privilege of
choosing me a name, but told him he must not take from me the name of
"Frederick." I must hold on to that, to preserve a sense of my identity.
Mr. Johnson had just been reading the "Lady of the Lake," and at once
suggested that my name be "Douglass." From that time until now I have
been called "Frederick Douglass;" and as I am more widely known by that
name than by either of the others, I shall continue to use it as my own.

I was quite disappointed at the general appearance of things in New
Bedford. The impression which I had received respecting the character
and condition of the people of the north, I found to be singularly
erroneous. I had very strangely supposed, while in slavery, that few of
the comforts, and scarcely any of the luxuries, of life were enjoyed at
the north, compared with what were enjoyed by the slaveholders of the
south. I probably came to this conclusion from the fact that northern
people owned no slaves. I supposed that they were about upon a level
with the non-slaveholding population of the south. I knew _they_ were
exceedingly poor, and I had been accustomed to regard their poverty as
the necessary consequence of their being non-slaveholders. I had somehow
imbibed the opinion that, in the absence of slaves, there could be no
wealth, and very little refinement. And upon coming to the north, I
expected to meet with a rough, hard-handed, and uncultivated population,
living in the most Spartan-like simplicity, knowing nothing of the
ease, luxury, pomp, and grandeur of southern slaveholders. Such being my
conjectures, any one acquainted with the appearance of New Bedford may
very readily infer how palpably I must have seen my mistake.

In the afternoon of the day when I reached New Bedford, I visited the
wharves, to take a view of the shipping. Here I found myself surrounded
with the strongest proofs of wealth. Lying at the wharves, and riding in
the stream, I saw many ships of the finest model, in the best order, and
of the largest size. Upon the right and left, I was walled in by granite
warehouses of the widest dimensions, stowed to their utmost capacity
with the necessaries and comforts of life. Added to this, almost every
body seemed to be at work, but noiselessly so, compared with what I had
been accustomed to in Baltimore. There were no loud songs heard from
those engaged in loading and unloading ships. I heard no deep oaths or
horrid curses on the laborer. I saw no whipping of men; but all seemed
to go smoothly on. Every man appeared to understand his work, and went
at it with a sober, yet cheerful earnestness, which betokened the deep
interest which he felt in what he was doing, as well as a sense of his
own dignity as a man. To me this looked exceedingly strange. From the
wharves I strolled around and over the town, gazing with wonder
and admiration at the splendid churches, beautiful dwellings, and
finely-cultivated gardens; evincing an amount of wealth, comfort, taste,
and refinement, such as I had never seen in any part of slaveholding
Maryland.

Every thing looked clean, new, and beautiful. I saw few or no
dilapidated houses, with poverty-stricken inmates; no half-naked
children and barefooted women, such as I had been accustomed to see in
Hillsborough, Easton, St. Michael's, and Baltimore. The people looked
more able, stronger, healthier, and happier, than those of Maryland.
I was for once made glad by a view of extreme wealth, without being
saddened by seeing extreme poverty. But the most astonishing as well
as the most interesting thing to me was the condition of the colored
people, a great many of whom, like myself, had escaped thither as a
refuge from the hunters of men. I found many, who had not been seven
years out of their chains, living in finer houses, and evidently
enjoying more of the comforts of life, than the average of slaveholders
in Maryland. I will venture to assert, that my friend Mr. Nathan Johnson
(of whom I can say with a grateful heart, "I was hungry, and he gave me
meat; I was thirsty, and he gave me drink; I was a stranger, and he took
me in") lived in a neater house; dined at a better table; took, paid
for, and read, more newspapers; better understood the moral, religious,
and political character of the nation,--than nine tenths of the
slaveholders in Talbot county Maryland. Yet Mr. Johnson was a working
man. His hands were hardened by toil, and not his alone, but those also
of Mrs. Johnson. I found the colored people much more spirited than
I had supposed they would be. I found among them a determination to
protect each other from the blood-thirsty kidnapper, at all hazards.
Soon after my arrival, I was told of a circumstance which illustrated
their spirit. A colored man and a fugitive slave were on unfriendly
terms. The former was heard to threaten the latter with informing his
master of his whereabouts. Straightway a meeting was called among the
colored people, under the stereotyped notice, "Business of importance!"
The betrayer was invited to attend. The people came at the appointed
hour, and organized the meeting by appointing a very religious old
gentleman as president, who, I believe, made a prayer, after which he
addressed the meeting as follows: "_Friends, we have got him here, and
I would recommend that you young men just take him outside the door,
and kill him!_" With this, a number of them bolted at him; but they were
intercepted by some more timid than themselves, and the betrayer escaped
their vengeance, and has not been seen in New Bedford since. I believe
there have been no more such threats, and should there be hereafter, I
doubt not that death would be the consequence.

I found employment, the third day after my arrival, in stowing a sloop
with a load of oil. It was new, dirty, and hard work for me; but I went
at it with a glad heart and a willing hand. I was now my own master. It
was a happy moment, the rapture of which can be understood only by those
who have been slaves. It was the first work, the reward of which was to
be entirely my own. There was no Master Hugh standing ready, the moment
I earned the money, to rob me of it. I worked that day with a pleasure I
had never before experienced. I was at work for myself and newly-married
wife. It was to me the starting-point of a new existence. When I got
through with that job, I went in pursuit of a job of calking; but such
was the strength of prejudice against color, among the white calkers,
that they refused to work with me, and of course I could get no
employment.*


     * I am told that colored persons can now get employment at
     calking in New Bedford&mdash;a result of anti-slavery effort.

Finding my trade of no immediate benefit, I threw off my calking
habiliments, and prepared myself to do any kind of work I could get to
do. Mr. Johnson kindly let me have his wood-horse and saw, and I very
soon found myself a plenty of work. There was no work too hard--none
too dirty. I was ready to saw wood, shovel coal, carry wood, sweep the
chimney, or roll oil casks,--all of which I did for nearly three years in
New Bedford, before I became known to the anti-slavery world.

In about four months after I went to New Bedford, there came a young man
to me, and inquired if I did not wish to take the "Liberator." I told
him I did; but, just having made my escape from slavery, I remarked that
I was unable to pay for it then. I, however, finally became a subscriber
to it. The paper came, and I read it from week to week with such
feelings as it would be quite idle for me to attempt to describe. The
paper became my meat and my drink. My soul was set all on fire.
Its sympathy for my brethren in bonds--its scathing denunciations of
slaveholders--its faithful exposures of slavery--and its powerful attacks
upon the upholders of the institution--sent a thrill of joy through my
soul, such as I had never felt before!

I had not long been a reader of the "Liberator," before I got a pretty
correct idea of the principles, measures and spirit of the anti-slavery
reform. I took right hold of the cause. I could do but little; but what
I could, I did with a joyful heart, and never felt happier than when
in an anti-slavery meeting. I seldom had much to say at the meetings,
because what I wanted to say was said so much better by others. But,
while attending an anti-slavery convention at Nantucket, on the 11th of
August, 1841, I felt strongly moved to speak, and was at the same time
much urged to do so by Mr. William C. Coffin, a gentleman who had heard
me speak in the colored people's meeting at New Bedford. It was a severe
cross, and I took it up reluctantly. The truth was, I felt myself a
slave, and the idea of speaking to white people weighed me down. I spoke
but a few moments, when I felt a degree of freedom, and said what I
desired with considerable ease. From that time until now, I have been
engaged in pleading the cause of my brethren--with what success, and with
what devotion, I leave those acquainted with my labors to decide.